4.14.2010
4.13.2010
Family Resemblance
Among the many things about my nephew that I can't get over -- how small he used to be, how big he is now, how much he's grown and changed already, how much more growth and change there will be, how woefully unprepared I am to deal with all of this, how much even more so my sister must be -- but among all these things, the two things I have the most trouble dealing with are how much this kid looks like my sister ...
... and how much this kid acts like my daughter.
Guess the question of nature v. nuture is settled, right? It's both.
... and how much this kid acts like my daughter.
Guess the question of nature v. nuture is settled, right? It's both.
4.12.2010
Home on the Range
My sister and my nephew were in town for an all-too brief visit over the weekend. Last time I saw Joey in person, it was over Christmas break, and he looks almost like a different person now. Not a baby any more, but a toddler. A tiny little blonde-headed flyaway-haired Godzilla in Stride Rites.
And of course he is a perfectly normal-sized kid, but Shae looks like a total GIANT next to him. With all the delicacy and finesse of a drunken brontosaurus.
I feel like I haven't slept in a week. Chasing after two little kids, one of whom fancies herself a little ringleader, is difficult work. Especially without a cocktail or eleventeen.
Have to admit: I don't remember my kid ever being this little. I'm sure she was, at one point, but I don't remember it. How long ago was it? Two hundred years or something? Who gave her permission to outgrow the baby swing? Stop growing, you damn kids! And get off my lawn!
I am telling you -- that bench in my grandparents' backyard has been entertaining literally generations of my family. And several thousand geese, I think.
You can't see Joey's socks very well but they're Princeton socks, with little tiger paws all over them. They're adorable.
NOT ADORABLE, G. Not cool.
And of course he is a perfectly normal-sized kid, but Shae looks like a total GIANT next to him. With all the delicacy and finesse of a drunken brontosaurus.
I feel like I haven't slept in a week. Chasing after two little kids, one of whom fancies herself a little ringleader, is difficult work. Especially without a cocktail or eleventeen.
Have to admit: I don't remember my kid ever being this little. I'm sure she was, at one point, but I don't remember it. How long ago was it? Two hundred years or something? Who gave her permission to outgrow the baby swing? Stop growing, you damn kids! And get off my lawn!
I am telling you -- that bench in my grandparents' backyard has been entertaining literally generations of my family. And several thousand geese, I think.
You can't see Joey's socks very well but they're Princeton socks, with little tiger paws all over them. They're adorable.
NOT ADORABLE, G. Not cool.
4.09.2010
Sakura
On Tuesday, on my way home from work, I stopped at the park up the road from my house to do some "location scouting" -- it had been a while since we took pictures somewhere different, and it had been hot for a few days, and I thought running around down by the creek could be fun.
The Japanese cherry trees were in full bloom that day. Full, gorgeous, fragrant bloom. I don't know if I've ever smelled so many cherry blossoms (sakura, or 桜) at once before. It was heavenly. Better than pie. The only place I can remember that smelled as good was Sounion, in Greece, the first time I ever saw the Mediterranean Sea.
I am a sucker for flowering fruit trees. They're my kryptonite. Spring is normally a cacophony of sneezes, wheezes, and honking into tissues. The prettier the flower, the deadlier the pollen. But I love 'em anyway, and there are times in the car when I feel like I need to stop and pull over to take pictures of random weeping cherry trees in some stranger's front yard.
These cherry trees are around a memorial, an All-Veterans Walk of Honor, for local servicemen and servicewomen and Blue Star Mothers. I am not a particularly military-minded individual, but I sure think it's a beautiful place.
Here's something you'll almost never hear me say about anyplace else in this town: it's very serene and lovely at the memorial, with the sound of the creek, and the kiss of the wind, and the smell of the blossoms. I don't know anybody who is remembered here, but my heart still caught in my chest a little.
I must have been there on the very peak day for the trees, because ever since then, they've been looking less and less fluffy and more and more "mangy," as flowering fruit trees do when they lose their blossoms.
Lucky me, getting to be there on the absolute best possible day. Moments that I get to spend with myself are so rare any more.
