I don’t know how long it has been since my last post, but our number one fan is now gone.  Frank used to badger me about it a bit, the same as when he would stay over and wake up at the first sound of life in the house: “How about some coffee, Jen? Whenever you get around to it…” “How about another blog post, Jen? I know you’re busy, but we’re all chomping at the bit…”

So this is for Frank.

Dear Frank,

I’m sorry I took so damn long, but life–or maybe just my illusions about it– got in the way of these earthly endeavors.  And now, well, we miss you a ton.  I miss those conversations we used to have over coffee before anyone else was up, the political critiques that always seemed to end with, “Well, it is what it is.”  I agreed, you know. Two cynics expounding on crooks and liars over morning coffee.  I loved it.

I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to say goodbye to you when the time came.  I was on that trip to Montreal that just about wrecked my head, but I’m back home now, and I wish I’d gotten to tell you how good it was knowing you.  Really.  Times were sometimes tough, I know, but you really meant a lot to me, and to the kid.

It was all too brief, but it was great to have known you.  Thanks for the good times, for the sarcasm, the insight, the total acceptance and unconditional love.  You always made me feel as though I fit into the scheme of things somehow, and I guess I kind of needed that. It felt nice, anyhow.

Not to cut short this ode, this Ode to Frank, but if I knew you at all, I knew you as a scoffer at fanfare, disdainful of fuss–at least when it was on your behalf.  And so, we’ll see you on the other side.

We miss you, and we love you.

Your daughter-in-law,

Jennifer

P.S.  Thanks, by the way, for Matt and Kelly.  Pretty cool kids you and Judie made.  I don’t know what I’d do without them, to be honest.

No excuses.  We’ve been busy, but that’s beside the point.  Enjoy:

Around 10 p.m., as Labor Day was winding down and my anxiety was winding up in anticipation of my fast-approaching date with the Graduate Record Exam, Lily’s face collided with a coffee table edge.  Ten minutes later, we were at the Tacoma General ER, wondering how on earth doctors give babies stitches, hoping in the relatively short history of modern emergency medicine someone had developed a truly gentle way to coax suture thread through a baby’s eyebrow.  Ha.

Thankfully, the attending physician declared the wound “not gaping” and decided a few applications of Dermabond, a glue for superficial cuts, would do the trick.  However, despite the downgraded seriousness of the injury, Lily was still held down by three adults as the doc applied the superglue.  She struggled, she shrieked, she cried, and she screamed.

But now the injury is forgotten and thankfully Lily bears no ill will toward the coffee table.

So inspired was she by the muscles, the motion, and the sheer athleticism on display at the Beijing Olympics, Lily J. could not help but drag her parents straight to the local Y, sign up on the spot, and start running, bouncing, and swimming her way into peak physical toddler form.

Here she is in a brand new suit, gearing up for her first swim at the Y.

If it can be climbed, you can bet your buttons it will be climbed.

How rude of me to keep you waiting so long!  Here is Lily, in all her hugeness.

Meet Lily J. the 13-month-old, decked out in new threads and new kicks.

I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this. In Pilot J’s absence — he’s getting some much needed R and R down at the capital — these other two floor dwellers have had some time to get to know one another. At first, Cooga was a little hesitant, a little bit shy.  But Lily, well, Lily was always sure as all hell that this furry, four-legged barking person who so shamelessly poops outdoors for all the world to see would just love her. She, it turns out, was on the money.

Well, this was a few days ago already, but I didn’t figure you loyal fans would mind some very slightly out-of-date photos.  Behold baby ambling on a sunny day!

Brrrrring brrrring! Who’s there? Ah yes, a retro Fisher Price “Chatter Telephone,” just like the one Ma played with when she was a kid. (Another birthday score, many thanks to Nana.)

Wrong number, I guess.