So the busiest month is finally drawing to a close, and somehow we made it.

Our birthday party last weekend was a success, i.e., we danced barefoot to George Michael and screamed along with some Jodeci and R. Kelly.

We photographed another wedding last Friday night, and it was lovely. We got really good photos and probably scored another wedding, so you know, awesome.

I am so very tired, as we stayed out just a little to late last night covering the Starlight Mints for al.com. I'm glad we went; their music is really good.

So now I am thirty. Last night I laid in bed and prayed to God, prayed for him to just please take care of Jason and Reed, keep them safe, give them a happy life. I am realizing more and more how important they are to me, how much happiness I want for them, how impotent I am in making their lives what I wish it could be. I've written before that I know that Reed has a mama who loves him and that's special and that's enough and some people aren't lucky enough to have that, but I still just want more for him. And it's not an I-wish-I-could-buy-him-more-stuff situation; that's not it. I wish he could have parents who didn't worry about money, parents who didn't have a foreclosure and loans and several maxed-out credit cards to deal with. I wish Jason's wife could deal with life more appropriately than she frequently does. I wish Jason could have a job that was never fucked up and wife who kept the house clean and food on the table. And suddenly, while I was laying there thinking all of this, I realized two things that hadn't fully occurred to me before: 1) I am not afraid of dying, and 2) I want to live.

I can't fully express what this realization meant to me. It probably all sounds trite and stupid, but this is a big fucking deal. Up until just a few months ago, I have been stuck in a dense fog for several years, one that I couldn't see out of and that gave me the feeling that no one could see into it. Now that fog has cleared just enough for me to see that it does not matter one bit. That fog makes no difference to me any more. I don't know how long this life will last but I am going to live it for however long I'm allotted, and I don't know what heaven and the great hereafter will be like, I don't know if I'll be able to hang around with all these people I love so much. I don't know if I'll be able to kiss Jason's face and smell Reed's hair, so I better do it now.

This isn't to say that I will never be sad again, never waste a day feeling sorry for myself, never let life get me down again, because I know that I will. BUT NOW IS THE TIME FOR THE EFFORT, PEOPLE. I am bringing it. So just look out.

Cleaning out my text messages.

- Oh my God! I hope you partied with pork at City Stages!

- Shole is. We have been tipsy since noon. I washed my hairs.

- Oh vodka. You my only friend.

- Evil baby! Hillbilly baby!

- I love your couch/why don't you have a pool?

- We can tell you about usufructuary, riparian and littoral water rights. Fun! Can you shoot me?

- I just realized I haven't washed my hair since last Saturday. My scalp be itchin.

- I just bought a 32 ounce Dr. Pepper and I still don't think it's gonna be enough.

- Lelaina really should have worn a bra with her doily dress.

- I was thinking a crossbow, but any port in a storm!

One sentence for each year of my life for my 30th birthday, which is tomorrow:

0-1: I am born.

1-2: We move from Shreveport, Louisiana to Centerville, Alabama because my dad is tired of running an Omelette Shoppe.

2-3: I have my first crush on a boy named Kenneth, and I call him "Nuff".

3-4: We move from Centerville back to my parents' home town of Leeds, Alabama.

4-5: I play outside with the boy across the street named Beau; we share our first kiss and both come down with strep throat.

5-6: I hate going to school because I'd rather just hang out with my mom all day; we watch Charlotte's Web at school and it traumatizes me.

6-7: My friend Kasie and I sneak down to the creek during recess and stay too long and get left outside, resulting in our both being paddled by the principal.

7-8: I get in trouble in school because the boy next to me keeps taking my pencil from me and I argue with him to give it back to me.

8-9: I start having pretty severe acne, and the kids at school call me "pizza face".

9-10: My teacher is Mrs. Dawson who is one of my favorite teachers ever; she reads us The Hobbit aloud.

10-11: My teacher is Mrs. English, my least favorite teacher I will ever have; she says things like "social sturdies", "dunkey", and "pyahcil" (social studies, donkey, and pencil) and makes us carry all of our books home if we get into trouble.

11-12: I start junior high at a different school and don't know anyone except for a few people who travel from Leeds to Gresham as well; I have my first boyfriend who I am afraid to kiss.

12-13: I stay at the new school even though my best friend goes back to Leeds; it ain't that great.

13-14: I go back to Leeds for eighth grade and meet the girl who will be one of my best friends for the next several years, the girl who taught me how to act like an idiot in front of large groups of people.

14-15: I go to Shades Valley R.L.C. for ninth grade, where they stress independence and self-discipline; I am good at the independence, not so much the self-discipline.

15-16: I lose my virginity to a guy who has pressured the hell out of me to do so.

16-17: I drive a manual shift truck and am best friends with a girl who will eventually overdose on Oxycontin.

17-18: I break up with my boyfriend to be with a girl who tried desperately to convince me that I'm gay; alas, I will not be convinced.

18-19: I am engaged to my tiny Italian boyfriend; we fight A LOT.

19-20: I break up with my tiny Italian boyfriend so's I can drink A LOT.

20-21: My friends and I have discovered a few bars that we can go to even though we're not 21, so we take a whole lot of advantage of it.

21-22: I calm down quite a bit, discover the me that I want to be, and fall in love with a high school senior.

22-23: I take the high school senior's virginity without nearly as much pressuring as I required to lose my own; I meet Lindsey who will become one of my closest friends.

23-24: I fall madly in love with Jason and break up with the de-virginized, formerly-high school senior and realize how badly I miss my childhood best friend.

24-25: Jason and I get married, beginning what is now 5 1/2 years of wonderful, terrifying, scary, excruciating, exhilarating life.

25-26: I am let go from a part-time retail job for asking off to study for college courses after being told "If you ever have studying that you need to do just ask, because college should be your priority"; I also find out that I'm pregnant.

26-27: I have a baby; it is nuts.

27-28: I spiral into the worst depression I have ever experienced; I am fired for this blog, and subsequently take one of the most interesting, high energy jobs I've ever had with the worst, most horrifying, soul-crushing, rude, heinous boss I've ever dealt with.

28-29: Jason and I have become photographers, and I start making jewelry; Kane and Jude's mom begins the process of becoming the most difficult, scary, mean, uncaring person I've ever had to deal with personally.

29-30: I am fired from another job; I finally begin to get a grip on my depression and anxiety after starting the first job I've ever had where I feel valued and appreciated.

30-31: Holy fuck, what's going to happen this year? Can somebody at least warn me if it's going to be really awesome or really terrible?

Come show your love to your hoes at our 30th birthday party (Kristi, Lindsey, and myself) at Stealth Arts, June 27th, 8 pm. I may even be drunk by 10, hungover by 1, and drunk again by 3. Come place bets.

Have you ever wondered why I am the way that I am? Ever wondered what's going on in my head? Well, read this. This right here is going on in my head at least a few times a week.

Some notes on City Stages 2009 in list-form:

1. Alabama, what the crap with the hot? I went to City Stages last year and it was hot, BUT NOT THIS HOT. Good Lord, with the sun and the sweating and the sun.

2. Styx: Rocked my socks right off my body. I actually wasn't wearing socks because, I might not have mentioned, IT WAS HOT, but these guys still knocked my metaphorical socks off. Thank goodness these guys still tour and thank goodness we went to see them, because they were on top of things.

3. Plain White T's: Pretty decent for some young, pretty white guys. There were lots of moms with their kids and their $5 pizzas, and lots of screaming young women. But the band was impressively tight and together. And one of them was wearing a plain, white t.

4. Indigo Girls: I still love you after all these years, and you ladies still got it. I love the diversity of the crowd of fans who love you: black, white, gay, straight, girls, boys, old, and young.

5. Eric Hutchinson: Refreshingly honest, real music from a talented guy who clearly loves what he's doing. But, dude, don't wear a suit in Alabama at an outdoor festival in June. It was giving me pains just to look at you in all that material. We met him after the show and I said, "You clearly didn't know what you were getting in to when you got dressed today." He laughed and said, "Naw, naw, always fashion first!" That right there is a Yankee for you.

6. Jonny Lang: This guy has been amazing me for over ten years, and Saturday was no exception. He brings the authentic, searing, heart-wrenching blues of an old, hardened, jaded man in the form of a 27-year-old dude. Jonny plays the guitar like no one I've ever seen in person, furious and heated and unstoppable, uncontrollable, and he sings as if his body is somehow channeling the voices of some of the greatest musicians in history.

7. Guster: You guys are one of my very favorite bands, and I am so glad I saw you, grateful that you came, and just a tad proud of myself for managing to come to your show alone. You played the Airport Song, the first Guster song I ever heard, and you played Red Oyster Cult, one of my favorite songs ever. You guys are just so much fun and I couldn't wipe the huge, goofy grin off of my face the whole time I was listening.

8. Young Jeezy: This guy pulled the biggest crowd that I witnessed at City Stages. I have to admit that I don't know his music, although Chris, upon learning that I would be going to see Young Jeezy, did an impressive impression of his collaboration with Akon and then immediately sat down at his computer to download the song. Seriously, the audience was packed in like sardines and everyone started getting restless when he was late coming onstage; there were some fights and some tense moments but when Young Jeezy took the stage the crowd got lost in dancing and bouncing and couldn't be bothered with being mad any more.

9. Lynyrd Skynyrd: These guys had the most crowded pit at City Stages (the pit is the media area between the stage and the crowd). There were probably 20 of us jostling for photos and video. It was dark and loud and tight and HOT, hothothot. But man, this band loves what they do; they bring the energy and the love and the excitement. They look great and sound great, and I'm glad that I stuck around to see them in spite of how tired and worn out I was. Also did I mention it was hot?

More on Leonard.

Leonard Peltier's parole hearing has been moved from July 27th to July 28th.

I believe the last day to sign the petition is June 26th, so please, please do so soon.

Any letters of support must be received by July 1st, so please send some. For a sample letter, go here and click on "July 28th Parole Hearing" on the left.

To read more about Leonard you can go to his website, his defense committee's website, or his Wikipedia article. The documentary film Incident At Oglala is fascinating and informative and is available from Netflix.

Leonard Peltier is an old man who has spent 32 years in prison for a crime that I whole-heartedly believe that he did not commit. I know that if you research it, if you look into this and see the evidence, you will know too that he didn't do the crimes for which he has served 32 years in prison. He has children and grandchildren who miss him, faces he's only seen through glass and never kissed or touched. He has illnesses that are being neglected by the prison officials who are charged with his care. Please read about him, sign the petition, and send a letter.

So, yeah.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

I just photographed one of my top-4 favorite bands ever.

And I also photographed Young Jeezy and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Go take a look.

City Stages.

Lindsey and I will be covering City Stages for al.com this weekend, and I'm very excited about it- Lindsey does write-ups and video, and I do photographs and severe inebriation.

I am particularly excited about the Indigo Girls, Jonny Lang, Guster, and the Pine Hill Haints.

Here's to being ridiculously sweaty and being tossed about by thousands of people!

Karaoke and appendectomies.

Holy cow, this past weekend was pretty nutty. Kane had an emergency appendectomy, I karaoked Shania Twain's Any Man of Mine, and Lindsey got hit on by a 23 year old. I AM SO TIRED.

Lindsey and I went out Saturday night and bar-hopped a bit and ended up at an all-night karaoke joint we have been known to frequent in the past. Of course we stayed out too late and arrived home to Kane power-puking in the bathroom with the door open. Jason got up and was like, "Oh, yeah, he's been puking."

The next morning as I was just about to expire from the hangover, Jason informed me that he was taking Kane to the emergency room because he was having some cramps that could indicate appendicitis. He called a couple of hours later and said it wasn't his appendix, it was just a stomach virus, and they were giving him nausea medicine and fluids. He called a couple of hours after that and said Kane was still cramping so they were taking blood and running tests and giving him an iv because he was so dehydrated. They eventually did an x-ray and discovered that Kane's appendix isn't situated in the normal place and woops! it WAS his appendix, he DID in fact have appendicitis and oh yeah, they needed to remove his appendix.

I would also like to point out, because it is just so predictable, that while Kane and Jason and Jude arrived at the hospital around 10:00 am, and Kane was finally wheeled into surgery around 5:30 pm, Kane's wonder-mom didn't show up at the hospital until 6 pm. The only reason I want to point this out is that it is just indicative of the kind of shit she pulls that makes me go WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE?

But all is well; Kane was in and out of surgery very quickly and everything went fine and he's recovering. I would also like to say that after the surgery, still high on the anesthesia, Kane was quietly resting in his bed and then would randomly spout lines from the Office ("What kind of bear is best?"). So funny.

It was just nutty, a nutty day and a nutty chain of events, and I'm glad everything is okay.

Jude,

Today you are ten.

This means that you have spent six and one-half years WORKING ON MY NERVES. I would like to say that I'm kidding, but I think we both know that I'm not.

My first memory of you is you hiding behind Jason's legs because you were too embarrassed to meet me. My next memories of you are of how willing you were to hold my hand and sit in my lap, how close we became so quickly. I never could figure out if you were just that starved for female attention or if you just liked the idea of pissing off your mom. And what I'm saying here is that you have always been a person who liked to piss people off, but originally you chose to use me to piss others off instead of just going right for pissing me off. That's what kind of smart little bugger you are.

Jude, you are one of the most difficult, stubborn boys I have ever known, and that is saying a lot because I've known drug-users and alcoholics, womanizers and habitual liars, narcissistic pricks and fellows who were totally out of touch with reality, and you are more difficult than any of them. In some ways this is a compliment, but mostly this is just me saying OH WOULD YOU JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK ALREADY. We have butted heads on more than once occasion, from the subject of sticking your hands down into the Brita pitcher (WHY do you need to put your hands INSIDE of it, anyways?) to licking the knife before putting it BACK IN the jar of peanut butter to whether or not to pick up your socks and whether it's okay to wear the same shirt seven days in a row when you have used that shirt to wipe jelly off the counter. IF I LIVE TO SEE YOU GRADUATE HIGH SCHOOL IT WILL BE A GODDAMNED MIRACLE, last night your actions took me to the point in which I hit myself in the head with a gallon of milk, who's to say that next time it won't be a rubber mallet instead of a large dairy product.

When you were little you would lie in bed until midnight or one in the morning making car noises and monster noises and explosion noises and sticking your feet and hands in the air, ANYTHING to PLEASE GOD STAY AWAKE JUST FIVE MORE MINUTES.

You would also drink icees until you threw up blue. We've moved on from that to a constant "Can I have an apple? Can I have some chips? Can I have a banana? Can I have a popsicle? Can I have a fried egg? Can I have some Coke? Can I have a sandwich? What's for dinner?"

Dude, I don't have a clue what you're going to do when you grow up- BMX biking? Professional skateboarding? The newest member of the wonderful team that stars in Jackass? And when I say that, I'm not calling you a jackass; the stuff they do on that show is the kind of shit that you declare is the awesomest, the sickest, the most insanely crazy cool shit you've ever seen. You begged for the poster out of my Misfits cd and lately you've been asking questions about the Ramones and listening to Green Day on the iPod: your future is fuck-all, I cannot begin to divine what kind of person you will be as you get older, smarter, and more daring. You are the PUNK ROCKINEST, sneering little ne'erdowell that I've ever known, except for that little foray into chick flicks and Britney Spears, but we'll just forget about that.

I know that we haven't always gotten along, and I know that you've been disappointed by my lack of cool-stepmomness and my overabundance of YOU'LL DO WHAT I TELL YOU. I have sometimes worried that when you're a grown-up you will look back on all of this and hate me for being so tough on you. I am hoping that instead what Lindsey has said is true: that you will look back on this and love me for caring, for trying to teach you about manners and morality and sympathy and empathy, that you will realize that, while I could have been cooler and more laid-back and more worried about pleasing you, I chose the tougher route which was to give a shit about what kind of person you would end up being. I have high expectations of you and I am not afraid to let you know about it because, otherwise, how will you ever have high expectations of yourself? You cannot fool me into thinking that it is too hard for you to clean your room or pick up your socks or put your dishes into the dishwasher, just like you cannot fool me into thinking it's unfair for you to have to share with your brothers or give your dad a chance to do something other than kissing your butt 24 hours a day.

That sucks, right? THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH YOU WITHOUT GIVING YOU A KNUCKLE SANDWICH AND HAVING YOU FITTED FOR A MUZZLE. You just sit down and be thankful that you haven't quite pushed me that far yet. And also don't forget to change your shorts. GAH.

Because the world doesn't have enough haikus, yo! Here are a few more.

Some haikus about my life lately:

I've been feeling crap-
tacular these days, for sure
Lobotomy-ho!

My throat hurts but lo!
Hot tea makes me pee too much.
Looks like beer it is.

Looking forward to
turning 30, not afraid
of the rickets. Ha!

Jason, your kid is
going to kill me, I fear.
Tell them to suck it.

I can't stop buying!
Anxiety makes me spend.
I need some more bling.

What the fuck, Prozac?
Where you been these past few months?
Don't do me like that.

"Holy fucking shit!"
my child exclaimed. I don't know
where he gets it from.

Kristi, Lindsey, Chris,
Jason and Duque and Reedy,
you my only friends.

Some things I am really in to right now:

1. Flight of the Conchords and Mad Men: I have just watched season one of each of these shows. Flight of the Concords cracks me up; hilarious! Man Men makes me want to drink and smoke and wear pencil skirts and have huge titties. Both of these shows are great. Can't wait to move on to season two of each.

2. Hot sauce: Obvious, maybe, but I have been more of a jalapeno girl until the last couple of months. Now I am buying huge bottles of hot sauce and putting it on everything from Mexican food to veggies and rice. I probably really stink lately.

3. Tall wedge shoes: These are the shoes that I call my fall-down shoes, on account of I usually fall down when I wear them. I just can't get enough of them these days, so I have been wearing them and falling down all over the place- Kristi's driveway, Kristi's hallway, Base Camp...

4. Margaritas and other various mixed drinks: I got a recipe for a Moscow Mule from Birdie last week and subsequently had a pretty bad hangover on Saturday. Lindsey and I went out and had margaritas the weekend before, and subsequently I nearly died the next day.

5. My purple maxi dress from Old Navy: It's like wearing sexy, stylish pajamas. I feel cute and comfortable all at once.

6. Turning 30: I have to say, I am really excited about this one. Age and birthdays have never freaked me out, and this one is no exception. I can't wait until our big party.

Something I am not so in to: My recent inability to hold my liquor. Quite suddenly every time I drink, I am terribly ill the next day. This doesn't bode well for my desire to drink frequently.

Happy 30th birthday, Kristi! Have fun at the Phish show! Spin once for me!

Kane,

Today you turn 13.

This is probably the last time we'll ever speak since I'm moving into the bomb shelter until you turn 21, 'cause, dude, I don't want any part of what all is coming up.

I'm kidding. I am actually very excited about what is coming up, especially since you are suddenly very interested in watching The Office and that is so much more tolerable and interesting to me than Pokemon, or Yu Gi Oh, or Total Drama Island.

When I first met you, you were six years old, and in first grade. Your dad brought you into the store where we worked together, and he introduced us, and Jude hid behind his legs while you said, "Hello there, Buffy."

In the months following our meeting there were screaming contests (literally; this isn't a metaphor for a fight), swimming, sidewalk chalk drawings, Super Mario Brothers all-nighters, and tag games. We did a whole lot of stuff back in those days, mainly because your father and I didn't live together yet so we had to find cool stuff to do outside of the house.

We've had some tough times together as well. You had a lot of trouble understanding your mother's illness, how it kept her away from you so much when you were so young, and I had the simultaneous joy and guilt of being able to help you deal with that. I am very glad that I got to know you, got to sit up with you at night and help you through some rough nights, but I have to tell you it is very difficult to come up with a good answer to some of your questions, "why won't mom come home" or "why can't I go to my mom's house" or "can't she please just stay home with us tonight". All I ever knew to tell you was that she loves you, and she's working on it. I hope that was enough.

You are one of the smartest, brightest, most resilient kids I've ever known, and I can't even imagine what all lies ahead of you. You sure do like to talk so I might suggest a career in politics or lawyering. You clearly also combine with that talk-love a pinpoint accuracy in recalling detail, I can't even tell you how many episodes of Family Guy or The Simpsons that you have described to me, and I could tell that you didn't forget a thing because it would take the same amount of time for you to describe it to me as it would to actually sit down in front of the tv and watch the bloody show. HOLY GOD, MAN, you need to apply your talent for seven-hour oration to something besides shows I don't even like, I beg of you.

Seriously, never stop expecting a lot from yourself, because you have the charisma and smarts to do a lot of interesting things with your life, and that kind of stuff almost never just falls into your lap: you have to work for a happy life, to enjoy your pursuits and have a happy family. Just like Gordy Ramey used to tell my mama: Remember who you are. Know that this life just gets harder and harder, all the time, and there will be moments when you think you will break, when you think it will never get easier. And I'm not here to tell you that it gets easier, because sometimes it doesn't. But it changes. Your feelings, the situations you're in, your desires, your goals, it all changes all the time, and no matter how hard it gets you can always come to your dad or me to talk about it, because we will always love you just as much, and we will always be your parents no matter how scary or unpredictable life gets.

