Is it Monday?
:::scratches head:::
It’s Monday.

In spite of my efforts—I went to the library and everything—I have gotten no work done lately. All my writing just shuffled itself to the back of my brain with a condescending pat on the head, muttering “there, there, dear, you just read your motorcycle crap” like someone’s irritated grandmother.

Yes, I’m a one-track wonder these days. I read the DMV M-Class manual, took copious notes, typed those notes up (all 15 pages), read and re-read and took the 2 online sample tests the DMV has three times, bought a book on the CA driver’s test that has 7 full-length practice tests and have done those (and happily, only missed a couple questions on each, and they had to do with things I just don’t deal with regularly, like trolley cars…)

I’m 99% sure I could take the written test and pass right now.

And I’m fairly confident on most of the riding part. I have a healthy fear of falling but I’m not terrified by it, especially not at parking lot speeds. I’m not too worried about the curving and turning. But I am worried about gears. I’ve looked at pictures and diagrams and I just don’t get it. I see a pedal and I think “push on it” and have no idea what they mean by “lift” and dammit, I want to know everything before I get there. Because that’s the way I am.

Oh and we’re going to have spectacular weather all this week—until Friday, when it’s going to start raining, and with my luck, it will rain in biblical proportions through Sunday…

:::wanders off, wondering if putt-putting around on a tiny little electrical scooter is like practice:::

While I’m A Slave To My Cats, I Don’t Want Them On Me Forever…

So no, my tattoo will not be a beatific image of Max. Or Buddah. Or Dusty. Or Hank (though Hank wasn’t a cat, he certainly thought one was his mother…)

Wanting a tattoo isn’t a new thing; it’s been on my list of Things To Do for as long as I can remember. And the design I’ll get is something I’ve had sketched out for over 10 years. I figure if I still want the same thing after a decade, I won’t ever regret it.

I figure if you’re going to etch something into your skin and it’s going to be there until long after it’s sagged and stretched 4 inches, long after you, even, then it needs to mean something. No one else has to get it, but it needs to have some kind of meaning beyond “Hey I got drunk, and lookit what I woke up with!”

Thumper Overjoyed, Splashing In A Puddle. That’s what will eventually wind up on my upper arm, and I’m thinking it will get there this summer.

It has more meaning now than when I first thought about it: the puddle is every bad or not so fun thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s friends lost to cancer, to car wrecks and drunk drivers, to heart attacks, to age. It’s a broken heart and loneliness. It’s chronic pain: fibromyalgia and myofascial pain and arthritis. It’s a brain tumor. It’s diabetes insipidus and growth hormone shots every night.

That puddle is also all the good. It’s finding friends, falling in love, having a child. It’s watching those first steps and hearing a first laugh. It’s holidays spent with family, laughter so hard that soda squirts right out your nose. It’s learning that the bad things aren’t always fatal. It’s waking to a cat curled up on the pillow, content little meows and dorky catnip trips.

I’ve always wanted a tattoo; I’ve always wanted a motorcycle…so I’m pretty sure I’ve been leading up to my midlife crisis since I was 8-10 years old.

And here I always thought forward thinking was not my strong suit…

These Are The Things Of Which A Middle Age Crisis Is Made…



Unless I drop dead, break a limb, go insane, or become deathly ill, next weekend I, along with the Boy, will be taking the CHP Motorcycle Basic Rider’s Course in pursuit of a motorcycle license.

Yes, I’m a wuss. I need my little boy to accompany me, because I just don’t do things for the first time alone. I don’t know why, so I can’t explain it.

But I like going zoom. Initially I was thinking putt-putt of the moped variety; the Spouse Thingy reasoned that taking the course would be a good idea, because learning to ride a Real Bike would give me options. Plus, it seems you need a motorcycle license for even a putt-putt now. While my first thought was why? It’s just a moped my second was well…putt-putts get in trouble, too…

In any case, because I really don’t want to die right now, if you would all concentrate on No Rain Mojo™, I would greatly appreciate it.

Oh, and send Remember All The Test Stuff Chit Mojo™, too…I can’t believe I have to re-take the written CA driver’s test for this. I hate tests. Tests make me nervous and upset, and even if I know the material cold, I stay nervous and upset. Why can’t I just take a written test on motorcycle stuff? Really, I know the important things, like never stick a playing card in your spokes because you already make the Rrrr Rrrr Rrrr sound. And don’t ride naked no matter how hot it is. And just because you can do a wheelie for 1 mile at 55 mph that doesn’t mean you should.

