On marriage

I don't write much about Shawn on my blog because, really, what is there to say? He is so constant, so steady, so ready to rub a foot, or change a diaper, or squash a spider, it would seem like bragging.

Husbandness is Shawn. Shawn was born to be a husband. My husband, such a gift.

He is quiet but thoughtful. He is intelligent and modest. He is expressive but reserved. Shawn loves fatherhood like I love motherhood and we have joined together almost seamlessly as parents.

He lets me plan for Christmas tree placement in September. When I mentally move our family to London for a year, he goes with it and even helps me decide whether we'll store our furniture or sell it. Shawn eats fake meat on pizzas and on tacos with a smiling gulp.

Tonight, Shawn went to Birdy's to see Trampled by Turtles and I wanted to go but sitter money always seems frivolous and it was a late show (9p.m. start--yes, I am OLD), and it just didn't come together. I kinda miss weeknight dates to smokey bars to hear traveling bands with my blue eyed sweetie. I like seeing him navigate the crowd to find us a suitable spot to watch the show only to work his way right back to fetch me a beer. I love the way he'll drum his fingers on my shoulder sort of off beat when he really gets into the music. Shawn introduced me to bluegrass--a music I have come to love--and I like to see new bands with him.

I hope he's having fun. In the meantime, I am going to fall asleep in the shape of an X on the bed. I need some consolation, after all.

Relativity

Like many conversations I begin, this blog will start with this sentence:

So I was listening to NPR yesterday and I heard the most interesting story.

It was about these physicists in Colorado who did actual tests on Einstein's theory of relativity by using an amazingly sensitive clock to measure time on a quickly moving train. What they found was that Einstein was right (of course) and time is not constant. The clock on the high speed train found time moved just a teeny-tiny bit more slowly than the stationary clock. How much more slowly? About 18 zeros after the decimal point of a second more slowly. Not a lot, but a bit.

This news is promising however. Because regular time is just going too damn fast. I think I'd be willing to become the Boxcar Kids if it meant a little longer at bedtime. More snuggles, more books, more talks about our day together.






I would take 18 zeros after the decimal point worth of more walks through the neighborhood.






Even though I'm growing weary of nursing in public, with my big girl baby, I know that those nursing snuggles are winding down so an extra billionth of a second would probably be welcome.




I wouldn't turn down an extra moment watching her take in a fall parade.







18 zeros after the decimal place wouldn't be close to enough time to drink in Violet's new love for dressing herself.




I'm going to hold out hope that these physicists will be able to translate 18 zeros after the decimal into some meaningful extra time for those of us watching our babies grow up too fast.

Drought

It has been so dry here for the last two months, I feel like I am living out west again. Everyone's yards are brittle, the leaves are starting to turn brown and drop, and the farmers are calling it a year. So when the skies finally do open up, if only for a moment or two, rather than running inside to hide, we run outside to play! Yay, rain!