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| L to R: Sam, Georgia, Ken |
Holy smokes, it's February already. Only 38 days till my half-birthday. The half's a big deal when you can tack it onto six whole years. At seven, I can join the run club at the YMCA. Look out, world!
Ken here -- ready to provide semi-entertaining updates from the Corrigan Conrad abode. We survived January in Minnesota. January is dark. January is cold. January is incessantly gray sky. With 31 short days: January is possibly the longest 31 days of winter. January isn't Christmas anymore, Toto. We survived. With movie nights, game nights, basement dance parties, Nerf gun wars (complete with safety glasses) and purple balloon volleyball games in the living room, we survived January in Minnesota. And that is all. The first days of February have shown us bright blue skies, a few-12-inches of new snow, and precious extra minutes of daylight in the five o'clock hour. Life. Is. Good.
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| L to R: Sam, Ken |
Recently, Dad figured out a way to suspend our queen sized bed some inches from the garage rafters outside. Grandpa Corrigan would say that he "jerry-rigged" the mattress, frame and box spring to accommodate garage space. Dad will say that he engineered a sweet pulley system with bike storage rigs, good strong rope and a bit of human-powered re-bar. Regardless of how it's described, Mom's favorite
mattress hovers securely in mid-air, wrapped in plastic, hung for an indefinite period of kid-raising time. Why the queen-sized storage plan, you ask? We converted our guest bedroom into the sweetest dorm room I've ever seen. Home to my sixteen-year-old European sister, Leonie, the room is complete with an IKEA loft, Craigslist dresser, Dad's former desk and Nanny Sarah's college-time popasan chair. We get to keep Leonie through June. I'm secretly hoping to score the room in early July. Will keep you posted.
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| Sledding! |
Mom started this new thing. It's called Breakfast for Dinner (BfD). Typically offered on the evenings when Chef Dad needs a kitchen reprieve, BfD gives us the choice between eggs and toast, French toast, or oatmeal (the five minute cook time oatmeal -- not that one minute business). One BfD night, Mom failed to articulate the mutual agreement necessary for the meal. Thusly, I chose oatmeal, Sam chose eggs and toast; Georgia chose French toast. Realizing her failure to set clear BfD expectations, Mom semi-cheerfully launched into creating a three-dinners-for-one-course meal. All went smoothly: three burners burning, one toaster toasting. Georgia set the table. I poured the milk. Sam sang while looking out the window. At a certain point in the cooking process, Mom's demeanor changed. Let's be real. Managing three burners, one toaster, un-spreadable butter, and an empty stomach: She looked a bit stressed. I calmly hopped onto a chair next to her, put my hand on her should her and said, "Mom, are you alright?" She smiled. Said something about a kitchen novice. Whatever that is. The un-spreadable butter took the brunt of the stress; nothing that seven seconds in the microwave can't cure. All good things, as Olaf says. BfD is a new favorite for us; my oatmeal that night was delicious.
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| Georgia: Age 3 |
A notable milestone happened this week. The Johnson & Johnson two-in-one-body-wash-and-baby-shampoo-bottle-with-the-cool-pump-for-ease-of-soap-in-hand found its way into the recycling bin. That thing has stood -- with its awesome clean-baby scent -- strong and steady, refilled and at the ready, on the bathtub ledge for the last six-and-almost-one-half years. A remarkable stint, really. I think Mom teared up. Probably just an eyeball sensitivity to the new sweet-smelling watermelon bubble gum scented stuff we picked out at the store.
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| L to R: Sam, Snowman, Ken |
Signing off for now -- with just one request, dear reader: I'm on the prowl for some new books. I enjoy a story with a good sense of humor, and I've recently completed a few books within the Captain Underpants series. (Forgive the crude. But there
is something slightly hilarious about bodily functions.) I also dig books about friendships and new adventures. Mom tells me I read at the second grade level. Whatever that means. Any suggestions? Send 'em my way!
Until next time,
Ken
