Happy Birthday Me(rrill)!

pins.jpgToday I’m 32, and Merrill is 2. I’m taking the week off in celebration 🙂
I’ve got to say I’m enjoying my thirties at least as much as my twenties. The latter was all about finding my soulmate and building our house and lives together. The former is now nearly all about our family and home, as well as expanding my horizons and tastes.
This past week Justin had me over for a couple drams of scotch. After a dram of Longrow, he brought up a bottle of Ardbeg Airigh Nam Beist (arry nam baysht), a gift to me. Seriously overwhelming. Jim Murray has some excellent things to say about it, but he’s an Ardbegian like me…We’re headed to a Stout-Tasting dinner at Bierra Paradiso Monday evening to top off both of our birthday’s (his is the 21st). Nothing better than a couple drams in front of a cracklng fire in the evening with your best friend.
This reminds me of a dream Lucas had last fall. Not the dream per-se, but the circumstances surrounding it. He had been sick or something, perhaps peed in his bed. In any case, it was the middle of the night and he ended up sleeping on the couch. The next morning he related to us that he’d had a really cool dream, perhaps involving flying dragons, if I remember correctly. Lucas was all excited about telling us what happened, to the point of getting us to help him recreate it that evening. He lay on the couch, pointed up to the vaulted ceiling, where the dragon was swooping around, an asked thy we turn off the lights so the dream could start. He was so disappointed when the dream didn’t simply begin like our cable DVR. I guess that’s one of the unique circumstances that our generation’s kids will face; that on-demand media is so pervasive and magical to young kids that it’s not unlike dreams.
On Sunday I’m smoking a pork shoulder for our birthday dinner and will be enjoying that ad a couple wee rams of Scotch half my age. I feel rather guilt-free about it, having reached my goal weight of 170 pounds. Yay me 🙂

The Fruits of our Labors

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When does a grapefruit cease to be a grapefruit and begin to be compost? Not before Jean notices it apparently.
She had graciously accepted my offer for an inaugural workout (the first “above and beyond” physical activity since Eleanor’s birth) of helping me relocate wood from the soggy yard up to the deck (for our wood-burning stove), when she noticed a small yellow globe laying rather pathetically in the corner of our bare garden.
I explained that I only am able to hit the compost bin from the deck about half the time. Therefore, one should expect a penumbra of organic detritus around it. She looks at me like she can’t believe what I’m saying, though with a hint of a bemused look. Feeling under pressure to explain myself, I let her know that on the morning in question, there was a visible frost on the ground and I was in my boxer shorts. These circumstances led me to be outside a very brief period of time, resulting in an even shorter time-frame to calculate the trajectory and thrust necessary to score a hit on the 3′ x 3′ target of our compost bin, some 30 feet away.
This answer did not satisfy her sense of propriety, as she immediately asked “Why do we have a compost bucket in the kitchen, if not for things like shriveled grapefruits?”. I answered that I had only just emptied the compost bucket and that it seemed such a waste to take up a grapefruit’s worth of volume in a compost bucket, besides the fact that a grapefruit can be easily thrown, unlike perhaps, a rotten cucumber that has sat in the bottom of the vegetable drawer for three months, or the left-over innards of a halloween pumpkin.
There are times I choose to step down from the golden pedestal of my mother-in-law’s making, to mix among the mere mortals of the world. And then there are times I fall off backwards when striking a pose.
(FYI, I was interrupted no fewer than a half dozen times in blogging this, the staccato of my fingers on the keyboard bridging each sentence with a three to ten minute gap, like a telegraph operator sending messages to the front line.
1. Merrill successfully peeing on the potty by herself, but needing help with panties and pants back on.
2. Starting the oven for lunch; delay start timer
3. Lucas and Merrill needing to swing; pre-empted by cleaning the area below their swing
4. Lucas puking in the toilet; new development
5. Eleanor crying, needing a pacifier
6. Eleanor puking
7. Eleanor needing a change
8. Merrill unsuccesfuly peeing on the potty
9. Eleanor just needing to be held pooping and needing a change
10. I can’t remember

Happy new year!

Hope all is well with you and yours! Hearthwood is chugging along despite a sudden downturn in temperature, our woodstove cranking overtime.
Eleanor is still doing well, as are all of us. Merrill and I are nearing our shared birthday; she’ll be two and I 32… I think I’ll take my birthday week off this year.