Did you bring the camera?

Hello everyone. I hope your holidays were as great as ours. We were busy with lots of fun family and friend visiting. I would show you, but it seemed that everytime Jim and I would leave the house, we would turn to each other and ask, "Did you bring the camera?" The answer was always, "Doh!", "Crap!", "Dangit!" etc. Needless to say we have lots of great pictures, but they are all on other people's cameras. Five years after having Jack as a tiny thing, you tend to forget all the "stuff" that you must bring during outings with a baby. Burpcloths, diapers, a change of clothes, burpcloths, the pacifier, burpcloths, blankets, and burpcloths. (Emma takes after her brother and is a BIG spitter.... hence, we bring burpcloths. Lots of them.) I need to add "camera" into my mental list of things to chuck into the diaper bag, but I haven't yet gotten around to that. Anyway, my real point is that I have a very limited selection of new snapshots to post. But I'll do my best.

This is a photo to capture evidence of a mysterious phenomenon that happens of the evening. Emma gets these weird eyes. We call them "Crazy eyes". The expression seems to be related to bathtime as it only shows up following that event. After I sweep her upstairs and bathe her, ridding her of all the spit-up she's accumulated on her body during the course of the day, she must feel a bit overwhelmed with the activity. Then I hand her over to dad, and we get a big kick out of making fun of her facial expression. You can join in the fun, if you want. This is probably the only time I wouldn't be offended if you said to me, "Hey... what's wrong with your baby?"

Crazy eyes - side view.

They say that what you read or see last seems to stay at the forefront of your mind. It's because of this that I've inserted the above photo. I couldn't leave you with the former images. They're weird. So here's a much sweeter image with which to end. Awwwww... little Emma.

By the way, if you know me fairly well, you know that much of my brainspace is occupied by the collection of dates in history that are not particulary important to me. I don't remember names well, but if you told me your birthday or the date of your last oil change, I may very well remember it. It's because of this that I say a hearty, "Happy Birthday!" today to my 4th grade boyfriend named Mike. I don't remember much about him other than... well, his birthday... and that when he played kickball he always pushed up one leg of his sweatpants. Yeah, I know... wasted brainpower. So I never did get that 30 on the ACT no matter how many times I tried. Instead, I know the exact day that my childhood siamese cats were born. An equal trade, I guess. Good grief.