When Daddy's Away... Mommy Will Play Dess Up!

It's all quiet here, what with the babies sleeping through the night and all.

Euge is having a boys' weekend snowmobiling, so I am having a boys' weekend hanging out with my boys!

We were going out for brunch with HK, Ada and Thor and I had some adorable t-shirts that we got in the mail as a gift for them to wear.

But they didn't seem quite warm enough, so I pulled out some of our baby sweaters that Mom had sent me... before we knew the boys were boys. Some of them seemed not so girlish, so I put them to use!

The boys may have looked a bit.. umm.. European. But that's okay. I fed them some pommes frites.

Binky...or french fry...binky... or french fry...

Yo, you want some fries wit dat?

The Approach To Moscow

When Updike died the other day, I sent a friend an email with one of my favorite lines from his short story, A&P. When he wrote back, he sent one of his favorite lines, which was really more like a paragraph, and also, not surprisingly, one of the lines I had considered sending him as a favorite of my own. The thing about that story is that nearly every line is one you might claim as a favorite, the voice in it is just that good.

Most of my reading time over the past few months has been occupied with an entirely different piece of fiction. I started reading War & Peace before Christmas, as a distraction of sorts. I wanted the demand and commitment, the long march of it. I had read it before, but some time last year I read a review that made me want to pick up one of the new translations, I don't remember exactly what it said, but it was something that left me with the impression that the translators had tried to stay true to the words that Tolstoy seemed to love to use, to maintain consistency in the phrases that he returned to throughout the book.

Even with that kind of intended fidelity to the original language, War & Peace is not quotable in quite the way A&P's clever turns of phrase are. There is the problem of translation, to begin with, something that always troubles me and a reason that I tend to be shy in my approach to fiction that was not written in my own language. When Updike writes "All of a sudden I slid right down her voice into her living room", I am charmed by the novelty of that little phrase, common words used in an uncommon way. How would it have been translated into another language, though? What phrase in french would have captured just that small strangeness in it, or the images that it evokes even as the meaning, the way he was drawn in by her voice, is maintained? A translator could have rendered it into a phrase that would have been translated back as "All of a sudden I was drawn in by her voice, right into her living room" and something would have been lost, wouldn't it have?

One of the most memorable experiences of my life as a college student was translating Saint Exupery's memoir, Terres des Hommes (the title of which is translated in English to Wind, Sand and Stars, and if that doesn't say it all about the problem of translation, I don't know what will, since Terre des Hommes is literally Land (as in earth, soil, the way a potato is a pomme de terre or apple of the earth) of Men). Clearly I am still fired up about that experience, as I am now writing using parentheses within parentheses, and surely Mr. Carey would be proud of that lasting impression he made, were it not for the fact that I am using such poor sentence structure. After we finished writing my thesis together (which had led to us doubting whether it was possible at all to write a thesis on Eliot's Four Quartets), I suspect we both comforted ourselves by remembering his words to me at our last advisory session in the coffee shop - "At least it is a beautifully crafted piece of writing," so certainly he would expect better of me.

But I digress. I was just going to say that the experience of translating Terre des Hommes was so memorable because each line presented a charming puzzle to us, a unique and happily translatable gem of description, like the line about the tender blades of grass poking their noses through the cracks in the sidewalk. The genius of Saint-Exupery was that he used these clear physical images in original ways, so those of us who had to read in translation were able to hold fast to his original image and intent. It was lovely.

Tolstoy is not so concrete. War & Peace is filled with historical references that it would take a long tenure in academia to sort out, spiritual and intellectual concepts, gestures, ideas, expressions in language that is no doubt outmoded in its original language even more obviously than in translation. Reading it today, in English, even a very good translation, one feels that one is missing much.

Still, the experience of reading it has been so rich for me. I feel so grateful for it, in a way I can't entirely explain, though I feel compelled to try. I think of Tolstoy as the most ambitious of novelists, the most generous, a writer who is trying to give you every moment of a span of a lifetime, every gesture, all the fleeting thoughts, the sun on the crops, the hunt, the comet of 1812 and a missing button on a beloved's jacket. When I started writing more seriously, it was because I wanted to do that. Not, I admit, to give it to you, but because I wanted to see what the world would look like described. I wanted to start on page one and see what happened over time. And this is something that, no matter how beautiful or clever or quotable, a short story has a very hard time delivering. Time.

