the lepidopterist at rest

this post is alternately titled, "where can i get me some hyacinth shoes?"

presumably, butterflies don't read. and it follows that most don't blog, so. if you know any, please tell them that this summer, it would be wise to stay light of wing, so to speak. sleep with one eye open. lock your cocoon. flit, don't sit.

in other words, float away, you wee fairies! she wakes at dawn:

this one, on the other hand, poses less of a threat:
although, let's give her some props. she can totally sit up unassisted until she falls over. which is really hard to do when your entire body is made of cheeks: elbow cheeks, foot cheeks, neck cheeks, belly cheeks, very cheeky thighs and, of course, biscuit and face cheeks.

before you feel too sorry for the butterflies, you should know that Little was duly humbled at the arboretum on saturday when she was nearly eaten by this "peacot."

or so she thought. what really happened was that it lulled us into passivity by patiently sitting for photographs, then opened its pin-cushion head wide enough to swallow my baby and screamed for the suffering of motherless children, terror on the high seas, and man's inhumanity to man. it was more than startling: we all died a little inside. then we speed-walked to the mall for an orange julius.*

and now, [part of] a poem. about peacocks, because i feel like it.

from Fantasy
by Gwendolyn Bennett

I sailed in my dreams to the Land of Night
Where you were the dusk-eyed queen,
and there in the pallor of moon-veiled light
The loveliest things were seen ...

A slim-necked peacock sauntered there
In a garden of lavender hues,
And you were strange with your purple hair
As you sat in your amethyst chair
With your feet in your hyacinth shoes ...

*but really we drove. pretty fast.

first 'scream of the summer

it is so good.

when giraffes kiss

"you have to be always drunk"

Liv wakes up in the morning with an expression on her face that i would kill to catch on camera.* here's what i think she'd be saying if she could speak English like a normal person: "This is wonderful! YOU are wonderful! now you're going to feed me? Okay! WONDERFUL!"

to get the full effect you have to imagine it in Luke Wilson's voice. ("Denver! Gorgeous!")

i know i'm putting a lot of emphasis in the text. but it takes a lot of italics and bold caps to describe how it feels to wake up to this kind of reception. non-parents, imagine it this way:

it's like having your boss make all your coworkers stand up and clap for your performance (as coincidentally just happened to eric); or, having men on the other side of the street yell, "you are BEAUTIFUL!" when you are just strolling down the street minding your business and looking hot (as coincidentally just happened to lauren. of course, it is possible this is the same man who later urinated in front of me, but probably not. probably he was a talent scout for a major modeling agency).

you can see why i need some validation to feel competitive.

so i am proud to announce that Wee has recently graduated from the pterodactyl school of vocal performance. she delights us nightly with joyful songs and recitals of edgar allen poe's, The Raven.

=

*********

back to my angst. you might remember the moment from the movie, Finding Neverland, when J.M. Barrie says that young boys [and girls] should never be sent to bed because they always wake up a day older. i get that. i am just so reluctant to move my baby bundle out of our bed and into her own. but then Little sneaks into our room at 5:30 am, kisses bim, and positions herself horizontally on the (formerly sleeping) persons she lovingly refers to as "my flammy." and i remember why they invented cribs.

i guess it's a fight that nobody can win: the unbearable sweetness of tiny versus the breathtaking wonder of growth. time just takes what it wants. but i think i may have found a solution: Be Drunk

thanks a bunch, baudelaire. i wish to be drunk on the deliciousness of my little girls. and diet coke.

*but, seriously. sleeping with the camera in the bed is another step closer to becoming insane lady scrapbooker. our ship (aka, our bed) is probably one photographic apparatus shy of sinking under the already ridiculous weight of toys, diapers and mandatory baby detritus. it's not hastening anyone off to dreamland--we leave that to the coma-inducing circus of activity our girls provide. our mattress should be advertised as fully accessible to toddlers, irresistible to infants & sleep-optional.

"quoth the raven, nevermore."

when stars collide

we left our car in the parking garage. there is "no overnight parking." there are "no exceptions."

suckas.

we showed them by sleeping over with the diaz trio, watching heroes and fireworks, and hoping our car was still there in the morning. it was. happy fourth of july.

remember that roommate who used to sleep with a knife under her pillow?

turns out she was SO RIGHT. and now, a short quiz:

1. why are there enough flies in my house to reenact a certain william golding novel?
2. why do i have the air conditioning blowing at 10:55 pm?
3. why are hubs and i revisiting our debate about the merits vs. evils of television?

answer: we got burgled!

hubs thought i was joking when i told him. the police officer believed me, and after he was done taking a report and basically telling me not to hold my breath, Little offered him a dollar for his trouble.

the post-theft thrill is wearing out and now i sort of feel like i did when i finally got those glasses in junior high and realized it wasn't that cool and, in fact, was a little bit of a pain.

i mean, if they really needed our flat screen tv and playstation that badly, they could have just asked me for it.

SHA! but seriously, i did get to call 911, which was just as awesome as you hope it's going to be. actual detectives will be coming to my house.



if i sound flippant, it's only because everything i really care about is still safe and sound. i'm thankful. also i got to put "evidence" in bags to be fingerprinted. oh yes, i did.