I had the most efficient hour of my life this morning and did the completely unprecedented: graded an entire stack of essays on the same day they were turned in. Every day is a bit of a scramble—to finish some work, to find trash cans and a coffee pot and shower liners for the house—since all these wannabe contractions keep me very aware of how soon the baby will come. Among other hasty attempts to stay one step ahead of the due date is this blog entry, which is a short collection of a few unrelated pictures.
Samantha likes to think she’s showing but then I have to join the conversation and show her what pregnant really looks like. I can’t wait to see her in her ninth month. In her petite 5’ frame, it looks like she wouldn’t be able to stand up straight with a belly the size of mine.
Every Tuesday and Friday, my grandpa comes over for dinner and often, Samantha and Tim will join him. On these nights especially, I love to watch Clara hop from lap to lap after dinner. She starts with “Uncle Football Tim,” whom she just adores, and then moves around the table. Sometimes Sam and I notice Clara reacting to Grandpa Mark’s exuberant outbursts the same way we did when we were little—is he upset or just really, really happy? Do I laugh or stop what I’m doing? Every time I let Clara scoot around the house in her birthday suit, Dad asks her where her shoes are. She’s already starting to realize what I’ve known for years. Like the notion of “common sense,” there is also “Dad sense,” which basically comprises Dad’s incredibly unpredictable worldview. A worldview that asks where your shoes are when you’re not wearing any underwear.
At some point and in some hidden closet crevice, Clara found this hat that Aaron describes as part American colonial head dress and part Muslim hijab. This was taken a few minutes before Aaron and Clara left for the beach, a trip I skipped in order to get as far ahead in coursework as I could. Although Clara was not thrilled with the sand in Venice, FL, she loved the beach in Clearwater. She had to be pried away. But the truth is, Aaron can make the beach fun for anyone. It took a Midwesterner to teach me how to love Florida.