This was my first attempt to interview Jack for the blog. I asked him in advance if he would do it and he eagerly hopped onto the couch next to me and watched me typing. I started with a softball question.
Me: What's your name?
Jack: This. (pointing at an icon on the screen). This. This.
Me: Can you tell me what your name is.
Jack: I have frocks (pointing at the word "this").
Me: Frocks? (I have no idea what he's trying to say)
Jack: Frocks. Frocks. (gets off couch) I go to my room.
Me: Where you going?
Jack: I'm going in my room. (He leaves and I hear his door close. A minute passes and he returns with a Thomas Tank Engine in his hand.)
Me: Are you ready to tell me what your name is?
Jack: Yeah. (Man, it's like pulling teeth to get this kid to talk)
Me: What is it?
Jack: Thomas.
Me: That's not your name. What's your name?
Jack: Thomas.
Me: Is Thomas your name?
Jack: Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh.
Me: What's your favorite color?
Jack: My color? My color name.
Me: What is it?
Jack: Thomas. This kind (pointing at the top of the train)
Me: You mean black?
Jack: Yeah, black.
Me: Are you going to school today?
Jack: No.
Me: Yes. You're going to play with friends, right?
Jack: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Me: Are you done with interview?
Jack: No, I want to watch it!
Me: Can you tell me a story?
Jack: Yeah.
Me: Well, what is it?
Jack: My story name boo shoo this. (I have no idea what he's saying)
Me: Your story's named what?
Jack: (no response)
(Fireman Sam then came on, so the interview ended)
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
The Box of Broken Dreams
So anyway, about three months ago, I purchased the Stained Glass Bag pattern and a bunch of gorgeous Noro Kureyon yarn. I was so excited to start it, but I forced myself to wait until I finished some WIP or other. Of course, by the time I finished whatever it was, I was already excited to start something else, and I forgot about the Stained Glass Bag.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. We moved Jack into his "big boy bedroom" (formerly our guestroom) and I started planning to reclaim the small room where we had his crib as my craft room. This, of course, involved me going through my stash to organize things a bit and decide how I'm going to store it in the new space.
My stash is pretty small. I have two groups of yarn: the "good" yarn, which consists mostly of natural fiber (with an inordinate amount of alpaca), and the "craft" yarn, which consists mostly of manmade fibers that are left over from baby blankets and charity knitting, where washable yarn is preferred. I don't go into the craft yarn stash very often unless I need scrap yarn or the kids are doing an art project. The good yarn lives in a large basket and several small crates in my office. I'm pretty proud of myself for keeping it somewhat in control (if you ignore the many skeins of sock yarn I've accumulated in the last four months). Anyway, just as I was starting to feel pretty good about my self control, I realized something disturbing.
I have a coat rack in my office. There are several coats on the rack and a lot of bags. I don't really pay attention to the coat rack these days because it's summer here and there's no need for coats most days. As I was taking yarn out of the crates, I caught a glimpse of my old knitting basket hanging from the rack and pulled it down. It was stuffed with the Noro yarn I bought for the Stained Glass Bag.
Then I looked at the rack more carefully. There were many bags hanging from it (did I ever mention that I own a lot of Vera Bradley tote bags? It's another one of my little addictions). I started pulling them down. One bag had the yarn and a pattern for felted clogs. Another two bags held yarn and the unfinished projects to go with it. A third bag held all of my DPNs and most of my circular needles, because I still haven't gotten around to making needle cases for them (even though I bought the materials months ago). A few other bags were filled with more yarn that I'd forgotten about. It turns out my stash is a little bigger than I thought. I've just been tricking myself by squirreling it away.
It was kind of fun to rediscover the "lost" yarn and projects. It actually turned out to be a boon, because it gave me something to do while I let the problem of the gargantuan sleeve marinate for a bit. Now that the Stained Glass Bag is finished (providing me with another potential Christmas gift off my list), I'm kind of excited to knock out a few of the gift projects on my list before getting back to my regularly scheduled selfish knitting.
In the midst of organizing and rediscovering old projects, I happened to read something on Ravelry that seemed to fit amazingly well. Several knitters were discussing how they store their stash and their unfinished projects. One woman noted that her husband had boxed up all of her unfinished project and ugly finished projects and had labeled it "Box of Broken Dreams." Apparently, I have bags of broken dreams, or, as another knitting friend appropriately phrased it, an Island of Misfit Projects.
