Friday, August 31, 2012

May your weekend be as fun as this

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Not the best Samaritan

I rode my bike past a number of fancy houses, many with pools facing the street. In one pool  was a pink blob. A large pink blob. On closer inspection I realized the pink blob was actually a bathing suit with arms, legs and a head. Arms, legs and a head that were floating but not moving. I wasn't sure what to do. I could yell "Hey, are you ok?", but I didn't want to offend the swimmer by suggesting that I thought she was dead.  I could call the police, but I figured the dispatcher would probably ask "Have you yelled 'hey are you ok?" and that would take me back to square one. I could throw a pebble over the fence and blame it on a squirrel if she responded or call and ambulance if she didn't, but the squirrel story didn't really seem believable. Or I could do what I ultimately ended up doing, which was stand and stare until I saw what looked like a foot moving and rode away.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012


This is Sam:

Sam is three years old. He enjoys Curious George, licking salt off french fries, and playing with puppies.

Sam calls Ivy "Baby Ivy", and last time we saw him he said, "Bye Baby Ivy". It was probably the most adorable thing I've ever heard.

Sam has cystinosis, an incredibly rare genetic disorder.for which there is treatment but no cure. 

This is Sam's brand new baby brother Lars:

Yesterday Sam and Lars's parents learned that Lars has cystinosis as well. 

If you know Stephen and Ashton, than you know that they work tirelessly all day to keep Sam and now Lars comfortable. It's no easy task. I believe the Jenkins family has visited the hospital more times in the past three years than most people visit in a lifetime. They've handled it all with grace and optimism, and I know they will continue to do so, but as you can imagine they want nothing more than a cure for their boys.

Because cystinosis is so rare, there is very little funding for research. The task then falls on the families of cystinosis patients to find ways to further research efforts. Here's where you can help.
Stephen and Ashton wrote this letter announcing "Sam's Hope for a Cure", the nonprofit organization they've created. You can visit the foundation website here and click the "How to Help" tab to make a donation. As the letter states, 100% of your donation will go to the Cystinosis Research Foundation and your gift is tax deductible. 

If your looking for a charitable cause to contribute to, or even if you aren't, I would strongly recommend helping Sam's Hope for a Cure.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

one of the beautiful people

In his infamous article "Why Women Aren't Funny," Cristopher Hitchens wrote, "Is there anything so utterly lacking in humor as a mother discussing her new child? She is unboreable on the subject."
Sorry, Chris, and those who may agree with the above statement, but Ivy is seven months today and I can't wait to gush. Deal with it.

Ivy is on her third outfit today. Between the baby food, the cheerios and her new found love for scooting across on the floor, clothes don't stand a chance. Neither does her face or hair, for that matter. I guess it's time to increase the weekly bath quota, even though baths are Ivy's most hated activity. Right now Ivy is on her tummy, trying to grab my computer. She occasionally rests her head on the floor and makes a singsongy noise then looks at me and giggles. She knows I think she's adorable and hilarious. She'll briefly hoist herself up on her knees, trying to get some crawling momentum. She sits by herself for a minute or two before reaching for a toy and toppling over. 

Ivy and Ollie have a healthy symbiotic relationship wherein one party drops cheerios and the other eats them. Although jealous of the attention Ivy constantly receives, Ollie seems to recognize that she has some sort of value.He shows this by giving her feet lots of kisses. Or he could be licking off the cheerio residue. Hard to say.

Ivy loves talking to people and listening to people talk. She babbles at strangers and laughs every time I answer the phone. She flashes her big, gummy smile at everybody and grins at the camera. She tries to put everything in her mouth, including my toes. She is always moving around, grabbing, and observing whatever environment she's in. Her two bottom teeth are very visible and are growing in a way that suggests there will be many orthodontist visits in our future. Her hair seems to multiply every day and she's still skinny though her cheek's are wider than the length of her head. 

It's hard to believe it's been seven months. It's even harder to believe our tiny, twitchy, sleepy newborn has transformed into a nearly crawling, constantly exploring, sweetly charming little human. 

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Dr. Ivy Answers

Amelia in Utah asks,
Dr. Ivy- What should I name my pet hamster? I was thinking of calling her Frank. What do you think?

Dr. Ivy says,
"To be Frank, don't do Frank. When's the last time you met a Frank and thought to yourself, 'Wow. This is an interesting person who I would like to get to know better'? That's what I thought. It's more likely that you met a Frank and thought to yourself 'I'm hungry for a hot dog.' We can do better. 

Of your hamster I know two things; 1. She is a female. 2. She has an exercise wheel. The metaphor is obvious. Like many females who have come before, your hamster runs the wheel of progress and equality. Sometimes it seems she is headed nowhere. Sometimes it seems no one notices. But like the great feminists Suffragettes in history, well all is said and done, your hamster's efforts, the turns of the wheel, make a difference for us all. It seems only appropriate, then, to name your new furry friend Millicent Fawcet after the leader of National Union of Women's Suffrage Societies. 
You're welcome, Amelia. You're welcome, Millicent."

Dr. Ivy

Dr. Ivy, The World's Greatest Expert

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Gone tomorrow

I did this to my hair.

I'm the one on the right.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Snack Snack Snack

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Our lucky number

At his Birthday Breakfast this morning

Happy 26 years to the husband! 
I think it's so strange that Stephen had 23 birthdays before we were married. 22 before we even met. Twenty two years living completely independent of each other, unaware that the other person existed. Now here we are, celebrating Stephen's third birthday as a wedded couple, with a child, completely dependent on each other. And thank goodness for that. It's such a relief to have my best friend by my side at all times. Someone who always has something interesting to say. Someone who enjoys heckling movies as much as I do. Someone who agrees that burgers should be a separate and essential food group. Someone who puts everyone at ease. Someone who will start laughing at the exact same thing at the exact same moment I do. Someone who takes good care of me. Someone who takes good care of my baby. Someone who hates his birthday, so I should probably stop. But Happy Birthday, Love. 

