Thursday, August 7, 2008


You know those weeks that just feel like a rock you cannot crawl out from underneath? Or, like, a giant log...or, OR! maybe, you know, like a really heavy wool blanket that you can't kick off that's all itchy and smelly and, I dunno, maybe wet? Yeah, this week has been like that.

First, we were sick. And luckily Joe escaped it, but G and I have been trading snotties back and forth. Then, it was all just minor stuff, like trying to get rid of the fruit fly infestation in our kitchen, or wading through lots of bills and mail we hadn't thought about recently. Then, this morning, as I was starting to put Graham in his bouncy chair, I heard a string of cursing coming from the porch. And lo, someone stole Joe's bike. Again.

Let me just say for as much as Joe makes fun of my (lack of) powers of observation, neither one of us is cut out for the private detecting business. Because while we spent ten minutes this morning figuring out that you could push really hard on the porch door and make it pop open even when locked (a useful observation, probably one that we will want to correct), I did not notice the holes cut in the window screen until the nice police officer pointed them out. So some tool put a chair up under our window, cut the screen, opened the window, jumped in, and then let himself out with the bike, helpfully leaving the door propped open. When I called Joe at work to tell him about the window, he said "God! That's a lot of effort! Didn't he realize you can just pop the door open?" I married the man for the funny, and I have yet to be disappointed.

Anyway, we're pissed about the bike, but what can you do? There's a lot of people in our neighborhood who really need a bike, and clearly, they really needed a bike. There's no point in trying to make a homeowner's insurance claim (the deductible is almost the same amount we paid for the bike), and really, would we press charges if the fingerprints actually matched a guy? (They actually came and fingerprinted the place! It was like the world's most tame version of CSI: Upstate New York. Wait, is that redundant?) So, no bikes for us, I guess.

There have been some bright and shiny moments this week, though. Graham turned seven months old on Monday. Seven! Somehow that feels really old to me, like he is closer to being a toddler than a baby. He can now do the following:
  • Sit up by himself (mostly. I'm going to give it to him, even though he falls a lot. He usually falls because he is reaching for the very very exciting toy that is a leeetle too far in front of him.)
  • Skooch on his belly all over the darn place (he figured out how to dig in his toes this week)
  • Eat lots of exciting things like peaches and pears and peas and sweet potatoes and avocado and oatmeal and apples and the peaches, he is very excited about the peaches
  • Scream really loud when he's happy
  • Scream really loud when he's mad
  • Blow lots of spit bubbles
  • Play with his guitar
And lots of other cool stuff. I think, as I have been assured by many moms, that we are turning the corner into more and more fun. Bikeless fun, but fun nonetheless.

1 comment:

Mr. Dad said...

Forgive my wife.

Not only would I press charges against this guy, I would push as hard as I possibly could for lethal injection. Hell, I'd give him the shot myself.

OK, off to the handgun store (kidding)(sort of).