I think that next year we might have to plan a road trip to D.C. for the Cherry Blossom Festival, or maybe we'll try to make it to the one in Philly instead. I'll take a real camera for those.
The Japanese cherry trees were in full bloom that day. Full, gorgeous, fragrant bloom. I don't know if I've ever smelled so many cherry blossoms (sakura, or 桜) at once before. It was heavenly. Better than pie. The only place I can remember that smelled as good was Sounion, in Greece, the first time I ever saw the Mediterranean Sea.
I am a sucker for flowering fruit trees. They're my kryptonite. Spring is normally a cacophony of sneezes, wheezes, and honking into tissues. The prettier the flower, the deadlier the pollen. But I love 'em anyway, and there are times in the car when I feel like I need to stop and pull over to take pictures of random weeping cherry trees in some stranger's front yard.
These cherry trees are around a memorial, an All-Veterans Walk of Honor, for local servicemen and servicewomen and Blue Star Mothers. I am not a particularly military-minded individual, but I sure think it's a beautiful place.
Here's something you'll almost never hear me say about anyplace else in this town: it's very serene and lovely at the memorial, with the sound of the creek, and the kiss of the wind, and the smell of the blossoms. I don't know anybody who is remembered here, but my heart still caught in my chest a little.
I must have been there on the very peak day for the trees, because ever since then, they've been looking less and less fluffy and more and more "mangy," as flowering fruit trees do when they lose their blossoms.
Lucky me, getting to be there on the absolute best possible day. Moments that I get to spend with myself are so rare any more.
I think that next year we might have to plan a road trip to D.C. for the Cherry Blossom Festival, or maybe we'll try to make it to the one in Philly instead. I'll take a real camera for those.
4.08.2010
Easter 2010: Part Two
Almost as exciting as "Leonard: Part Six" -- and away we go!
Egg hunts look pretty much the same everywhere -- this one, on my Dad's side of the family, is just bigger and louder than most others (because I have relatives numbering in the hundreds at this point). Lots of little kids, lots of middle kids, lots of bigger kids. And, of course, the annual Keg Hunt, which is where the legal-drinking-age grandchildren wander around looking for little bottles with their names on them. It's fun. Usually.
Anyway, what I want to focus on this time is how, as the day goes on, Shae gets closer and closer to the Easter Bunny. Perhaps we are getting over our leporiphagophobia*.
Very close to the Easter Bunny. Not quite touching. Looking away, ready to escape, but still in a reasonable proximity.
Allow the Easter Bunny to touch her OMG OMG ZOMFG! You can tell that she is nervous about this, and I can't rightly say I blame her, because this particular Bunny is just on this side of Donnie-Darko-looking.
Standing right next to him, and -- wait, what is that I see when I zoom in?
HOLDING THE EASTER BUNNY'S HAND. Success! Maybe by Christmas she'll get over her whole Santa-is-creepy thing.
Egg hunts look pretty much the same everywhere -- this one, on my Dad's side of the family, is just bigger and louder than most others (because I have relatives numbering in the hundreds at this point). Lots of little kids, lots of middle kids, lots of bigger kids. And, of course, the annual Keg Hunt, which is where the legal-drinking-age grandchildren wander around looking for little bottles with their names on them. It's fun. Usually.
Anyway, what I want to focus on this time is how, as the day goes on, Shae gets closer and closer to the Easter Bunny. Perhaps we are getting over our leporiphagophobia*.
Very close to the Easter Bunny. Not quite touching. Looking away, ready to escape, but still in a reasonable proximity.
Allow the Easter Bunny to touch her OMG OMG ZOMFG! You can tell that she is nervous about this, and I can't rightly say I blame her, because this particular Bunny is just on this side of Donnie-Darko-looking.
Standing right next to him, and -- wait, what is that I see when I zoom in?
HOLDING THE EASTER BUNNY'S HAND. Success! Maybe by Christmas she'll get over her whole Santa-is-creepy thing.
* = fake made up word that is supposed to mean "fear of getting eaten by rabbits."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)