Thursday, August 16, 2012

She may have mentioned a bear as well

A woman called me. It was a business call but not a business conversation.
"My cougar ate a golf ball," she said. I assumed I heard her wrong.
"She was the best cougar in the world, never hurt anyone." Nope. It wasn't a hearing issue. This woman owned a cougar. A golf-ball eating cougar.
"There was nothing they could do," She cried. I sympathized. Losing an animal is never easy.  And although I don't understand the appeal of owning a pet that could turn on you and attack at any time, she seemed pretty torn up about her loss.
"I'm sorry," I said as I waited for her to gain her composure. It took a while. Then there was a clanging in the background.
"Sorry, that's my bobcat," she explained. "He's always knocking stuff over."
I wasn't sure how to respond to the second wild, carnivorous animal announcement, so I tried to remind her of the business she had called to discuss. I failed.
"My husband won't do anything about those neighbor kids. They always throw stuff in our yard and it upsets our wolf." I was scared to ask what she wanted her husband to do about the neighbor kids or why she owns a wolf, so I changed the subject and asked where she was from. She then asked where I was from and when I told her Utah, she said,
"Tell those people in Idaho to stop hurting the wolves."
The twenty minute conversation continued to spiral out of control until she finally made a purchase. She then tried to explain the importance of having a gun in the home. I told her I had to take another call. It was a lie.

Hey Idaho, stop hurting the wolves.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012


"Well, here's the thing: I'm not beautiful. I mean, I'm a perfectly normal-looking Jewish guy. My face has never been my fortune, nor has my body ... physical beauty has never been part of my equation. It's just not on my shopping list. With the arm, I'm not talking about beauty so much as I'm actually talking about symmetry ... it's the lack of the shoulder that I was fixated on and remain a tiny bit fixated on."

" ... I'm fortunate in that I am 46 years old, and I do have a nifty little career so that the comma, noun after my name is David Rakoff comma writer. I'm very fortunate in that that's kind of established, so even if I do lose my arm ... I have managed to establish an identity that is based on my internal self, and for that I feel tremendously lucky."

-David Rakoff

Friday, August 10, 2012


The sun is setting on our time in DC.
While I'm excited to get back to my car, a real kitchen, Ollie, Ivy's own room, an actual mattress, a ceiling without holes, mountains and a normal schedule, I'm sad to leave.

It's been an incredible summer. Want proof? Ok! Picture time!

The Washington Monument. Well the bottom third of it anyway.

Jenny, Rachel F, Rachel R and Alpha at our freshman roommate reunion. On the east coast. Go figure. (Not pictured: Erin and Me)

The Space Shuttle Discovery at the Air and Space Museum Not a great picture, but it was totally rad.

The National Cathedral. It's beautiful, and we can see it from our apartment.

Fourth of July in Annapolis. It was hot.

Fourth of July in the City. We saw the last five minutes of the fire works. We were too caught up in our Good Stuff burgers to notice the time.

Stephen was on C-SPAN twice this summer.

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I'll admit it. I cried.

The National Museum of American History. 

The National Museum of Natural History. The most crowded place I have ever been.

We will miss being five miles from these amazing places. We will miss the incredible food. We will miss our dear friends. We will miss DC.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

that nobody can deny

This guy!

Nicholas Tyler Morley, my brother, turns 24 today. 

The think about Nick is that he's the life of every party. I've never had a conversation with Nick and not laughed. Well, I mean, maybe when I was eight and he was six and I wanted a turn on the play station, I might not have laughed then, but all other times definitely. The other thing about Nick is he's not one of those funny people that is jerk about it and won't give anyone else a laugh. In fact he's the most gernerous laugher I've ever know. Tell a joke around Nick and it will kill every time even though he knows a better one.

Thanks for the laughs, Nick. 
Happy 24!

Monday, August 6, 2012

Apollo, appollo

"She's a calendar baby fo sho!" said the man in the star-shaped sunglasses selling water on Constitution Avenue.

I don't know what a calendar baby is. Does it mean Ivy was born during the calendar year? That's accurate. She was. Does it mean she belongs on a calendar? That would suggest Ivy resembles a puppy or a fireman. While both are adorable in their own right, neither seems a fitting or flattering description of my infant daughter. Does it mean water-selling dude was nuttier than pistachios? Probably.

I did google "baby calendar" and found this:

I think that's a buffalo skull on the third Friday. So that's fun.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Evolutionary Fail

Happy Weekend!

Thursday, August 2, 2012

e'erybody love me

Reader. this will probably come as a huge shock, but I'm not a great dancer. And by not a great dancer, I mean I'm a really terrible dancer. But the great thing about babies is that they don't have much to compare your talent to. I'm the best dancer Ivy's ever seen because I'm the only dancer Ivy's ever seen. This morning I figured I would take advantage of her ignorance and show off my best moves. There was shaking. There was twirling. There was roof raising. I finished my routine and awaited applause. All I got was Ivy's confused, terrified stare, the same look she gave me when I tried to feed her prunes. It still beats Ollie's usual reaction which is to totally lose his cool and try biting my feet off every time I make any sort of gesture that might possibly resemble a dance move. I'm not making that up. Nothing makes Ollie madder than me dancing. Sometimes we call him The Old People in Foot Loose (one word or two?).