Easter Sunday

Wearing Carrots

I have been trying to decide over a slow bowl of ice cream which photo I like best and I can't for anything choose just one, so I'm posting them all. I look at her face all day long and yet when I put her to bed, I miss it. I pace around the house for photos of her so I can see her even more, more strongly and surely, so I'll never forget. She's only the reason i get up every morning. she's sunshine and carrots and big curious eyes and she laughs so much now, especially at sam's silly faces, that it makes me breathless with happyhappyhappy. And this series is only breakfast. Thank goodness the camera runs out of batteries.

1903 Harrill

Okay so this is our house in the 'hood where we've lived since I was 8 months pregnant last summer 2008. It's a mess. The porch and facia board need painting. We need new windows and porch railings. The storm door got broken, ironically, in a storm. The bright pink azaleas have some kind of disease. Miss Mary who is 900 years old and lives next door saved the tires-mounted-on-hubcabs flower pots for me. I spray-painted them green and will soon smother them in sweet potato vine like I did last summer to hide their junkyard origins. Danny's dad planted a cypress. So far I've planted a forsythia, a camelia, a bunch of lilies, and mounds of pansies. Oh, there's also a rusting yellow fire hydrant in the yard. Inside though, it's beautiful. It's got 10 foot ceilings and beautiful tile bathrooms. Some of the floors are still old wood. The house is 103 years old and is only a dozen blocks from uptown Charlotte. We're renovating it one inch at a time. I guess I'm putting this photo here so later I can see how much it's changed.

Bad Guy King Bonks Head, Gets Kiss

Yesterday Sam excavated a grey t-shirt of Danny’s from the heap of laundry on the table and after a tussle, managed to get it on. Then he declared himself king. “Where is your crown?” I asked. “I are king!” barked Sam. He swung his arms around as if wielding a sword. “I are bad guy king!” he added with a snarl. “What is a bad guy king?” I asked. “I fight them!” said Sam, and roared. “Please would you go and fight the…(my mind scrambled for an alternative to “bad guys”)… monster!” Sam paused mid swing. Then, “Ya! I fight monster!” And with this he turned, leaped over his broken ukulele, and disappeared into the other room.

Growling and snarling ensued. He returned a few minutes later, face aglow. “Wow! I said. “Now would you please go and fight the...umm... dragon!” “Ya, I fight dragon.” He looked like Yoda in the long t-shirt as he leapt away. After some grunts and yelps… silence.

Sam appeared around the corner, his face crumpled up like a wad of paper. “I bonk my head!” he wailed. “Does bad guy king need a kiss?” “I need kiss!” he bawled. He staggered forward and I kissed his sweaty head. “Are you my bad guy king?” I asked. Sam nodded. “Can I take a picture of the bad guy king?” Sam kneeled on the floor and snarled, “I are bad guy king!”