quit work make crafts

What a smashing wedding that was.

The full text of a marvelous prayer I mentioned to amazon_syren, from the protestant ceremony:

Give them wisdom and devotion in the ordering of their common life, that each may be to the other a strength in need, a counselor in perplexity, a comfort in sorrow, and a companion in joy.

Grant that their wills may be so knit together in your will, and their spirits in your Spirit, that they may grow in love and peace with you and one another all the days of their life.

Give them grace, when they hurt each other, to recognize and acknowledge their fault, and to seek each other's forgiveness and yours.

Make their life together a sign of Christ's love to this sinful and broken world, that unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt, and joy conquer despair.

Give them such fulfillment of their mutual affection that they may reach out in love and concern for others.

Grant that all married persons who have witnessed these vows may find their lives strengthened and their loyalties confirmed.

Grant that the bonds of our common humanity, by which all your children are united to one another, and the living to the dead, may be so transformed by your grace, that your will may be done on earth as it is in heaven; where, O Father, with your Son and the Holy Spirit, you live and reign in perfect unity, now and forever.

And this kickass and totally thematic song has gone straight to my list of favourites:

We're different people
But we're not scared
We ain't never scared
To pave a new path
Make a new street
Build a new bridge

Siiiiiiigh. I will not be meeting the dress code tomorrow. The only fabulous dress that fit at all was thoroughly impractical: $160 (and this on sale) and impossible to wear more than about once a year, given its formality and alarming boobaciousness. But man, foregoing it for more level-headed finery was depressing.

Stitchin. Bitchin. Tomorrow night, Earl of Sussex, starting 6:30ish. I'll be there 8ish.

Meanwhile: beeedddddddddd.

My 40-something mom coworkers telling me that yeah, your own projects do get put on hold for a while, but after about ten years you start to get some time for yourself again.

Seriously, guys? Seriously?

I need a pick-me-up.

There are few better pick-me-ups than artistically arranged raw fish.

SO. Sushi 88. Say, Thursday night, 8:30 PM.

Who's with me???

Reading Pink Brain, Blue Brain, a book about neurobiology, children's development, and whether the differences between the sexes are hardwired or not.

Fascinating tidbit - I would completely have rolled my eyes at the idea that toy preferences are even partly biology-based, but:

"The study...tested one-year-old [vervet monkeys] for their interest in a number of conventional human toys. The males spent more time exploring a ball and a toy police car, while the females spent more time with a rag doll and - more mysteriously - a red cooking pot. But the two sexes did not differ in the amount of time they spent exploring two gender-neutral toys (a stuffed dog and a picture book). ... The draw towards babies may also explain the female vervets' seemingly inexplicable interest in the cooking pot. While human girls may perceive cooking as a female task, vervet monkeys obviously don't. However, the red pot in this study is close to the facial hue of vervet infants, and so it may be the color that lures them." These results have apparently been repeated.

Hilarious tidbit, regarding that "math is hard" debacle with Barbies:

The uproar came fast and furious...so Mattel promptly removed the line about math from the sound chip. Not, however, before the subversive Barbie Liberation Organization had a chance to switch the chips between several hundred Barbies and G.I. Joe dolls. Imagine all the little girls that Christmas unwrapping the beloved doll only to hear her growl, 'Vengeance is mine!' while boys heard their musclebound warrior chirp, 'Let's plan our dream wedding!'"

I am totally NOT BIDDING on this auction full of adorable and stylish baby clothes for not-actually-that-much-cheaper-than-new. Nope. Not me. Not even a little. Behold my willpower.

*deep breaths*

Today the Zoodle is one year old.

She has eight teeth (four top, four bottom). She makes a hilarious wrinkly-nosed mischievous grin. She sleeps with her face mooshed into a fuzzy pink bear that sinvokasha got her. She loves books: she will page happily through them by herself almost indefinitely; when read to, she will rage at you for stopping, even after a stack of fifteen books. She loves to jump up and down. She can clap almost in time with a song. She can point to noses, ears, mouths, and the red balloon in Goodnight Moon. She's not too fussed about chocolate cake but adores cranberry muffins. She prefers to scoot across the room on her bum rather than crawl. She loves cats and dogs and animals of all kinds; her favourite books involve large colourful pictures of same. Last night she didn't get to sleep until past 8, in part because she kept detaching herself from my boob to make very sentence-like comments in a tone that sounded like "oh, hey, I just thought of something!"

Happy birthday, my beautiful, brilliant, fabulous baby. You are my delight.

I has a serious tired.

I was sort of resigned to this as part of the whole working mother gig, but Corey thinks I should see the doctor, since we're both on similar schedules and workloads but there's a major disparity in our energy levels. I suppose he has a point. This isn't one of those "my husband HONESTLY THINKS he's doing half the work, THE FOOL" deals, after all, because - being a prince among men - he really is doing half the work. We both get up at 6 (or before, depending on when our zoodly alarm clock wakes up), we both wrangle her for about an hour before going to work, we both work a 7.5h day, we both wrangle her for about an hour before she goes to bed. I don't know. The doctor would probably just tell me to eat better and maybe make me go get stabbed and that would be the end of it.

