When I can't write I look back over my past posts, hoping for inspiration. That one in particular makes me smile ruefully as nearly all of those "can't waits" have happened and I must say I was far more excited to write about them then I was to experience them.
I think I'm just going to have to write about my baby and forget about trying to keep abreast (bah ha ha ha!!!) of anything else interesting that's going on in the rest of the world.
So, welcome to my sleep-deprived boring life! You'll get tired of me apologizing for the boringness. I'm already tired of me complaining of the boringness. Let us begin.
My book supplier (I'm an addict; thank goodness she hooks me up for free) tossed a few fiction pieces into the bag. I gave them a chance and am not impressed. It's one thing to read of adultery that has actually happened and mull over it's effects and the things people did or did not learn as a result and the real life consequences. But when I read of unfaithfulness in a novel it means that someone else came up with the story to use as a form of entertainment and I just do not have the patience to wait around and see if they learned anything because no one really learned anything, actually. Because it all came out of one person's head and unless I know that person personally then I'm just not interested. Truth is stranger than fiction anyhow.
I threw the adulterous book into the trash. I blame Hombre Sin Nombre (uncle) for instilling in me such a violent love for truth. I'm noticing that I have less and less time for movies, too. Why? Why is it OK to sit and watch things happen on screen (I'm talking about sex and violence, mostly) that we would never stand for happening in our own homes? And yet there it is in our own homes in that nice little box we call a TV where it's some how OK. I'm all for movies based on a true story and I'm far more accepting of "inappropriate content" in those movies because it probably actually happened, which to me is a better reason to think about it or discuss it. This is just how I am and part of why we don't have a TV in our house. The other reason is that it eats up time that could be better spent elsewhere. Like reading the blogs of complete strangers! =)
Kate has begun using her legs of steel (she gets them from her father) to inch forward while lying on her tummy. First she'll push up on her arms and look around for a while until her arms (which are weak and puny because she got them from me [noodle-armed-white-girl, anyone?]) get tired. Then she plops her head down and digs her toes into the blanket and "walks" along the floor, bottom in the air, plowing along with her head, useless arms at her sides. She doesn't get very far and I don't believe she's discovered that this is a method of getting herself from point A to point B but at least it's a beginning. My mother told me that babies who don't learn to crawl have trouble reading later on (at least I think that's what she said) and so now I'm even more eager for Kate to enjoy tummy time.
I've learned that it's hard to be the mother of a baby at a certain event and also be taking pictures at the same event. I take so few pictures these days.
Here's an old picture of mine that I just love; the merry-go-round was in motion and Tyler faces into the wind: