We've finally finished the nursery. The blocks are up around the ceiling (as trim) and the windows are now installed, painted, bordered, whatnot. I'll post an image as soon as I get my camera working again. The problems with cameras never ends with me. But, the nursery is very pleasant now and Painter is quite satisfied.
I caught him dancing away last monday. System of a Down was playing and he just went nuts. He even head-banged a bit, until he struck his face on the coffee-table and began crying. I have it on video. If my son ever becomes a rock star, I'll force him to use a frame of this as his album cover, out of fun, and also it would give me a means of encroaching on his rock career, even slightly.
We've had our share of spills recently. Each of them usually involves the panic cry. The panic cry is awful. Horrible. It ranks second in the all-time worst sounds I've ever heard, first place going to old vacuum cleaners moving under your legs when a grandparent has you lift them. Painter leaped from the couch and landed on his face. Painter pulled a cabinet down onto himself (even I didn't suspect he was strong enough to do this). Painter picked up a wooden ABC block and socked himself in the eye with it. Painter stood up and fell (this is so common that there's little I can do about it). He cries for a moment, then moves on. I wonder if this general disposition will carry over into his later life. You know, a girl he's really into dumps him and he feels miserable for like, an hour, then moves on. Or, a skydiving accident leaves him in a coma, but he's only out for half a day, then wakes up, puts in his prosthetic limbs, and moves on. Or a crappy network puts on another dead-end, unfunny sitcom, and Painter catches a moment of it, turns the channel, and without complaint or critique, moves on.
I'm moving through this new children's project well, and am about half-way through it's completion. Am already at work researching for my upcoming January 2006 campaign.
Had a toothache yesterday, wanted to die. Today, I'm fine. Toothaches are probably the shittiest, aggravating, fall-down-and-weep pain I've ever experienced. I had Maisy take a picture of my mouth during the toothache. Here it is:
I suppose that's what I get for drinking sugary coffee all day and smoking.
On a lighter note, I recently received an email from an editor at a magazine I never submitted to, asking if I'd let him use some poems he read of mine in another magazine. This is the first unsolicited acceptance (or contact, really) that I've received. I hope there's more of it. It's much easier than bundling up a few poems with a cover letter, typing up addresses and information, and then walking down to the post office and back with the baby.