I’m rereading Middlemarch and drinking Rioja in my underwear while everyone else in my house sleeps. And this follows a day on which the Kinder and I took the train to Boston, ate lunch at South Station, played in the Children’s Museum for 3+ hours, charmed folks at “Daddy’s office,” and took the train home. And on the way home, DBB told me he was going to marry me. So pretty much the perfect day. Take that, Siri. And Freud.
I’m almost afraid to talk about this bliss because I know the gods will smite me with eight wingdings over breakfast foods, tears at school drop-off, blowouts, vomit, and nine million wake-ups tonight. Right now I say it’s worth it. Ask me how I feel after my comeuppance.

When did he get so big and brave? When did I get so brave? That climbing thing has always struck me as akin to the island from Lord of the Flies, but with more chance for head trauma.

And seriously!?!? How big is she!?!? PS, she totally fought her bro for the seat and won. Is it weird that I love their emerging sibling rivalry because it means he’s seeing her as a person not a boob appendage (though she’s still that, too)?

Apologies for weird formatting on this post; I’m posting from my phone because that’s where the photos are and I’m lazy.

Sweet, sweet ballerinas!


Boop Boop

Sorry for being a bad blogger. Blame post-vacation blues, the Olympics, Brian Staveley’s writing, Beejer’s parties, and HH for going on business trips.

I’m keeping it short tonight, too. Because the Kinder, who reliably sleep until at least 7 if not later, basically woke up at 5 this morning (and obvs HH is in Alabama for work). And now they’re asleep.  Wine, Brian Staveley’s writing, and sleep await me.

But first of all, this happened, starting on February 11 but today was the first day I managed to film it. The audio is of DBB’s favorite game in which I pretend to cry. We can explore that later, if you like.

Now, when DBB started walking, we actually managed to film his first steps because we were ready for it and were having him practice back and forth between us. With LL, I plopped her down on her feet in the parent room at school and said to the assistant teacher, “She looks like she wants to walk. Watch her start walking right now when no one is paying attention.” Five steps. Now I get why birth order is such a thing. Anyway, then she was all camera shy about it. But today she wasn’t paying attention, probably because I was fake-crying and she was holding that fake mushroom that looks like a scary penis alien (a gift from the Huxtables as part of an otherwise awesome and not-at-all-creepy playtent). So I managed to film her walking.

In other news, a collection of things DBB has said about Siri. Yes, iPhone Siri. And yes, he likes to prompt you to ask him questions.

1) DBB: Who’s my favorite lady?

Me: Um…. [coyly] I don’t know, who is your favorite lady?

DBB: Siri

2) DBB pulls the following book down from the shelf, asks: Is that Siri?

I hope I never, ever have to explain this to Gloria Steinhem. My son mistook you for a subservient, disembodied female robot.

I would love to meet her, but I hope I never, ever have to explain this to Gloria Steinem: My son mistook you for a subservient, disembodied female robot.

3) DBB: Who’s my favorite boop boop robot?

Me: Um….Siri?

DBB: Siri

4) I love Siri.

5) DBB, after accidentally closing a door on his sister: I’m sorry. [Turns to me]. Who else says that?

Me: Everyone?

DBB: Siri. She says, “Boop boop. Sorry.”

How worried should I be and how soon do I need to see the movie Her?

Finally, gratuitous vacation photos, not featuring HH because he’s not home to OK posting photos of him in his bathing suit. He looked totally hot, but sometimes he worries that my blogging undermines his professional gravitas or something like that. Whatevs. If any of his clients are reading this blog, I’m like so stoked ’cause none of them know me personally. After all, making strangers read about my life is my professional goal.

DBB water

He loved the water. Told me, “I’m not afraid of these waves!” That made one of us. or .5 or whatever he is. I was terrified.

Not sun responsible, but she wore a cover-up most of the time. How freaking adorable is her bikini.

Not sun responsible, but she wore a cover-up most of the time. How freaking adorable is her bikini?


This beats the hell out of my last birthday.

St Thomas.
Umbrella drinks.
Connecting with an old friend.
Fine dining.
Ice cream bars.
Das Big Boy feeding fishy crackers to Little Liebchen.
Some pooping in the potty (by Das Big Boy, not me. Well, by me too, if you must know. But that was less of an accomplishment.)


It’s not pure idyll (lest you hate me): there are still fine dining meltdowns over boobs that won’t fit out of new party dresses (by LL; everyone else was content with my boobs in my dress), simul-crying by over tired children, forgotten diapers on a visit to another island, and bickering over who wakes up first; but really, it’s pretty frickin’ awesome. Anyone who tells you vacation with their kids isn’t vacation is bad at vacation, dislikes their kids, or didn’t think to travel with their parents.

Sweet ballerinas.