Let's talk Junior High School, circa 1994-1996. Admittedly horrific years of Merzyhood. Braces, acne, kanine teeth which grew in as tiny upside down triangles, bad hair cut, bad fashion sense, bad math grades (try as I might), and to tie a ribbon around it all (really, really tight with a double knot), my friends started smoking pot and getting frisky with the boys. Boys with bleached hair, no less. I lived and breathed for 3 things: Christmas Break, Spring Break, and Summer Break. These were days I could spend listening to Simon & Garf with Annie and Elizabeth and Los Otros Eaton -- people who loved me whether I could deliver an Algebraic solution or not. I would try to put them out of my mind when they were afar off, but as the calendar days crept closer to one of these hiatuses, I would silently express my excitement through the notetaker doodle. All through the school day while Mrs. Parks or Mr. Robbins prattled on I would fill my notepaper margins with Christmas trees, Stars of David, Heavenly Hosts, Easter Bunnies, palm trees, ocean waves, etc. I knew deep down that at some point these breaks would be over, and when I returned to these pages for test study, the festive images would taunt and haunt me. However, pre-vacay Merzy cared not, and focused instead on the treat that lay before her. And every January or end of April, I would partly resent those reminders of the now-closed Scholastic Respite doors, and partly rejoice that I'd at least enjoyed them while they were open. Anyway my point: this past weekend I did not have to work, threw a surprise party for loverboy, skipped town and saw the Craigs for a bit, the Reynolds for an afternoon/evening, the Jexies for Younger Niece's baby blessing, and came home to a loverly group of peeps watching the Tivo-ed Superbowl at Jeff's house. I knew all last week that the weekend was going to be off the hizzie, and put out of my mind what I'd come back to (work, life decisions, healthy eating, taxes, etc.) Now that the weekend is over (Monday dawns in 13 minutes), I drag a bit, but only just, as life is considerably better now than it was in the mid 90s. I shall look at these pictures and remember the good times. There shall be more good time images, too, for I have fotographer phriends.
Ah hem. Le photo gallery:
Now that's just cute. Nephew, Older niece, and Jex Grandpa playing cards on le couch.
If you say you don't think it's cute I shant believe you, not now not ever.
I think this picture pose is rather cheesy. We did it because Younger Niece is crying something fierce, and this way it looks like the adoration is mutchal.
See? My niece hates me. And that's not the only reason this picture is rotten on my pride: I'm so pasty I almost glow (and not in the EFY way), and my growing-them-out bangs are poking my eyeballs, but still, it's from a smashing weekend, and so I love it in my way.
I had to throw this picture in. I find issue with it, but I am obsessed with its wonderfulness at the same time: Elizabeth and Merzy simultaneously and unintentionally enlarging their nostrils. Smallish sized noses with tremendous nostril pulse capacity. One sure fire way to tell if you're looking at an authentic Eaton or an imposter Eaton: how far and how frequently do they flare?
P.D.A. in the house. Busted out by Kris as I was pushing the "click" on the camera. I love Julia's expression, too; I think she knows exactly what's going on behind her and knows there's nothing she can do about it.
P.S. My sister Sarah and I both have competition now. Older Niece seems to have a crush not only on Harry Reynolds, but one on Jeff Hayes as well. She's 3; Elizabeth and Kris shall reap the East Winds when she hits teeny-bopper.
That's all for now. As Cam used to say, G Night.