Arggghhhhh!

I just spent nearly 20 minutes typing out a wonderful series of thoughts that I've had in my head for a couple of days. I highlighted the entire thing and was just about to click the 'font' window to change it to arial font, and the WHOLE BLOODY THING disappeared.

Drat!!! Don't you just hate when that happens. That will teach me to type my posts somewhere else and simply paste them in to the blogger interface. Or, I should say, that MAY teach me - because this isn't exactly the first time I've done the same thing.

Oh well. C'est la vie. But I don't have to like it!!



So instead, I'll post a picture of someone that I do like! Here's our Charlie:

The Best Mother's Day Gift......

I have had the very best Mother's Day ever this weekend. It started on Friday night with homemade pizza. Logan did a fine job of slicing pepperoni, spreading sauce and cheese, and peering through the oven door till everything was cooked and melted. The only thing he didn't do was remove the finished product from the oven. Mom helped with that step.

Friday night when I tucked him into his bed he was busy setting his alarm for Saturday morning. We didn't have to go anywhere, but knowing that he likely had something up his sleeve, I didn't ask too many questions. I did check his clock once he was asleep - he had set it to wake him up at 5:27 in the morning, so I shut it off. That's way too early, even for a weekday. I did NOT want to get up that early on a Saturday, and normally once he's up, so am I.

When I did finally get up on Saturday morning, it was about 8:30. There was a lot of very industrious sound coming from the kitchen. Minutes after I arrived upstairs, I was served a delicious breakfast of strawberry pancakes, juice, and coffee. Am I spoiled or what?

We spent the day with family, and for supper Logan made "Ready Already Alfredo" from the Magic Bullet cookbook. He went a little overboard with the garlic, but the sauce was good nonetheless. All I had to do was boil some pasta. I had picked up a broccoli salad, and some pomegranate juice that we sipped from wine glasses - just to romanticize the whole evening further.

So, I had breakfast, family time, supper, more family time on Saturday. Today Logan and I were outside most of the morning, then we headed over to the mall to ride the charity Ferris Wheel. The Persechini Run-Walk-A-Thon is sometime around the 28th of May - so this weekend they had the midway running in the mall parking lot to raise money. $5 each for a ferris wheel ride is a VERY GOOD deal when the money goes directly to a charity. That's the same price we'd pay for a ferris wheel ride anywhere else, and who knows where the money goes if you're somewhere else.

Then (and this is the best part), Logan and I went in to the mall, and wandered around Coles book store. FOR TWO HOURS. TOGETHER. We read snippets to each other. We sat on the floor and read side by side. We meandered around looking at books that interested us individually, and we always seemed to meet up just a second before my sense of panic set in. We each chose a book to buy, and tonight after supper, we sat side by side on the couch. Reading. Together. I'm absolutely thrilled!

Charles Hamish Aloysius Sisman IV

My last post was incredibly hard to write. This one is going to flow much easier, I'm sure. Lots of changes in the last few weeks.... losing Muffy was the toughest one.
One night this week we drove up to Victoria Corners to pick up this little guy. His name is Charles Hamish Aloysius Sisman IV - we call him Charlie for short. Finding the puppy for us was easy - there were two left, one black pug, and one fawn pug. For a long time my folks have always said they'd like to have a black pug. That was the easy part.

Naming him presented other challenges entirely. I looked through websites listing "popular dog names", determined NOT to use any of them. Jaime and I emailed back and forth one day trying to come up with something suitable. I like the idea of using a human name for a dog. I liked Hamish. Dad didn't like Hamish. Mom thought it was "Hammish". But I still really liked the name Hamish. I thought I was the first person to transfer this name from the human population to the canine family - but no. Evelyn's son has a dog named Hamish. I am not confident that I knew that though.

This poor puppy was so small, and so sluggish, and so chubby that I thought Lummox was also an appropriate name. Dad didn't like that on either. Mom suggested all kinds of girly names. I don't want the poor dog to have identity issues when he's all grown up. Imagine...three or four years from now when he's sitting at the pub, drinking ale and smoking cigars. Some cute cocker spaniel would approach and ask him his name.

"Momma calls me Angel."

Nope. That wouldn't work at all.

At least with a flexible name like Charlie - he can vary his name to suit the company he's keeping. I have no doubt he'll be Chuck when he's watching football with the guys. He'll introduce himself as Charles when he goes for his first job interview, and when he gets accepted into the Political Science program at the university. But, for right here and right now, he's just plain ol' Charlie. And we're all wrapped around his little paws!