And the next big thing after learning to ride…I’m getting a tattoo…

After 13 million days of rain, we finally had a nice day. So this afternoon we pulled the convertible out of the garage and ran errands in it, soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the wonder of 72 degrees. Heck, we even washed it, which pretty much guarantees that the rain will return tomorrow, but according to the weather guy it’s going to anyway.

Then after coming home I chased the Spouse Thingy around on his bike with my scooter—we could have gone to the gym but why when it’s this nice, and when we came home…it was time to introduce Buddah to the back yard. Unlike Max, Buddah shows no fear of the great outdoors and was even calm enough to take outside (being held tightly) in the rain the other day. So we bought him a harness and leash, and let him explore.

While Max had no desire to go outside on the leash, he was a tiny bit jealous, I think, and wanted us to at least offer to take him out. He had to settle for sniffing Buddah through the screen.

We needed a day like today. I’d be happier if it would stay like this for 3 solid weeks, but I’ll take today.

Now, keep your fingers crossed that it’s like this next Saturday and Sunday, when Thumper and the Boy are taking a motorcycle rider’s instruction course. Didja know that in CA you have to have a motorcycle license to even ride a moped? And Thumper wants a putt putt… because Thumper is lame and talks in 3rd person and really really really likes electronic and transportation-oriented toys…

Thumper may wuss out after takng the course, but better to take it and wuss out than to save the money and buy a putt putt and THEN wuss out…

I have spent way too much time the last couple of days sitting here, clicking on little kitty faces at Kitten War, hoping that Buddah’s little kitty face would pop up and I could vote for him, no matter how cute his opponent might be.

Buddah as a kitten wasn’t…mmm…the most attractive kitty there was. He often had this odd look, like (at the risk of being WAY politically incorrect) he should be riding the short bus to school. His eyes would cross and he just didn’t look quite right sometimes. He was kitten-cute but not in that way that makes people look at him and squeal.

Buddah now…much cuter. He filled out, he gained control over his eyes, and became quite dignified. But at a year, he’s not a “kitten” and thusly, the picture submitted to kitten war was one when he was really a kitten.

And he’s losing.
Badly.
As in 60% of battles lost. 13% are draws.

It’s a good thing I know he was not the most attractive of kittens…

No, don’t try to go there and vote for him, You could sit there for 2 hours and he might never pop up in a battle (don’t ask me how I know this…) Or he could be in the first or third or 5th battle. It’s so random, there’s no telling. I managed to stumble across him there one time, and while OF COURSE I voted for him, the other kitten was awfully cute.

Really. Do not go to Kitten War. If you do, you may find yourself stuck there for the rest of your life, clicking on cute kitties, sighing “awwwwwww” way too often, and contemplating life as someone owned by 30 of the little furballs…

At The Library...Again

• Library Bob must be taking the day off from reading.
  
• For whatever reason, all the table lights are unplugged.
  
• I need lots of light.
  
• I brought my laptop today instead of my spiffy PDA.
  
• My laptop only has about 2 hours battery power, and is about to punk out.
  
• I was on a roll with my writing, but suddenly hit a brick wall.
  
• Now my head hurts.
  
• What I’m working on so far seems really depressing.
  
• I need to inject some funny into it.
  
• My stomach is growling loud enough that people keep looking at me.
  
• I could use it and the waning battery as an excuse to go get something to eat, something totally not good for me.
  
• I am fighting that urge.
  
• I have 5% battery power left.
  
• I think I’m done until I get home…
  

Things I Didn’t Need To See Today...

• The guy in the Raley’s parking lot with his hand down his pants, scratching his junk.
  
• The teenager in the library picking her nose.
  
• Then eating her special treasure.
  
• The Woman outside the library who tossed her trash bag of McD’s leftovers onto the ground because the can was full.
  
• Max’s paw zooming towards my face at 7:20 this morning
  

And Random Things…

• There are hot tub hogs at Gold’s Gym.
  
• No, I don’t know where that thought came from, other than I wanted to get in the hot tub after swimming Friday and it was full of people who just wouldn’t leave.
  