Which is why, I suppose, there are all those Rabbit books.

And why I'll be back, later, with more about War & Peace, which is to say, more about me, and more about everything that exists in the entire world. And more.

Believe It or Not, Only 244 of Them Are of You.

I got a new camera for Christmas, but we haven't bonded yet. At first it was the lack of memory, just the card it came with, four photos or something. Now it's the fact that it's sort-of too nice or something - my old camera was this beat-up little brick that I could just toss in a bag. The new one has a shiny screen covering half of it's back, and that thing just looks made for scratches.

I'm over it, though, the photo excuse. For a while, I was telling myself that the lack of photos was the impediment to blogging. But with 8,210 photos in my iPhoto, there should be plenty of material, right? Cabins up in the mountains, blankets at concerts, wolfhounds, dimly lit dinner plates, choice pieces of graffiti, half-knit socks, and what seems like a hundred lattes. It might be that many, it really might. Two years worth, at least.

At this point, if he were me writing this, my friend Mike might say, "This is not interesting." He wouldn't say it if I was talking, he only says This Is Not Interesting about his own (always interesting) stuff. But I kind-of like the way he'll stop, mid-sentence, and say that. It makes me want to do it too, and now sometimes I do. I don't know why. I guess I like the way we catch ourselves like that, the way we notice that we are drifting away from the person we are talking to, and try to come back to where we started. By picking up the phone, or a pen, or opening the computer for a new email, saying "Hi. I'm here. Where are you?" That's what interesting, that's what I'm always interested in. Where are you? I want to know.

So, hi. This is a cabin I slept in once. Tami was there, and Kae. When I was there, I felt like I knew what I was doing, even though it was always Kae who lit the fire. I don't think I told you at the time, that that was where I was, in a cold cabin that a friend warmed up for me, feeling like I knew what we were all doing there, and why. What does it mean to tell you now?

Good With Light

Went to see the Hopper show at Seattle Art Museum this weekend. "He's so good with light," Bobby said. Rightly, of course. But I was thinking about spaces, and solitude, and the girl with one glove on, one glove off, sitting at her table alone. Afterwards I went home and finished knitting a pair of socks, made a hot cup of tea and talked on the phone for three hours and it seemed like the whole world was changed as a result. I started to get an idea about what I was afraid of, and how those things about me that I didn't think were that great, for some people, are just fine. I talked so long that I ran out of words, and every sentence was just... yeah. Trailed off, like that. And it was fine.

Then today, the world kept it up, the changing. My inbox , the inbox today was full of apologies and reparations, invitations and flattery, set-ups and meet-ups and love songs and bootlegs and people returning after long or seemingly irreparable absences.

I was been wondering if it was planetary or something. But then I thought, maybe it was the fact that this morning in the car, I sang Jenny Lewis loud (and badly) - you know the song I mean? From her new one. You probably don't... "Trying my best to looooove yoooooou!" it goes... And I am, I always am. Whoever you are in my life, if I love you at all, I'm trying my best to love you. I swear.

I'm wondering what's gonna happen tomorrow, when I bring everyone donuts and letters about raises? And did you know there's a song in the world called "Letter to Heather"? I didn't, until last night. So pretty. I'm trying that one tomorrow. We'll see. We will see.

2008 Performance Review - Major (and minor) Accomplishments

#36. Be brave.

I had goals last year. I don't know if you remember that. I forgot it, actually. Kind-of. I had this idea that I never actually got the goals established for last year. I thought I wrote, like, half of them. Typed out a few, lost steam, jotted down a few more later, but just never got it all the way together.

And that was the way 2008 seemed, it would have made sense if that was true about 2008, I thought. Not my finest year.

But I was wrong about the list, at least. The blog doesn't lie (well, in certain ways), there's the list. There are a lot of other things about 2008 too, which is one of the things I love about the blog. I've had a bad attitude about 2008 for too long now, even though there were some stretches of real discomfort. Some of it was related to those days where it just seemed like my feet were always cold and wet, but some of the time was worse, some of the time was lonely and raw, time for hibernation, made better by expensive tea at least.

But even in a bad year, it's like me to end a sentence with something about what makes it all better. The list helps, too, and while not everything on it was accomplished, it was good to be reminded that plenty of things were, so let's take a look, shall we?

#24 Take another ferry trip to Bainbridge. One of my favorite days ever with B

#20. Knit socks for the latest additions to our writing group. February in Zion. Karen L's, I think?

