Stop the madness!

Olive stood up, unsupported, for like, a minute just now.

Yikes.

Um, I signed up for a baby, people. A BABY.

Babies do not stand up by themselves.



In other news, I'm knitting again. I knit that nifty diaper cover in the picture. Because it's 1930 and woolens are all the rage. Hey, it's waterproof!

Evacuating Ike was okay. (See Flickr...) But I don't want to do it weekly until November, so please tell the universe to stop now.

I'm so tired from being smashed in the back seat for 8 hours, playing referee, food source, entertainer and sardine.

I'm just done.

Uh-Oh!

auughhh!

Was that a gecko or a cockroach running across the floor? I went into the guest bedroom to turn off the playstation, and I saw something big run from the bed to under the TV... It was fast and looked wiggly, so I think it was a gecko, but if it was a cockroach and it was that big and fast, I don't think I'll be able to go to sleep!

Back home, the high is 58 degrees and there are no weird bugs or indoor lizards, unless you could the cheesy lounge variety that still populates San Francisco in spite of the fact that wearing a leopard cowboy hat is not, nor ever has been cool.

Not that I'm homesick. I just don't think I should have to coexist indoors with creepy crawlies. Key West is one human family, not one family of weird humans and various insects and reptiles.

I'm not mad at the gecko; quite the opposite. Homie eats the bugs for me. But I just wish they wouldn't take me by surprise. I'd hate to squeal and wake up the babies.

Goodbye, Dinah, Goodbye...

I've officially fallen down the rabbit hole.

Where is old Katie? The one who doesn't ask for mopping advice on spouse forums? Why doesn't my husband belong to a spouse forum? How does he balance working and being a husband?

Oh, right. Here I am. I don't have to like mopping.

I moved the last entry I wrote
to the other blog, because it's more Flaubert than Proust. That is to say, more life in general than my life in particular.
That is definitely not to say I'm Proustian or even Flaubertian (although we've all got our gripes about Flaubert, n'est-ce pas?)

Hot damn, that was real pretentious-like.

What I wanted to write about pertaining to my life was my delicious dinner.

This evening was a terrible time to have a dead camera battery, but I made risotto with asparagus and yellow squash. Except I took half the mirepoix and sauteed it in a beurre blanc with the asparagus tips and squash. It was really hard not to eat it before I threw it in the final stages of risotto.

And then I made mochi for dessert. A box of Mochiko rice flour, 2 cups of sugar, 6 teaspoons of cocoa powder, 3 cups of water, and a quick chill later, my very own sticky, glutenous Asian dessert.

Heaven.

Like tea and madeleines. Memories of mochi and risotto flood back from all directions. Well, mostly recent memories of mochi. Lots of them. Mmm. Mochi.

Welcome to Key West... why are you all wearing obscene t-shirts?

We made it. 18 months in Honolulu, 2 months back home, and now we've been in Key West for 2 weeks.

It's very small.

The road out is very long.

Will the architecture alone sustain us? The people are nice, but nobody has kids.

We'll be able to save money, since the only stores here (where we would shop) are Banana Republic and American Apparel. But we might come out looking like we're going on safari on some futuristic 70s disco planet.

The beach is grassy, but the Cuban food is good. There are strange birds everywhere.

Our house will be ready tomorrow, and we'll finally be home, at least for the next 2 years.

Today, though, Home still feels like Hawaii.

Re-Blogging: the catch-up

My last entry had me lamenting the state of Midwifery at the MTF. Here's my update: I said screw 'em and had my baby at home.

That was big time.

Vindicating, healing, empowering, big time.

That was in February.

So this:



became this:



Which in turn became this:




And is now this:




There you have it. Olive. See what happens when you have a baby on a whim?