Can I Get a Witness?

Heidi was blink...BLINK...blinking in and out but was generous enough to let us come to the hospital tonight to meet my newest niece. The delivery was long and harrowing but the parents, though clearly exhausted, are about as in love with that baby as it is possible to be.
Melody Eva is gorgeous. You know how the saying goes--All brides and babies are beautiful--That's a load of bunkum. In the words of my Mom when she sees a homely child, "That's SOME baby!" Miss Melody is not 'some' baby. She's breathtaking, enchanting, adorable! (Breathe, Keira, breathe. You don't want another baby....YES I DO!...no, no you don't.)
When I shake off this mortal coil in the far distant future and close my eyes for the last time, I will see an image of my dear husband holding a baby with competence and hotness (I'll be dying but not dead yet.) behind my eyelids. There are few moments more worth remembering.So, to finish up.

• Melody: Cutest baby there ever was.
• I'm done having babies.
• NO I"M NOT!
• Yes. Yes, I am.
• A newborn baby, sleeping and smelling like heaven, is the closest thing to God in this life.
• I love her and will be beginning my campaign to spoil her rotten forthwith.
• I hope she still likes me when my kids run roughshod all over her.
  

Which all makes me want to dance, rather. This little ditty--tres' apropos--came on the radio on the way home. --Grand Funk, Some Kind of Wonderful

Girl...You'll Be a Woman Soon

A big week in La Familia Dominguez. Heidi is in the hospital laboring over her and Vince's firstborn. Rob is girding up his...er...self to take the plunge into wedded bliss this Saturday with Tiara.

All of which prompted Nathan and I to wonder, with that delightful philosophical detachment that only comes when eyeing events dwindling rapidly in one's rear-view mirror, about who was in for the bigger shock--newlyweds or new parents. Nathan's reply:

Getting married is all very well but when it's done everybody in the house is still potty trained.

Just so. And please excuse the snigger of glee in the peanut gallery as it seems to be reflexive and wholly involuntary.

Palm Pilot

I write things on my boy hands. Today I wrote, "great harvest" so I'll remember to pick-up some Great Harvest pancake mix for my sister-in-law and, like a teenybopper at a Donny Osmond concert, I won't be washing that hand for a while.

Spencer, seeing my mad organizational skills, wanted a reminder on his hand too.

Mom *heart* Spencer.

Mani/Pedi

Someone, I'm not saying who (cough...Sherri...cough), once told me that I have the hands of a 12-year-old boy. And Sherri V.--No, no....S. Voydat was perfectly right. They are what they are.

Which is why I have an unholy yen for Laura's gorgeous nail beds. If I were a wicked witch and practiced the dark arts, the first thing I'd whip up a poisoned apple for is Laura's hands.

Spending My Way Out of the Recession

Hooks thumbs into belt loops, rocks back and forth on my heels and says with an air of supreme casualness, "Bought a new handbag today."

I am desperately trying to avoid seeing it as a metaphor for the triumphant rise of Western Civilization.

Have a Yarn

Miss Kylene is a bit of a nag. (Like all my sisters and women-friends. No wonder I love her, right?) She started a knitting group a few weeks ago and said, "Keira, you have to come. You're my best friend." Oh no she didn't. She excercised the nuclear option. Doesn't she know she's got a limited number of times (say 10 or so) a year she can use that? For instance:

• Keira, you have to take me to the emergency room at 3am. You're my best friend.
• Keira, my husband and I have debilitating illnesses. Will you raise my children as your own? You're my best friend.
• Keira, I see you have a Twix. Can I have the other one? You're my best friend.

And so forth. But she went nuclear on knitting and I heeded the call. Do a cowl she said. So I did that too. I used this pattern.

Kylene is insane and would unpick the whole thing, ever striving for perfection and mastery. I, however, am content with learning tons and sucking. (It's practically a personal motto.) But here it is, my first knitted piece. What with Laura's Snuggi and my cowl we will (in these troubled economic times) get to avoid turning on the furnace at all this winter.

P.S. Don't inspect the seams. No, seriously.

The Blanket That Has Sleeves!

Happy, happy birthday to my favorite, best, darling-est...only daughter who is 7 today. Ah, that happy halcyon day all those years ago when Julie Melanson's quick thinking prevented me from delivering my second-born on the highway on the way to the hospital...
Laura engineered her own party and as we still have the faintest whiff of swine flu about us it was 'just a family party' (seven-year-old rolls eyes). We played pin the flame on the birthday cake.And then we played a fun game when you place a penny on top of a mound of flour and each of you cuts away a bit of flour at a time until the penny falls. The loser (though in our case it was the winner) has to fish the penny out of the plate with no hands.
Laura was so so excited for her cards from both Grandma Dominguez and Grandma Hanna. She's still surprised to find money in them! Aunt Sisi also sent a much appreciated card with Fancy Nancy on it.
But, though I say so myself, it was our gifts that took things to eleven. Laura's been begging for a Snuggie for ages. Are you wondering if they are as awesome as they look? Wonder no more.I also got her a Madame Alexander doll ("She looks just like me! I'll call her Kayla.") and the new Taylor Swift CD (which I gotta say is pretty good). Enjoy. Now, Imma let you finish...

My girl is seven. The Revolution has a Snuggi on.