Our Muffy

Today is a very sad day. Our little Muffy has gone to dog heaven. To me, she wasn't just a dog, she was my little sister in a dog costume.

Muffy has been in our family for fourteen years. We got her from Blanche's family when she was only a few weeks old. I went up to Sutton with Mom and Grandma Edie to bring her home on New Year's Eve that year. Muffy rode home in the back seat of the van, nestled into my coat. As a young puppy, she had the colouring of a Rottweiller. As she grew, so did her hair, and its colour changed from black and brown to silver and blonde.

I'd often joke about how it was so obvious that Muffy was related to me; we had the same hair colour afterall.

Fourteen years is a long life for a dog. And Muffy had a good one. From trips to the cottage, rides in the car, squirrel hunts in the backyard - she was well travelled, because she was easy to take everywhere. When I first moved out on my own I used to bring her to my house for sleepovers. Sometimes they ended at nine o'clock when she'd stand at the front door and look at me as if to say, "Okay, you, it's time to take me home." Other times she'd curl up on a blanket or a pile of clothes on the floor, and just go to sleep.

A few years back a lady stopped on her walk by the house and asked Mom how old our dog was. Mom told her that the dog was seven, and the lady chatted for a while and continued on her stroll. i knew Muffy wasn't seven, because we'd adopted her when our friend's son, Garrod, was just a baby - and now he's a teenager. I rummaged around in the filing cabinet until I found her registration papers, and discoverd that no, she wasn't seven, she was thirteen. We laughed nearly every day about what a spry dog she was for being as old as seven.

I came home at lunch today, fearing the worst, and yet knowing that prolonging her suffering would just be selfish, and wrong. I sat and cried with Mom and Dad for a while, ate some lunch that had no taste at all (funny how shock does that to you), and went back to work where I tried to keep myself composed all afternoon.

I was afraid of how to break the news to Logan... but by the time I got home, Dad had already told him. Logan greeted me with a big hug when I walked around the house to the backyard.

"Are you sad about Muffy, Mom?"

That's when I lost it. After a lot of tissue, lots of sniffles and a few more hugs, we talked about Muffy and how she was old and it was her time to go.

"Poppa told me that it's okay to be sad, but that I shouldn't be too sad because Muffy's gone to a better place...so I'm not too sad, even though I'm sad", was Logan's synopsis of how he was feeling. Then he wandered off to play some more.

I'm proud of my father for knowing when it was time to end Muffy's suffering. If I ever get to the point where my body is failing, I'd like to think that someone who loves me can help me to get to a better place where there is no pain, and there are no struggles.

I shouldn't be too sad either. And I know that with each passing day, the grief that I'm feeling, and the empty sound of the house when someone rings the doorbell, and the little corner of the livingroom where Muffy's bed is - well, that will all turn from sadness into memories. I won't ever forget her.

I think I'll get to a point where I can talk about her, and all of the memories that I have, without tearing up. It's strange how grieving makes you remember all of the other things that you've lost. Muffy wasn't the first fur-person who was a part of my life, and she won't be the last, but she was with me the longest.

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened." Anatole France.

Comfort

A friend of mine got a phone call this morning that I'm sure every mother dreads. Her adult daughter was in a bad relationship, and had come to the decision that she was leaving, so off we drove, to do a 'snatch and grab'. We loaded a bunch of stuff into the car, and were back home in no time at all.

It bothered me slightly, not because I was 'inconvenienced' or anything... but because I've been there. I know, and I have always known that I can always go home. So did she. Some people don't ever have that option. The idea of not being able to go home is not something I can even fathom. Every day I learn how important family is.

I spent a fun afternoon downtown with my cousin Jaime yesterday. We've got more in common than I ever imagined - physically, emotionally, and intellectually. There's a lot to be said for genetics, and even more to be said for parents who raise their children how they themselves were raised.

This afternoon I sat outside enjoying the weather, thinking just how thankful I am that I have the family that I've got.

I'll try to remember that when we're all driving each other crazy!

Surely I'm not the only one...

...who would like one of these as a pet!? It's called an aye aye (Daubentonia madagascariensis). I think I need one. I'd call him Dauby. Or Maddy. Yep!

Beijing? Or not?

My ears are bleeding from listening to all the radio announcers talk about the Olympics in Bejing. I say Bay-/zh/-ing (I think it's 'alveolar fricative'), not Beijing where the 'jing' sounds like jingle.

Have I been misprounouncing it forever and ever?