#29. Get back to the ranch for a picture with grown-up Liam. We did get the two of us together, but do I have a copy? No. Silly.

#6. Read all of J.D. Salinger again. Nine Stories at the beach, so good! Didn't get all the books read though...

#1. Hold the twins. Done and done.

#32. Take a secret trip that I can't talk about here yet. There were a few of those in 2008! The photo above is from the trip to see Tami's reading in LA, but there was also the surprise baby shower trip of course!

#2. Stay at Ace Portland again. Extra credit for making it more than once.

Things You Can't Keep

It isn't very often these days that I feel like writing. That's just a fact, and a sad one at that. Other things are good, it's a rewarding time at work, where I feel challenged to almost exactly the right degree, and where I know I am at times seeing the best version of myself. And reading is good, better than usual.

But still, I miss the writing, of course, so when I felt like writing tonight, it was like that day in winter when you finally wake up to light instead of darkness. Jenny Lewis did it. B and I went to see her at Meany Hall tonight, and I sat there next to him, so happy, wishing I could write everything down, remember every note. I can't tell you what I would have written, that's how these things happen, it slips away, and you know it's going to slip away, and sometimes you have to let it.

But I can tell you how beautiful her voice was. It was more beautiful than a guitar or a violin or a cello. More beautiful than her long hair or pretty face, or the lyrics to the song with the chorus that tells your best girlfriend to keep the lighthouse in sight. She and Jonathan Rice sang Love Hurts more beautifully than even Emmylou and Gram, and I know, believe me I know, what sacrilege that sounds like, but I swear, for me, tonight, it was true. There was not a wrong moment in her voice. I'd be willing to bet it will be the most beautiful singing voice I hear live all year. It was more beautiful than even the way B smiled at me when I told him I was scared, and more beautiful than the way he asked, gently, "What is there to be scared about?"

And for one evening, sitting still, listening hard in the dark, with Jenny singing about all the hard parts of love, it was all so beautiful that I almost believed there wasn't anything to be scared about at all.

First Field Trip of the Year

Such a good night last night. One of those parties where you just think there really couldn't be a nicer group of people on earth, nor a more interesting group. Our friend Charla was there, and she dug down deep in conversation, and the fire popped and the dogs' ears stuck out straight from their heads in expressions of delight and sweet pleading attentiveness and I ate the best cookie I have ever had in my life.

Afterwards, Kate and I were supposed to go see the boys play at Neumo's, but when we got there at 10, it was totally sold out! I've seen them way too many times to be that bummed about it, especially because it just means success for them and I love that. Now I'm waiting to collect the girls and we'll head down to PDX, where I get to go out to Amber's farmette for a visit, then back to the city for the show at the White Eagle.

I've been thinking about 2008 a lot, thinking maybe I'm working on reworking that year, to a certain degree. I thought of it as a bad one, you know, but there was a lot of good too, as there will be in the year of any person with as many good friends and loves and cute nephews as I do. Last January was Colorado hot springs for Pam's birthday, and Portland at the Ace with Susan, and of course coming to see a very pregnant sister for her baby shower.

I'm thinking 2009 better step it up!

Meanwhile, here in the arctic tundra...

It is unbelievably cold here right now.

I know that you've had all the lovely snow... but we just got an arctic blast! The boys have been stuck indoors all week and, likely, will be stuck indoors all weekend. Hopefully the cabin fever won't be too bad.

I think it's one of the nicest things about having the two that, even on a week where no one wanted to venture out to have a playdate, they still had each other to play with.

Since the beginning it has been interesting to watch them relate to each other. When they were first born, they only seemed to notice each other when they were lying down in their crib. If you held them up in front of one another, their eyes slid off of each other like mercury.

Gradually, they seemed more aware of one another, mostly still in the crib with the cuddling and reaching out to pat one another... then the inevitable binky-stealing that led to their separation.

These days, they are playing together, stealing each others toys and - as you can see from the video - loving on each other in a rough-and-tumble sort of way. When they are sitting in their high chairs for meals they watch each other with more and more interest each day. Thomas, in particular, seems to find Max more entertaining at mealtimes than any other time. He will watch Max and just start cracking up.

Sometimes it gets a bit out of hand and I have to separate them. They aren't able to understand that biting isn't a great way to express affection (though it does seem to make them happy) or hair pulling... or that eyes are sort of a delicate place to stick your fingers... But none of it is done maliciously (that I can tell) and a split second after I have pulled them apart, they are usually all over each other again.

