Toddler Truck

A little in advance of his first birthday Seb received a toddler size truck from his Grammy. He enjoys riding on it, but even more, he enjoys making it play music and endlessly repeat 'purple one' or 'A is for Apple'. Does everything have sound these days?

Great Grandma Emmett

Here is me and my grandmother in Kansas circa 1970's.

In March of this year my grandmother past away peaceful after a long and full life. Today is her memorial service. As it is in England we won't be attending. We sent our love in a letter from American and vowed to do a better job of keeping in touch.

Next my family and I in Louisiana. Pictured is my brother, sister, grandmother and parents. Please note the famous Billydome in the background. I love the Billydome. Lastly, a big family picture from Thanksgiving 1996. That is about forever ago! Picture includes me in the center, my two grandmothers, parents, Aunt Judy (my mother's sister), Uncle Truman (I love that name), my cousina Vonda and her husband Bobby, my brother and his girlfriend (who would become his wife), and my little sister.

11 Months

Seb was 11 months yesterday April 24, 2009. He celebrated by eating watermelon and avocado. We spent the evening hours visiting with Grammy before her return to Kansas. Here he is pictured with his placard, dad, and mom.

The 9 to 5 is sucking my soul.

Today I had to work late 'cause I stole a couple of hours this morning to look after Seb. As I sat at my desk, typing away, exacerbating the tendinitis in my hand, I though: Dear lord, how have parents managed this? It is killing me. I don't have any cool left. I am angry. I don't want to be here. I want to be at home with my beautiful son, watching him laugh and learn new things. I. Hate. This.

I really wonder how on earth generations have managed this, but then again, it hasn't always been this way, has it? I guess there are alternatives. We could work on the farm. We could live simply, together, in a birth control free brood of extended family and numerous animals. We could join a commune and let twigs collect in our hair while we ate grass and talked about universal love. Problem. Farms usually have piles of sh*t and don't tend to pay well. Next, I really hate fleas, so numerous animals are out of the question. As for the commune, I think my description speaks for its self.  Still, there has got to be a better way than shipping mom out the door every day to the cold dungeon that is my office. (I literally work underneath a morgue, doesn't get much more morbid than that!)