Sometimes being a thinker is enough to make me crazy. Especially when it starts early in the morning. I woke up thinking about this, wracking my brain to decide whether this warranted digging out my university linguistics course textbook.

How do YOU say it ?

Lean That Way...

I think this is the best picture so far. Notice my father and David are pointing with their fingers instead of their thumbs? Rebels!

Gak! I hate being sick!

My sinuses feel like they're exploding, and any time I bend forward I feel like my brains are pouring out through my nostrils. I stayed home from work today because I feel absolutely terrible. Not just slightly under the weather. It wasn't even one of those days where I dread going to work. Lately, work has been very satisfying. I just feel like I've been steamrolled and all the pressure is building in my head.

And, I'm coughing like a....like an I don't know what. I'm not barking like a seal, I'm simply coughing. All the time. After every second breath. It's one of those 'I want to smother you in your sleep' kind of coughs. Thankfully nobody else thought of that while I coughed all night long. I was advised, though, to take a handfull of pills and shut up. Sinutab is a wonderful thing.

Fever, chills, sweats, I've got it all. It's the kind of day where I just want to curl up under a blanket, hug a box of tissue, and read a book. And, that's exactly what I've done so far today.

I just hope I don't pass this along to anyone else. Nobody deserves to feel like this, and frankly, I'd want to smother them if they caught the same cough. It's much safer for ME to be the one who's ill. But still, I don't have to like it!

Happy Anniversary Amanda and David

Yesterday was Amanda and David's 6th Wedding Anniversary. We all celebrated by having some family pictures taken at Madsen's Greenhouse in Newmarket, and further by a renewal of their vows, dinner and dancing at the Mt. Albert Lion's Hall.

Here are a few pictures. I'll post more as I receive them!

Happy Anniversary Dave & Manda!!

Yes, I Did Argue

In Evelyn's blog post today titled "Songs of Praise" she writes about all of the comments she gets on her blog. Some of them are fantastic. Just this week someone commented that she was of the 'same' vintage as my friend, and was very impressed with her computer skills. I can understand why Evelyn would be pleased with such a relevant comment. Heck, I'm impressed with the skills Evelyn's learned at this point. It all sheds a new light on the adage about dogs and tricks, doesn't it?

Some of the comments, though, are downright nasty. When the ugly ones start to roll in, I try to post them right away. They are the ones that provide opportunity for discussion - or I see it that way anyway. As much as the nice comments show praise and often indicate support, how does one respond to that? By saying "By Jove I'm good, aren't I?" ?

That is why I argued that ALL of the comments have their place. I think that the whole 'debate' side of politics is the part to which I'm drawn to most often. I like to hear both sides of the debate, and form my own opinions based on the information that's presented. And, as much as the blog is Evelyn's and she can post things exactly as she sees them - it's the feedback that leads to a discussion, and quite often a few emails back and forth on the topic - but only if you put your email address in the comment box.

Alternatively, you can email her directly from the link on the blog itself. Give it a try. I bet she responds immediately!

You're Only As Insane as They Perceive....

I just finished reading "Running with Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs. I've attached a link to the Chapter's page so you can go and read all about it. What an awesome story. I wish I'd thought to look up the author when Jaime first recommended this one to me, because there is a second book in the series, "Dry".

"Running With Scissors" was definitely, inexplicably weird. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else, when the lone review that I read before purchasing the book said that it was about a young boy who was 'given up' by his delusional mother. How could a child with a delusional mother not end up with some kind of eccentricities?

I was sucked in to the book right from page one. I only received the book on Friday, and I stayed up half the night reading, and continued for most of the afternoon today. As much as the strangeness of the storyline and the characters was surprising, by the time I was halfway through the book, nothing that transpired was particularly shocking.

The author and his 'sister' decided, on a whim, to demolish the drywall ceiling in the kitchen, because it was too low, and they both found it smothering and stifling. So, what did they use to remove the ceiling? A skillet and a rock, of course. And, at the time, that made perfect sense to me.

That in itself makes me see ever clearer that you're only ever as insane as other people think you are. It's not what you think of yourself that counts (well, it is on one level - the one you use to convince yourself that you're okay, you're not toothpaste sandwich nuts), but it's what OTHER people think that can really cause an impact. Or not, as in this book!

Within the circle of people who make up my 'family' (including a few non-related people who have become enveloped in with the rest of us), I'm pretty normal, I think. And, for the most part, my family all seems pretty normal to me. Look at us through someone else's eyes though, and our apparent normalcy fades mighty quickly.

