How you doin'?

Look at this little mug? Could you just eat him up with a slice of lemon? I have to say that I love those jowls more than anything else in the entire universe. I can't stop kissing them. It's going to get awkward soon enough, but for now, I just love to kiss his little face.

I don't know why, but Simon is the happiest, smily-est baby I have ever made. (Ok, the sample size is a little small and unscientific.) He laughs so hard at Sadie whenever she jumps. Jeff thinks that the vibrations make him laugh, but whatever it is, it's hilarious to him. We now have him sleep on his stomach since he can roll all over creation unassisted. We are getting some better sleep results, but I have to say that even when my children are sleeping pretty well, the armaggeddon thunderstorms in the middle of the night are making it a further challenge to get some freaking sleep. I don't know what happened to Mother Nature, but she's pissed. Someone needs to get her some new shoes, some good chocolate, and a massage. If not her, then me.

In other news, I heard from reliable sources (read Facebook) that Amy Winehouse passed away this afternoon at age 27 from likely drug overdose. I find it very sad that her public struggle with addiction did not lead to sobriety or serenity. I am actually surprised she made it to 27 years old. I can't imagine what her parents are feeling right now. I hope I never have to find out. I have spent some time lately thinking about how to protect Sadie and Simon from the ravages of addiction. Will it be enough to warn them that alcoholism runs in our family? (So does recovery, so that's the "happy ending" of the alcoholism story.) The genes are there. Temptations will be there. Peer pressure and very refreshing wine coolers or beers may beckon in the name of relaxation or fun or fitting in or escape. I am told by my wise elders that there is nothing I can do to prevent my children from having their journeys, which will inevitably include pain and heartache and, possibly addiction. What I am told to do these days is to take care of myself, concentrate on my own sobriety and serenity and love my children exactly as they are. I do that the best I can, but I sometimes torture myself by wondering what they will say about their MOTHER in future therapy sessions or in AA or alanon meetings. One thing is for sure, this blog will provide ample evidence that their mother was a wee bit self-obsessed, a huge worrier and a shitty speller. That's good for about 3 years of intensive treatment right there.

I know all parents want to spare their children heartache and as Anne Lamott said of her son Sam, please, please, PLEASE, let me die before they do.

This cheery post is brought to you by a mix of hot summer weather and too much time reading about Amy Winehouse's demise.