• No, I don’t expect people to get out just so I can get in.
  
• They’d been in there over 45 minutes, you’d think they’d have been cooked clear through by then.
  
• If they’re still there when I go back tomorrow, I think I should tell someone…
  

It takes a very special kind of stupid to put a swim suit on backwards, and then not notice for a good 30 seconds...

I ache from head to toes. Well, from my neck to my toes, but still… My body is taunting me, whispering “it’s your own damned fault for having not worked out for so long,” while it giggles like a sadistic little school girl. You know the one, every school has one. She’s the little B.I.T., embracing her future self like a life preserver.

My body hates me. The Spouse Thingy is going to want to hit the gym again today, and my body is busy hating me.

It’s a beautiful day, however—I can see actual sunshine out my office window—so it might be a day to pull my car out of the garage and take it for a spin with the top down. He can go ahead and take himself to the gym; I can drive around in the sunshine, grinning like a fool, and then I’ll take myself out for this huge, so-not-good-for-you lunch. Simply because I can.

Or I’ll sit here and whine about how much I ache from just a half hour of swimming half assed laps…

You didn’t think I’d spend the day working did you?

More Bullet Abuse…

• Gold’s Gym now owns us for a year; surprisingly, I’m excited about that.
  
• I have lost a lot of endurance over the last year.
  
• The pool was nice and warm, and it was good to know that unlike the Y, that’s not because 50 kids just peed in it.
  
• We fully intend to go back tomorrow.
  
• SUNSHINE! Well, at least it didn’t rain, even though it was cloudy a good part of the day.
  
• The Spouse Thingy, missing brew made by the spouse of an OH Evil Person, wants to make his own beer.
  
• I hate beer, but I’m all for it.
  
• I’ve decided I need a moped-like scooter instead of a motorcycle.
  
• Apparently, my mid-life crisis is minor.
  
• Or I’m a wuss.
  
• Either way, it would be fun.
  
• zoom
  

Wandom Bullets Aimed Right At You

• I am officially tired of rain.
  
• It is my fault we have had so much rain.
  
• It is raining because I want to ride my scooter.
  
• I can make it rain all summer long.
  
• I’ll just go buy a motorcycle.
  
• Or not.
  
• I love daylight savings time.
  
• Everyone who hates it can bite me :)
  
• DST is like magic to the night blind.
  
• Of which I am.
  
• My cat has a potential stalker.
  
• I think I’m jealous.
  
• He’s way more popular than I am.
  
• We are joining Gold’s Gym tomorrow (the Spouse Thingy and I, not the cat.)
  
• Yes, we joined the Y last year.
  
• That didn’t work out.
  
• Joining means I should actually go to the gym once in a while, doesn’t it?
  
• Maybe I’ll get buff.
  
• And then I’ll buy a motorcycle.
  
• Or not.
  

Yep. The Boy is 23.
Damn, I feel old.

My train of thought completely derailed at 2:11 in the Ulatis branch of the Vacaville Public Library this afternoon. There I was, typing away on my spiffy NEC Mobilepro 780 (yes, all you writers, be very jealous...), the words flowing from my brain to my fingertip in one giant literary river, when a 3 or 4 year old little girl stopped behind me and screamed at the top of her lungs “I HAVE TO GO POOPY! DADDY I HAVE TO GO POOPY!”

And Daddy, it seems, was not comfortable with taking her into the men’s room. And hell no, I did not offer to take her to the women’s room. Daddy continued to browse books, whispering “Just hold it for five more minutes,” and Little Girl kept informing the world that her bowels were 4.5 seconds away from evacuating involuntarily.

I could no longer concentrate on my work, not with them standing behind me. I don’t think it was the noise of his whispering and her trying to get him to understand that she was very close to a personal emergency; I think it was the idea that at any moment I was going to be directly in front of an oozing toddler.

My mental choo-choo didn’t even hit the brakes. It just sailed off the rails, and into a mountain of Oh Dammit, where it exploded in a mass of unfinished thought bubbles.

They left before she reached critical mass, but it was too late. I could not pick up where I left off, so I now have this mediocre-ly constructed, half-finished paragraph and I can’t figure out where I was headed with it. All I know is that it was damned good, probably the best stuff I was ever going to write, and now it’s gone.

