Flashback
A year ago, Norah looked like this - not much different than she does now, in fact. Aside from that fuzzy little head, she hasn't changed much, huh? It's the cheeks, I think.
Anyway. Hi! I have decided to ignore this whole "posts appear below the sidebar" thing I've apparently got going on, largely because none of you claim to be seeing it. (I think this is just a conspiracy, orchestrated by Adrienne, to make me think I'm insane. In which case, I tell you: the conspiracy is utterly unnecessary.) I don't know what's up, but the site looks the same on both my laptop and the desktop upstairs, so whatever... our house just has internet cooties.
You haven't missed much during my screwed-up-blog-related hiatus. Norah has successfully added "I don't like it!" to her list of favorite sayings. Today at Harris Teeter (do you giggle a little when you say that out loud? I do, because that's the kind of mature babe I am) she identified broccoli, rainbow chard, canned sundried tomatoes, and Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches as things that she does not like. And believe it or not, she's right: she really DOESN'T like those things. I guess the kid is starting to understand that what comes out of her mouth is a reflection of her internal monologue; when she starts asking where I keep the tequila, I'll know she REALLY gets it.
Things I probably haven't mentioned, or may have, who knows, in an orderly bulleted list, because I have to do the dishes and don't have time to expound:
Rob got his cardiology fellowship at Duke, which means we'll be here for another three or four years. Happy dance! I didn't want to move again.
I booked a beach wedding today; the bride's willing to pay my mileage to get over there, which will be a nice little bonus. This one is the result of a referral, so I'm happy - guess that means I did an okay job at the referrer's shindig, huh? That brings the total to six done, nine to go before Thanksgiving. Badass.
My sister called today with the ENORMOUS BREAKING NEWS that she has updated her Myspace profile from "single" to "in a relationship," and bumped her ex from her top friends list. The range of Myspace is amazing; either I'm getting spam friend requests from someone named CassidyHumpsalot, or my sister is basing her entire relationship future on whether or not her current guy removed "looking" from his profile. If only Al Gore had seen the future of his invention; how proud, how mighty he would have felt then. You go, Al Gore, and you go, sister Kate.
Anyway. Hi! I have decided to ignore this whole "posts appear below the sidebar" thing I've apparently got going on, largely because none of you claim to be seeing it. (I think this is just a conspiracy, orchestrated by Adrienne, to make me think I'm insane. In which case, I tell you: the conspiracy is utterly unnecessary.) I don't know what's up, but the site looks the same on both my laptop and the desktop upstairs, so whatever... our house just has internet cooties.
You haven't missed much during my screwed-up-blog-related hiatus. Norah has successfully added "I don't like it!" to her list of favorite sayings. Today at Harris Teeter (do you giggle a little when you say that out loud? I do, because that's the kind of mature babe I am) she identified broccoli, rainbow chard, canned sundried tomatoes, and Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches as things that she does not like. And believe it or not, she's right: she really DOESN'T like those things. I guess the kid is starting to understand that what comes out of her mouth is a reflection of her internal monologue; when she starts asking where I keep the tequila, I'll know she REALLY gets it.
Things I probably haven't mentioned, or may have, who knows, in an orderly bulleted list, because I have to do the dishes and don't have time to expound:
Posted in: babychatter, Nonos photos, template ADD, work on 4/16/2007 at at 7:24 PM
I'm so glad you're not moving. Moving sucks. New template rocks. :) Norah is unspeakably adorable.
The new template it beautiful!
We're so mature around my house that we call it 'Titter'. Yes, I am twelve.
-Lisa, not Owen. (Owen is too little to call it Titter yet)