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I know you've seen this site, but be sure you check out the otters. Awww, who's a smooshy widdle otterkins?


Frisbee + mud = Dog Nirvana.




Friday, February 24, 2006

The amount of work that goes into a remodel, at least where we live, is nuts. I don't know how many hours JB has spent getting quotes, talking with contractors, and filing millions of different building permits with the city, but if you lined them all up end to end I'm sure they would reach to Uranus and back, if you'll excuse both the sudden shift from temporal measurement to geographical and pointless inclusion of the word "Uranus".

Heh. Reach to Uranus.

To briefly recap what we're doing, we're adding a two car garage and expanding a bedroom and bathroom. The actual progress that's been made to date includes removing a tree and laying the foundation for the garage, so all we have to do now is frame in the construction for the addition and garage and extend the east end of the house by a few hundred feet and complete all the interior work including electrical and plumbing and cabinetry and countertops for the bathroom and flooring and walls for the bathroom and bedroom, all without going broke and/or killing each other. Hopefully.

The demolition work is set to begin on Monday, which means that the rooms which currently serve as our office and master bathroom must be emptied. Not the easiest of tasks, considering that the problem that sparked all this work to begin with is a lack of storage. The bathroom is bad enough, with its collection of hair dryers, bath bombs, dried-up Dayquil bottles, Q-tips, and assortment of razors with progressively ridiculous blade configurations ("The Dieciocho by Gillette! With lubricating skin guard, knurled elastomeric crescents, and eighteen individually suspended blades for the closest and most neurotic shave!"); all that stuff has to be wedged into our much smaller guest bathroom.

The office is worse because there's nowhere for everything to go. Computers, giant IKEA table, forty hundred pieces of dive gear, severed deer head, printer, map case, shelves of books, filing cabinet...the only thing we can do is pile things in the living room, which is just as attractive and zenlike as you might imagine.

JB has promised that we won't be living in total chaos for "very long", but this is the same man who once repeatedly told me we were "almost there" on a summer hike that ended up being TEN MILES round trip.

It should be very nice when it's all done. I'll just keep repeating that in my head. It should be very nice when it's all done.


In the last couple weeks Riley has become much more engaged with his exersaucer thing; he carefully rotates through each toy now with frowning concentration, pulling on this or bashing on that. It's clear he understands which part of the toy makes the noise (MOO MEOW VACA WOOF DOG CAT GATO MOO etfuckcetera), and which pieces he can move around. It's sort of amazing to watch, really.

Also, he does the most freakishly cute smile now, where he gets all coy and scrunches up his nose or turns his head when he's beaming at you. It's extremely flirtatious and adorable and almost makes up for the occasional carrot-food poops (orange! and disgusting!) he's capable of producing.

Speaking of food, his pediatrician told me that we should still be feeding him rice cereal for the iron. "Three times a day is what we recommend," she said as I stared in dismay. Three times a day, is she kidding? The boy has moved on, people. He savors apples and banana and sweet peas and, god help me, carrots; the rice cereal is soooo two months ago. I tried feeding him the oatmeal variety hoping that he'd like the taste better, but NEIN. I can't blame him, if I had the choice between bland-ass cereal and strained peaches I'd...okay, the peaches smell like hell, but I have to assume the Gerber Organics are a taste sensation in comparison. I guess I'll mix the cereal with fruit and see if he's down with that, otherwise, it's Baby's First Chicken Livers for Riley.



(It should be very nice when it's all done...)



I woke up to a dusting of snow this morning.


Poor daffodils, they had just decided to open up, too.


We were promised mild winters! Fuck this, we're all going to die and leave your yard a barren wasteland of dog feces.



Come on, SEVENS.


That there is the Mister Lion puppet. Mister Lion has a freaky high-pitched voice and often says things like "Hi Riley! I'm Mister Lion! Apparently I am part marsupial! Can you say marsupial?" Riley loooves Mister Lion.


Look, the boy can almost sit upright now! If he's assisted. And surrounded by soft things if he suddenly lists starboard.


He is hidden! And slightly psychotic looking! No more Mister Lion for you, kid.


Ah, the love for a boy and his octopus.


Er, make that octopuses.


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