Seems to me that a toothpaste sandwich wouldn't be a bad idea, provided there was water to rinse with afterwards. Then again, maybe not!

Crazy Zany People - or - Maybe it's Me?

Not that one has anything to do with the other, but:

Part One:

There is a guy at work, let's call him Joe. Joe walks by my desk everyday and says "Good morning, Heather." In return, I offer up a hearty "Good morning, Joe."

A few minutes later, Joe winds his way back through our cubicle farm to the printer.

"Good morning, Heather."
"Hi Joe."

The next trip he makes is to the water cooler.

"Good morning, Heather."
"G'day, Joe."

Then, he wanders through again to the fax machine.

"Good morning Heather!"
"Mmmmhmmmm..."

And on it goes. By lunch time I'd be okay if he were sucked into the water cooler. At least watching the bubbles would be entertaining for a while, right?

Part Two:

I bought Mom a new blouse last week from a store in the mall. We both fell in love with a pantsuit, but they didn't have the top in her size in the colour she wanted. She tried on the right size in a different colour and we asked the sales lady, who said that she could order it for us.

I headed to the counter to pay for both pieces, the pants that we were taking, and the blouse that we were ordering. Saleslady asked me for my credit card. I told her I intended to pay cash. Her garbled response (spoken with obvious frustration, she's done this a million times before I bet) was that to order things in, they need to use a credit card.

"So my money isn't good enough?" I was willing to pay upfront, afterall. I figured as long as I got a receipt, I was good to go.

She said no... orders are credit card only. Then she proceeded to copy my Mastercard number out into a binder that contained everybody else's Mastercard number who'd ordered before me. Now bells are ringing in my head and I can hear my father lecturing "You should have.." and "I told you...", and "What's wrong with you....?".

I let it go though. That's a stink I'll raise at another time with the store manager. The sales clerk was just doing her job.

Today, Mom went to pick up the blouse that I'd lovingly paid for with my credit card. Get this.... I paid for two. Yes, there were two blouses there waiting for her... but we only ordered one. Why does anyone need two of the exact same tops? (Unless of course they're white tank tops, but that's another story altogether).

Mom had to beat up a few people... and after the tussle she emerged from the wreckage like a phoenix from the smouldering ashes, with ONE blouse in hand, and a credit card receipt showing that I was only paying for ONE beautiful blouse.

I tell you, this week I've had just about enough people exposure. If I could find a cave with a good reading light, I'd be in it, at least till Sunday!

This Time Last Year

This time last year I wrote:

Have you ever had the feeling that you’ve forgotten
something? Well, for me, today, that’s how I feel - not that I’ve forgotten
something mundane like to brush my teeth or to turn the furnace down before I
left the house this morning – but that I’ve forgotten something of paramount
importance.

I have scoured my calendar, it’s not my mother’s birthday,
it’s not anybody’s anniversary. Today I didn’t have any appointments scheduled
at all. My office calendar is clear too. All of my bills are paid in full, and
there is still money in the bank for the next round.

Yet, I have this feeling in the bottom of my stomach that
at any minute someone will pounce on me, leaping out of the shadows waving a
calendar or an invoice and shouting “You forgot! How dare you?”"Well, the Ides of March are come. Ay, they are
come, but they are not gone."

And, strangely enough, that's just how I feel today. I haven't had any major upheavals in a while. There's nothing particularly gruelling about being Heather Sisman, not right now anyway.

Since Christmas time I've successfully navigated my way through some bad weather, a couple of bad dates, a few business meetings, a couple of good dates and an old knee injury that keeps reminding me that it's there. For a couple of weeks I worried about a relative who wasn't well, and another who was. Things have finally settled down.

I spent eight hours in two airports on Friday. I had been in Montreal for a business meeting and stayed over on Thursday evening. My 7:45 pm flight was the only one I could book using our company's online travel booking tool. My meeting was over by 2:30, so the Ex-Lax man drove me to Trudeau airport where I changed my ticket for a 3pm flight. Apparently it was snowing in Toronto so my flight was cancelled. The lovely lady at Westjet did some fancy typing and got me on a 4pm flight that was subsequently delayed, then cancelled. Then there were rumours of a 6pm flight.

At that point I thought all was well, I'd still be home relatively early in the evening, and a little bit of snow had never stopped me before. My 6pm flight was delayed till 7:30 (fifteen minutes earlier than my 'later' flight) - but, due to some delays, we never boarded the plane till past eight o'clock and finally were airborne around 8:30.

I was safely on home turf by 9:30 pm. Sadly, my luggage never emerged on the baggage carousel till closer to 10:30. I rode home in an airport taxi wishing desperately that the man in the driver's seat would notice his own white knuckles and just let me drive the car already. He never took his eyes off the road, which is a good thing given the snow that was still falling, and I didn't walk through the front door till nearly midnight.

All's well that ends well. So why do I feel like there's still something I've forgotten? Last year's 'unsettledness' (which I doubt is a real word, but it's the perfect word for right now) never amounted to anything. I only hope that this year it's the same!

The Newest Addition to the Blogosphere

This weekend Logan and I spent some time at Evelyn's house. In an effort to keep him occupied before our shopping trip, I gave him a pencil, some pencil crayons, and a whole bunch of paper.

Twenty-minutes later he had produced a whole group of comic book characters. Evelyn told him that he has a talent that should be explored (a phrase I've heard 50 times since then from Logan himself), and so this link was born:

Logan's Comics

A bus ride to....

Another short funny...

My friend's husband is a bus driver..... he drives tour groups and school bands, all over Canada and the United States. I was talking to Logan tonight, imagining going on a trip to somewhere warm. I hit upon the idea of sneaking away on a bus tour to Florida, or the Carolina's. Anywhere warm would be perfect.

So I asked Logan.... "If we could go on a bus trip with Paul and Jenny and the girls... where would you like to go?" It certainly didn't take Logan long to decide.

"Cuba!", he exclaimed, looking rather excited at the idea.

Uh.... I immediately sent an email off to Paul explaining that if he's going to Cuba by bus, well, we're busy that day.

Ha!

Making Sense of the Crazy World He Lives In

This one was too cute not to just post on the fly:

Logan and I are watching television together in our apartment. We take turns, one night we watch the six o'clock news, and the next night we watch his choice. So, we're watching some children's sitcom where a little girl is trying to convince her father that jelly beans are an acceptable breakfast, because beans are legumes, right? Logan grumbles to the young actress, half under his breath, "Yeah, like my mom would buy THAT excuse."

The next commercial is for toothpaste. Crest, I think. The announcer states that their toothpaste cleans all the areas dentists check most frequently. He turns and asks me, "So, do you think that means that the areas the dentists don't check are just gloopy and disgusting? I think I'll stick with Colgate."

He's on a roll, I tell you!

I love listening to his reactions to the world around him.

The Big Play!

Logan is in a school play. He came home from school earlier this week just hopping with excitement.
The primary division at his school is putting on "Melton the Warm-Hearted Snowman", (Ha! Get it? Melton? Ha!) and my darling scored a part!

From what I got from reading the details, the play runs about 20 minutes long and is chock full of songs, costumes, decorations, lines, and maybe even some dancing.

I called home on Monday afternoon to see how Logan's day went, and he could hardly get the words out fast enough. "Mommy-I'm-going-to-be-in-a-play-and-I-have-to-memorize-my-lines-because-there-are-lots-of-them-and-I-want-to-get-them-right-and-I-need-a-reindeer-costume-and-I'm-so-excited-bout-this-play!" Phew!

He was right about lots of lines. He has TWO. TWO whole lines to remember. Two lines to project out into the audience. Two whole lines to recite while decked out in brown clothing and reindeer antlers.

First the school - then Hollywood, I'm sure! His enthusiasm is contagious. Our entire family has memorized both of his lines, and we'll all be there to see his stage début. We celebrated with a gourmet supper for two from his favourite fine dining establishment - the Golden Arches.

It's the small things that I hope he remembers forever!

Funny Business?

Last night's Aurora Council meeting was really quite something. The meeting started early for a closed session. I arrived just before seven o'clock and the council was just returning to session after the in-camera bit. The Mayor announced that Council would be reporting out on the 'legal matter' but not at this time.

First of all, I have no idea why they call them in-camera when in fact they are meetings held OUTSIDE the view of the cameras. Wikipedia tells me that the term is Latin for 'in private'. Why don't they just say that? It's not very often you hear folks meandering through downtown Aurora speaking Latin.

Things progressed as I expected - the agenda was approved, everyone listed the items they wanted to discuss, and they moved to the 'meat and potatoes' part of the agenda. We listened to two delegations, one from the Aurora Seniors' Association, and one from the Habitat for Humanity folks.

