Portrait of the artist as a smushy baby

The museum wasn't a huge success exactly, so thought we'd bring the art back home.

Without further ado, Harps' first introduction to crayons:

Denver MCA: You suuuuuuuuuuck

I took Harps to an art museum today -- a contemporary art museum, excusemeverymuch (er, I actually wanted a modern museum, but lost my brain for a minute) -- because, well, there's just so many times you can walk up and down the sidewalk or play with the spices or scribble the letter H in blue crayon on computer paper. Right?

It started out fine. I found a cheap parking space, bought my ticket, wheeled H into the first room and...was immediately accosted by a nervous/psycho museum employee dude.

"PLEASE DON'T ROLL OVER THE ART ON THE FLOOR. THERE IS ART...ON THE FLOOR."

"Okay. I won't."

"IT'S JUST THAT LOTS OF PEOPLE STEP BACKWARD ONTO THE ART. AND IT'S ON THE FLOOR. AND YOU HAVE...A STROLLER."

"Got it. No stepping on the art."

And he finally goes away and I look at pieces of pottery made from human bones. Ahem.

There was literally one small room of art on the first floor, so I headed on up to the second. As the elevator door opened, the same psycho came sprinting up the stairs to meet me. He had chased me. Sweating sweating sweating.

"I...I...I FORGOT TO TELL YOU. THEY ARE RECORDING MUSIC!!!!! PLEASE DON'T GO IN THERE."

????????????????????

I hear some music behind a closed door at the end of the hall and slightly around the corner. I look at him.

"Behind that door?"

"YES."

????????????????????????

I. I have no words.

Apparently, having a (quiet, surprisingly) baby in a small umbrella stroller while walking peacefully through an EMPTY AND TERRIBLE museum raises great alarm and sweat and stalking.

So I halfheartedly walked through the two other remaining rooms (giving that little door great personal space), felt like a total weirdo for even being there, got in my Subie and headed on back. The spices felt lonely.

In defense of pajama tops as...tops

I'm always surprised when (yet another) mom admits to me: "I'm a little crazy about what I allow ____ to wear outside the house." And then I'm even more surprised when I see actual babes out and about in perfect synching outfits, never any remnants of pajamas, always matchy match. 

Cuz...clearly that's not how we roll:

Hat from a lil boutique.
Sweater knit (for me) by my mom, circa 1982.
Hand-me-down shirt from cousin Libby.
Random leggings from...?
Purple mox from Tarjay.

Oh, just wanted you to see there's a skull on her hat. Burn!

I dunno. I just love seeing her bundled up in funky little combos -- a mix-and-match of my old stuff, favorite people's old stuff, high-endy stuff, cheapy stuff...yada yada. Kind of how we decorate our pad?

(And sometimes I keep her in her pj's all day. Or at least her pj top...)

And really -- babies/toddlers are so cussin' cute on their ownsome, a perfect outfit just ain't necessary. In my humble opine.

Baby got back!

Monday, Monday (is tomorrow)

Dressed like a little...Dutch baby maybe?
At the Botanic Gardens, full of sunshine.

Weekend = almostover. Week = impending. Not long enough, ever, but basically feel like a world champ because I finally got some yoga pants tailored ... that my mom bought me as a postpartum present over a year ago. For whatever reason, it was hanging over my head/weighing on my shoulders/causing me great stress ever since they were placed in my hands.

 I even tried cutting them myself. I even wore them all over as they dragged and pulled and tripped me. And ultimately, the tailoring saga? Took all of 5 minutes. And now my pants are awesome. And I'm an idiot for not having them on my bum a year ago.

It's kind of like how I won't put the toilet paper onto the roll until it's almost gone and then I do -- and it feels so luxurious? But the next time, I wait again. Kind of like that.

Probably bedtime.

Me, yesterday, on my 29th

Gonna appreciate the hell outta that 2 in front of my number. Huh-ya!

When it's 68 and sunnylicious and you're 1

We've turned a fun corner lately, where Harps can actually play outside. Instead of just staring and pointing or eating dirt (I mean, she hasn't stopped that part exactly), she'll -- do stuff. Scoop up snow with a shovel, cruise around the woodchips, throw a tantrum when I move her away from enormous puddles. It's nutty, this baby-turning-into-a-toddler thing that's happening cereally quick before my eyes.

Today, before a long long walk around the park, she went up and down and up and down and up and down the sidewalk like this:

And then snuggled up, all tuckered out, with her mama like this:

(Uh -- and then took an insanely intense picture with her equally dramatic mama like this:)

But you don't have to take my word for it

We've reached this lovely stage where I (sometimes) can hand Harps a book and she'll (sometimes) quietly sit with it.

It's pretty much my favorite little thing she does these days.

(Not really. I can't pick one. She also inhales broccoli like a vacuum.)

