Poppy’s working on sitting up now, and we thought she might like an “exersaucer.” And she does, indeed, like it. Not a very interesting story, I know, but it’s a cute picture.
I made some bacon this morning on the George Foreman — healthy and delicious. And I didn’t even burn my foot in the process.
I frequently read a review of a book I’d like to read, then promptly forget about it and find myself wandering the library in a daze and settling for something like “St. Dale“ (really! I did! Please spare yourself!). I generally trust the recommendations of Matthew Baldwin, but he hasn’t mentioned anything new recently. So I was forced to find someone else’s list to poach.
I’ve been on a bit of a Ayelet Waldman kick recently (the result of a library-wandering with a more pleasant outcome than the aforementioned horror), and I was delighted to find a booklog on her Web site. It’s a list of and a few comments on about a gazillion books she’s read in the last five or so years. I had already wanted to read many of them, and she very kindly and unknowingly reminded me of them.
I’m always on the lookout for good books to add to my list (which is now Officially Written Down [or at least typed] over yonder in the sidebar), so please toss any recommendations my way.
Our recent turmoil drummed up some “air ambulance” ads from google. Sort of funny, and yet … not funny at all.
Rockford is feeling better, and I’d say I’m at about 80 percent. But Poppy is still throwing up — not every time she eats or even every other time. Randomly, about once a day, she’s been tossing back an entire feeding. She doesn’t seem to have a stomachache (she smiles before and after), but it still tears at my heart every time. There seems to be a lot of feeling helpless (and worry and heartache and gnashing of teeth) involved in this parenting thing. For me, anyway.