So I’m packing up my spiffy NEC Mobilepro 780 (all writers, drool now) and heading home. I thought about detouring to Jamba Juice, but that wouldn’t be fair to the Spouse Thingy, who might want one, too. I’d call to see if he wants me to bring one home for him, but he still might be asleep, having worked the night shift.

But dammit, that was some good chit I was writing, but now the world will never know...

Because I Just Can’t Talk Enough About My Cats…

Okay, not really.

But you do get to be treated to this picture of Max, who is trying to hurry me along in opening a bag of treats he received from a kitty friend in Florida.

Hey, don’t roll your eyes. He and Buddah got a whole box of goodies from a kitty friend.

After this morning, they deserve a treat or two. I woke a whole lot earlier than I would have liked, my back feeling like someone had beaten it with a crow bar. I wasn’t surprised; yesterday as I sat down in my nice comfy chair, a muscle in my back clenched, and it’s been sore since. But this morning it was screaming at me, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to roll over, much less get out of bed to function as the cats’ can opener.

Then Max jumped up on the bed, crawled carefully onto my back, and began to purr. Buddah joined him, although his aim was a little off: he plopped down on my butt and began to purr just as hard.

Fifteen minutes of kitty therapy loosened the muscles that were in spasm enough that I was able to get up, and as reward they got fed early.

A bonus for all three of us.

It occurred to me, as I was bending over to put their plates on the floor, that I’ve been in varying degrees of pain for over nine years. No, don’t go “awwww” or feel sorry for me. It’s generally not significant pain and not nearly as bad as 99.5% of people with my problems have; usually it’s just this annoying little thing that settles on me the way the buzzing of a fly settles into background noise.

It’s not a big deal, but like this morning, every once in a while I find myself pondering how long its been. And then I think there should be a trophy for milestones: 1 year, 5 years, 10 years.

Next year, I want a freaking trophy.
Or chocolate.
Or a chocolate trophy.

Yep, that would be nice. A 5 foot tall chocolate trophy. I might even share.

Lost to slumber, my inner child romping through the playground of my dreams, it made perfect sense that we would take our psycho cat, Max, to the movies, and that he would sit quietly on a lap and watch the movie. It also made perfect sense that the theater had at least 10 attentive and polite ushers, who would be so impressed with his behavior that they would reward him with his favorite kitty treats. The only thing that didn’t make sense was that we took Max and not Buddah…

Because it is rainy and dreary where I’m at, and because my brain can’t seem to string enough words together to compose a coherent post, I give you Cute Kitties To Make You Squeal:










Click on the thumbnails to see bigger versions; these are all pictures I’ve found surfing around online (probably The Daily Kitten or Cute Overload), and they made me smile.

Max does not eat bugs. He will torture them, ripping off their little wings or pulling off their little legs, but he then leaves them on the floor to die a painful and horrible death, unless someone sees them first and engages in insecticide.

Buddah, on the other hand, delights in chasing bugs down; he’ll play a long game of cat and mouse, even if it’s just a fly. And when he’s done playing, he has himself a tasty little treat.

While it grosses me out, I appreciate the little guy’s fine hunting skills. I don’t like to see him eating bugs but I don’t take them away and toss them outside to freedom, as I am wont to do when I catch them. The only live toy he’s had taken away was a Yellow Jacket the Boy found him playing with yesterday. Buddah was apparently winning the fight when the Boy realized what he was playing with and then squished it; Buddah didn’t get stung, and the Yellow Jacket was too tired to attempt an escape from the shoe zooming towards it.

So I avoid watching Buddah with bugs. Let him enjoy it, I don’t need to be a part of it.

But a couple of mornings ago…I was still in bed, trying to convince myself that getting up would not be fatal, when he bounded in, something with long legs and wings hanging out of his mouth. He jumped up on the bed, onto my chest, and presented me with half of the biggest damned bug I’ve seen in years.

Um, yeah. Just half of it.

My initial thought was get that thing the hell off me! but here was my sweet little kitty, offering me part of his kill. As much as I wanted to get out of bed and away from the bug guts, I petted his head, thanked him, and said I wasn’t really hungry. And then I picked it up by what was left of a wing, dangled it in front of Buddah’s nose, and was trapped there as witness to the devouring of the remains.

I seriously hope we never have another mouse…

Tag, I’m It…

First, your eyes do not deceive you; I changed the template to the blog again. And yes, it looks an awful lot like Buddah’s blog…but with spiffy red lines!