Up above: She's reading a book called Goodnight, Maine. You may be familiar with the series? Usually they're about cities? Goodnight, San Francisco. Goodnight, Denver. Yeah. Maine's is about...the whole state. Gots to love it.

Oh and -- the page she's on is my favorite. A seriously metrosexual lumberjack striding through a forest. We're both obsessed.

I need to remember

When I'm feeling oh-so-overwhelmed and cabin fevered and messy and a little scared, that:

Long (long) sunny walks through the cold, looking at the mountains


Breathing in the sweet soft smell of my baby's head as we cuddle on the couch


Ten deep breaths


Navy blue turtlenecks


Cheesy chick lit by Brits


Late night hand holding


Chatchatchatting with gals-who-rock


Scrambled eggs with avocado


Swimming with babies


Matlock

make things balanced again.

Happy weekend, lovies.

Why I'm way behind on emails

I thought I'd make a little video to capture all the cutey things she's doing these days. (Blowing kisses, waving, combing her "hair", yada yada.)

But she was much much much more interested in the computer. As usual. After a few acrobatic tries, I gave up. So yeah. She blows kisses and stuff.

As IF my life weren't crazy enough

(And believe me -- it's really crazy right now. Supa personal details often can't make the scene, but yeah. B-a-n-a-n-a-s.)

We're leaving our cute lil house and moving to...another cute lil house. A mile away. Because...we like to torture ourselves? Essentially.

Actually, we uncovered some uncovered asbestos in the basement. And tho it's most likely totally safe (as long as we don't knock it around), I couldn't get it out of my head. Also, our kitchen pipes froze and couldn't be fixed until a hole was drilled in the ceiling? So now there's a hole in the ceiling. Also, the new place is a lot a lot a lot more affordable. And actually closer to the things I like to walk to! And has an upstairs instead of a finished basement, which -- just makes me happier. Oh and a claw foot tub. And a doggy door. (Commence yelling at me I shouldn't get a dog...I'M JUST SAYING IT'S THERE.)

So yeah! Help! This is going to be insane!

(Tho I do think it's the right thing.)

We've got one more month and then it's byebyebye (remember the 'N Sync song/dance/hahhaa?!) time. Oh my. Oh my my my.

Harper turns o-n-e-z

Dudes. Today my baby turned one. One! One. Oneneneoneoneoe. Maybe if I say it a bunch it'll stop making sense/seeming so crazy? 

Today was really cozy and quiet and love-y. Just how I like my special days. HJ and cc and mama and Christie (my awesome cousin is here for the weekend woot!) gobbled a veggie brunch at a sunny table, piddled around the kitchen making cupcakes and soup, watched a beautifully intense snowstorm unfold outside our windows, opened many delicious presents, scarfed some Barefoot Contessa red velvet cupcakes, snuggled up with milk cups, kissed and sang. Yup yes mmmkaaaay. 

Pure Harper June-ness.

Dada/daughter dance.

HJ oversees the cream cheese frosting. 

Smooch attack. (My hair is that dark??)

Playing with a new puzzle/having awesome lips. 

Almost as good as nakie time.
(Those are the newly upholstered chairs!)

So much red. 

I think that's for me...

Face-off. So intense. 

A test lick...

Oh, hell. Easier to just inhale...

Blossom bebe: We love you we love you we love you. Thank you for making our lives into what life's about. Happy birthday! (!!!)

A year ago today...

I was pacing around and around and around our apartment-in-the-sky, hour upon hour upon hour, lower back in unending spasms, yelling crabapple orders to mom and cc, moaning and crouching and writhing, wandering the halls/scaring our neighbors with my language, throwing bizarre and irrational things into our hospital bag, many moons later driving thru the rainy night -- james taylor on the radio, windows down -- to the hospital.

A year ago today, we were thisclose to meeting our buttery biscuit best baby bubble bum. Oh MY it hurt so bad, but I knew something real real good was right around the corner. And it was.

(An actual birthday post, on her actual birthday, will be up tomorrow...)

Happy weekend!!

Very busy with the spices and such

Hmm. Cayenne.

Hello and huzzah! It's -13 here right now. Even with the heat pumping and the fireplace roaring, I feel it seeping through the windows/my bones.

The kitchen is the worst. Back of the house, lots of windows and a door. And? I do believe the pipes are frozen in there, as my faucet won't run. My sink full of dirty dishes is even fuller than usual...

We're going a little stir crazy around here, as all activities are canceled and no one wants to leave their own cozy abode for a visit. Cue Amy-and-Harper-singing-showtunes-to-a-volleyball.

But Julia June Child didn't mind the pre-nap cold, as she unloaded every single one of my spices from the rack. She had to make lunch for later, obvs.

But I was looking for something sweeter...

Let me just crack it open to smell...

 Yo! I'm a baby! You gotta do this for me!