No news is good news, I guess.
I spent some time last night writing a great blog post in my head. It was great! It was witty and pithy and stuff. I've totally forgotten it, and no amount of staring at the screen will bring it back, apparently.
Anyway, I just cut my hair. Skipper keeps pulling it, and I hated the length it was at. I have super-fine hair,* and when it gets long, it gets really flat and nasty and I look like a balding hippie of the unsavory, unwashed, unphotogenic variety. Now it's shorter, and I feel lighter of heart, even though now I look like an unsavory hippie whose hair has been gnawed by rats. I always cut my hair when I'm feeling a little insane, which I am definitely feeling at the moment.
In the non-insane news, Dutch just began her last session of swim lessons, at the glorious Otter level. This means that summer is winding down. The kids start daycare at the end of September, and I am trying to write a letter, as requested by Skipper's teachers-to-be, describing her. It's pretty hard, trying to describe a 4-month-old child's personality. Cook was stumped when I told him about the assignment. "Um... she's kind of squeaky? She eats? And sleeps? And... poops?" I find myself writing things like "she really enjoys kicking her legs," which is just pointless, as I'm pretty sure that they weren't planning to bind her legs or anything. The letter will also be seriously outdated by the time she gets to daycare - she'll have lived 25% longer, and will be different in most ways. Maybe leg-kicking will go the way of the sleepy songs and the long nighttime sleeps.
Also, we'll be moving soon, to a different part of Portland. I'll tell you all about it later.
*One of Cook's physical attributes that I deeply envy is his thick, luxuriant hair. The other is his ridiculously lush eyelashes, that would be totally appropriate for a small cartoon animal of the adorable variety. Dutch inherited them, though Skipper seems to have missed that particular genetic boat.
Anyway, I just cut my hair. Skipper keeps pulling it, and I hated the length it was at. I have super-fine hair,* and when it gets long, it gets really flat and nasty and I look like a balding hippie of the unsavory, unwashed, unphotogenic variety. Now it's shorter, and I feel lighter of heart, even though now I look like an unsavory hippie whose hair has been gnawed by rats. I always cut my hair when I'm feeling a little insane, which I am definitely feeling at the moment.
In the non-insane news, Dutch just began her last session of swim lessons, at the glorious Otter level. This means that summer is winding down. The kids start daycare at the end of September, and I am trying to write a letter, as requested by Skipper's teachers-to-be, describing her. It's pretty hard, trying to describe a 4-month-old child's personality. Cook was stumped when I told him about the assignment. "Um... she's kind of squeaky? She eats? And sleeps? And... poops?" I find myself writing things like "she really enjoys kicking her legs," which is just pointless, as I'm pretty sure that they weren't planning to bind her legs or anything. The letter will also be seriously outdated by the time she gets to daycare - she'll have lived 25% longer, and will be different in most ways. Maybe leg-kicking will go the way of the sleepy songs and the long nighttime sleeps.
Also, we'll be moving soon, to a different part of Portland. I'll tell you all about it later.
*One of Cook's physical attributes that I deeply envy is his thick, luxuriant hair. The other is his ridiculously lush eyelashes, that would be totally appropriate for a small cartoon animal of the adorable variety. Dutch inherited them, though Skipper seems to have missed that particular genetic boat.
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