Two. Incase it wasn't obvious- I hate football. The guy I live with? Loves football. My dream is to sprawl on the lawn reading books with Waleed under the autumn breeze. His dream is for Waleed to be sitting next to him on a baby computer mulling over baby-fantasy-football trade offers. And while K insists football love is a nature versus nurture thing and well, being his son, he's likely genetically programmed to heart football, photographic evidence which recently came into my posession appear to paint a different picture:
Three. I have mixed views about living in the South and though I've lived more south than this [Miami is quite south after all] Miami isn't The South. While the South has its perks like ridiculously tasty sweet tea and the ability to say y'all without anyone batting an eye, I long for the all out awesomeness that is San Francisco, the quiet culture of Asheville, or the sheer beauty of Boulder. I forget sometimes that I can recreate that here, like in Decatur, an intown enclave of family-friendly and uber-granola folks which is basically right up my alley. This past Saturday I took Waleed to a playgroup at toy park [I was super excited about this as I envisioned hunkering lego structures and intricate sand castles. It turned out to be just a park- with toys- but toys geared towards kids his age]. He loved it. And I loved watching him and interacting with the other mothers, some who were simply walking around who I had never met, but were open to friendly conversation- and then having lunch across the street in the open air in the company of good friends. It was normal. It was ordinary. It was perfect.
|um, waiter- you forgot my order|
[thanks for the great pic Cylinda!]