It wasn't much after that we heard that Council was going to recess to obtain some 'legal advice' behind closed doors. Off they all went - into the little room in the back. Word got 'round the council chambers quite quickly that this wasn't the first time they'd done this. A few people packed up their things and went home. I stuck it out and was placing my bets with some of the other regulars on whether they'd report out or not and tell us what's going on.

I know that the town has hired a fancy lawyer to help them discover who 'leaked' information to the Auroran about the Regional Police not building a headquarters in Aurora. I've read what appear to be two opposite sides of the same coin. One letter to the editor detailed how there was never any such meeting, and another provided more details on how the police purchased some land from the town.

If the 'leak' came from someone on the council - why don't they all tell the same story?

I'm sure from the point of view of a Councillor they must see the closed sessions as the 'juicy bits'. That's when they get to talk about the disposition of town owned lands, legal matters, personnel issues with regards to corporate employees, etc. All that the public learned from the hour long in-camera meeting was that the current mayor is going to ask the previous mayor for more information regarding the telephone logs that were kept last term.

I don't know whether the previous mayor has any responsibility to the new mayor or not. I strongly doubt it. That would be very similar to a previous employer of mine calling me to ask for information on something that transpired during my employment. Mayors are elected officials, just like councillors. Is a previous councillor obligated to share what they know with the community at large, or the current council? I don't think so.

One thing I'm certain of is that last night the roads were sloppy and the temperature was threatening to drop and turn the roads into skating rinks. I had the choice to leave whenever I wanted to - but I certainly feel bad for all the people who were required to stay there - reporters, the camera team from ACI, and all the town employees.

I'm truly enjoying this political hobby of mine. If it weren't for the signs at the town hall that announce that no food or drink is allowed in the council chamber - I'd bring popcorn, every Tuesday!

Picture Day

Many thanks to the anonymous person who left a comment yesterday stating that I should post something else already. My last post was in May.

What can I say? I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. Au contraire... life has just been busy lately - I've been living it instead of writing about it.

Logan got his school photo proofs back today. This year they took six photos, so I have six variations of his incredibly beautiful face to choose from. The trouble that I've got now is that I don't know which ones to choose. He went to school on picture day dressed as your average eight and a half year old. The boy in the proofs looks to be about twelve.

He looks like my son, but he's definitely lost his baby-face. His hair is longer, and shaggier, having been cut 'long and shaggy', just the way he likes it, by the hairdresser down the street. His eyes are still sparkly and blue, and he's smiling quite pleasantly.

This is the first year since he started school that he's had all of his front teeth for a photo. Of course this is the first year that he's smiling with his lips closed so nobody can tell that he's got all of his front teeth.

None of the pictures included his famous two-dimple smile. There's only one dimple now, just on the left. I wonder where the other one went? Hopefully children don't grow out of dimples!

Picture Day was always a big deal when I was a child. My brother and I would be forced to take turns in the tub the night before, whether it was Sunday night or not. Sundays were bath night all the rest of the year....followed of course by an episode of The Muppets on television. So bath time during the week was a rarity.

The morning of the infamous picture day meant I was roused by Grandma, fed, and had my face scrubbed to remove any traces of my breakfast. Then I was guided back to the bedroom and dressed in something that no child would ever pick for themselves for picture day.

The one outfit that I recall most vividly was The Incredibly Itchy Pantsuit. I don't know if it was made from real wool, or steel wool, I couldn't have even told you what colour it was until I dug out the picture, but wow - it was really horrifically itchy. Some how I managed to keep it on till the photos were taken.

I promised that I'd never make my children wear anything terrible, especially on picture day, because in my family, picture are forever and ever. Everyone gets a copy, and everyone hangs on to those copies, and pulls them out when you least expect it. Like when you get married, or when you hit a milestone birthday - out come the pictures. Eek!

Logan was at his father's house the night before picture day, so I don't know whether he was scrubbed and shone beforehand, but in his picture he's neat and tidy, wearing what appears to be a very comfortable shirt. Lucky kid!

I will make a decision on which prints to order, and when the pictures arrive, I'll put one in the frame atop the fireplace, pack up a few to give as Christmas gifts, and squirrel the rest away for the day that he gets married, or has kids of his own.

From the Mom side of the fence, he looked clean and cute. We'll see what he has to say about it when he gets older.

Look closely at my photo. I have a friend who reads lips and is fluent in sign language. I'm sure if she could read 'static' lips, she'd tell you that although it might appear that I'm saying "CHEESE!" after being commanded by the photographer, what I'm really saying is "ITCHY!"