Despite the fact that they are identical, they are developing at different rates. Max was standing in his crib for a full two weeks before Thomas discovered that particular skill. Max grew his upper teeth earlier than Thomas. Thomas started crawling weeks before Max and was comfortable sitting up weeks before Max.

I wonder, as they get older, how much of this individual rate of development will translate into sibling rivalry. Hopefully, only in a good way...

In the meantime, it is so fun to watch them watching each other.

Last weekend we took them for brunch and started a game of peek-a-boo at the table. We were draping a napkin over one of their heads and saying (to the un-draped one) 'Where's your brother? Where is he? I don't see him' Then we would pull the napkin off with a flourish and say 'there he is!' this led to crazy hysterical baby laughter and, eventually, they realized that they could pull the napkins off themselves.

It was, without a doubt, one of the funniest afternoons I have ever spent.

So Random

But I was gonna just do those little things, remember? Me, caught wrapping presents the other day, in my faaaaavorite sweater. Mom came over for faux Christmas last night, so the wrapping's been undone now. We ate chocolate souffle and peppermint bark ice cream and yelled at the TV and laughed at stories I wrote in elementary school. Thanks for the visit Mom!

Nekked Baby Shots

Fun in the bathtub!

Plan For the Day

The couch. Crumpets soaked in butter and cinnamon sugar and cheese. Hot tea, knitting. Critic's choice awards in between bouts of William Faulkner's Light In August and writing group manuscripts (yes, late as always!).

What Mom Says

My street Sunday night, after I got home from dinner at Dad's

... every time I see her, is "BLOG!", as in, I should. But I haven't been feeling it. Don't know what to say about that. Which pretty much sums up why, even though she says it, I don't do it. Nor will I now make any promises to do it, new year or no new year. But I will say that I found this blog which I like very much, the little photos, the words, just a few every day. So, I'll be thinking about that, and my new camera, and we'll see what happens.

Christmas with the boys, and their hats

The boys beneath our very first real Christmas tree... decorations from Ikea, like so many things in our house.

Max and his hat... ADORABLE!

Thomas and Eugene, getting ready to read some of their new books. Check out the cute hat!

Obviously, Thomas is jealous of Max's hat.

Our happy little family... getting ready to wrestle over something...

100 Favorite Things

My two VERY favorite things... naturally.

Well, you did it before... so here I am to end the year with my list of 100 of my favorite things. There are plenty of things that I am sure I missed... but oh well! Here goes...

1. Baby smiles first thing in the morning
2. Pasta puttanesca
3. Red wine
4. Manhattan at night in the rain
5. Body pillows
6. Hand knit socks
7. Big pre-war apartments with gummy moldings and wavy plaster
8. A brand new razor
9. A fifteen minute shower
10. Nibbling on the chubby underside of a baby’s chin
11. Muscat grapes
12. Freshly grated parmesan
13. Tart cherry juice
14. The lull between 7 and 9 PM
15. The first cup of coffee in the morning
16. Unagi
17. A cold beer on a hot day
18. Clean sheets
19. The Hotel Santo Mauro in Madrid
20. Palacio De Santa Paula in Granada
21. The Chhatra Sagar tented camp in India
22. Having a washer/dryer in my apartment
23. Le Creuset cookware
24. Getting a seat on the subway any time of day
25. Babies dressed up as animals
26. Sushi rice
27. A clean shaved head
28. Stealing Eugene’s socks
29. Digital photo frames
30. Egg baby clothes
31. Petite Bateau baby clothes
32. Mustela bath products
33. The view from our bedroom window in Vermont
34. Getting first tracks after a major snowstorm
35. Spring skiing (well, snowboarding really)
36. Swimming
37. Homemade marshmallows
38. My gold bangles from India
39. Hot chocolate
40. The smell of a fresh-cut Christmas tree
41. Any bubble bath from L’Occitane
42. A clean bath tub
43. Fresh, clean, warm towels
44. The way the babies squeal when you are applying their lotion
45. Deadlines
46. The necklace you sent me for Christmas
47. Emmylou Harris
48. Ricky Lee Jones
49. Fresh steamed lobster dripping in butter
50. The Firetruck parade on the Fourth of July
51. A good nap
52. Sleeping in until 8
53. When the babies wrap their arms around my neck
54. Being able to wear high heels again
55. Spanx
56. A fresh manicure
57. The photo album Dad sent me for Christmas
58. My cashmere blankie
59. The hot tub at the Planter
60. Prosecco
61. The white anchovie and soft boiled egg sandwich from ‘wichcraft
62. A roaring fire in the fireplace
63. Our couches
64. Fresh lobster
65. The video of Eugene dropping me at our wedding
66. Autumn leaves
67. Fog
68. Fat baby bellies
69. Johnnie jump-ups
70. Liquid eyeliner
71. The way Dakota arranges everything to look like a vignette
72. Being the only person in the elevator
73. Hearing ‘Ma-ma-ma’ first thing in the morning
74. Xanadu – the musical
75. The earrings I bought in India
76. The ring Eugene bought to match them
77. A black cashmere fitted turtleneck
78. The second cup of coffee
79. Cranberry walnut muffins
80. The posters I did for Dad’s 65th birthday
81. Our holiday card
82. The books I’ve designed
83. The photo of me and the boys from Babytalk Magazine
84. The Wheel of Time Series – I am such a sci-fi nerd
85. Nigella Lawson cookbooks
86. Mark Bittman cookbooks
87. Having a dishwasher
88. Ziploc bags
89. The moment an airplane takes off
90. The top of the rollercoaster
91. Paintings of birds
92. That the boys have my eyes
93. My c-section scar
94. The beach in the winter
95. The boys’ Christmas hats
96. Nell Thorn’s in LaConner
97. Fleur de Sel in NYC
98. Campagna in Seattle
99. Cuddling the babies at night
100. The blog

