![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feldmanMr. F and I married ten years ago today, though our real anniversary
is a nebulous point fourteen autumns past when we shifted into binary
orbit. We're celebrating by getting physicals and flu vaccinations.
No, really, it is romantic. In the same way it was romantic
when we went canoeing that one time (my first and our only time so
far), and we miscalculated the trip back and ended up having to canoe
our chubby selves six miles upstream with two portage spots, and
didn't rip each other's heads off and spitefully shit down each
other's necks. See? Romance abounds.
It does, actually, but it's not the kind easily conveyed in a video
montage set to some emo chick with a guitar*. It's weirder and
bigger and more comfortable and surprising and sometimes a lot of work
and I don't ever want to live anywhere else.
*Note to Alanis Morrisette: I heard you on "House" last
night and I want to give you major kudos to growing into your voice so
wonderfully. I now get what you'd been trying to do all along with
the weird-ass phrasing and forgive you for bugging the crap out of me
all these years. Mostly.
At just over a year, Cmonkey is rocking toddlerhood: she runs (albeit
with a weird gait), feeds herself with fork and spoon (80% hit rate),
can almost put on her own shirts, and is testing all kinds of physical
and social boundaries. I tried coaxing her to use the crayons on
paper and so she chewed and ate them at me until she gagged
(insert 'technicolor yawn' joke here). Okay, then. Don't pick a hill
you don't want to die on, momma. Got it.
We refitted her room on the cheap at Ikea with a nifty
playrug we like to call "Oh City, my City!" (tm The Tick). She
peed on the igloo in the southwest corner. She also has a tent to
chilll out in and some
cookware. Mr. F is amazed at her ability to imitate him, as she's
been pounding, mashing, stirring and making us taste things for days
now.
I did another walk/run again last night, noneventfully either way. I
hit a moment where I was really nauseous at the end of one running
jaunt, but I'm remarkably un-sore today. I think it was a blood sugar
thing as it was right before dinner. Afterward the Cmonkey barged in
and watched me shower, as if asking, "Don't you know there's meatloaf
waiting?" and I could only agree and rinse faster.
I really need to figure out how to answer comments. My keyboard at
home is a bust (not the peripheral, but the access point itself and
hence far more expensive) and I'd rather not log in to LJ at work. I
may have to commandeer Mr. F's one night and have a comment-frenzy.
is a nebulous point fourteen autumns past when we shifted into binary
orbit. We're celebrating by getting physicals and flu vaccinations.
No, really, it is romantic. In the same way it was romantic
when we went canoeing that one time (my first and our only time so
far), and we miscalculated the trip back and ended up having to canoe
our chubby selves six miles upstream with two portage spots, and
didn't rip each other's heads off and spitefully shit down each
other's necks. See? Romance abounds.
It does, actually, but it's not the kind easily conveyed in a video
montage set to some emo chick with a guitar*. It's weirder and
bigger and more comfortable and surprising and sometimes a lot of work
and I don't ever want to live anywhere else.
*Note to Alanis Morrisette: I heard you on "House" last
night and I want to give you major kudos to growing into your voice so
wonderfully. I now get what you'd been trying to do all along with
the weird-ass phrasing and forgive you for bugging the crap out of me
all these years. Mostly.
At just over a year, Cmonkey is rocking toddlerhood: she runs (albeit
with a weird gait), feeds herself with fork and spoon (80% hit rate),
can almost put on her own shirts, and is testing all kinds of physical
and social boundaries. I tried coaxing her to use the crayons on
paper and so she chewed and ate them at me until she gagged
(insert 'technicolor yawn' joke here). Okay, then. Don't pick a hill
you don't want to die on, momma. Got it.
We refitted her room on the cheap at Ikea with a nifty
playrug we like to call "Oh City, my City!" (tm The Tick). She
peed on the igloo in the southwest corner. She also has a tent to
chilll out in and some
cookware. Mr. F is amazed at her ability to imitate him, as she's
been pounding, mashing, stirring and making us taste things for days
now.
I did another walk/run again last night, noneventfully either way. I
hit a moment where I was really nauseous at the end of one running
jaunt, but I'm remarkably un-sore today. I think it was a blood sugar
thing as it was right before dinner. Afterward the Cmonkey barged in
and watched me shower, as if asking, "Don't you know there's meatloaf
waiting?" and I could only agree and rinse faster.
I really need to figure out how to answer comments. My keyboard at
home is a bust (not the peripheral, but the access point itself and
hence far more expensive) and I'd rather not log in to LJ at work. I
may have to commandeer Mr. F's one night and have a comment-frenzy.
