Perfunctory Apology and Butterfly Show Photos

Oh dear. I've gotten quite behind on my blogging. I blame technology; now that I've become accustomed to checking emails and Facebook on my itouch (a hand-me-down from Rich after he got his iphone), booting up the laptop seems like a burden. Technology is making it so easy for me to be lazy.

When I was very little, I kept a diary. Almost every entry (of which there were not many) begins with a profuse apology for not having written earlier. I came to see my diary as a real nag and stopped writing altogether. So I'm not going to fill this blog with apologies-- I'll just do my best to catch up. There's lots of adventure and adorable pictures ahead in the April - June postings, as well as a scary hospital visit to relay. The one good thing about my itouch (ok, one of the many good things-- I love the $*%& thing) is that I've kept short notes about events I want to be sure and cover. I'll start with a visit to the Butterfly Show, April 23.







Oh, and right in the exit from the Butterfly Show there was this weird toddler rave that Nora could not get enough of. I kept trying to get her to leave, and she was all, Dude, go on home. I'll just call a cab.

Ballerina Birthday Party

Nora feeling very proud of her ballerina outfit before the party

Posing with one of her best friends, Olivia, who is adorable in her shy devotion to Nora

Enjoying some post-performance Skyline, just like the professional ballerinas do

Eating ice cream, working some deals, and looking cute

We had a lovely Sunday afternoon ice cream break with Aunt Patsy and cousin Tyler yesterday. Nora hugged her double chocolate chip close and devoured every bite of the generous scoop; I don't think we'll ever need to take a DNA test to establish paternity on this one.

And here she is at home wheeling and dealing on the phone with Itsy. Note the adorable jeans jacket; I bought it in the big kids section at Old Navy so that I wouldn't have to deal with any applique butterflies or flowers. A baby or toddler in a jeans jacket is on my list of the cutest things in the universe.

Does she know something I don't?

Most nights, after I tuck Nora in and sing that night's songs (normally "Blackbird" and "Sweet Baby James," also known as "The Cowboy Song"), after we blow two-handed kisses to each other as I back out the door, as I'm closing the door and just before it clicks shut, Nora calls out, "Be careful."

Stir a Spoon and DRINK IT.

Thank goodness Nora doesn't know any actual swear words; she'd cuss like a dockworker if she knew how.

The only word we've outlawed at our house (so far) is "stupid"; I'm sure there will be many more, but that's the first word we made the mistake of reacting to, so Nora latched onto it. We had to explain that it was a word that could make people feel bad. And then we noticed how often we say it ourselves.

Prohibition has made "stupid" an exotic and exhilarating word to contemplate. When she's in the mood for a thrill, she'll say "st" with a little half-smile on her face, and at a warning look from me, she'll boldly say "Stir a spoon and DRINK IT!" She made that expression up all by herself, but it certainly conveys the particular flip contempt that one looks for in a crude idiom.

Butterfly Princess with a Hacking Cough

Pretty Princess