All of which leads me to present you with the following gallery of misfit projects and broken dreams:
The Calamitous Crocheted Sweater:
An alternative name for this finished object could be "I can't be bothered with sticking to one dye lot or checking gauge." I keep this project posted on Ravelry to remind myself what happens when you are in too much of a hurry to start something. The worst part about this project is that one of the pattern editors on Ravelry actually asked if they could use my picture for the online pattern. I gave permission, but noted that it was so ugly it would probably drive potential crocheters away. I never heard back again!
The Miniature Mitten, Part II:
Attempt No. 1
Attempt No. 2
See? Despite frogging and knitting with larger needles, it's still too small. Also, I've ripped this version back once because I forgot to make a thumb hole. I'm well aware that I will eventually have to frog it and start again. Perhaps this time I will be motivated to check my gauge.
And, last but not least, I bring you THE GARGANTUAN SLEEVE:
Yeah, I never got around to taking a picture of the horror that was the gargantuan sleeve, but you can kind of see it in this one. Tonight, I finally bit the bullet and cut off the end of the sleeve to reknit it. It was freakishly long. Trust me.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. We moved Jack into his "big boy bedroom" (formerly our guestroom) and I started planning to reclaim the small room where we had his crib as my craft room. This, of course, involved me going through my stash to organize things a bit and decide how I'm going to store it in the new space.
My stash is pretty small. I have two groups of yarn: the "good" yarn, which consists mostly of natural fiber (with an inordinate amount of alpaca), and the "craft" yarn, which consists mostly of manmade fibers that are left over from baby blankets and charity knitting, where washable yarn is preferred. I don't go into the craft yarn stash very often unless I need scrap yarn or the kids are doing an art project. The good yarn lives in a large basket and several small crates in my office. I'm pretty proud of myself for keeping it somewhat in control (if you ignore the many skeins of sock yarn I've accumulated in the last four months). Anyway, just as I was starting to feel pretty good about my self control, I realized something disturbing.
I have a coat rack in my office. There are several coats on the rack and a lot of bags. I don't really pay attention to the coat rack these days because it's summer here and there's no need for coats most days. As I was taking yarn out of the crates, I caught a glimpse of my old knitting basket hanging from the rack and pulled it down. It was stuffed with the Noro yarn I bought for the Stained Glass Bag.
Then I looked at the rack more carefully. There were many bags hanging from it (did I ever mention that I own a lot of Vera Bradley tote bags? It's another one of my little addictions). I started pulling them down. One bag had the yarn and a pattern for felted clogs. Another two bags held yarn and the unfinished projects to go with it. A third bag held all of my DPNs and most of my circular needles, because I still haven't gotten around to making needle cases for them (even though I bought the materials months ago). A few other bags were filled with more yarn that I'd forgotten about. It turns out my stash is a little bigger than I thought. I've just been tricking myself by squirreling it away.
It was kind of fun to rediscover the "lost" yarn and projects. It actually turned out to be a boon, because it gave me something to do while I let the problem of the gargantuan sleeve marinate for a bit. Now that the Stained Glass Bag is finished (providing me with another potential Christmas gift off my list), I'm kind of excited to knock out a few of the gift projects on my list before getting back to my regularly scheduled selfish knitting.
In the midst of organizing and rediscovering old projects, I happened to read something on Ravelry that seemed to fit amazingly well. Several knitters were discussing how they store their stash and their unfinished projects. One woman noted that her husband had boxed up all of her unfinished project and ugly finished projects and had labeled it "Box of Broken Dreams." Apparently, I have bags of broken dreams, or, as another knitting friend appropriately phrased it, an Island of Misfit Projects.
All of which leads me to present you with the following gallery of misfit projects and broken dreams:
The Calamitous Crocheted Sweater:
An alternative name for this finished object could be "I can't be bothered with sticking to one dye lot or checking gauge." I keep this project posted on Ravelry to remind myself what happens when you are in too much of a hurry to start something. The worst part about this project is that one of the pattern editors on Ravelry actually asked if they could use my picture for the online pattern. I gave permission, but noted that it was so ugly it would probably drive potential crocheters away. I never heard back again!
