They don’t make stockings like this anymore. Well, they do. In truth, a woman from the snowy mountains of Montana knit this stocking for me. It’s crafted from fine acrylic yarn; harvested from the finest acrylic sheep. Their fleece is so soft and synthetic, they make Merino sheep seem subpar.
Dad On His FeetI'll be a new father in August. The clock already started.
The Sheep of the Lal Bagh is one of those books my mom read to me as a child that I loved. There’s a sheep that eats the grass in a park in beautiful patterns. However, he’s slow at his job of trimming the grass. Eventually, the sheep’s replaced by a lawnmower and no one is very happy. Can you guess what happens next?
Picked up a used copy from Abebooks for our daughter.
- She’s taking a bottle regularly for over a week.
- She can roll over.
- She’s sleeping in her own room and still through the night (though there’s been some 4:30 am wakeups now).
- She smiles a ton.
- She makes new noises, a favorite for a while was something close to an espresso machine.
- She’s drooling. And drooling. And drooling.
Latest parenting challenge: getting baby to drink from a bottle. It’s been a struggle. She took to it right away, then we travelled for a few days with no bottle-feeds, and now it’s like she’s a mini Bartleby, the Scrivener. She’d prefer not to. ∞
We thought about capturing the headlines from Michiko’s birth, the current events playing out. But we didn’t. Or, at least, we haven’t. There’s no Apollo moon landing. There are riots in Ferguson, Missouri. There is war, there is always war, in the Middle East. Executions. Ebola. War in Ukraine. To say, this is the time in which you were born, seems wrong. To welcome this new life into our lives, to bring her into the world, I want the world to match how I feel. That moment of witnessing life being born is amazing. While all of these events are happening across the world, it’s the media perspective. If I could record the headlines from individual lives, what would they look like?
“Stranger held the door open for me.”
“My son made it safely to Alaska; sleeping well now.”
“Kissed him for the first time. Still smiling.”
“Watched the sunset in Yosemite.”
“Road my bike without training wheels!”
“Fell in love.”
Those are the headlines I want to capture. Sure, they also skew toward a certain perspective, but it’s one I want to see. The small triumphs of everyday people. The personal stories. The ups, and the downs, as well. ∞
It was a long day yesterday for little Stella. By bedtime, she decided sleep was overrated and it was time for fun.
Time becomes different as a parent. Michiko is six and a half weeks old. She changes each day. A weekend arrives, it’s like coming up for breath from the river of dog walks, work, dinner, a few hours in the evening together, and sleep. Then it’s the week again, a blur, moments strung together like blinking while riding the teacups at a fair: lights, people, movement, shut your eyes, a different snapshot, similar but not the same. It’s a pattern, a motion. What happened to this week? Where did it go? It’s in the yawns of a baby girl, the smell of laundry hung up to dry, walks when the sun is either rising or falling in the horizon. ∞
Day 2 of jogging yesterday, I completed 2 miles and was incredibly sore. Have another 2 mile jog tomorrow in 7 hours. Today, I actually felt pretty well, mild pain.
A new ritual I’m trying to start since being a parent is cleaning the kitchen before bed. My mom used to always do that and, now, when there is so little time for everything else it just seems to make sense. Makes life easier.