Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Shark Dreams.


Last night, I had one of those completely crazy dreams where my family went swimming with sharks and then the beach (in the dream, of course) that I was sitting on turned into a shark so I was riding on the back of an enormous, Megalodon-type shark while also sitting on a beach chair and holding both of my babies to my lap while Max kept telling me "We respect the sharks!" because that's what Andrew always tells him about sharks. It's ridiculous, I know, but I woke up terrified and sweaty and remembered the dream vividly for like three more hours, so as I drove Andrew to work this morning (because we were all awake and dressed and, I mean, why not?), I told him about my crazy dream and Max interrupted me and said...

"And then I raaaaaan back to the hotel and grabbed a sword and fought the shark! Swish! Swish! Swish!"
That kid of ours. He's a keeper.

Anyway! The past month we have been in Mobile, Gulf Shores, New Orleans, Kansas City, Washington DC, and Kansas City again. I am sleep deprived and I cut off half of my hair and Henry is basically walking (what has happened to my baby?!) and, yesterday morning, I spent twelve minutes on the phone with my mom while my hair was in one of those high mom-type buns (not the blogger kind held up with bobby pins in an artistically messy way but the kind held up with a faded elastic in a messy-messy way) and told her how bad I felt that I hadn't documented Henry's first year of babyhood as much as Max's. So, like, yes. The photographs I have of Henry are astronomically better than the photographs I have of Maxwell at the same age, but I don't keep a journal anymore because I stopped being a crazy journal-er when I met Andrew (and, you guys, I was a crazy journal-er. I journaled everything, even a broken CD once. Also I was crazy.) and never picked back up on it because I was so religious about this blog for so long but once Huck came along, I kind of just stopped. Not because our lives weren't exciting anymore or fun anymore or because there weren't stories to tell, but because there was no time to tell them and, more importantly, I wasn't making time because, instead of blogging here, I'm editing like a fool and shooting like a fool and blogging and Facebooking like a fool for my business and, when that's done, I just don't have any desire to look into a computer screen for even another half second. But! I need to be better. Maybe I'll start keeping a better journal or maybe I'll be better here but I have so many stories about Henry as a baby and Max as a (gulp!) three year old and, dangit, they deserve for them to be remembered.

And since I'm in like full confession mode here: I haven't printed out photographs of our family since Max was six months old. So there. That's a post!