The Miniature Mitten, Part II:
Attempt No. 1
Attempt No. 2
See? Despite frogging and knitting with larger needles, it's still too small. Also, I've ripped this version back once because I forgot to make a thumb hole. I'm well aware that I will eventually have to frog it and start again. Perhaps this time I will be motivated to check my gauge.
And, last but not least, I bring you THE GARGANTUAN SLEEVE:
Yeah, I never got around to taking a picture of the horror that was the gargantuan sleeve, but you can kind of see it in this one. Tonight, I finally bit the bullet and cut off the end of the sleeve to reknit it. It was freakishly long. Trust me.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
This Can't Be Good
I have a new hobby. A photo should suffice:
Jim made me the drop spindle from: one wooden toy wheel, one dowel and one cup hook. Thanks to my friend Margaret for the supply list! I got the roving at Michael's where it just happened to be on the clearance rack for $1.00. The little blobby thing is my first yarn spun all on my own. It's very thick, lumpy and poorly plied, unfortunately. I learned the basics at a spinning night with some of the Saugus Knitting Ladies. I plan to practice a little every week until our next spinning night, because my first attempt was pretty darn bad. It looks so easy to do, but it's actually pretty hard. It doesn't help that I have no eye/hand coordination.
I may or may not have bought some nicer, hand dyed merino roving on eBay. If I did, I won't be breaking that out until I practice on the cheap stuff for quite a while.
Jim made me the drop spindle from: one wooden toy wheel, one dowel and one cup hook. Thanks to my friend Margaret for the supply list! I got the roving at Michael's where it just happened to be on the clearance rack for $1.00. The little blobby thing is my first yarn spun all on my own. It's very thick, lumpy and poorly plied, unfortunately. I learned the basics at a spinning night with some of the Saugus Knitting Ladies. I plan to practice a little every week until our next spinning night, because my first attempt was pretty darn bad. It looks so easy to do, but it's actually pretty hard. It doesn't help that I have no eye/hand coordination.
I may or may not have bought some nicer, hand dyed merino roving on eBay. If I did, I won't be breaking that out until I practice on the cheap stuff for quite a while.
A Photographic Interlude
My two little nuts on the Fourth of July, complete with glo necklaces and cakey face.
No, she's not shy. Why do you ask?
Lily in her latest favorite dress. She calls it "the one with the sprinkles on it."
Jack showing off his latest ensemble: 1 black t-strap shoe (on the wrong foot), a diaper with PJ top, a pencil and a pink binky. All the toddlers are wearing this now. The one shoe look is a completely modern take on the whole Michael Jackson one glove thing. Don't you love his sweet little knock knees?
The birthday girl during a frenzy of gift opening. I can't believe she's 5!
Oskar gets in on the birthday action.
Lily's Big Birthday Party. 13 kids. I don't even want to talk about it except to say that it's over and everyone had a great time.
So that's a brief photo essay of what we've been doing for the last few weeks!
Just a Funny Story
I finally located my camera, Lily's birthday party is finally over, and my parents will be leaving this afternoon. Therefore, in theory, I should have time to take pictures and post a couple of things I have saved in the draft stage right now. I will be posting the gargantuan sleeve, I promise.
In the meantime, I thought I would tell a funny story from my commuting days. It popped into my head recently because of a funny blog I've been reading called (The Customer is) Not Always Right. Check it out. It gives me a belly laugh every day, so it's good for the soul.
Anyway, a lot of the posts on Not Always Right are conversations with some really odd or dysfunctional people. That reminded me of someone I ran into when I was commuting into Boston for work. He fell clearly into the category of odd. So here it is.
Is That Custom?
When I was working in Boston, I had two ways of getting into work. Sometimes I drove into a nearby T station, parked for $3.00 and took the T into the city. Sometimes I took the bus, which stopped at the end of my street) to the T station and took the T into the city. On this particular day, I decided to take the bus.
As soon as I got on the bus, someone said "Hey! How are you?" I didn't think it was meant for me because there was no one on the bus that I knew. I sat down in the seat right behind the bus driver. Across the aisle from me was a gentleman in his 30s. He had a neat crewcut hair style, and was dressed in jeans, a pink dress shirt and a green tweed blazer. The combination was a little strange, but he looked relatively normal... or so I thought.
