today

best day ever.

world peace and diakriah (poops)

huck's mocs are from the ever-fabulous freshlypicked
mine are from the crew-jay

it has been four days now, and we are still living with the excitement of peter pan's remarkably unreliable intestinal pyrotechnics. i am telling you, that dog really knows how to live life to its fullest! 

so far one sock has resurfaced from the great and terrible panbowels, but it seems there may be more in there. how many baby socks are we missing, anyway? i can tell the city hasn't been as fun for pete this time around, and as usual, he is taking his anger out on socks. we're starting to wonder what should be done. 

for now, we are making sartorial decisions based on what does not involve socks (i.e., dog poison). mocs, not socks! 

some items of little consequence

right now, philip seymour hoffman, catherine keener, and christopher walken are filming a movie down the street from our apartment.

tell me, how many times do you think i could wander past the set, all innocently-like, on the off chance they need any eyelash-less extras, before it gets to be excessive?

six times? maybe seven?

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i took this picture of mr. holbrook this morning. how does this make you feel inside? like anything is possible, am i right?

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huck looks a lot like his dad in this one. 

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after a weekend of intense intestinal distress, poor peter pan finally pooped out that sock he ate. tell me, but when you have an emotionally disabled dog who likes to eat baby socks when he's mad, what do you do? gold star to the holbs for this delightful note (poops).

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today the highs reached gloriously into the fifties, so i introduced huck to central park. they got along grandly. and then we took the most ridiculously sunny stroll down fifth avenue. i changed huck's diaper in the dressing room at an anthropologie.

i didn't buy these sunglasses there, because i love my husband. happy valentine's day, baby! (i can never keep socks on that kid! they fell off in his stroller.) (that is a lipstick kiss. it's good, right?)

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my holbslovah got me a package of these little guys for valentine's day.  

if you haven't had a chocolate peep yet i will give you the cliff's notes: 

they taste like you have died and gone to heaven.

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my huckly's hair is this close to being long enough for a mo-huck. also, he is radder than your grandma.

peace out.

huck's eyelashes did not grow in until he was almost two months old, for the record

behold the lashes, when they were real

if i could take this whole weekend that i just lived, bundle it up into a cute little package, and then top it with a pearly bow of wisdom, it would look like this:

please be careful with your eyelash curlers.

the first thing i thought after i stumbled sideways while attempting to curl my lashes and push huck's bouncy chair with my foot at the same time, thus ripping out the entirety of the eyelashes on my left eyelid, was: huh, i always figured this would happen to me eventually.

the second thing i thought was, that did not hurt nearly as much as i thought it might!

and then i realized what had just happened, and i fell to my knees and rent my clothing in despair! (not really.)

noooooooooooo! i thought. my one true beauty!

oh brother it is startling how much of one's feminine identity is kept in your eyelashes. and what of me now? huh?

eyelashes   !!

brandon came home from his walk with the pooches while i was in there trying to be brave about things. 

"no matter!" i was saying in a chipper tone to my huckleberry, who, let's face it, was entirely to blame. "just eyelashes! they grow back! right? don't they?" 

and then the holbswalker took off his scarf, triggering a massive release of pent up emotion. 

"what happened?" he asked.

"let's not talk about it, i am in the depths of despair," i answered.

i walked resignedly into the bedroom and laid my bones on the bed in a tragical heap. i bemoaned my very existence. i dreamed up wild solutions, like winning the lottery to pay for eyelash extensions, or ripping out the rest of my lashes and calling it "art!" or possibly never leaving the apartment.

i will tell you i have never felt more anne-shirleyish in all of my life. it's good for you sometimes. that's my theory anyway.

eventually i remembered this thing called "false lashes," which are actually pretty cheap and somewhat realistic looking these days, and then things perked up quite a bit. especially since i realized that i could justify an immediate trip to the duane reade to get some. going to the duane reade is one of my most favorit things to do lately. while i was there i could probably also look at nail polish colors and get a pack of twizzlers.

and so, really . . .
and, they grow back! right?
i mean, don't they? 

henry holbrook and his mother

henry holbrook and his mother hope you have a terribly fancy weekend.