byrneunit

I rarely know what you’re talking about.

“My real work.”

Things are swell. Mr. Beans looooooves his new daycare, I’ve got leads on freelance work, and I unearthed a couple of lost 90 photos, as well as a few truly, truly, truly horrific new 90 pics you’ll be subject to after the link. I warn you: Click only if you have a strong stomach and [...]

chug. chug. chug.

Today Henry and I walked to lunch at a sushi place by the house. Henry declined the fish; he’s currently more of a graham cracker man. For a good portion of the meal we were the only people in there, and it was entirely quiet — no piped-in music or anything, only the faintest chatter [...]

yet more.

Smudge is exhausted from having her picture taken. Look, I don’t have much going on lately, so just click on the kitty pictures and say “Aaaaaaaw,” and we’ll all just go about our business, mmmkay? Mmmkay.

Watch the birdie.

After viewing a truly spectacular set of Erin’s old family pictures, we started discussing the nuanced art of looking terrible in photographs, which led to my writing the following weirdly confessional but ultimately rewarding passage:
When I had my senior pictures taken in high school, they told me to
bring like, one formal outfit, one sort of [...]

attention:

New baby pix. Click below.

Also new cat pix.

That is all.

Mr. Dearest

Every time I’m unemployed, I always think I’m gonna end up being a lot better at it than I turn out to be.

It’s a slam dunk on paper: My days free, I’ll wake up late, put on my clothes, take my credit card to the liquor store, and end up eating breakfast at noon. Then I’ll putter the afternoon away at the coffee shop, sporadically working on my novel and watching G.I. Joe clips online, capping my evenings off with some classic American cinema.

But it never pans out. Last time it happened to me, I was so preoccupied with money that I practically pulled my fingers off one by one, worrying about when I’d get work, when the enforcers from the credit card companies would show up, when the repo guys would come after my crappy 10-year-old used car. This time we’re in much better shape financially, having sold our house and part of my liver (I just keep growing more!) for a tidy profit, but of course now I’ve got Henry to take care of, which as any downtrodden Stay-at-home Mom can tell you, is pretty much the opposite of unemployment, only without the paycheck, and also you wipe a person’s butthole, which I’ve been lucky enough never to have had to do at any of my jobs thus far*.

Any stay-at-home parents are at this point officially encouraged to go read something else — not because you’re not welcome to read it, but because trust me, you’ve already heard all this shit before, and you don’t need to keep hearing it, I’m guessing; let it be officially acknowledged by this weblog that this entire post will consist of shit that’s been said before by better people than me.

* — Okay, fine, one time when I delivered pizzas, but how the fuck was I supposed to know it wasn’t expected of me for a tip? Look, fuck you, man.

over the hills and far away …

So our sweet boy likes the Teletubbies an awful lot. This is totally great as far as I’m concerned. I remember huffing aloud back in the late nineties when the show debuted about how horrific it was that people were creating television shows for children younger than one! if you can imagine such a thing! [...]

a year of beans

Our sweet sweet boy Henry turned one whole year old today. I’m trying to figure this out, because he’s supposed to have been around for a year, but I’m pretty sure we’ve had him like, forEVER.
I mean, I don’t know where to begin. Of course he’s changed our lives. Of course he’s the best thing [...]