At the next stop, he said "Hey! How are you?" to every person that got on the bus. It was like he was the official bus greeter. Like me, no one acknowledged him, probably because they were taken off guard and had no idea he was talking to them. As they all took their seats, he said, quite loudly and to no one in particular "I'm going to court today!" That made me really look at him, mostly to see if I knew him from my job (I was a lawyer). Again, no one responded.
He rode quietly for a moment and then stood up and walked over to stand in the front of the bus next to the driver. "Hey!" he said suddenly, pointing to the fare machine, "Is that custom?"
The driver, somewhat startled, said "Uh, yeah, I guess."
The odd man then pointed at the dashboard. "What about this stuff? Is this all custom?"
I could sense that the driver was getting a little freaked out. "I guess," he said shortly. "You gotta stand behind the yellow line."
The odd man pointed at a newspaper that the driver had laid on top of the dashboard. "You reading that?"
Driver: "No. You gotta stand behind the yellow line, sir."
The odd man, showing no signs of moving, said "Can I have it?" The driver handed it to him and said "Now stand behind the yellow line or I have to stop the bus." The odd man took the paper and sat down across from me again. At this point, I was watching him like a hawk. One part of my job at the time was obtaining guardianships for incompetents, so I had a great deal of experience with the mentally ill. Patients like this man, who have no impulse control in public, occasionally act out without warning. I started thinking that his court date was probably for disturbing the peace.
As I'm thinking all of this, the man opened his paper with a snap and appeared to read it. For all of about 15 seconds. "FUCK this shit!" he yelled suddenly. I actually jumped in my seat, it was so sudden. "I'm not reading this crap." He threw the paper down on the seat next to him. I noticed that everyone in the surrounding seats was now giving him their full attention, because all conversation in the bus suddenly stopped.
At that point, we rolled up to the T station. Since he was in the front, he got off the bus first. I purposely stayed on the bus for a few minutes and was one of the last to get off, because I didn't want to risk walking near him. When I got to the T, I looked over the whole car before getting on to make sure he wasn't there. I didn't see him, so I sat down and read my paper.
A few minutes into the trip, an announcement came over the speaker from the driver "Can I help you, sir?" I looked up and, sure enough, the odd man was standing next to the door to the front of the T, repeatedly pressing the emergency assistance button.
"No! I'm good!" he said cheerfully. He continued to press the button.
"Sir, can you please stop pressing the button," came the announcement from the front of the train. Just then, the train came to its first stop, and the man got out. A few people laughed nervously and the train continued onward.
To this day, I have a running joke with my mom and a few friends, where we say "Is this custom?" or "No, I'm good!"
In the meantime, I thought I would tell a funny story from my commuting days. It popped into my head recently because of a funny blog I've been reading called (The Customer is) Not Always Right. Check it out. It gives me a belly laugh every day, so it's good for the soul.
Anyway, a lot of the posts on Not Always Right are conversations with some really odd or dysfunctional people. That reminded me of someone I ran into when I was commuting into Boston for work. He fell clearly into the category of odd. So here it is.
Is That Custom?
When I was working in Boston, I had two ways of getting into work. Sometimes I drove into a nearby T station, parked for $3.00 and took the T into the city. Sometimes I took the bus, which stopped at the end of my street) to the T station and took the T into the city. On this particular day, I decided to take the bus.
As soon as I got on the bus, someone said "Hey! How are you?" I didn't think it was meant for me because there was no one on the bus that I knew. I sat down in the seat right behind the bus driver. Across the aisle from me was a gentleman in his 30s. He had a neat crewcut hair style, and was dressed in jeans, a pink dress shirt and a green tweed blazer. The combination was a little strange, but he looked relatively normal... or so I thought.
At the next stop, he said "Hey! How are you?" to every person that got on the bus. It was like he was the official bus greeter. Like me, no one acknowledged him, probably because they were taken off guard and had no idea he was talking to them. As they all took their seats, he said, quite loudly and to no one in particular "I'm going to court today!" That made me really look at him, mostly to see if I knew him from my job (I was a lawyer). Again, no one responded.
He rode quietly for a moment and then stood up and walked over to stand in the front of the bus next to the driver. "Hey!" he said suddenly, pointing to the fare machine, "Is that custom?"
The driver, somewhat startled, said "Uh, yeah, I guess."