But on the other hand...I don't know. I don't understand. No, I don't eat particularly well, but neither does he. And somehow I'm the only one sagging with exhaustion at 8 PM. I'd be afraid I was pregnant again, but given that Aunt Flo just came and went, that makes no sense, and given ongoing breastfeeding, birth control and backup, it makes even less sense. Is there some reason my cycle returning should wipe me out like this?

WTF, biology. I hate you.

Corey, being a prince among men, heard my bitching about how dry and itchy my legs were and sprung a surprise body treatment chez Holtz Spa on me.

OMFG. From the change room, where I exchanged clothes for a soft fuzzy bathrobe, I was led to the Lounge, where I had a cup of tea and read a magazine for a few minutes. Thence into a little room with candles and soft lighting and music, where I lay on a squishy-but-firm heated table while a lady scrubbed me all over with a bristly glove and then slathered me with warm smelly goo. And THEN after she wrapped me up in soft blankets, the bottom of the table sort of disappeared and the top blanket filled up with hot water, and the lady massaged my brain for a bit before leaving me to just about fall asleep. After she peeled me out again, I swanned back to the lounge in my fuzzy bathrobe for another cup of tea before changing back into my clothes and hitting the road.

Does a more fabulous relaxing sensual experience exist??? I THINK NOT.

What I also really appreciated about this place was that, unlike other spas I've been to, I did not encounter any little awkward moments that made me feel all self-conscious and weird about the fact that I don't perform femininity like your average spa customer. (Mind you, I did shave my legs before going.) And there was no pitching of bullshit beauty products or asking after my current skin care regime or anything like that.

In sum, it was freaking awesome. I do believe I'll be back for more at some point!

( Cut for feminine TMI. )

Why is it that the night I don't get to bed until 11:30 - and not to sleep till later than that - is immediately followed by the morning Rose is up at 4:30 and won't go back to sleep?

The bitchin stitchery continues! This time at a new location: The Highlander, on Rideau Street, so as to be more accessible from the Transitway. commodorified has said she'll be there 6:30ish. I can't make it till more like 8, due to zoodly bedtime routines, so I will find y'all there.

Last night I burst into tears on the way home from a party where we met a woman and her three-week-old baby. Don't ask me, I'm not sure I can explain it. At first I was like "OH NO YOU DON'T OVARIES" but then I realized the pang I was feeling was not so much longing for another baby (although that's in there somewhere) as missing the Zoodle when she was so very tiny, as she never will be again.

I don't know, it sounds ridiculous when I write it out, she's not even a year old. Maybe this week has been harder on me than I thought.

Today I am...pretty fried. Grumpy for no reason. I think I need some time to myself. Maybe I'll head to the studio over naptime, since Corey's taking the Zoo to get groceries and library books this afternoon.

Well. We all survived the week.

After some initial (and surprisingly stressful) bumps in the daycare logistics road, we seem to have the timing more or less ironed out, so hopefully that will continue to work. The Zoodle is adjusting well. I, meanwhile, am feeling reasonably positive about things. I'm starting to get my sea legs at work; I feel needed and competent and generally better about it than I had in a long time. It is, oddly enough, nice to be back.

But oh I am tired. I was falling asleep over my Vesey's catalogue last night, so I said to hell with it and went to bed at 8:30. I slept like a rock and still I am tired. People warned me about this, but it never really sank in what it would mean, y'know? It's like it takes everything we've got just to get everyone where they need to go and get the baby decently fed. This does not bode well for projects. I live in hope of getting used to this and finding a second wind somewhere.

I have not really updated lately because mostly what I have to say is "I am tired".

I am reeeeeeeally freakin tired.

I see no end to the tired. Which makes me more tired.

I mean, don't get me wrong, things range from positive to awesome on all fronts, really. They're just...tiring.

I am afraid I won't have energy for projects. Principally I want to go to Art in the Park but I don't know if I have production mode in me this year. I am afraid it will get prioritized off my plate. If it does there will be no help for it, because zoodly time comes first and work second and, well, that's just that, and I will shrug and be reasonably happy with getting the important stuff taken care of. I WANT to stuff all the little pieces of pre-baby life in around the cracks. But I just don't know if they all fit.

The Order of the Sticks and Strings convenes once again tomorrow night! Same bat time, same bat channel: 8PM, Arrow & Loon (Bank & Fifth).

OMFG YOU GUYS.

Corey got me a kitchenaid for christmas.

A CHERRY RED KITCHENAID STAND MIXER.

<--- is obviously married to a prince among men

What do I make first??

And, with exquisitely stupid timing, I have come down with a cold.

GOD DAMN IT.

And holy crap looking after a baby gets a lot harder when you're sick.

So now that the first phase of my mad holiday cookery is complete, what do I have to do...

* assemble grocery list of christmas cookery
- xmas dinner
- sugar cookies
- butter tarts
- pie
- more eggnog
* above-mentioned christmas cookery
* buy and schlep home a christmas tree
* get prescription and wrapping paper from the drugstore
* make 4th bedroom habitable for when my sisters get here