2.24.17

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I may not be able to pick him up for much longer… 5’8″ with my level of strength is no match for a five-year-old who’s almost two thirds my height. But that doesn’t mean he’s a match for his dad who’s got almost a half-foot on me. And he can’t yet escape his dad’s strong clutch when he’s due for more put-that-ornery/sarcastic-little-attitude-in-its-place tickles and gobbles.
#shenanigans

2.19.17

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A Sunday for the basement projects, doing what we should have done four years ago shortly after we moved in. Buying shelves, assembling said shelves, and loading them up with all our basement catch-all piles. Now that things are up off the ground, it will be so much easier to move around an organize. Not sure why we didn’t do this much sooner.

2.17.17

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Warm, fuzzy socks. Check. Bum-around, comfy clothes. Check. One cup of hot coffee. Check. Laptop. Check.

All set for working from home today. I was going to work from home Wednesday so that I could go to Isaac’s dentist appointment with him. These are the kinds of things from his childhood that I don’t want to miss out on, but often have to because of my full-time job. That is where the work-from-home days we are granted are a gift… so I can experience such things as dentist appointments every once in a while. It’s not that he needs me there. It’s that I want to be there. I want to remember the way he was in all these different settings, and not miss out on them altogether. So I try to time my schedule accordingly. This time, it didn’t work out. But I’m not complaining. It’s Friday, it’s sunny, I’ve already been working for a while and I haven’t even changed for the day… oh, and NO COMMUTE! It’s all good. I’ll make it to his next dentist appointment.

2.16.17

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Temptation runs high to cherry-pick only what we like and only what we want to see when documenting our days. It’s tempting, because most things we see out there are always curated just so. But I would be remiss in not including the most common—even ugly—of scenes I nearly-daily see… the least beautiful (in the eyes of professional curators) of scenes. This is my truth. A mess created throughout dinner, staring up at me post-dinner and making me feel lazy for being too tired to clean it. Three… count ’em… three utensils, dirtied by just one child. Table real estate snatched up by piles of paper and things tables (or families) don’t even need. One corner here, and so many more similar to this behind the camera. These are the truest, least gratifying views of parenthood. But they make the much-more-glamorous views as treasured as they are. So I celebrate these, too.

Greasy plates, crumpled napkins inside sticky cups, and all.