This past weekend your mom and I spent some time getting your new room set up. Isn’t it weird to think there’s a special space just for you waiting out here? You’ll be in our room with us for a while, but eventually, these will be your digs:
Your mom would appreciate it if I mention here that your rug is actually a dark brown, not black. And you’ll appreciate knowing that your mother has a grand decorating scheme in mind that includes a cohesive, unisex color palette. Aren’t you lucky?!
I hate it when I’m all ready to plow headlong into a story with snarky comments and exaggerated demonstrations of disgust/indignation, only to find that that it actually turns out to be genuinely heartwarming, albeit a bit weird.
As Georgia Browne breastfeeds her baby son Monty, nothing could seem more normal or natural. At eight months old, Monty thrives on his mother’s milk, but someone else is also thriving on Georgia’s milk – her father Tim!
We went on a family walk last night after work, which usually looks like Ava and Leah strolling down the street with a backwards-walking paparazzo in front of them. No matter. I can’t resist getting pictures of my girls!
I was reading a magazine to Ava last night, and at one point, she stopped me and pointed to a word on the page. Then she started to sound out each letter. Leah walked into the room while this was going on, and with our encouragement, Ava finally read her word. It was pretty thrilling. We haven’t put much effort into getting Ava to read anything for herself, opting to read to her a lot and just figure she’ll make the leap when she’s ready. So last night felt like a good sign. I love reading to Ava, but I’m eager for the day when she can read to herself.
We’re closing in on it, unborn baby. We had an appointment this morning, during which we heard your little heartbeat (it’s really not little, but it is rapid). The doctor also checked your mom’s cervix, which — gosh darn — looks to me just like all kinds of fun! I routinely think on the myriad reasons I’m glad I’m not a woman, and Ob/Gyn exams are way up there at the top of that list. Our next appointment is at 36 weeks, and after that, we’ll start going every week until you arrive. [Read more →]
Ava had Easter overload this past weekend. Her Grandma Georgie came down from Decorah with all sorts of fun plans, which included dyeing eggs and frosting cookies. On top of all that, the Easter Bunny dropped off a fun new pal for Ava. Meet “Pinky:”
And a bonus shot of three generations of Miller/Klevar/Palmberg women:
Leah hipped me to this just now, and I thought it worth sharing. It’s a wonderful little bit of writing.
That I almost cried last week upon reading that the Iowa Supreme Court overturned the state law banning same-sex marriage will therefore come as no surprise. I’m still struck by one thought: over the years, I’ve met so many gay émigrés who felt it was unsafe to be gay in so-called flyover country and fled for the East and West coasts. But as a gay man, I can’t marry in “liberal” New York, where I’m a resident, or in “liberal” California, where I was born, and very soon I will have that right in “conservative” Iowa.
I was taking pictures of Leah’s Easter egg tree the other day when Ava decided to horn in on the action. So, you get what we have here, which, is the way she wants it….
I guess I might be more down with this whole Christianity thing if God had some firm boundaries in mind. I mean, the fact that there’s no sin or lapse I can’t confess or repent my way out of seems…well, not a great way to run a theology. Like there’s no bridge too far. Nothing I can do that’s going to remove me from God’s good Grace so long as I’m willing to give up a “my bad!”
I know there are other options out there that deal much more harshly with worldly transgressions, but really, I don’t want to swing so far the other way that I’m losing my head for something I did on Earth. Let’s keep these rewards confined to the afterlife, shall we? What’s the point of punishing a mistake if you’re not forced to live with its consequences? If only I knew a couple Catholics who could set me straight….
“But Mark,” I hear you saying, “If that’s not the way to sell hamburgers, just how does one go about it?” Praise Jeebus, I’m glad you asked. Really. FYI: This is what Hardee’s does to vegetarians:
I mean, really. WTF? Leah and I saw this last night and couldn’t believe our eyes. Is there a target audience here? Why is an ad for a kid’s meal running at 10 p.m.?
Kid’s meal? Sir Mix-a-lot? Baby Got Back? What the hell’s going on around here? EDIT: My indignation and anger increase each time I watch this. Am I making too big a deal out of it? I’m having trouble envisioning the kind of family that’s sitting around with their kid’s-meal-age kids at 10 at night, watching this and thinking, “Aw hellz yeah! That ad is TIGHT! Big asses and burgers, baby, ALL NIGHT LONG!” Gah! I hate you, Burger King. An ad with Spongebob Squarepants alone would’ve been objectionable enough, but the dancers in booty shorts just puts this over the top, and NOT in a good way. Where the hell is Tipper Gore when we need her?!
I know a number of my more enlightened readers are also WordPress users. I thought I’d put up a quick recommendation for a nice plugin that lets mobile users view your blog in a stripped-down, clean, and fast front end: WordPress Mobile EditionMobilePress. Very slick.
