photopost

It’s like I have to photobomb my girl or I’ll never be in a picture again.  Around here, if there are pictures being taken, they ain’t being taken of me.  She was cool about it though.  Let me off with a stern warning.

I mean, with chops like this-

-she’s in no danger of me stealing her limelight.  Too charming.  If there is any such thing as the fourth trimester, she’s pretty far along the curve.  A preemie.  Ready for primetime.  So alert and chatty.  She didn’t call me daddy today, but she didn’t miss a detail of what was going on around her.  Until she fell asleep in the swing.  Out for hours.  Marjorie says she’s fighting off a thing.  Could be.  The volume of phlegm in that tiny sinus cavity is… impressive.  She didn’t need clearing out this evening though – breathing just fine most of the day, even.  But she was cross-eyed with sleepy at the end of the bottle I was giving her at 8:15 tonight, and I just swaddled her up in the bassinet.  No fuss, no games, no last round with mum.  She couldn’t wait to get settled.  Unheard of.  Makes me wish we had grand plans for the evening.  Marjorie got to have a long hot bath.  I sorted some Italian honeymoon pics.  Luxury.

I checked on her a while ago, and she was out like a light.  I made a bit of noise to make sure she hadn’t asphyxiated when we weren’t paying attention (I’m a dad now; that kind of fear is a fact of life), and she peeled an eyelid (quite judgingly, I might add).  For a minute I worried she might wake up and take three hours to get back down (what was I thinking?), but she tossed her head around and that was it.  Beautiful.  She’s kinda unpredictable that way.  She can wake up all beaming smiles and the whole room is filled with sunshine and birdsong.  Other times, it’s more of a hedgehog scenario:

Those times, she doesn’t want much to do with anything that comes with consciousness.  She’d rather just burrow back down into snoozeeland.  That’s her mom’s favourite, when she does that.  Meltingly adorable.  Do hedgehogs snort and snuffle when they burrow?  Marjorie says she is her daddy’s daughter.  Whatever does she mean by that?  That I am adorable?  That’s probably it.

Tomorrow!  Fuel meets to discuss the next year in business.  On the table are such myriad ventures as expanding the education program, an increased presence in schools, exploding the CBcom project to its full potential, and pushing our software out to beta in Q1, with an aggressive dev program for full (but exclusive) release in Q2 and the first expansion (v2) in Q3.  There’s lots more going on, and that only the Fuel side of the company, but I’m getting exhausted just reading it.  At this particular moment you’ll have to take my word for it that 2013 is going to be exciting stuff.

Interestingly, we are also taking time to talk about what we each want out of next year on a personal level, outside of work.  That little move might be the surest sign of team growth yet.  What that conversation might net out of this bunch is debatable.  (Hobbies?  You mean like extra side projects?  No, I mean hobbies.  Like watercolour painting.  Or skydiving.)  But I think it’s terrific that we’re having the discussion.  Recognizing (as a company) that in order to bring your A-game to work, you have to actually leave work at some point.  Not sure how that applies to those of us that are making a living doing everything that we love.  Not counting being a dad.  Doesn’t actually pay but I am enjoying that thing very much.

Talk about motivation to succeed.  But also to find the balance that lets me be a major part of her life, too.  I’m cocky enough to believe that it can be done.  Steve Jobs looked at his teenage children one night and realized he’d missed most of it.  He had regret in that moment that completely overwhelmed his billions.  Made it all meaningless.  If you can imagine that.  And now he’s gone.  I don’t want to have regret, and I think I don’t have to.  Work hard, and fence it off from the family time.  I will have happy billions to go with my happy daughter.  Smiley face sunshine and birdsong.

(shot with the iPhone, then heavily toasted in PhotoToaster)

Hullo, reader.  Happy Sunday.  Monday, by the time you read this?  A few more days and American Thanksgiving will be behind us, and we’ll retire the colors of autumn for the color of money – I mean Christmas.  I’m not going to go all pious on you – I love Christmas.  Love it love it.  Family, food, festivities, and gifts.  Giving and receiving.  It’s a way to show people that you’re thinking about them, and you thought they might enjoy this little doodad.  Do you need a particular time of year to do that?  Of course not.  But it’s most fun when everyone’s in the same groove.

