Tag Archives: Edie

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“Ooooo, who’s dis…”

The niece spent some time with me this afternoon! Here’s a sampling of her activities:

pinecone eater
sock sniffer
flip-flop licker
toe tickler
straw flinger
nose booper
chalk muncher
juice dribbler
belly button examiner
dance enthusiast
aaand cracker thief

All before lunch. ♦

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Joy, Pure Joy


Edie alert, Edie alert! Niece in action. Snagged a shot of her in Bean’s arms while playing at a nearby water park last night. Not that I need one, buuut… she provides a solid excuse to frolic like someone at least half my height. ♦

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You may remember my niece, Edie! She kept me company all day today.

A story from weeks back… She doesn’t always watch BabyTV, but when she does, she starts off with great joy. Flipped on the channel and a smile lit across her face like flame to an octogenarian’s birthday cake. Then, a commercial dared come on. She flung herself backwards onto a pillow and plopped the bink in her mouth, where I found these eyes with the mostest looking up at me. Thanks, SlimFast commercial! ♦

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About That Jaunty Poo …


Funny, I don’t like the name Aunt nor Auntie, but being one has been life’s biggest highlight in recent years. Cutiepiemuffinhead. Hey, Beau-fo. Funny Bunny. Snugglepuff. CUDDLE PUFF. I don’t know how these silly word pairings occur, but they do. Little Bobby-Do, floofy bum-bum, bit of sugar candy love! Nonsensical fluff that must try-try-try to capture a love words could never express, love that wants to leap outta me for her. Just throwing out words till the love is apparent and covers everything in smiles and warmth and future. So much love that fear dareth try to rise up and steal it away. An open heart shared fully risks the deepest wound. Good. That’s what gives it value. I love having another person around to pour love into.

I’m reminded of Bean when we were little and slept in our parents’ bed with our mom (our dad slept on the floor downstairs in the rec room for a variety of reasons). We each had a bedroom, but preferred to be piled in with the mom. Bean’s sweet baby hair was soft and dark and smelled so sweet. Edie’s little coconut head (as my dad calls it) is perfectly reminiscent of Bean’s and I’m reliving it in a sense, a delicious déjà vu.

She’s my best little buddy, laughter and squeals upon my arrival often times, and always, always continuous smiles, her bright eyes following me until she’s sure I’m sticking around for a while. Maybe she senses the sheer love and delight I have for her and she responds to it, reciprocal mirrors. Thrills me to have someone be so happy I’m around. The soul is healed by being with children said Fyodor Dostoevsky.


Wonderstruck, we’d just finished dancing cheek to cheek back in September-Octoberish. Just before she became an active smiler like Auntie. Aside: those teeth are the product of braces. “How can that be?” I asked my dentist last year. Without diligent efforts to maintain their new position via a retainer, they more often than not move back to their former position. Clearly, I no longer have the retainer, but I do have the mold taken of my mouth pre-orthodontics, and they’re an eerie match now. Wish the doc had applied a permanent brace to the back of my top teeth like he did the bottom. I very much like them in person, but frozen in photos, they sometimes taunt me.

Foam. For those first few months, there were constant inquiries by Bean and my Dad about why I hadn’t been pooped on by the baby yet. They’d been pooped on (albeit through a diaper), and had a go at cleaning up the resulting mess. I kept hearing talk of foam, and how when you heard the foam, you knew there’d been a deposit, and best get up and begin a withdrawal. Foam, not a sound I’d ever encountered in many hours of babysitting and nannying in years past. Figured my sister had simply pegged the act with the wrong descriptor despite knowing that it’s one of the excrement types listed on those fascinating poop-a-day type calendars found in the likes of Spencer’s stores. I was holding Edie on the couch, when she did a subtle little shimmy-shake, and with a jaunty little nod of her tiny head, FOAM rang out as though a microphone were in the room. I’d been foamed! Verb of the day! The poo had happened! This made my dad and sister unusually joyous, as I was a marked woman, and delight they did. And wipe, did I.


A portion of the lovely capitol up in Victoria, BC. Shan and I missed that particular tour.

Heading down to Olympia on Sunday with Shannon for a tour of the capitol as it’s been a while. That is, if the inevitable attendance of anarchists at tomorrow’s Women’s March manage to leave it intact. But not before I get in a few weekend workouts. I’ve given myself sixish months to get back in better shape.

