so, my brother, his wife, and lmsp have come to nyc for a visit. lmsp seems to just get cuter by the day. she's still a wiggly, giggly little thing, but now she can speak. she says "hat," "ball," "up," "out," "mama," "dada," and "amah." you know what that last one is? me! she apparently repeats my name over and over again when i'm not around, hoping i'll climb out of the cabinet i must be hiding in. it's pretty spectacular to be a kid's first name after mama and dada. it's a bittersweet victory for me, knowing that it should have been "gamma." as i lay next to her, rubbing her back as she tried to fall asleep, wiggling her little tush as she settled into place, i couldn't help but think of how my mom should be there in my place, snuggling and shushing lmsp into dreamland.
being in that apartment... laying on the couch she so often napped on, drinking from the cups she always set out at dinner, seeing her handwriting on little notes jotted down on her "bird lover" stationery... feels like walking around in a haunted place. the ghost of my mom is everywhere there... even in lmsp's gigantic, life-loving smile. there's a pang every time i see something of hers... sometimes it's a big pang that catches my breath in my throat. others, it's just a little poke at the bruise on my heart. with lmsp, it tends toward the latter... it's just hard to get caught up in my own grief when she is shuffling around in my over-sized shoes with my mom's basket-weave purse dangling between her feet and a big, goofy grin spread across her face.
i'm the first one to admit that i'm lazy. i love sleep, and sunday nights are generally dedicated to the cause of getting to bed early. for some reason, last night, i flouted my own rules. there was an oscar party out in red hook, and i couldn't help but attend... despite the knowledge that the oscars never end before 11:30pm et. so here i am, monday morning, utilizing every ounce of self-restraint to keep my eyes open and my head off of my desk. this doesn't leave much cognitive-control left to actually accomplish any work, but it does at least allow for the appearance of industriousness. 
this morning i woke up to this. i guess "nurse with wound" came after "carol king" on my ipod. i don't know, but i was convinced that i had been transported onto the scene of a car crash where roland -- the adorable, psycho kitty from the party the night before -- was hissing his disapproval. i generally like nurse with wound, but waking up to this particular song was the audio equivalent to a bucket of ice-water.
so, as you can see, i finally uploaded my colorado photos. i don't love the exposure on these, but at least you can see how pretty and snowy it was...