Listen, I ain't your mama, have never been your mama and will never be your mama. But I do love you and want good things for you. I will always be there to talk or help in any way that I can. This fall you start eighth grade, and I am here to tell you that this stage of life is hard, hard for everyone, and the best thing I know to say about it is don't let them see you hurting, save the hurting for when you get home, and always be open to new friendships.

And no drinking or drugs until you're older. And no sex. Or girlfriends. Maybe you should just come straight home from school. And don't be talking to hussies on the phone, either. No HBO or Cinemax. And punch a motherfucker in the face if he fucks with you. But don't be a bully. Oh for God's sakes, I have to go; the bomb shelter is calling my name.

Also, totally unrelated to my vagina...

Summer sale! Buy one, get one free at my Etsy shop!

Reed Daniel.

I really enjoy reading birth stories like this one, and by "enjoy" I mean "panic and dry-heave". I realized that I hadn't ever talked about the day that Reed was born here.

I didn't go into labor naturally. About four or five days after my due date at an appointment with my doctor's office, an all-too-enthusiastic doctor told me he'd see if he could "get things going" since I was so late.

First let me say that I had one of those ridiculous experiences with an office full of rotating doctors and every time I went in I saw a different one so that I'd be "familiar" with all the doctors when I went into labor and just whoever could step in and catch the baby as it came flying out of my hoo-ha.

Next let me tell you what this fucking happy-ass guy did to me to "get things going": he put on a latex glove, stuck his hand into my yaya and "swooped" his fingers roughly about my cervix trying to "manually" open it up. I shit you not. This is not a joke. IT HURT LIKE A SON OF A BITCH and I very nearly levitated off the table with all the pain. Jason said he kind of wondered if he needed to punch that guy in the face, but somehow he refrained.

So the doctor tells me that I might see my mucus plug at some point and to call them if anything happens. Not a damn thing happened.

The next week at my appointment (now 10 days past my due date) the lady doing the ultrasound noticed that I suddenly didn't have very much amniotic fluid in there, and they did an exam and realized that I'd been leaking and holy cow! they better induce labor. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good.

So we went home and I hyperventilated a little and realized I really was not that interested in pushing a honey-baked ham-sized creature out of that particular orifice. Oh, I forgot to mention that when they did the ultrasound they estimated that the baby in there probably weighed anywhere from 9 to 10 pounds. In case any of you aren't familiar, that's an XL-sized baby, absolutely not what I ordered.

So we headed to the hospital and six the next morning and checked in and they started an iv of pitocin to get the labor going. For the first hour or so, nothing happened. Then all of a sudden THAT SHIT WORKED and I was writhing around on the bed in a whole lot of pain, the kind of pain that you can't talk through or think through and all you can do is imagine fire and bombs exploding and bright, searing light. So the nurse checked me out and found that I was still only dilated to about 1 or 2 centimeters and so they couldn't give me the epidural, but they could give me a shot of Demerol to help with the pain. I politely said, "Yes, that would be lovely." About five minutes later I was totally drunk and resting comfortably.

We watched tv and just generally rested until woops! those contractions started ripping and tearing through the Demerol. They checked me and I was at 3 centimeters so they called the anesthesiologist (Would you believe that I spelled "anesthesiologist" correctly? I just went ahead and spell-checked because I thought there was no way I had guessed it, but I totally did. That right there is a testament to my love for Dr. Carlson, the fellow who gave me my epidural.).

So guess what? Throughout my pregnancy, I was so worried about getting the epidural, about the pain involved with some fellow jamming a large needle into my spine, about how you can be paralyzed and blah blah blah. I am here to tell you: IF YOU ARE HAVING CONTRACTIONS, FOR-REAL-THOUGH CONTRACTIONS THAT MAKE YOU WANT TO HIT YOURSELF IN THE FACE WITH A HAMMER UNTIL YOU LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS, THE TINY PRICK OF THE NEEDLE GOING INTO YOUR BACK REALLY ISN'T THAT BIG OF A DEAL. I had to sit up in the bed and sit very, very still on account of you don't want him jamming it in sideways or in the wrong place or whatever, so of course I started having a really intense contraction right as he starting giving me the epidural. Sitting perfectly still during a contraction is very difficult, and I managed only because of the expected benefit of the drugs seeping into my spinal cord.

He finished and told me it would take a minute for the drugs to take effect, so in the meantime I had a couple more meaty contractions to entertain myself with. Then, suddenly, I felt so fucking good. I felt relaxed and unafraid and sleepy, and I laid my head back and dozed. I could still feel the contractions but instead of feeling like PAIN! they felt like pressure; I could feel the muscles in my body contracting, but it didn't hurt.

