RIDING THE SCARY RIDES AND OTHER THOUGHTS ON ADVENTURE

This is a sponsored post in reaction to Mom Life's Have You Lost Your Sense Of Adventure?

what would you say is the most adventuresome thing you've ever done? is what i asked myself tonight from the green armchair next to the fireplace at my parents house, where i am so adventuresomely vacationing for the week with my baby.

well, i said back to myself, didn't i just fly cross-country with my nine-month-old without any adult assistance?

only, i am not sure that counts, really.

so what about . . .

when i bravely got married at the baby-faced age of twenty. that took some kind of something! no?

when i bravely decided to make babies and then bravely faced down two years of infertility, only to bravely give birth without pain killers? maybe?

how about when i bravely put all of my most loved belongings into long-term storage, moved to new york city with just the clothes on my back and the husband on my arm, found an apartment in under 24 hours, and then started over from scratch?

okay okay, what about the time i rode splash mountain and--for the very first time--kept my eyes open all the way down.

i'm not terribly adventurous, is the truth of it. my personal brand of adventure is the adventure of the every day. i'd rather find adventure in the minutiae of the small and insignificant, which, when added up, amounts to a beautiful tapestry of adventure, and a rich, brave life. i love nothing more than a blank canvas of errands, or an afternoon of scrubbing, and then letting the furthest silly reaches of my imagination turn it into an epic quest of . . . some sort or another.

but maybe i only say that because i am a big fat chicken.

these days i am raising a feisty little boy. he is just learning to crawl. as i watch him test out his physical limits, rocking on his knees and reaching out just that much farther for a toy beyond his reach--an effort that may very well land him flat on his face--i realize that i owe this little boy all of the fearlessness i can muster. i owe him a really cool mom who's not afraid of anything. a mom who encourages his daredevil feats, and takes him on all the big boy rides. a mom who will take him on the adventure of a lifetime.

maybe adventure can take a lot of different forms. and maybe you'll never find me strapped to a bungee cord or rappelling down a mountain, or even riding a bicycle on any surface rougher than smooth pavement. but every day of our lives can be a new quest for adventure. and one of these days, i'll take my brown-eyed boy on the biggest, scariest ride at the park, and we will keep our eyes open.

all the way down.

GRANNY GOOSE, AND OTHER THOUGHTS ON THINGS

i spent the entire day milling about the mall, and, well, i am just going to have to come out and say it. 

i think automatic flushers do more harm than good. 

i bought huck some skinny jeans from the little girl's department at h&m, and also what i am calling my "blogging sweater," which is basically a poncho. it is made entirely of acrylic fibers and i could not be more pleased!

today i asked my sister what kinds of things they say about me when i'm not around. she pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side in thought. "dad always says, 'she's got an awful lot of shirley in her,'" she said.

well, i know what he means by that. shirley is my crazy granny goose (and my middle name namesake). 

this afternoon, my huckleberry and i accompanied my crazy granny goose shirley jean on a whirlwind shopping expedition.

because, as my crazy shirley jean would say: "well it's just terrible, i have such needs."

after a very long afternoon of it, shirley jean came home with a lovely black coat (a purchase over which she stewed for 45 minutes), a black pencil skirt (which she bought in order to justify the coat, because, as she said in a scandalized whisper, "three hundred dollars and it doesn't even come with a skirt"), and a blue cardigan from forever 21 of all places, where she tried on no less than 10 pairs of pants. ("they were all too low on my bum," she said, horrified.)

on the way home in the car, huck opened his lungs and wailed to the heavens, and my dear crazy shirley jean appeased him by singing 'twinkle twinkle little star,' only with this delightful little change of lyric:

stargle stargle little twink/who you are the hell i think

later, shirley jean entertained us with a very detailed account of two lions that only killed people to eat them (?), only before she could get too far into it, monty (who has a horrible head cold) interrupted her with a terrible-sounding snarf, upon which time my crazy shirley jean had to halt ceremoniously in order to give him "the look." 