And this will be little Peppermint’s first Christmas.  That’s super fun.  For her it will probably mean a lot of people and excitement, probably getting passed around, probably getting her entire schedule messed up.  But it’s super fun for us parent folk.  I remember meeting my youngest nephew Wyatt when he was just three months old not so many Christmasses ago (time frickin flies).  We had a good moment of communion.  This year it’s Avery’s turn to make that magic happen with the fam.

Today she decided to tease me by saying quite clearly, “daddy”.  You know I had that moment – just a moment – where I knew with certainty that she is that smart, and by Christmas she’d be singing carols.  Then I came back down to Earth and cursed the million monkeys and the million typewriters.  <- does anyone get that reference?  Did that joke land?  It’s a play on randomness.  Never mind.  I won’t quit my day job for a standup career quite yet.

Anyway, Marjorie doesn’t want to decorate until December 1.  And that would totally be me, ordinarily.  But I am a little sillier than usual this year.  For some reason.  And my excuse is that we’ll be gone for half of it, so if we want to get the most value out of our decorating effort here then it stands to reason we should do it sooner, right?  Amiright?  I may have to lead this charge under cover of night.  Then blame the elves.

That reminds me – hey Robyn – can you send me a pic of your Xmas Elf?  I’ve never met the fellow, but I love his moxie.  I think we will have a similar manifestation.  Maybe starting next year.  That’s not too soon, is it?  For a Christmas Elf to start staking out a place on Santa’s behalf, to make sure children are behaving?

See?  Christmas is so fun.  And now I have a daughter!  Double fun times five!

Someone will point out that it’s only mid-November.  Possibly they will say I have been suckered by the commercial holiday rotation schedule.  Well… boo.  If I’ve got enough spirit for six weeks, then lemme spirit my face off.  Interesting visual.  Did you go to 1) booze, 2) wrathful ghosts, or 3) amazing magical illusion?

Ok, first we do 2nd Thanksgiving (we get to do that as Canadians in Americaland).  After that, we can negotiate when to put the lights up.  Maybe I can speed things along with promises of mistletoe.  Healthful benefits and such.  Rowr.

Happy Monday, indeed.

There.  Peppermint spaz.  That’s just to prove she’s not always a perfect Norman Rockwell poster child.  She burbles and flails with the best of them.  Of course, she’s adorable doing that too.  But hey, now there’s a picture here for which she can hate me in her teen years.  Just… making… the appropriate tags… so she can find it… in 2025.

Wow.  2025.  Dang.  13 years old in 2025.  Wow.

Brain jarred off rails… moving on.

That’s better.  She’s factory certified adorable again, and definitely still a baby, and perched on her dada’s prodigious belly so she can have her brain melted by television at the tender age of two months old.  (Weird that she can be two days shy of nine weeks old, yet she’s two months old.  Don’t tell me we don’t need a metric calendar.)

She does love the big moving lights though.  Walking Dead will have to wait til after bedtime.  Don’t want her getting any ideas about what to do with her dada if he’s slow to wake up one morning.

Gainfully employed already!  Probably you can make loads of cash as a shopping cart, right?  What are they, 25 cents a pop?  And by the look of it, no worries about messing with the nap schedule.

In other news, the Super Secret script is just about there.  There’s a musical number that needs a second verse, and we’re postponing that effort until we can get together over a couple beer.  Because that’s how we roll.  Hilarious styles.  And doing our part for the local economy.

Did I mention that Marjorie was given a sparkling clean bill of health by the midwife?  Hot baths are now legal?  And such?  It’s been a lovely Saturday.  We had cookies!  That part’s not midwife related.  But it is delicious.  There should be more cookies around here.

The only downside all day wasn’t until tonight – poor Avery was having trouble with a stuffed nose.  Poor little thing couldn’t even nurse.  So we tried out, I kid you not, the Snotsucker.  I’m having a hard time coming up with a worse name to highlight how bad a name it is.  How they arrived at that particular decision is beyond me.  Nevertheless, it’s safe, and with a quick spritz of saline a minute beforehand, it works like a charm.  Brilliant.  If… gooey.  I’ll qualify that by saying that Avery is not a fan.  Too strange.  But she got over it quickly enough, so… win.  And recovery the second time only took a minute.  Being able to breath beats the trauma of however you got there, I guess.

And now she’s sleeping like the baby she is.  2025 is way down the road.  Pretty sure I won’t let that keep me up tonight.  Pretty sure…