And I call myself a blogger. Pshaw.

I just realized (as if waking with a start from a horrible nightmare) that I did not take any pictures this Christmas.

Not a single photo of Arlo opening Christmas presents. Not one snap of the shutter to capture the cat eating curling ribbon, or Arlo eating fig newtons and Christmas cookies for dinner on Christmas Eve. No video footage of Arlo playing with his new rhythm sticks from West Music--nor a single digital file to represent his first Christmas-stocking-unstuffing.

Maybe, deep down inside, I am depressed because I did not get a new digital camera for Christmas. Maybe I was subconsciously protesting the old camera by refusing to use it.

I don't know how this happened... but I promise, I will be vigilant on New Year's Eve. I will take pictures as if they are going out of style--and I'll prod all of my camera-wielding friends to take pictures of me, like, constantly. And it's going to be fun, too--we're throwing a party at our house (in part to solve the problem of trying to find a babysitter--Arlo will sleep through anything) and I just found out that I am NOT pregnant yet, so I have two more weeks to party with reckless abandon before trying again.

Woo hoo! The one reason I can be happy about a negative pregancy test!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Thinking about declaring that your New Year's resolution will be to "Get Organized"?

Don't do it.

Or, at least, read this first.

Just call him Ansel.

My good friend Mara brought me a stuffed tiger for Arlo on Sunday, one that she got at a zoo but that was just gathering dust in a closet at her house. I took it home to Arlo from our Knit Wits session, and he flipped. As soon as I walked in the door, he spotted it, yanked it out of my bag, and dragged it down the hallway. Next, we took pictures:

I took this one. It might not seem that special, but the fact that Arlo actually stood still and posed for the picture was a feat in and of itself--this just doesn't happen. He was obviously very proud of the new tiger.

Then Arlo got a hold of my camera, and took this picture. Okay. I sort of really hate this picture because it shows my double chin in all its glory, but I am swallowing my pride. This picture that my two-year-old took is technically much nicer than the one I took. If I could photoshop out the extra alien skin-fold on my neck, it'd be a pretty decent shot.

Oh, and then there were these, all taken by Arlo. They make me laugh.

Cool.

http://www.jacksonpollock.org/

A Boy and His Cat: It's a Beautiful Thing.

Ella has always tolerated Arlo, but now that he has gained enough coordination (and affection for her) that he can pet her and help feed her and the other three cats in our household, Arlo has gained status as a Useful Human Being. What I'm trying to say is, she likes him.

Shortly preceding this photo shoot, Arlo went looking for Ella. When he found her, he scooped her up and carried her to the rocking recliner in the living room.* As always, she went limp in his arms and completely submitted to his machinations.

After leaving Ella on the chair (where she willingly stayed, possibly just to satisfy her curiosity), Arlo then went to get a book from the case under the TV. Returning with the book, he struggled to get Ella positioned on his lap with the book in a suitable reading position.

Yes, he wanted to read Ella a story. A story about a fire truck.



Ella was my first "baby," the first living creature in my life for whom I am solely responsible. I got her as a kitten in 1997, so she's a senior kitty--which makes it all the more remarkable to me that she has adjusted so well to the addition of a little one into our household. I think she turned out okay.

It also warms my heart to see how Arlo has grown into such a gentle, creative and loving little person. Just last night we had our friends Joel and Sandie over, with their new baby, Adsila, and little boy, Piers, who is one of Arlo's best friends.

When it came time to say goodnight, Arlo gave Piers a hug and said "I love you, Piers." Then he planted a kiss right on Piers's lips. What a sweet boy! Of course, right after that, he went back to jumping on the new furniture--but one must have the yin AND the yang.

*30-year-old La-Z-Boy rocker-recliner handed down from my grandpa's house has finally been replaced by new furniture! Woo hoo! (Pictures on my flickr page.)

The OTHER Jen and Arlo

Okay, hold on to your hats. I don't expect this news to be as earth-shattering for the rest of you as it was (still is) to me, but...

click here.

Yes, that's a much-doted-upon three-year-old named Arlo. And his mom's name is Jen. And there is a video here of that Arlo lip-synching and dancing to Queen's "We Will Rock You." And it's...

so awesome.

I didn't go looking for this. I did not--I repeat--DID NOT Google "Arlo" and "Jen" to see if there were other pairings out there like me and my boy. I was reading Mighty Girl's blog, and there was this post pointing to Arlo's "We Will Rock You" video. It's also linked on Dooce's blog--which is about the Best Blog of All Time.

I'm alarmed. And I have to tell you, I'm feeling a little bit threatened right now. I'm having a tiny little freak out, a wee identity crisis. Granted, the Other Jen and Arlo live far, far away (Providence, RI) and--thank Gawd--the daddy's name is NOT Ted (it's Jeff) , but all of a sudden I'm feeling a little less unique.

And okay. Here it comes. I feel like the other Jen-and-Arlo are doing the Jen-and-Arlo bit a little cooler than I am. I don't blame my Arlo for this-- obviously, I think he's gotta be ten times the kid that Other Arlo is, but now I feel like I'm just not promoting Arlo well enough. Arlo doesn't have an Uncle Liam, after all, and no relatives who are professional-grade video producers. Plus, he's two and this Other Arlo is three, so there's that.

Maybe she doesn't work full-time outside the home. Maybe she's some kind of professional blogger, and therefore has all kinds of time to take pictures and videos of her dear boy and design her very own web site and have a very hip short-banged-bob haircut. She probably drives a VW Beetle.

How am I going to keep up?

Should I e-mail jen@jenville.com? What in the world would I say?

Do I need to just get over it? Because right now I am completely preoccupied with my Other, and her boy Arlo. It's like the song "Ana Ng" by They Might Be Giants--talking about a twin you have on the opposite side of the earth ("water spirals the wrong way down the drain...") and what it's like to meet them. Or The Secret Sharer, by Joseph Conrad. Only she's in Rhode Island.

Forgive my stream of consciousness. I'm reeling. Who has problems like this? Only me, I tell you.

Good God, Woman, Put Those Things Away.

http://www.alphamom.com/site/wonderland/2006/11/because_mother_nature_made_bot.html

Honestly. If I have to see one more woman being a good mom in public, I just don't know what I'll do.


Ew.


Pervert.



Official Disclaimer: When I have my next baby, I've got a mind to be one of those women who doesn't even try to cover up when she's breastfeeding in public... just to punish the people who are backwards enough to think that it's an obscene or otherwise not-suitable-for-public-or-children's-eyes. Please note that the above comments are posted in absolute horror, and with tongue firmly in cheek. Enjoy the alphamom article! (And thanks to Dooce for pointing it out.)