Basically the rest was just that, rest, until I reached 10 centimeters dilation and they got me to start pushing. Eventually Reed's heart rate got kind of erratic, so SNIP SNIP they did an episiotomy and got some forceps and tugged Reed out of there into this cruel, cruel world, away from the comfort of my hospitable uterus.

And then there he was, gooey and shiny, bruised from the forceps, uttering the tiniest, cutest shriek of FUCK NO, PLEASE CAN I GO BACK FOR JUST A WHILE LONGER. And then we were parents. I was a mama, and Reed was my son.

We should have moved into a neighborhood for the blind.

Interesting story: my kid took a shit in the back yard yesterday.

I know, right?

He has recently really gotten a kick out of peeing in the back yard, and we occasionally let him, because what harm is it going to do? Besides him dropping trow in front of the neighbors in the FRONT yard, I see nothing bad that could happen. That DID happen, though, and it was pretty embarrassing, so we had to have this really fun talk about how you can't be showing your boy parts to random other people.

Anyways, yesterday when we got home from school he said he had to go use it and he wanted to use it outside. Jason kindly escorted him into the back yard, and after a few minutes wandered back into the kitchen- our back yard is completely enclosed by a high privacy fence, so Reed can be trusted alone back there for a few minutes at a time. After a couple of minutes I walked back there to find Reed, pants around his ankles and knees slightly bent, looking at me sheepishly. I asked him what he was doing, and he didn't reply. I asked again, and he smiled and said gleefully, "I'm POOPING!"

He then proceeded to squat. And poop.

I walked into the kitchen and told Jason, "Yeah, okay, your kid is taking a shit in the back yard."

He smiled and shook his head and said, "At least it's not in the front yard."

What dreams may come.

Right, okay, so last night I dreamed that I was watching Paul Simon, John Candy, and Bob Hope perform together.

I also dreamed that I watched this guy resuscitate a drowned hamster.

What the? Wow. I am not even making this shit up.

I do not know what is going on with my body these days, but I think something must be wrong. My eyes are really swollen and hot, and my throat hurts, and my nose is all stopped up. I am exhausted all the time, whether I get sleep or not. I am nauseated and I've thrown up a few times. I've been getting heartburn regularly when, until about two weeks ago, I had never had heartburn before in my life.

I don't know what's up, but it's starting to get difficult to function an a daily basis when I'm feeling this badly. I long to be in bed all the time, and I've spent the last two days literally falling asleep at my desk at work. It's all getting to be too much pretty quickly.

I'm taking my vitamins, I'm drinking water and hot tea, I'm walking the dog, resting, getting some sleep when I can.

Oh, yeah, that's another thing: I've had a lot of trouble sleeping lately.

Anyway, I'm falling apart at the seams, mouth-breathing and aching and writhing around. I'm just not really sure how to deal with all of this.

Ob la di.

Ah, June. Hello, there. This is the month in which I will turn 30 years old.

There are a lot of things in this world that I don't know. But I'm learning and pressing on, and I think that's good enough for right now.

We photographed a wedding this weekend and I'm really excited about the pictures. It's really fun and touching to be able to share these moments with people in this manner, meaning that you're right on top of them every moment during a pretty important day in their lives. You're watching closely as they're putting on their dresses or adjusting their tuxes, kissing each other, shedding tears, exchanging vows, embracing for the first time as a married couple. Pretty heady stuff. It's good for my heart.

So on June 20th we're throwing a toga party to celebrate Kristi, Lindsey and myself turning 30. I am anticipating a pretty wild party, and I'm happy that I get to share this birthday with my best friends. It won't be a party unless I get drunk enough to call someone a douche.

On a more serious note, my uncle Vann is having some pretty severe reactions to his chemotherapy right now. I had decided for a while not to write about his cancer because it's really upsetting and scary (I know- selfish, selfish, selfish of me), but so far he has been responding well to his treatments and the cancer has been receeding. Because of a setback couple of weeks ago they've changed the kind of chemo that he's getting and this new medicine is making him pretty sick. Anyway, point is if you pray or think nice thoughts or meditate or anything of the sort, please think something nice for my uncle today. I want him to get better, and I think that it certainly can't hurt to have all of us sitting around thinking about how everything will be fine and Vann will get better. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers.