A colleague gave me a book of poetry as a parting gift from my previous job. I put down the dreadful paper this morning and read three poems about the morning. My favorite, by Jane Kenyon:

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

dim sum


We spent an hour of the rainy morning eating dim sum in a cavernous but crowded Chinese restaurant. Plastic tablecloths and food that shows up immediately on carts? Our kind of dining. We might make it a tradition.


Rumpus McBumpus

Bryan and I impulse-bought this fellow out on a date night about 9 months ago, having wandered into Toy Joy after a couple of beers and been beguiled by his round and bouncy charms. He’s apparently quite popular in Japan, and specially patterned for some significant anniversary. Suitable for ages 3 and up. The first time we put 18-month-old Annie on it, she promptly pitched off and hit her forehead on a door frame.

Recently, however, her legs have grown long enough to reach the ground around him, and she has caught onto the bouncing. I named him Rumpus McBumpus, but Annie calls him “Rabumpus Rabumpus.” She requests, “Some Rabumpus time maybe?”, rides him like a mechanical bull, and then obligingly hops off so that Paul can have a turn. Paul also loves Rabumpus though we have learned our baby lesson and keep a firm hold on him during his rides.

Ladies and gentlemen, Rumpus McBumpus.

done with dinner

done with dinner

Despite appearances,* she really enjoyed this risotto, an old favorite recipe perfect for the spring. We’ve been killing it with the meal planning lately. Weekend planning, a grocery-delivery assist from the gig economy, and then 5 nights of reasonably healthy, reasonably easy-to-cook meals, ready to eat before baby-bedtime at 7. I am patting us on the back.

*She’s upset because she needs a diaper change—the dinner table is her favorite venue for taking a dump.


more playing with food

Since we got the all-clear to let Annie experiment with solid food, we’ve been handing her chunks of whatever we’re eating to gnaw on. (You’ll remember the broccoli, one of her first foods, and perhaps also the green onion.) With supervision, she kind of sucks on it and gums it and, yeah, gags on it a little. It looks to us like good practice. When we described this in general terms to her pediatrician on Monday, she said knowingly, “Ah, you’re doing baby-led weaning,” and we probably made vague noises of assent.

Baby-led weaning, it turns out, is a whole thing. It sounds rather sensible and is clearly the product of parents thinking the way we did. I guess there’s some philosophy with a book for purchase and a brand attached to every choice you could make, but I’m rather proud of us—owners of a small library on how to raise a dog—for not knowing what they are.

(And now, Annie gnaws on a rib bone, video by The Grandparents K.)

good thinking, good writing

I found a new writing mentor. It’s exciting when it happens. I hope one day to be as wise and funny and put it all in writing as well as this random internet advice columnist. Or maybe I could do it right now if someone would give me a column… Okay, world, I invite you to send me a description of your problems, and I will tell you what to think and do. Go.