this just in: "i have to get in a certain mindset before i wear these shoes," she is saying to my mother.

so yes, i know what my dad means when he says there is an awful lot of shirley in me. but i think that's okay.

i spent a good bit of time today looking at the two photos above. the one on the left is of my dad and his family (it's not hard to guess which one is my dad, my baby has that exact same face). it was probably taken about 1965. on the right is a photo of my mom's family, probably taken about the same time. (my mom is the youngest girl in the bottom center. shirley is in the cream suit.) i just love how my mom's family is all stylish and sleek, Mad Men style, while my dad's family looks like a bunch of hillbillies with their shirts untucked. a-lot-of-shirley-in-me or no, there is something about that rag tag army of cowlicks and white tee shirts that's really speaking to me lately. 

in any case, it's good to be home.

this week, on baby's first year: 

does having kids mean the end of life as we know it?  

 baby's first bites,

(and yes, you have seen these photos before! gosh!)

also traveling tips, and more traveling tips.   

i also started writing for the new home ec blog this week: 

reawakening the undomesticated housewife,

my feelings on needlepoint in one two three parts,

and my favorite playlist to clean the bathroom to.

HUCK AND GUAPO, TOGETHER AT LAST

oh, just an instagram overload of my mister dude and his long lost twin.

i swear, it was like the moment he clapped eyes on his grandpa, the world was set right again. 

A DOO RUN RUN

last week we went to one of lincoln center's outdoor concert. it was all these reunited 1960s doo-wop girl groups, which isn't my favorite genre or anything, but it was a great time just the same. 

 

also not for nothing but my kid is at the perfect level of fatness right now.

THE MEG RYAN THEORY

i spend a disproportionate amount of time watching meg ryan movies. 

well, you know that, but let's keep going.

i like when harry met sally when i am feeling cerebral, i like you've got mail when i am feeling emotional, and i like sleepless in seattle on the off day when i really need to recite the "shriveled little legs" scene.  

also, french kiss is really good for a day when you need a hit of kevin kline and/or lactose intoleraaaaaaaaaaance!

the other night i was laying in bed letting all my thoughts dance across my eyelids when i had a rather brilliant idea. it was so brilliant i sat up in bed right away to type it out (rather poorly) on my phone, lest the idea get away from me. the glaring light from the screen blinded me and made my eyes ache.

"there is one of us in all of the movies" is what it said when i read it the next morning.

(i'm pretty articulate in the wee hours of the morning.)

(proof: it is only 12:22 am and i just had to consult a thesaurus to come up with the word 'articulate.')

the point is, i am the frank.

i am not the kathleen (i am sorry to say), and i am not the annie, either. i'm not even the sally! although if i had to pick a meg i am most likely the sally.

but no, no, i am the frank. that nut in the observer.

shall we review?

1. i get obsessed with random things.

antlers? cake plates? electric typewriters? the gentle, soothing lullaby of a piece of machinery so perfect...

2. i concoct bizarre theories about things of very little significance.

the whole point behind a vcr, for example. 

and who ever in this world needs to have it be a house rule that they are not allowed to make complicated metaphors when trying to prove a point but a frank? i ask you this in all sincerity!

really, it's quite an honor to be the frank. i am proud to be the frank! i mean, it is certainly better than being the walter for crying out loud but i do not wish to be rude. 

and yet . . . 

in the end, frank gets dumped. don't think that's not lost on me. frank gets dumped, and while we're on the subject, kathleen never fully appreciates him. why is that? why doesn't kathleen love him? i am always wondering this. frank does such a wonderful job being that horn all forlorn! what is he missing here??

yes, i am the frank, and yes, i married the joe.

so there you have it.

(except, i love computer solitaire.)

all of this to say, the other day i bought some vintage 1950s men's frames at the brooklyn flea market. 

they are terribly franky.
(three cheers for finally having vision coverage after a zillion years of grad school!)

and then, we ate milkshakes.

we totally wished you were there with us.

of the meg canon, who would you say you are?

(huck is the jonah. duh.)