This is my dad and his brothers and sister. He’s the oldest one. Maybe this is where Clark gets that blondie blond hair. For the record, they’re all dish-watery-gray, now.

This is my dad’s mom and and dad and an unknown chin-rester. My grandma looks SO MUCH like my sister, it’s crazy. Not so much her face, but her skin and hair and her body, for sure. Those arms and hands are SO my sister. Except my dear sis would sooner enjoy liver and onions than coffee and a cigarette.

I LOVE that she’s out doing yard work in that pretty dress and apron. At least she seems to be wearing sensible shoes.

Here are a few of my favorite photos from the weekend. Gotta love the beach for the photo opps. May these lovely shots erase all images of rotting wall rodents that may still be dancing in your heads.

It seems like forever ago and sort of recently all at the same time.

Darling, SB, I know we’ve been in a bit of a rough patch, but I hope you always know that I love you, and that these have been the best 10 years a girl could ask for.

Thanks for giving me this boy and for being such a good Daddy. You two are my moon and stars.

In our house, taking out the recycling is SB’s job. As with most things related to tidiness, SB’s threshold is much higher than mine. Which is why the scene that unfolded was so hilarious, when he walked into the kitchen and found me kneeling in front of the recycling.

Him: What are you taking a picture of?

Me. [snickering] Uh, nothing.

SB then goes over there and INVESTIGATES THE AREA, then turns to me and says,

Him: Now I’m really curious!

Me: [further laughing at his expense, retreating to office to jot down this exchange.]

Ladies and gentlemen, even when his attention is drawn to it, he still doesn’t see it. Good thing he’s so cute.

Did Santa bring you all nice things? My favorite gifts were photography related, of course. I got this which will allow me to take dreamy looking old timey photos with my camera, and this spy lens, which will allow me to take pictures of people who don’t want to be photographed. HA! I’m actually most excited to use it for taking pictures of strangers on the street.

The main reason I came here today was to ask the advice of the seasoned mothers among you. In 3 days we will be leaving for NEW YORK CITY. Woot! (Long time readers will remember previous New Year’s trips, found here and here) We didn’t go last year because Clark was brand new, but we’re resuming our tradition! The fabulous friends we visit there have a kid now, too, so instead of a glamorous Manhattan New Year’s Eve, we will be celebrating in a rented cabin Upstate. We are so excited! HOWEVER, this little jaunt requares a long ass plane ride with our increasing sqirrelly and screechy 1 year old. So, ladies, bring on the tips and tricks. I’ve been collecting never before seen toys and planning snacks, but anything you can suggest would be greatly appreciated. The flight out there is a red eye, which could be awesome or TERRIBLE, but the flight back is an afternoon/evening. Also, what the heck am I supposed to do about the time change? Should I keep his schedule or try to make him conform to the East coast?

I hope everyone had great holidays! I have tons of disgustingly adorable photos of course, but not the time for uploading and editing and whatnot. Gah. I need to shower and plan a menu and get to the store before they get here so I better scram. Please fill my comments with all your tips for surviving travel, and inlaws, too.

Here is my Dad wearing them at 3 months old. He is apparently a starving immigrant child.

Things to notice: HOT grandma. How did she have time to paint her toes? Also, she apparently avoided Mom Butt.

And here’s Clark!

Things to notice: The rocking chair is also an heirloom. My Dad bought it for my Mom when she was pregnant with me. Both my sister and I were rocked in it and now I have it. And those feet! I had no idea that they were so big until we compared them to Clark’s little friend Viola’s, whose are like, half the size. He gets them from his Dad, for sure. That toe stacking thing? Totally SB.

We went to Stanley’s and sat in the bar. Lovely Tacoma was spread out all twinkly below, I was drinking a cocktail, and no one required anything of me. SB and I kept giggling a little every now and then because we were going to DO IT later. All was right with the world.

SB and I had already discussed by this point that we were pretty sure our waitress was high. She was friendly, but super spacey, and we needed to ask for everything twice. We weren’t in a hurry, though, so it was all good. She had just brought me my second drink when she goes…

Stoned Waitress: Are you a model?

Me: No! (blushing while desperately trying to swallow food and smile)

Stoned Waitress: Really? Because you have, like, perfect features.

Me: Thank you! (food is now swallowed, though I’m sure there’s something in my teeth)

Stoned Waitress: Do people tell you that all the time?

Me: No…(laughing uncomfortably, but smiling really big. Everyone loves a compliment)

She walked away and I turned back to SB, sitting up a little straighter, about to take back the mocking I’d done about her baked-ness, when SB made a tragic mistake.

SB: (Snort) She’s totally just trying to save her tip.

Me: (silence)

Me: You are such as asshole. Someone pays me a compliment and you say she just wants a tip?

SB: (silence while realization dawns)

SB: Please still have sex with me! (back pedal back pedal back pedal)

Uh huh. That’s what I thought. Jerk.

A couple of mornings ago, it was a work at home day, which means I got to sleep in until the delicious hour of 8am. They’d told us they were done. We hadn’t even seen them for a few days. We were growing accustomed to the peace and quiet. But then… BEEP CRASH BANG GROWL… at 7am on the dot. As we’ve exclaimed many times in the last 4 months, SB yelled, “I HATE THEM SO MUCH!” I was trying really hard not to wake up all the way, but then I felt him leap from the bed, stomp into the bathroom, and put on his robe. As I heard him stomping down the stairs, I wondered what he was doing, but kept trying to sleep. But then, I heard the front door open! And SB shouting at the workers, “HEY! I thought you guys couldn’t start until 8 o’clock!”

I couldn’t believe it! He actually went outside and yelled at them in his bathrobe! Isn’t that awesome? He’s totally that guy in the hood, shaking his fist and yelling at the construction workers in his bathrobe!

A few minutes later, a very nice worker guy came over and said that actually, they can start at 7, and that today would be the last day.

There is no more to this story. I wish I had a better ending. But I wanted to tell you that I’m married to “that guy” and get the baby guts picture off the top of my page. Thank you.

My fortune: You will do well to concentrate on practical mattters this week.
Translation: Get shit done.

SB’s fortune: Now is the time for peace in your life. Go along with other’s ideas.
Translation: Do whatever she says.

So… about 5 years ago now, on a crazy trip to Amsterdam, we made a naughty video. Yes, that kind of naughty video. Upon returning home, it was labeled DANGER and put in the safe. I would have gotten rid of it, but of course, a naughty video was exactly the kind of thing SB wanted to keep in his spy safe. This is why we were holding onto the big, heavy, useless piece of crap. There was NO WAY IN HELL that thing was ever leaving the house with that tape still inside. I would have carried that thing around for the rest of my life if I’d had to. In fact, I guess I would’ve had to have been buried with it.

On saturday, SB decided to try to crack the safe. He started with his lock picking set. (More faux spy stuff. Nerd!) I, as the Negative Nelly I can be, told him that since he can barely pick the lock on the bathroom door, that he was never going to manage that safe. He eventually agreed, and spent the next two hours going to town on that thing with every power tool possible, and finally got it open. SB, the safe cracker.

He triumphantly handed me the tape in the kitchen, and then rummaged for something in the tool drawer. I asked him to hand me that hammer, and he obediently did so.

As I began smashing the tape to smithereens, I was suddenly stopped by his girly shriek. I turned to see tears forming in his dewy eyes.

Apparently, we had different motivations for getting that tape out of the safe. He shoudn’t have handed me the hammer.