The odd man then pointed at the dashboard. "What about this stuff? Is this all custom?"
I could sense that the driver was getting a little freaked out. "I guess," he said shortly. "You gotta stand behind the yellow line."
The odd man pointed at a newspaper that the driver had laid on top of the dashboard. "You reading that?"
Driver: "No. You gotta stand behind the yellow line, sir."
The odd man, showing no signs of moving, said "Can I have it?" The driver handed it to him and said "Now stand behind the yellow line or I have to stop the bus." The odd man took the paper and sat down across from me again. At this point, I was watching him like a hawk. One part of my job at the time was obtaining guardianships for incompetents, so I had a great deal of experience with the mentally ill. Patients like this man, who have no impulse control in public, occasionally act out without warning. I started thinking that his court date was probably for disturbing the peace.
As I'm thinking all of this, the man opened his paper with a snap and appeared to read it. For all of about 15 seconds. "FUCK this shit!" he yelled suddenly. I actually jumped in my seat, it was so sudden. "I'm not reading this crap." He threw the paper down on the seat next to him. I noticed that everyone in the surrounding seats was now giving him their full attention, because all conversation in the bus suddenly stopped.
At that point, we rolled up to the T station. Since he was in the front, he got off the bus first. I purposely stayed on the bus for a few minutes and was one of the last to get off, because I didn't want to risk walking near him. When I got to the T, I looked over the whole car before getting on to make sure he wasn't there. I didn't see him, so I sat down and read my paper.
A few minutes into the trip, an announcement came over the speaker from the driver "Can I help you, sir?" I looked up and, sure enough, the odd man was standing next to the door to the front of the T, repeatedly pressing the emergency assistance button.
"No! I'm good!" he said cheerfully. He continued to press the button.
"Sir, can you please stop pressing the button," came the announcement from the front of the train. Just then, the train came to its first stop, and the man got out. A few people laughed nervously and the train continued onward.
To this day, I have a running joke with my mom and a few friends, where we say "Is this custom?" or "No, I'm good!"
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Requiem for Jedi
We own a really old Volkswagen that my husband uses as his beater car. He calls it "Yoda" because it's an old, green Jetta (cue strained laughter at dorky pun). Our kids just call it Jedi.
We bought Jedi used in 1999. At that time, I was driving a beautifully restored 1972 BMW tii. Unfortunately, the BMW was a freak accident magnet. Park it on a deserted street and someone would appear out of nowhere, drive too close and knock off a mirror. Park it on a tree lined street and a branch would suddenly fall off of the one tree it was parked near and ding the hood. Case in point: one weekend, as I was driving to a friend's house in Western Massachusetts during a rain storm, the driver's side windshield wiper suddenly flew off completely. I was able to pull over at a car dealership, and someone there put the remaining wiper on the driver's side so I could get my car to its destination. 5 minutes down the road, the second wiper flew off and I was driving in the pounding rain with no wipers. AND... wait for it... because it was a 1972 model, anything required to repair even the most minor issue had to be mail ordered to our house or picked up from a specialty store in New Hampshire. Long story short, it just got too exhausting to manage the BMW, lovely though it was. When I was rear ended by an SUV while stopped at a red light and the entire back end crumpled up like tissue paper, we decided to get a sturdier car. Enter Jedi.
Jedi's been a good car with relatively few maintenance issues over the years. We bought him used and at a good price and we definitely got our money's worth. There was a two year period when something was gravely wrong with the AC unit and the car floor periodically swamped up with water (prompting my friend Chuck to dub the car "Swamp Thang"), but it was otherwise problem free. It is the car we used to bring both our babies home from the hospital, and the car Jim drove the babies around in at night when we couldn't get them to sleep.
In the past year, however, Jedi's been showing his age (and mileage). It started out with a couple hundred bucks a few times a year and then escalated to the point where every time we took him in for service, we could pretty much guarantee at least a $500 bill. As long as Jedi remained safe to drive, we didn't mind. And then, about six months ago, we got the news that some major part of the undercarriage was getting very worn. No, I have no idea what part it is because I know nothing about cars, but I know it's dangerous if it breaks! Our mechanic gave us two options -- pay about $1000 to fix it or keep Jedi off the highway. We kept him off the highway, but it was kind of like learning that Jedi had a fatal disease. We knew that the end was only a matter of time.