And since I got tagged by Redneck Mommy, I bring you this meme:

Accent – Californian. Seriously.
Booze of choice – Vodka. Goes well with diet Mountain Dew
Chore I hate – All of them
Dog or Cat – Prefer the kitties, but I do like most dogs.
Essential electronics – It’s all about the computer, baby…
Favorite perfume(s)/cologne(s) – NONE. I want them BANNED!
Gold or Silver? – Gold, for sure.
Hometown – Don’t really have one
Insomnia? – I have sleep issues…have had for about 10 years.
Job Title – Literary Goddess
Kids? – Just the one. He makes me feel old.
Living Arrangement – renting a house. It’s a nice house, even with the ants.
Most admired trait – I have an admired trait?
Number of Sexual Partners – That’s kinda personal…
Overnight Hospital Stays – Hmmm..’79, ’83, ’02…so 3 of them.
Phobia – Heights and dying.
Quote - The flipside of doubt is faith...
Religion – Well…yeah…
Siblings – Yes.
Time I wake up – Which time? The cat wakes me at 6:30; I call him names and then go back to sleep, and wake up whenever I feel like.
Unusual talent/skill – Hey, my kid might read this…
Vegetable I refuse to eat – Mushrooms. Because they’ll kill me. Or at least make me wish I was dead.
Worst habit - Procrastination
X-rays – Are you kidding? I’m surprised I don’t glow in the dark.
Yummy foods I make – cookies.
Zodiac sign – Virgo. Not sure that means anything important.

I’m trying to get myself motivated to get off my butt, grab my backpack, and head to the library. Granted, it doesn’t open for another hour or so, but I may need that much time to peel myself up, do something about the persistent case of bed-head I seem to be afflicted with today, and then get myself out the door.

For a brief time yesterday, I worked. I ran errands and then went to the library (I just don’t write as well at home; I’m not entirely sure why.) Library Bob was there, in his usual place, with one of the world’s thickest books perched on his lap. Because the lighting seemed a little dim, I chose a table towards the back, where there are plenty of windows; I’m sure Library Bob as able to read just fine without my presence at my usual table.

I dove right into it; usually I have to ponder and muse, read over what I’d written last, then ponder and muse a little more, but yesterday there was a fire lit under my creativity, and the words just poured out.

And then I smelled vinegar.

Not just a whiff; this was as if someone dumped a five gallon bucket all over the floor, where it soaked into the brand new carpet. That the odor arrived along with a guy who sat at the table behind me might have been coincidental. All I know is he sat down and 10 seconds later my senses were flooded with the smell of vinegar.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t unpleasant. I like vinegar. I just don’t expect it in the library.

And it was distracting; my train of thought completely derailed and I found myself oddly hungry. Instead of thinking about how to wrap up a conversation between my main character and a dead guy, I was thinking about a chicken wrap sandwich with vinegar-soaked lettuce and onions. My mouth started watering right along with my eyes.

After five minutes, I gave up. So now I’m trying to muster the energy to get cleaned up and get out of the house, and I’m hoping Vinegar Boy isn’t anywhere near the library today, because frankly, if he is, I’ll wind up headed for Safeway, where I’ll dive head first into a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

I don’t even like salt and vinegar potato chips.

Now, if someone is there today smelling like donuts, I’m doomed…

Everyone needs one of these.
Well, everyone who is with someone who likes to ride a bike needs one of these.
They’re great fun for chasing the person on the bike.
It’s all the fun of the ride, without any of the sweat.
Plus, when you’re done, your back isn’t screaming in pain.
Your butt is, but your back is just fine…

You likey?

Start checking yard and garage sales… lots of people who paid $200 for scooters at Christmas are now trying to sell them for about $40. They just have no concept of fun. All the better for those of us who do.

Oh, and get a gel seat.
:::rubs backside, and walks away:::

It's Not A Complaint...

We were prepared for the DMV. We timed it so that we'd feel justified in going to the Chinese Buffet (King's Buffet on Orange Drive, for those who live nearby and want to try it... they have lotsa choices, plus a Mongolian BBQ) afterwards and we each took a book so that we'd have something to do to pass the time whilst waiting. God forbid we should sit there and talk. The only thing I forgot was my iPod. Green Day blaring American Idiot would have been nice.

The parking lot was packed, so we had an "ugh" moment but reveled in the dea that we were more than ready to face the crowds. I thumbed my early-issue paperback copy of Freakonomics (ha! You want the paperback, too, I know you do!) and figured I had half of it left, that was plenty to read. And if all else fails, there's always conversation with the Spouse Thingy. Sure, he might me engrossed in his own book, but that wouldn't stop me from annoying him by talking and talking and talking...

We stepped in, got our number, which was C007, and checked the TV thingy that displays what number they're on.

C006.

We'd barely had our butts in the chairs (yes! Our DMV has seating!) when our number was called. It took less than 5 minutes, in and out.

What happened to the DMV? This is the second time lately that we've gotten in and out in under 15 minutes. What happened to the 3 hour wait time? What happened to the mass confusion and clerks pointing you to a second then a third line before sending you back to the first? Who finally got organized???

Is this one of the End Of Times signs?
Are we doomed?
:::wanders off, worried:::

Searching For Silver Linings, And All That...

The bad: We have to stand in line at the DMV tomorrow to pay my car registration; I tried to pay online, but because the plate has changed since last year, it wouldn’t let me.
The good: The DMV is located near an awesome Chinese buffet.

The bad: Buddah understands how a door knob works
The good: He hasn’t yet figured out how to get traction to make the knobs turn.

The bad: After 4 years of enjoying its absence, PMS has returned with a vengeance.
The good: At least my bones are better protected now, thanks to the freaking hormones.

The bad: Now I crave chocolate a lot.
The good: Now I have an excuse to have chocolate more often.

The bad: Major, major weather-inspired headache today.
The good: Since I could not think, you’re now spared any further of my musings today.

=sigh=

I had to do it myself. All by myself. =sniff= All those boxes, cluttering the garage, needing to be moved hither and yon…

Okay, so the garage needed to be rearranged because *I* wanted to get the table that the Boy had in his apartment out for use in my office. And *I* wanted to be able to park my car on one side of the garage and not the middle (because frankly, that’s a pain in the tuckus when there are other cars in the driveway and I want to pull my car out…if it’s on one side then only one other car has to be moved so that I can drive my beloved…) Just because it was all *my* idea that doesn’t mean *I* wanted to put forth the effort.

But I did. And I didn’t even whine while I was doing it, because frankly, whining is not worth the effort when there’s no one within ear shot to annoy.

In moving these boxes around and stacking them just so, I discovered a few things:

♦We own entirely too many books.
♦Book boxes are very heavy and are difficult to sling above head height for stacking purposes
♦If we ever get around to really going through all those boxes, we’re going to need a much bigger trash can
♦We seriously own too many books

I did not reward myself with pizza, though I’ve been craving it since the idea popped into my head and if I still want it tomorrow, dammit, I’m getting a pizza. And I did not engage in the mass consumption of drinkage and snackage, unless you count having 2 snacks last night, an orange and then later a little baggy of pretzel sticks. And certainly no one gave me $20… but I can go to the ATM and pay myself later.

Ooh. Maybe I will.

I will pay someone $20 to come rearrange the contents of my overstuffed garage.
Really, I will.
In cash.
And I'll provide drinkage and snackage.
Or pizza! I'll order a pizza!

Please...?

I did not wear green today.
I did not pinch anyone else I saw not wearing green.
I did not eat corned beef or drink green beer.
I did not speak with a fake Irish accent.
I did not say things like Erin Go Bragh.

In fact, I did not do anything to acknowledge the date, mostly because I would have totally forgotten today was St. Patrick’s Day if the Spouse Thingy had not made a point of wearing a baseball shirt with green sleeves.

(And now I have that stupid song going through my head. Anyone who suffered through elementary school choir knows the one. Ack.)

However, since I’m embracing my inner lameness this week, I will pay homage to the date by typing in green, and have my fingers crossed it actually shows up as green and not some other weird color on computer monitors across the world…

No, We’re Not On Crack…

…but we did really “celebrate” the cat’s birthday. There was no cake, but there was grilled beef and some shrimp for him (and he shared with Max) and presents. There’s even photographic evidence.

Go ahead and laugh. We’ll be doing it again in June, when Max turns five.

I am merely embracing my inner lameness…