Snowed In

By now, everyone in the world must know that we are snowed in here in Seattle. Especially where I am, on the top of Queen Anne Hill, the western side, on the street just before the hill drops down to Interbay.

It goes without saying that being snowed in as a grown-up isn't the same as being a kid on Capitol Hill, dragging a big saucer toboggan over to the hill by Jenica's house, hoping to run into other neighborhood kids. Now there are days of work missed and worry about whether to drive or not, and the general anxiety of just letting everything drop for more than a week. All plans, obligations, expectations, snowed out. Every couple hours, I hear another set of wheels spinning, look out the window and see a car stuck, or struggling.

So, that's one version of it. But also, there are a lot of cups of tea here at my place, and bowls of soup, and cookies have been baked. There was a good long walk Susan and I took in the snow together, laughing the way we always do together, and there was the night that B and I decided we needed to see each other, and he walked all the way to Queen Anne from Ballard and I walked halfway down, our way through the dark lit by the bright white of the snow, and for me, the happiness of reunion.

Today starts the official break from work, and Jessica will be here soon, and Regan is visiting from DC, and the snow will melt soon, won't it? It starts to seem, after a certain time passes, that perhaps it just never will. What would happen then? We would forget what it is to see the bare arms of a stranger, learn where all the snow shovels in the neighborhood are, base all our outfits on mitten/hat/scarf combinations, and I would clean out my pantry, diminish my tea supply, and finish War & Peace.

The Holiday Update...

Gifts are going overnight UPS today.

Tree got fully lit up and decorated Friday night - with the help of some neighbors and a couple of bottles of yuletide cheer.

We found someone willing to loan us enough beautiful gold ballroom chairs to accommodate everyone.

The apartment is still a mess.

And the boys and I are sick.

You win some, you lose some!

Ho ho ho! Merrrrrrrry Christmas!

Tis the Season!

Tis the season for insanity!

Every year, the holidays fall at the same time - it's no mystery! And yet, every year I find myself behind the eight-ball struggling to get things out the door and afraid that I am falling short.

This year is no exception.

I ordered some of my holiday gifts as early as the beginning of November and yet, here it is December 19th and they aren't in the mail yet.

We bought a Christmas tree last Sunday and it doesn't even have lights on it yet.

Were having 15 people for dinner Christmas Eve and I have 5 chairs. And two high chairs for the boys... but that still leaves me 8 chairs short. I see a trip to Target in my very near future.

I won't even mention what a complete pigsty the apartment is currently. Except for the areas that Nanny Claudia keeps clean, of course. The boys' room is spotless. You could eat off of the living room carpet. I wouldn't like for you to, but you could.

I'm just sayin'.

