Ackery

Dear Inky Stinky Pinky Babykins,

Please quit rubbing your goopy pinkeye medicine off on my shirt. I know you don't like it, but it's not going away until the pinkeye is gone. And the pinkeye won't be gone if you keep rubbing the goop off. When you are older, we can discuss the definition of, and techniques for coping with, a vicious cycle. In the meantime, quit it.

Loves and snuggles and smooshy kisses,

Mama

Gratuitous Picture of Baby In Handknits.

Some unexpected good news has resulted in a revised (read: delightfully shorter) to-do list, but also a time crunch. Still, the knitting content around here was alarmingly low, so enjoy some pictures of Josie in handknits -- the first from me:

(Leftover Election Day pic -- the onesie reads "pacifist.)

Pattern is Baby Denim Drawstring Pants, from Last-Minute Knitted Gifts. They are less huge on her now, and will likely last her for another 4 or 5 months.

The second, as you can guess from its perfect stitches and gorgeous color, is from my mother-in-law. Someday, she will get DSL, and then join Ravelry, and you will all envy my children their supplier of heirloom-quality sweaters. I'm not sure of the pattern, but I put this on Josie every chance I get. It is a good thing wool absorbs drool so nicely.

Elation Day

That's what Ellie's calling the inauguration, and I can't really argue with her. Hard to say which I enjoyed more -- Obama's swearing-in and speech, or the sight of that helicopter, taking Dubya far, far away. Either way, elation is putting it mildly.

I had meant to post these back in November, but since everything around here is running behind schedule, I hope you don't mind these pics, taken the day after the election, the best birthday present a girl could ask for:

 

It is astonishing to me that these girls have lived their entire lives under the shadow of Bush's presidency. Now it feels as if the sun has finally come out. I cannot help but believe that the next four (and I hope, eight) years of their lives will be brighter and better.

Where everybody knew my name.

For the last week or so, I've been getting phone calls and emails from concerned friends, wondering how I was taking the news. My favorite cafe closed abruptly and unexpectedly on New Year's Day, which I think is a craptastic way to begin 2009. This is the place that invented a special decaf coffee drink when I was pregnant with Josie, but only charged me the price of a regular cup of coffee. The place where they would bring me shortbread hot from the oven. It's where I got to know a group of regulars who were unfailingly kind, and friendly, and interested in my work. Kate, who worked the counter, loaned me her daughters' books for the girls to read and dispensed advice both sound and compassionate. Susie, the owner, knew everyone and everything about our little town, and would give me a much-needed swift kick in the pants when I wasn't making much progress on my book.

Before I had Josie, I was there three or four days a week, but I wasn't able to get there as much after that -- juggling all our schedules just made it impractical. And now I won't get to go again -- no more warm raspberry-chocolate chip muffins for me or fluffernutter sandwiches for the girls. I know the economy has a lot to do with this, and the number of drive-through Starbucks in the vicinity (three within a five-minute drive) certainly doesn't help, but this is the third locally-owned cafe to close in the last few months, and it saddens me, because I'm not sure how we can maintain a sense of community without places like this.

 

And frankly, I miss my mug.

From the Department of Lost and Found

First tooth

All ten toes