Today in the car, after pretending to wax his eyebrows with a sticker, Falco said, “Finally! I cut my eyebrows shorter so people stop saying I’m so handsome.”

Just now, I gave him his math homework, and the last bit says to write the numbers 7-10 and circle the number he wrote best. He said, “That’s going to be hard because I write all my numbers perfect.”

At least I don’t need to worry about his self confidence.


How many shots?


The dream of privacy.


Who needs hands?

I often think Falco (like most 5 year olds) doesn’t appreciate all that he has. Today he took that to a new level when he said he wanted two hooks for hands. It wasn’t enough to just say such a silly thing once, but he kept whining and pouting in the car, saying gruffly, “Why can’t I have hooks for hands? I’m not going to stop being mad until I can have two hook hands.” I chose to ignore this all completely instead of arguing with a clearly irrational person. I hope he can still live a full life without this disability.


Cocktail humor.


Best swing view ever.


Cross dressing Pooh?


Cribs are optional.


At some point in the last few months, I started to find myself in the situation pictured above. Murdock wakes up crying from his nap after 45-60 minutes, probably because he is teething and his mouth is too sore to go back to sleep. I go in his room, he reaches to be picked up, and the moment I sit down with him in the glider, he snuggles up and goes right back to sleep. If I have time, he will often sleep another hour or more in my arms.

Here’s the part where I should complain about how inconvenient this is, how his nap time is my opportunity to get things done, how I need to find a sleep training plan to fix this. The thing is, I don’t actually mind. I am relishing having a baby again, and what part of having a baby is better than holding a sleeping one? Murdock is growing up so fast. Before long, he won’t even fit to nap on my chest. Yes, I was halfway finished with hanging shades in the living room and have laundry waiting to be folded, but that stuff can wait. I’m busy hugging my sweet toddler and listening to him snore.

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The Woods.

I grew up visiting my extended family in rural Mississippi, where exploring the woods with my cousins was a normal weekend event. I don’t know how young I started going out on my own, but I don’t think my mom ever worried that I was out in the wilderness alone; and I never worried that I could get lost or kidnapped or hurt or suffer any other misfortune. Now I’m a mom in San Francisco. The idea of my kids roaming the forest unattended terrifies me. I’m a city mom, and my kids are always in my sight. Going outdoors for us means taking the kids to the playground or zoo. There is no such thing as freely exploring nature.

Case in point, today we trekked across the Golden Gate Bridge to Muir Woods to walk on a carefully constructed path through a redwood forest. After finding parking and paying admission, we walked on the paved path with the herd of tourists and pointed to the trees, careful not to take so much as a twig as a souvenir. It was beautiful and controlled and clean and fun. We do have some parks where the kids can actually touch things and collect pine cones and bark and sticks, but they are still city parks and always have a parent nearby.

I have only travelled back to Mississippi twice with Falco, never with Murdock so far. The last time we were there, Falco was two, and we were clearly fish out of water. Falco was afraid of the four wheeler ride with his cousin; I was trying to keep him neat and clean; he wasn’t allowed to play guns or fight or wrestle like his cousins. Matt and I joke about hippie Berkeley parents (in good fun). I can only imagine what Mississippi parents say about us!

I hope we can take the boys to Mississippi soon. When we do, I will try to let them get dirty and explore a little more. As long as I can see them. And they don’t pretend sticks are guns. Until then, we’ll enjoy our version of the woods.


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Making me proud.

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