Things, they are going on.

Things, they are going on.

Here is my life these days, neatly packaged in a bulleted list.

Ollie is officially singing, as of last Tuesday. SINGING. His first real-song-that-we-noticed is a Music Together song from our current class, called Palo Palo. It's in Spanish! My bilingual musical genius! Actually, while I was singing it to him, he sang, "Baw-oh Baw-oh, Ay Ay Ah" and then did a happy dance, which perhaps only a mother could hear as "Palo, palo, palo, palo, palito palo ay, ay ay ah, palo bonito palo ay." But he definitely tried to sing at different intervals, in a high pitched sing-songy tone.

That's right, it's a song about a stick. A pretty little stick. Ay Ay Ah.

Tonight, he sang "The Wheels on the Bus," which is usually a big hit around here, what with it's wheel-ness and bus-ness. He sang "wee-ah [muffled two syllable placeholder for "on the"] bus" first, and later added "round and round." Well, "rah [muffle] rah."

Notable: Ollie's word for "wheel" sounds exactly like his word for "willy." "wee-ah." Yes, we are calling it his willy. I know I should really be anatomically correct with him and call it a penis, but I can't help myself. Besides, I am English, and all English penises are willies. They just are.

I am currently rereading one of my top five all time favorite books, "The Virgin Suicides" by Jeffrey Eugenides. I have probably written about this book an awful lot, but I recently found this old post, mostly about the way the soundtrack, the movie, and the book work together in my head, which got me reading the book again. I had forgotten about the amazing narrative voice in the book. I think this is probably my third or fourth time reading, and I still can't get enough of it.

However, it's a brand new copy (my original one has long since been loaned and lost), which kind of makes me sad in a "Perks of Being a Wallflower" copy-significance sort of way, but I do love cracking open the binding on new books.

For the last few months, I have been making my own espresso at home, nearly every morning. This is not because I am too cool for normal drip coffee; it's because all I have is an espresso machine. This is not (entirely) because I am too cheap for my beloved Krakatoa or Calabria lattes; it's because I seriously cannot survive long enough without coffee to actually get the both of us dressed, ready and out of the door to buy some.

Ollie can point out what happens next in the espresso machine set-up and usage.

I finally tried Dreena Burton's Autumn Puree recipe, and OMG. Dude. That is some deliciousness. I admit that I shied away from it for so long purely because of the word "puree." People, this is not puree. THIS IS MASHED POTATOES. But (unsweetenedly) sweet. And autumnal. It's a mixture of sweet potatoes and butternut squash (or other winter squash), baked nearly whole (in my case, with copious amounts of coconut oil and some cinnamon) and blended up with some non-dairy milk (hemp milk here) and some spices that I probably can't list without violating copyrights. But they are... autumnal.

After writing about it just now, I was about to go into the kitchen to start making some more, but it kind of takes a while what with all the baking, and it's kind of 11:30 pm.

I can't even begin to write about how I feel about Obama's victory, but until then I will touch on the total buzzkill that is Proposition 8. Erik sent me this op-ed piece from Joe Solmonese, the president of the Human Rights Campaign: http://www.hrc.org/11522.htm. I found some of it a little hard to attach myself to in this sort of middle ground in the essay's rhetoric, a straight person opposed to prop 8, but overall it is a really powerful and crucial statement. Particularly this:

In recent years, I’ve been delivering this positive message: tell your story. Share who you are. And in fact, as our families become more familiar, support for us increases. But make no mistake: I do not think we have to audition for equality. Rather, I believe that each and every one of us who has been hurt by this hateful ballot measure, and each and every one of us who is still fighting to be equal, has to confront the neighbors who hurt us. We have to say to the man with the Yes on 8 sign—you disrespected my humanity, and I am not giving you a pass. I am not giving you a pass for explaining that you tolerate me, while at the same time denying that my family has a right to exist. I do not give you permission to say you have me as a “gay friend” when you cast a vote against my family, and my rights.

And that is all.