The Accountant

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My mom told me that babies’ hair falls out and grows back in differently, and not to get attached to the sweet, sweet curls on Reiden’s head.

I just wasn’t prepared for it to happen so fast or so evenly, in a perfectly straight ring around the Larry David.

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There wasn’t even time for a combover.

Not bad, for a Monday

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Occasionally, I run into people I know as I’m strolling around with Reiden. I am always thrown a little off guard, when the person I’ve run into asks how things are going, and what I have been up to. “Oh, well, this,” I say, pointing at Rei, laughing. It’s always a little bit awkward. A baby is such a monumental change that it’s easy to be struck dumb when I’m forced to step back and describe how things “are”.

If I have plans to see friends, I’ll do a little thinking in advance. How are things going, really? What else am I doing? Because I *am* doing other things, like writing and traveling and reading and seeing people and cooking and trying to exercise. (And watching a whole lot of Community.)

But some days, there’s not much of anything. When a day is made up of nursing and a bit of play time and an overtired baby falling asleep on me for hours, the most exciting things are often rather mundane. I was in my bedroom for 90% of the day today. I don’t always get out much.

Then again, sometimes the thing that you’re still excited about, at 10:00 at night, is just too weird and/or trivial to tell anyone about. Even if, as a mother, you find it fascinating.

So yes. This morning, when I figured out that I could successfully use the NoseFrida snot sucker on Reiden 1. by myself, 2. without making her cry, 3. while making her smile, in fact?

Well.

I was triumphant. I whirled around the room and whooped. “I did it!” I shrieked, grinning at Rei. “And without Daddy!”

Monday, eat your heart out.

Baby It’s (Not Really So) Cold Outside

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Yesterday, the weather report announced an extreme cold alert for Toronto, and advised that exposed skin could freeze in 10 minutes. It was something like -42 C, with wind chill.

“I’m not going anywhere!” I announced to Peter. And neither was my baby. “Her skin could freeze! In TEN minutes! TEN!”

By 3:00 today I was suffering from a bad case of cabin fever. “I guess I’ll take a walk,” I said.

In preparation, I piled on:

  • two pairs of pants
  • a lumberjack shirt over my dress
  • the largest mittens I own
  • faux-Sorel winter boots
  • an infinity scarf
  • one of those Russian secret agent hats that either looks really hip or slightly ridiculous, I haven’t decided, but I put it on at least once every winter when the cold breaks me

I stepped outside and pressed my scarf up around my face. No way was I going to lose my nose. But down on College street, I was dismayed to see people out and about, in various states of weather-snubbing attire (or lack of):

  • at least eight people without gloves, including an elderly woman
  • several men without hats, including a bald man
  • a baby!

I grumbled about them all the way home. Who were these people? What was wrong with them? Did they not care about their fingers? Their ears? “Ain’t no time to be a hero, people,” I muttered to myself. “Ain’t no time to be a hero.”

I got inside and told Peter about all the weather-flaunters. “People be crazy,” I said, pulling up CBC Weather to show him how low the temperature was.

It had risen to a balmy -13 C.

Heh.

Cough.

Idiot.

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Dinner a la Pete

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Earlier today, we were discussing dinner. We had plans to go to an afternoon NYE get-together, and would be getting home around 7:00. “It’ll be too late to make anything,” I was saying. “And anyway, I’ll need to get Rei into bed.”

“Hmm,” said Peter.

A little while later, he returned home after running an errand. “Hey!” he said. “So I was thinking, what is really fast to cook, AND is delicious?”

“What?” I said.

“Gnocchi!” he said. “We have that gnocchi in the fridge!”

“What about sauce?”

“Remember? We bought sauce! And while I was out, I picked up some sourdough bread! I can quickly make dinner when we get home from the party!”

God bless a man who can get that excited over packaged pasta and bottled sauce. God bless his sweet, happy little heart.