Argh! I haven't bought a single gift for the boys yet. Though, I think if I just wrapped some magazines and let them go to town ripping them apart, that would probably be their most favorite present. Ever.

On the plus side of all this craziness, I am really excited for the boys' first Christmas. Not that they will know it - probably Christmas 2010 will be the first time they are aware of all the hoopla. This year, I think they will mostly be aware of all the extra strange people around.

And the noise, oh I am sure they will be aware of the noise. Eugene's family = high decibel levels...

And Christmas = Crazymaking.

Where We Find Out What I Have To Say

Hey. I haven't been here much. It's winter, dark for pictures, busy at work, under the weather, in bed with a book, driving in the rain, stuck in traffic, hiding, not knowing what to say, sometimes out, sometimes running, sometimes not.

I have a week and a half left before my week off, and I've taken a running leap into War & Peace, bought a Christmas wreath, and put the second comforter on my bed. It snowed last night, and this morning Andrew brought me a latte, and I drank it while I ate a toasted crumpet, and watched some of the Seahawks. I ate a fancy pot pie out of a porcelain ramekin for dinner, tinkered with a story, did some knitting, took a nap, wore socks I made with my own two hands, and you know, that's pretty much it.

The story is the biggest thing, probably. It's overdue, deadline last weekend, and I missed it, obviously. It should just be revision but in this mood, this hiatus from a certain kind of writing, it just isn't coming together. I haven't made my peace with that all the way yet, so it may still change, it's a matter of moving a scene up in time, adding another, putting a little more meat on the bones of a certain character. All things I could do, I will be able to do, at a different time. How soon that time will come, I can't tell.

Until then, still more knitting, and warm things, and War and Peace and maybe some more naps.

My Favorite Seattle Photos

At the airport on our way.

I thought I would look all Angelina Joie-ish with my brood of babies... but I just look kind of tired and chubby! No wonder the airline employees were so eager to help us.

See the woman looking at me with pity? She shouldn't! Those are the best babies ever - even if I am tired!

See! Best. Babies. Ever!


Joseph showing Max the ropes in his bedroom. 'Here's how you dump everything out of the bowl! Drives Mommies nuts!'

Joseph holding forth.

Actually I think he was pretending to feed the bowls out of that little bowl. Like they were chickens.

Note the predatory way that they are looking at him. You don't tease my babies about food. Oh no, anything but that.


I just like all the purty colors in this one. Note Thomas's look - as if he is thinking 'is there food, or isn't there? Do. Not. Mess. With. My. Food!'

Feeding time! You'd better shovel that food in quick!

The boys all getting sucked into 'Black Beauty'. Pathos! Drama! Horsies!

The boys, with their first balloons! Asleep in the car.


Dad and Max out to lunch. Max is dressed all grunge-Seattle style with the long sleeves under the Willy Nelson onesie from Mom.


Mom and Thomas making googly eyes at each other. Awww...


Proof that I was there!


Classic Keene-Marsh Family photo. Dakota and Clay look ready to start snacking on all the Joseph scrumptiousness.

Thomas, enjoying the frigid beach.


Max, not enjoying the frigid beach so much.



Max falls asleep on Mom's lap


While Thomas gets all worked up by Eugene.


Dad, showing how good he is at spreading sweet potatoes all over Max's face. A new Thanksgiving tradition!


Thomas, in his favorite napping spot. I dig the cool belt and sweater. Booties by Joyce. I heart them.

The boys at Toby Diamond's houseboat. I think that they were basically trying to make out with their own reflections in the glass...

Things I did not get good photos of:

Dim Sum
Either open house
The Little Red Hen (but let's just admit that it would be impossible to get the right photo there)
Thanksgiving

I'm pretty bummed out that I didn't take better pictures at the actual 'events', but I think that I got so caught up in them that I completely forgot about taking pictures. And, obviously, my pictures are quite boy-centric. But my life is kind of boy-centric...

One of my very favorite photos of the trip...

Thomas loves a good snuggle.

My intentions are good to do a post. I even have a plan for a post. But I also have had an apartment full of sick boys for the past ten days and have been feeling none too well myself.

So no long trip post yet.

I also have holiday cards to send out.

Watch your mailbox for impending cuteness! Since I pansy-d out on doing a birth announcement - I may be a graphic designer but I had TWINS!!! Not a lot of time to design announcements!!! - Ahem, as I was saying, I didn't do a birth announcement, so I art directed a holiday card.

Hope you like it!