Right now, I can’t imagine forgetting one single thing.  How could I?

This sweet little smile, the pinching of skin at the sides of her eyes, the dimples below the corners of her lips.  That smile that is all mischief, the one that is pure joy, the one that is Ican’tcontrolmyselfgigglingbellylaughter.  The feel of her soft, curly, crazy hair.  The sound of her voice, babbling nonsense and forming new words. 

The knuckle bump.

The knuckle bump!

Her boodie-shaking, head-bobbing, arm-flailing, body-leaning, shoulder-bouncing dance style.  Her sweet, sweet singing voice.

I won’t forget any of this, will I?  How soft this forearm?  The exact curve of this cheek?  This precise intonation of the word she uses for “bird?”  Just how soft and snuggly?  I’ll remember every little detail, right?

Oh, please don’t answer that.  I already know.

I’m going to just keep blogging and ignore the fact that at any given second, the blog-o-floor with give out beneath  me.  Really, I’ve been expecting all hell to break loose with this switch in web hosting, but it seems to be eerily peaceful here.  A smooth transition?  Gawd!  That would be boring!  Maybe it’s just the calm before the storm.  Anyway, once I feel settled and confident in the stability of this here blog-o-floor…

yeah, i said it again.  what.  blog-o-floor.

blog-o-floor.  hmph.

…then I will try to explain it all–where I am right now, what this photography upheaval means, the direction I’m headed, the cure for cancer, the key to happiness, the meaning of life.

Look at this kid.  How cute is this kid!?!?  Last night he gave himself a nawsty little road rash to the face.  To be sure, it is only the first of many (nawsty little road rash incidents).

You totally just kissed your screen, didn’t you?

-Bellow, Saul

Today, for various reasons (including, but not limited to: lack of sleep, rain, cold weather, and greasy hair), I am choosing to remain holed up here in my hermitage.  Except it’s not a hermitage because it includes a certain 18-month-old and a certain 4-year-old.  And hermits live alone.

Sigh.  To be alone.

So, I am we are here at home today, fulfilling that stay-at-home stereotype.  Except we haven’t actually been home the entire time.  And we’ve only actually been inside for an hour and a half.  And…

Do you know what?  I’m just going to stop now, since it appears I cannot manage a coherent thought without contradicting it.  I really meant to post something about stillness, inner peace, creative reception.  I was going to tell you about the moments of quiet connection that my children and I have shared, and about the inspiration I have passively obtained. 

But all I’ve done is introduced you to my split personality disorder.  Which is fun, too.