Boo Bands

The last week or two has gone by in a blur. While T was in California we had to learn to cope without him, and once he came back there was the inevitable adjustment to re-including him in our daily lives. Along with that was the not unexpected friction which, thank goodness, we finally appear to have made it through. Things are settling back into a comfortable routine of sorts.

This is, of course, both good and bad. When things are comfortable and routine, I get a sense of accomplishment at how smoothly life can run. On the other hand, I also have ample time to consider just how crazy I actually am. In my defense, though, lately it seems everyone else in the world is crazy, too.

But I digress. Toby had his first rice cereal tonight - marking his first culinary adventure beyond breastmilk.

Jack has become obsessed with bandaids, which he calls "Boo Bands" (I suppose because Bandaids cover boo-boos?) and almost every day finds an "owie" (whether real or imaginary) and demands it be covered with a "boo band". Somewhere in the back of my head, I remember a time when bandaids covered a multitude of ills. There are a lot of times, recently, when I wish things could still be so simple - that a piece of plastic and gauze could mend all of wounds life can inflict. And though I find it totally inconvenient at times (it's difficult to argue with a 2 year old, even if you ARE certain that he originally asked that that bandage go on the OTHER finger five minutes ago) I also find it incredibly charming.

I finally decided that things are in such a bizarre state it is only appropos that we should mark this time with professional photography. In that vein, we now have an appointment with JC Penney portrait studio this weekend.

I am still dealing with the reverberations of this momentous decision. It will take me months to cope with the involuntary self-loathing spawned when I immediately started planning perfectly color coordinated outfits for all of us to wear. Seriously - I even bought the boys matching shirts. I really ought to be flogged in the town square and forced to watch reruns of The Tony Danza Show until my eyes fall out.

Oh, and in just over an hour I will officially be one year closer to 30. Not that there's anything wrong with that.