I gained tons of weight in my earlyish twenties when I got tired of being ogled and manhandled on the daily bus commute and pushily asked for dates after repeatedly stating I was engaged. I found peace in the safety brought by an outer cushion of fat, and because a thing can begin for one reason, and continue for another, the fat stayed from bad food habits and squelched metabolism. My sister’s been so good to keep a catalog of horrendous photos she’s captured of me over the years. I’m so ashamed of them (and this is no place for shame) that it makes me laugh. Up and down, down and up in the numbers, lots of up. The problem’s always the ease and proximity of people found in eating out and about (where calories live)- not having to face the never-ending cycle of meal prep alone at home, despite loving to cook.

Life has passed along for so long now with just a good baseline, no motivation to be more, but I need to play my part if I ever want a melody on top. ♦

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An Afternoon of Nostalgia

Two nights ago I had to complete the ornery task of moving all the balcony furniture inside to the Blue room due to a floor coating being applied by the apartment complex at some point in the next two weeks. None too thrilled to have furniture in a heap where it doesn’t belong (insert Joe Pesci curmudgeoning here). Fine were it a one-off event- maintenance, upkeep, and all that, BUT. This is the fourthish notice in recent weeks, and I just get everything back in place in time for a new notice for yet another task they wanna complete on the balconies. Yay! A game I don’t wanna play. I called and left them an earful about transparent scheduling, proper heads up, an overall plan of disclosure, due notice, operating in a one fell swoop kinda deal versus a nickel and diming tactic, etc. I’m sure it was as lovely to listen to as it is to read.


This time though, every single itty bitty thing had to be removed from the balcony floor making it the straw that broke the camel’s back, the piece that tumbled the mighty Jenga tower. In so doing, I managed to unearth a small hive nested away in one of my fabric drapings (I’m Bohemian chic like that.) I heard the tearing of what must’ve been the exterior hive layers, as I saw pieces strewn about on the ground and some still attached to the fabric. The comb stayed firmly adhered to the cloth, exposed and abandoned. This must surely explain the myriad of dead bees I’ve encountered in my home since last summer. Random placement too, not along the oft typical window sill. Groggily making my way to the ever royal commode in the morning only to be greeted with a lone dead bee at its base. Step lightly. They’ve been here, they’ve been there, making me wonder, hey, you got a message for me, God? Bees- why they gotta be dead? Not only struggling out in the world, listed as endangered, but right here in my own home? Coincidentally, a friend sent me a letter recently with the verse “Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” -Proverbs 16:24.


Went to the EMP Museum last week with Bean and sweet Edie (Bobby-Do!), where I finally got to see the Captain Kirk, I mean, Star Trek exhibit. All sorts of wonderful and varied exhibitions there currently! On the way, I encountered giant nannas dangling from a tree. Seemed profound in the moment.


I LOVE Lucy.


Of all the props, set pieces, and costumes experienced at the Star Trek exhibit, this portion was what set me over into welled tears (crying again, woman, sheesh). The worn bits on the sleeve and pants here made the costume so very real (doesn’t quite show in the photo as much as in person). The same can be said for Mork’s suit which was on display within the museum as well. There are pilled bits of fabric and faded coloring on the costume and it endures me to it every time I see it. Last viewing of it was at the Cinerama theatre last year.


Walked through the video game exhibit a bit wistfully as well, as I loved them so much growing up. I’m sure my thumbs are still programmed to conquer Super Mario Bros. 1, 2, and 3 complete with turtle-stair-flagpole infinite life 1-ups galore.



Pinball meets Pollock, you say? I’m paying attention. There are so many wonderful things to do, that I don’t bother with game apps due to their consuming nature. Exception(al)! Gotta check out this Inks app momentarily.


Edie had fallen asleep in her stroller so we took the opportunity to head to the horror exhibit, pulling the cover closed over her head for extra visual protection in case she chose to wake up without any warning. Bean took the elevator down, encouraging me to walk the spiraling stairs so that I could view the mosaic of black and white photos featuring screaming people. Joy! Not particularly frightening, though slightly oppressive as the steps wound down and the number of pictures grew in expanse creeping up the wall to the ceiling above, enveloping people on the stairs. Surprisingly, disappointingly (?), the exhibit set up wasn’t particularly scary, or so I thought. I joined Bean in the elevator on the way back up, and as the door swept closed, I jumped. “Really?” she said, as I looked away from the large black and white face of a screaming man plastered to the inside of the door.

Really. ♦

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