Archive for February, 2009


We might be done moving by day’s end.

I might have thrown my back out. Again.

Naiah might have lost my new purse, with the old house key inside.

The twins might be the most helpful seven-year-olds on Earth.

I might have to lie down now and let the ibuprofen kick in.


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Because of a Book

And rampant curiosity. . .

The Categorized Future Experiment Shopping List:


Spontaneous lab time (in the living room!):



It changed color! Just kidding. That’s Sarah’s.



The findings:


And yes, Lisa H. You must scour Bart’s and find it!


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Anna’s Baby Doll Wrap

It seems my weakness for baby carriers, old and new, is spreading. . .

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More Adventures in Moving

I crashed a moving truck into a house today. Because that’s the kind of brilliant I am.

But no worries. I’m fine.

Ella is fine.

The truck is fine.

The house, sadly, is broken.

“Just how do you crash a moving truck into a house?” you might ask.

Well, I’ll tell you.

You buckle the baby into the truck with you– the truck which, by the way, you really shouldn’t drive because your name appears nowhere on the rental agreement.

You read all the little warnings and instructions on the stickers in the cab, so as not to harm the truck you shouldn’t be driving.

You check that the lights are on; windshield wipers are on.

You set off down the road, slowly, in heavy rain.

One block from the house, you think, Okay, I need to stay back from the carport so I don’t run into it. And as you approach the driveway, you think, okay I’ll just nose the cab under the carport a little so the baby and I don’t get wet, but I’ve got to stay back so I don’t run into the roof. Then as you turn into the driveway you bump over a pile of snow and think, Oh, I hope that didn’t hurt anyth– CRASH! And for a split second you wonder what that sound was, and then your foot remembers to brake, and you think, Um, did I just hit the house? Then you get out of the truck and stand in the pouring rain looking up at the broken siding and ceiling and the gaping black hole in what was once a cheerful, unbroken, butter yellow carport.

And then you take your baby inside the house. And laugh. And bid farewell to your cleaning deposit.

That’s how.

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There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Well, maybe not so much on that ‘horrid’ part.

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Once or twice a month we stop by our local new and used book seller. They have an awesome, close-knit staff who are friendly and knowledgeable and passionate about books and reading. They’ll make you think twice about saving money at Amazon, especially on the used stuff, which is usually cheaper in-store, if you factor in shipping.

Anyway, today we stopped by to look for A.A. Milne (Naiah’s new favorite author), some bios for the girls, and easy reading for the boy. We checked out with quite a stack. At the counter. . .

Sarah (age 7): Mommy, why are we getting so many books?

Clerk: Because you guys read a TON!

Sarah: Oh.

Me: Plus, you guys keep asking for more nonfiction, so I picked up a bunch of that.

Anna and Sarah: EEEeeek!!! YES!! NONFICTION!!!

Clerk: Dude.


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But Not Every One is Right

I’ve been reading whatever I can lately on the way mothers carry their babies in different times and cultures all over the world. Tonight the Google search turned up a short story from Macao.

Macao is a strange place, not quite Portuguese, and not quite Cantonese, independent, but colonized. It was just across the pond from us when we lived in Hong Kong, and you could feel it close around you in the little fishing towns along the coast. This story captured the cultural/generational tension so beautifully that I had to share:

Ways to Carry a Baby, by Ting Man Tsao

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