Yesterday, Jedi's brakes got really, really soft and Jim really worried about getting home without crashing. He took Jedi to Midas this morning and got the bad news this afternoon. There are so many things wrong with the brakes that it will cost at least $900 to repair them. Our new options are to either spend the money or get another car. We told the mechanic not to do the work. I took Jim over to pick up Jedi after work today. When he opened the car door, the car alarm went off and he could not get it to stop for about 10 minutes. I think Jedi knows that we are putting him out to pasture this time. I followed him home to make sure there were no problems, and it was a little like driving in a funeral cortege.
Alas, poor Jedi, we knew him well.
We bought Jedi used in 1999. At that time, I was driving a beautifully restored 1972 BMW tii. Unfortunately, the BMW was a freak accident magnet. Park it on a deserted street and someone would appear out of nowhere, drive too close and knock off a mirror. Park it on a tree lined street and a branch would suddenly fall off of the one tree it was parked near and ding the hood. Case in point: one weekend, as I was driving to a friend's house in Western Massachusetts during a rain storm, the driver's side windshield wiper suddenly flew off completely. I was able to pull over at a car dealership, and someone there put the remaining wiper on the driver's side so I could get my car to its destination. 5 minutes down the road, the second wiper flew off and I was driving in the pounding rain with no wipers. AND... wait for it... because it was a 1972 model, anything required to repair even the most minor issue had to be mail ordered to our house or picked up from a specialty store in New Hampshire. Long story short, it just got too exhausting to manage the BMW, lovely though it was. When I was rear ended by an SUV while stopped at a red light and the entire back end crumpled up like tissue paper, we decided to get a sturdier car. Enter Jedi.
Jedi's been a good car with relatively few maintenance issues over the years. We bought him used and at a good price and we definitely got our money's worth. There was a two year period when something was gravely wrong with the AC unit and the car floor periodically swamped up with water (prompting my friend Chuck to dub the car "Swamp Thang"), but it was otherwise problem free. It is the car we used to bring both our babies home from the hospital, and the car Jim drove the babies around in at night when we couldn't get them to sleep.
In the past year, however, Jedi's been showing his age (and mileage). It started out with a couple hundred bucks a few times a year and then escalated to the point where every time we took him in for service, we could pretty much guarantee at least a $500 bill. As long as Jedi remained safe to drive, we didn't mind. And then, about six months ago, we got the news that some major part of the undercarriage was getting very worn. No, I have no idea what part it is because I know nothing about cars, but I know it's dangerous if it breaks! Our mechanic gave us two options -- pay about $1000 to fix it or keep Jedi off the highway. We kept him off the highway, but it was kind of like learning that Jedi had a fatal disease. We knew that the end was only a matter of time.
Yesterday, Jedi's brakes got really, really soft and Jim really worried about getting home without crashing. He took Jedi to Midas this morning and got the bad news this afternoon. There are so many things wrong with the brakes that it will cost at least $900 to repair them. Our new options are to either spend the money or get another car. We told the mechanic not to do the work. I took Jim over to pick up Jedi after work today. When he opened the car door, the car alarm went off and he could not get it to stop for about 10 minutes. I think Jedi knows that we are putting him out to pasture this time. I followed him home to make sure there were no problems, and it was a little like driving in a funeral cortege.
Alas, poor Jedi, we knew him well.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I Lied!
Two knit nights and I never worked on the jacket! I did, however, finish a bunny doll and cast on a sweater for my nephew. I think the upside of the jacket fiasco is that it is pushing me to knock off a bunch of Christmas gifts from my queue.
I also lied about posting a kidcentric post today. I did take some photos, I just didn't get around to downloading them and writing them up. Here's a teaser: Lily drew a previously mentioned hilarious picture of Jack and I took a photo showing Jack's most recent foray into sartorial elegance. Maybe I'll even get a few birthday photos up, too. A girl can dream can't she? Ta for now.
I also lied about posting a kidcentric post today. I did take some photos, I just didn't get around to downloading them and writing them up. Here's a teaser: Lily drew a previously mentioned hilarious picture of Jack and I took a photo showing Jack's most recent foray into sartorial elegance. Maybe I'll even get a few birthday photos up, too. A girl can dream can't she? Ta for now.
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