We started the day with our first real Irish breakfast. (We had had breakfast the day before, yes, but not an "Irish breakfast.") The proprietor had asked the night before what time we wanted breakfast. I think we picked 8. He said something like, "Oh, Mary will cook for you." Mary, apparently, is his wife. When she bustled up with our breakfast at the appointed hour, James and I wondered where she had been last night. Mary made the best scones I have ever had. They were just traditional scones with raisins in them but they were so, so good. (Clinton's Woodview Farmhouse, in case you're in the area.) I had heard about the black and white pudding in a traditional Irish breakfast, and it sounded scary, but I tried it anyway, I mean, you only live once. It wasn't bad. James, predictably, would not eat it. Mary was entranced by James's iPad, which he showed off before we left.

We only had vague plans for the day, but we knew we were staying in Waterford that night, which was about a three-hour drive. There was an emigrant ship on the way that I had originally wanted to tour but it had gone into dry dock the week before, according to the website. So our other options were the Hook Head Lighthouse, which I wanted to do but was pretty far out of the way, or the Waterford Crystal Factory once we arrived in town. I'm not big on Waterford Crystal, but I figured it might be neat. Plus we had one of our BOGOs.

Before we got on the road, however, I wanted to see the beach. Or, more specifically, the Irish Sea. And it was pretty. Someone either at the pub or the B&B, or maybe right there at the harbor, had mentioned Skerries Mills, which are two windmills that sort of dominate the landscape. One was built in the 1500s and the other in the 1800s. And we had a BOGO! Also, they opened at 10, which meant they would be open now, so we headed over to check it out. The little complex had a cafe and a gift store, and we were the only people there to tour (some other people came a bit later to start setting up for a music performance that was being held in the cafe that afternoon) so the guy who was there taking money said he would take us around. But first he and James and the girl working there all went outside for a smoke, and we stood around and bitched about the costs of car ownership. I think James asked if anyone had trucks, because we hadn't seen any, although with the narrow roads, I don't know why you'd want one anyway. The guy said insurance prices were ridiculous. Or he said gas prices were ridiculous. (Which they were.) He said he never liked to travel but his wife and daughter (friend?) went to New York every so often to go shopping, because even once you paid airfare you got better deals.

It was a pretty day, but cold. We could only go up in one of the windmills because the other was closed for maintenance or something. I think we went up in the older one. We also got to go through the mill area and see the waterwheel. They were setting up for a Santa Village that they apparently host so there was foil and presents and snow everywhere. It was cute. After the tour, James got some more hot chocolate, and I was probably going to buy some souvenirs, but the guy who had led our tour asked us to sign the guestbook, so we headed back downstairs to do so and the lady in the store fixed him with a death glare for running off her potential customers. Which he did, as we didn't end up buying anything. The guy was very nice, though, and invited us to stay for the performance they were having, but we had to get on the road.

We drove forever, but the views were incredible. We kept hoping there would be a scenic overlook so we could stop and look around, but we only saw one, which we dutifully stopped at. I incorrectly chose to not tour the lighthouse because I was afraid that it would be closed by the time we got there (after our Newgrange experience) or that we would get lost on the way there or back, and I didn't want to have to be driving/navigating in the dark, which came early. So we went to Waterford Crystal instead, but it was in fact inexplicably closed. It was also unclear as to where we were supposed to go. We drove by it a couple of times, following the signs, but then the signs just stopped. Finally we figured that black building must be it but nothing was going on. There were some other confused looking tourists wandering around, but not many.

We went to eat dinner in the city center, which had a cute little shopping district. We picked O'Briens Sandwich Shop and when I found out they took cash only, I cried. I couldn't help it. I'm not a good traveller and I was upset that I had picked wrong on the lighthouse, and that the crystal factory was closed and that we were already running out of cash, and how can it be SO EXPENSIVE. Anyway, we ate and James was mad that I had cried so we had a very silent drive to the B&B which we found after only having to ask directions once. This B&B, in contrast to our farmhouse lodging of the night before, had a new modern wing was very hotel-like. They had hot tea and snacks when we arrived so things were looking up. I mentioned to Susan, the proprietor, that we were having some trouble navigating the country as we had opted out of the GPS and she responded that she was adamantly against GPS as they melt your brain. She had strong opinions. James didn't like her. I thought she seemed quite fun. I tried some milk in my tea and liked it.

We couldn't figure out anything else to do, not really wanting to venture too far away, and James was still mad at me, so he went to bed early and I took a nice relaxing bath and read my book.

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Do they call them suburbs in Ireland? After breakfast, we took pictures of the Molly Malone statue that we'd seen from the duck tour the day before, and I insisted we go to Starbucks. It tasted just like back home. On the agenda for today was Kilmainham Gaol in Dublin, then Trim Castle a.k.a. The Braveheart Castle, and Newgrange, an ancient burial tomb, which was recommended by my dad's friend Ed who has been to Ireland several times and is an expert in such things. (Plus it seemed cool online, so I probably would have wanted to go anyway.)

After our walk to see Molly Malone and our Starbucks excursion, we navigated to the Kilmainham Gaol without too many missteps. I had thought that it seemed like a good place to visit, but it was mainly for James. I mean, what man wouldn't like touring a prison? Also we had a coupon book that had buy one, get one offers for a lot of the attractions that were perhaps off the beaten path. Like this one. Anyway, it was pretty powerful. The cells were awful, and they had the place where the public executions were carried out, and the most powerful story was probably that of the Easter Rebellion, which I knew nothing about. We saw the spot where James Connolly was executed. James recognized the "New Wing," where several movies have been filmed.

We drove to Trim, located about an hour northeast of Dublin. It was cold and threatening rain, but we perservered. The castle seems like it's in pretty good shape for something built in 1204. We were a bit early for the tour so we had time to walk the grounds a bit, and James tried to help out three fellow tourists trying to get a decent picture in front of the castle. (They were trying to get a shot of all three of them jumping up in the air. James finally got one, but with our camera, and though we exchanged email addresses, I don't think we ever managed to send it to them. Oops.) We got to tour inside and then we got to go up to the top. Our tour guide mentioned that once she had locked someone up there and only noticed as she was walking back across the grounds and saw frantic hand waving. Meanwhile, it had started to rain steadily. Everyone hustled around pretty quick as it was cold and wet, but then I remembered the tour guide had said something about the gates of the castle being directly parallel to the gates of the castle in the next town, so I wanted to go get a picture. Once I did that, I realized I was the only one left up there, and went over to the door...just as the guide was locking it from the inside. Hopefully James would have come to my rescue eventually but luckily she let me in and we finished the tour without further incident.

After the castle tour, I wandered around the grounds some more (in the rain) while James looked at pictures from the Braveheart filming. Then we grabbed some lunch at The Castle Restaurant just across the street, where James had a burger and confused the staff by ordering "fries." We also noticed there was "Southern fried chicken" on the menu, and James asked if that meant Southern Ireland. I don't think they were sad to see us go.

Leaving Trim, James turned the wrong way on the one way street and came upon a police car. Luckily he either recognized our rental car or noticed James waving sheepishly at him. We headed over to Newgrange hurriedly, as I noted that it closed at 4:15 in winter. Unfortunately the website and guidebook neglected to mention that the last tour was at 3:15, which was just too bad since we arrived closer to 4. "You can tour the museum here onsite," the nice lady said. What the hell, we were already there, so we forked over some exorbitant amount of euros to look at the (tiny) museum, the highlight of which was the movie theater that had a replica of how the inner chamber is lit by sunlight at sunrise on the winter solstice. (See, doesn't that sound really cool? I wanted to see that.)

We then headed to our B&B which was in the coastal town of Skerries. We had fairly good directions but we COULD NOT find the place. We located the road it was on and drove down it at least twice. Nothing. Finally we went to a gas station in town and somebody took pity on us and let us follow her. We had been on the right road, but the B&B was just off the road, on a side road, with no signs. We could have driven all night and never found it. Our first Irish B&B was a bit ... odd. It was run by an older couple, and we were the only guests that night. We were met at the door by one son, and led to the kitchen where the owner was watching soccer (football?) with another son. Both sons left but said their dad would want to talk to us. The owner was on oxygen for "a bad chest infection" and kept hacking. It was awkward. He asked where North Carolina was in relation to Connecticut. He seemed like a nice guy but the constant hacking was a bit off-putting. Eventually we asked for dinner recommendations and he named a few places in town.

We ended up at Stoop Your Head pub, which was lively, and sat at the bar since there were no seats in the restaurant proper. James branched out and tried baked salmon but still apple pie for dessert. I had beef stroganoff.

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

We were leaving Raleigh at 1:30p.m. on a Thursday, and would get to Dublin, via Atlanta, at 6:50 a.m. on Friday. I was excited but also a nervous wreck, because OMG we were going to crash into the ocean and I was never going to see Patrick again. (I even got my will all in order before the trip. Granted I probably should have done that once he was born, but hey -- motivation!) Also, we had found out on Tuesday that I was pregnant, so I was coming to terms with the fact that I was not going to be able to drink while in Ireland. We dropped Patrick at daycare; they knew we were going and that my parents would be watching Patrick for the next week. We had time to eat at RDU so had Bruegger's for lunch. In Atlanta, I noticed a Caribou Coffee in the Atlanta terminal and thought that I should probably enjoy one last Campfire Mocha, but it had been a long way from our arrival gate, and I was hot so I didn't get it.

The plane disappointingly did not have individual movie screens at each seat and instead had one at each bulkhead (or whatever). I missed the beginning of whatever movie they were showing so there went that. Our in flight meal consisted of barbecue chicken with sweet potatoes which James actually liked and green beans. This was served with a side salad and brown bread with a triple chocolate brownie. I am enough of a dork that I still get a kick out of getting full meals (such as they are) on an airplane. James had hot tea on the plane with two sugars and expressed disbelief that anyone would want to put milk in their tea. (Foreshadowing!)

We did not sleep well on the plane and arrived before dawn in Dublin. I had booked us a duck tour and a tour of the Guinness Storehouse. I wanted to do a tour of Jameson as well but hadn't booked that because I didn't want to overbook us. I noticed an IKEA from the plane. We disembarked and stumbled through customs. The customs guys looked mean but let us through without a second glance. And didn't even stamp my passport. Like, I want my credit for traveling internationally! Then we went to get our bags. I don't know what I was expecting, but I thought the Dublin airport would be much more modern than it was. The baggage claim area smelled strongly of kerosene. We went over to our car rental counter. There was no one there. We called the courtesy phone, and the person on the other end said they would send a bus over, so we were out into the Dublin morning. It was cloudy and cold, but not too cold and not raining! (Rain was my big worry now that we had survived the trip over. That, and the flight back.) Our rental car bus driver was Italian. He said that driving in Dublin was a breeze. He said the only thing you had to worry about were the roundabouts, and if you knew what lane you were supposed to be in, those weren't even hard at all. And don't worry, he said, Dublin and in fact all Irish drivers were polite and never honked. (Foreshadowing!)

We got our car, which was small but adequate, and headed off to find our hotel. We promptly got lost. This was to be a trend, especially for our first few days in Ireland. And there was much honking. The drivers are not polite! They are insane! Clearly we should never drive in Italy. Eventually we made it to Dublin, but we had no idea how to find our hotel. We were basically there, but the hotel, it seemed, was not. Finally, after stopping for directions several times, we located it. It WAS there! (We had planned to rent a GPS along with our car rental, but then James said he could take his own GPS and just download an Ireland map. So I didn't rent the GPS and then it turns out he coudn't just download an Ireland map. Thus we were left relying on a paper map and me. Which was BAD BAD news.) 

We checked into our hotel early then headed toward St Stephen's Green for our Viking Splash tour. We were running late but luckily it was too. So we had coffee at the Red Rose Cafe across the street. The only other people on tour with us were two Chinese guys in town from Limerick to get their visas. (They were studying abroad for a year.) The tour was amusing but a bit long as it turned out to actually be quite cold. (But not raining!) Then we were off to Guinness. In retrospect, we should have taken a cab. It was a very long walk. By the time we got there, we were cold, hungry and tired, so we ate upon arrival in the restaurant then halfheartedly took the self-guided tour. At the top of the building, you get a "free" (after you pay for the tour, so...) pint at the Sky Bar, which has glass all the way around so you get a panoramic view of Dublin. It was pretty cool, but I didn't want to drink more than a couple sips of Guinness (in my "condition") and James hates the stuff anyway. I will note that I prefer U.S. Guinness to the unfiltered Irish stuff. It wasn't much different but it tasted less refined and more bitter. Buying souvenirs took forever, both because I am horrible at deciding what to get people and because the line was slow. I wrote a postcard that supposedly would get airmailed out that evening. My mom got that postcard a few months later, in January. We speculate that it got sent to Durham, England, though I don't know how, since I did remember, even while jetlagged, to write USA in big letters at the bottom.

Then it was back to the hotel. Again, we walked, and it had started to rain by the time we made it back. It was evening by that point, starting to get dark around 5 p.m. Jameson had no chance. James was irritated because my cheapness had not allowed us to get a cab. Upon arriving back at the hotel, we promptly went to bed at 5:30. And slept until 7:30 the next morning. 

Posted by Molly at 12:01 AM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with a woman at work about the distribution of household labor. I said it felt like I did a heck of a lot more around the house than my dear husband, which would be one thing if I was a stay-at-home-mom but, you know, I'm not. (Still wouldn't be fair, exactly, but it might bother me less?) Anyway, she said there have been studies about this sort of thing, and they found that each partner feels they do way more than the other. So if you added up the percentages that they give themselves, it would be way over 100. I said I was sure that's true ... but I still do more. She laughed.

I remembered this conversation last night as I was trying to go to the bathroom undisturbed by a toddler, with little success. I started thinking about everything I had done at home, compared to everything James had done. Here's my recollection:

We also fit in a bit of time to fight about budgeting/money (because that's what we do).

And then I watched Grey's Anatomy and not the World Series, because I cannot for the life of me get excited about Giants-Rangers. Yawn.

Posted by Molly at 10:40 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

After I had sex for the first time, my period was two weeks late. We'd been safe; I wasn't particularly worried. I didn't say anything. And then there was nothing to say. But sometimes I wonder about the what ifs. What if I had gotten pregnant? At the time, I would have told you there's no way he would have asked me to get an abortion, but I later found out he HAD asked that of his high school girlfriend. I wouldn't have. So there would be this little seven-year-old running around. In my mind, it's a boy. But he might have wanted a little girl. I know he had preferred girl names.  

Why do I still think about this eight years later? I don't know. We aren't in touch, we don't talk anymore. His choice. That's probably part of it. And, I mean, it was my first time. It was a big deal (for me). I thought about it a lot before it happened, and I told myself it was okay, it would be okay, even if we didn't, you know, walk off into the sunset together, because we'd been close friends, and we would always be friends. I couldn't see how we wouldn't still be friends, at least. So he would always be a part of my life. As it turns out, he's not a part of my life at all, and maybe that's why I still think of him.

I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. Sometimes I just think about it. I don't think about anyone else like this. I mean, they were really a lot of fun and I look back fondly on many things about them, even though one ended quite badly. But they were fun while they lasted. And I don't wonder what if.

Posted by Molly at 10:43 AM EDT

Updated: Fri 03/10/2023 1:07 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Last week, you went on a plane trip for the sixth time. We had to fly to Erie for your Great-Grandpa Jack's funeral. (You are totally over flying, and you were unimpressed by Cleveland. I've never really been to the city but given the complete lack of decent coffee in the entire airport, I can't say I blame you.)

Jack was my mom's father. You got to meet him, once, when you were about three months old. Neither of you remembered that, but I think it was a nice moment for me and for your grandma. You never got to meet MY grandma, your Great-Grandma Rose, but she would have loved you, and spoiled you ROTTEN, like she always did me and Kevin and Megan.

When I went to the hospital to have you, one of the things that I worried about the most was getting an IV. (I tend to do this, you see, focus on tiny little things so I don't have to worry about the big things. I don't think it's terribly effective so I don't recommend it.) And I said to the nurse, "I don't really like needles." She was completely dismissive and said, "Most people don't." I suppose it's the same with funerals. But all the same, it was nice to see everyone. Jack's older sister Jeanne was there. She DOES remember when you met Jack and she loved seeing you again. Your grandpa Mike's dad, Great-Grandpa Ed, came, and so did Larry and Andrea and my Aunt Linda. You got to meet your grandpa's best buddy, Ed Hilovsky, and you got to meet your great-grandpa's best buddy, Joe Marshall. Joe and his wife lived across the street from Jack and Rose on West 23rd Street from 1963-2006 when Jack moved out. Joe was the Erie chief of police and once yelled at me for running into his car while I was learning to ride a bike. I've been slightly afraid of him since that day. You let Joe pick you up -- the only one you let do that who wasn't already familiar -- and the next day gave him a high five.

Your grandma spoke at the service, and Chris and Jeff. Chris talked about how Jack loved trains, and how once, when Megan was 11, she stayed home sick one day, and her grandpa stayed with her, and when Chris got home that night, Megan said, "I'm never getting sick again -- Grandpa made me watch train videos all day." Your grandma said that Jack loved Carolina basketball and told the story about how I used to take dance lessons with Dean Smith's daughter. And one day, Jack was waiting to pick me up after dance, and there was Dean Smith, and he walked up and introduced himself, and he was so happy that he got to meet Dean Smith. Jeff said that Jack was the best husband and father that anyone could hope for -- he lived with his mother-in-law, his wife, and his two daughters -- and that he always looked to Jack for guidance on how he should act. Joe stood up and talked about how he went to high school with Jack, but then they lost touch until 1963, when Jack moved in across the street. Later, Joe's daughter said that he wanted to say so much more, but he couldn't; it was too hard.

After the service, we all went to lunch. Jack and Rose always used to drink Manhattans, so we tried them, lots of us for the first time. (They aren't bad, but I don't think I'll continue that tradition.) Jack was buried in a Carolina pullover, and the sky was Carolina blue. It was a beautiful fall day. You, however, weren't interested in eating lunch, though, who knows, you might have wanted to try a Manhattan. In the same row of buildings as the restaurant was a toy store, and you and I wandered over there to try to keep you happy. You had a hunk of bread in your hand, and after a time around the store, you were looking for someplace to put it. You saw a display of little plastic personalized mugs. You picked one up, a blue one, and put it back. Then you picked up an orange one, dropped your bread inside, and walked off with the cup. After you put it down, I went to go pick it up and saw the name on it. You picked the mug that said "Jack."

Posted by Molly at 1:00 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Dear Patrick,

Today you are nineteen months old. Before you were born, I had all these crazy ideas: I was going to do an awesome scrapbook for you. I was going to take a picture of you every day for the first year of your life. I was going to write you monthly letters so you would know what you were like when you were a baby (and so I would remember). Anyway. I hit one of those three goals, which was a total bitch. Hope you like your photo book. The scrapbook thing (and the letter thing) I've rationalized away using the 'But he's a boy, he won't care' reasoning. It's probably true. It's still a rationalization. You'll find that I'm very good at that sort of thing. If I had decided to do this sort of letter writing thing even on an infrequent basis, it would have made much more sense to do it at 12 months, or even 18, but well, here we are. Last week we just had your 18-month doctor visit, although the delay there was the doctor’s fault, not mine. Perhaps that visit is what has sparked this urge to write you a letter. You measured at 50^th percentile for height and weight, and 99^th percentile for head circumference. I got the biggest kick out of that. Your grandparents love to talk about how I was at 5% for weight and 95% for head circumference, so it is nice to know that we have that in common.

Lately you LOVE spending time outside. This is unfortunate since we are having probably the hottest summer ever recorded. You bring me your shoes and put on your little shark hat and grab my finger and pull me to the door. 'Door' and 'outside' are two of your favorite words. (I'm glad that you have these words, because I spent a good portion of your first year worrying about your development. Because you crawled funny. You'll be happy to know that in your second year, I worry less about you and more about me. I don't want to miss anything, and it scares me. Your grandmother tells me that she went to the doctor at least nine times during MY first year of life, convinced that she was dying, so it must be genetic. She said it leveled off around age 2, so here's hoping.) You also like to say 'ball,' normally while you're toddling toward one across the street in the neighbor's yard. Good thing we live in a family neighborhood. You cry when I leave the room, and it's simultaneously annoying and adorable and heart-breaking. And it pisses off your dad, because he thinks you don't do it for him, but you do. Every weekend you boys go off to have breakfast at Bojangles so every morning you ask for Daddy. (You also say 'sweet tea' very frequently, as you pull the jug from the refrigerator. I told your father he is going to take you to your first dentist appointment.) We go for walks every night, and I think you like it, but you no longer are content to be contained. You have to walk, too, or push the stroller yourself, or ride in your Cozy Coupe. You think it's hilarious if your dad or I let you go and run in front of the car. Your laugh is such a wonderful thing; it's so genuine and it’s hard not to laugh with you. You use this to your advantage when you know you're about to be in trouble. The pediatrician says that babies are not manipulative. I'm not sure when toddlers become manipulative, but I'm pretty sure you had a head start. You have been manipulating me from the minute you were born. Even before that.

You hate going to bed. I think it's because you hate being left out. You want to be a part of everything that we're doing. And I usually don't give in but I do cave when you snuggle up next to me and say 'baseball.' You seem to prefer throwing things with your left hand, and this delights me. Apparently kids don't pick a dominant hand until they are 4 or 5, but I think it would be neat if you were a southpaw. This is not a popular opinion; I know of at least two other moms who actively discourage their kids from using the left hand. They say it's too difficult to be a lefty in life. I'm not a lefty, but I disagree.

Your father and I are talking about maybe trying to provide you with a sibling. In case you hate that possible theoretical future sibling, I want to tell you why we are thinking about this. Well, I'll tell you my side. I think your dad has different reasons. My brother, your Uncle Kevin, and I fought A LOT while we were growing up. I don't just mean 'I'm not touching you' kind of fights. I mean hitting, punching, scratching, that sort of thing. We were mean to each other. We always tried to get the other in trouble. Looking into the future when you can read this, he probably is still talking about that time (he claims) I cost him his hearing by smacking him in the ear with a towel at Disney World. He can hear fine. But here's the thing: we have so much fun together now. We have the same sense of humor, we like a lot of the same things, we like to quote Armageddon at inappropriate times. We have a weekly lunch date, and we usually meet for coffee too. We have a shared history, and it's just so awesome. And more than anything, I want that for you. (Also, of course, someone to share the burden with when your parents are old. You know.)

There's a lot more I want to say, but it's going to have to wait until at least 19 months and one day. And let's be realistic: it'll probably be at least several months out. Anyway. I love you, Patrick, and I'm so glad you're here. It's so much fun to watch you grow up. (For now, at least.)

Love,
Mommy

Posted by Molly at 9:41 PM EDT

Updated: Wed 07/21/2010 10:13 AM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

So. Hi. Been awhile. Going to try to get better about that, but -- I know, I know -- you've heard that one before.

This one is in grand mommyblogging tradition, here, but it cracked me up this morning. (And no, we're not potty training. Not really. Not yet. I don't know.)

Patrick wakes up.

Molly: Hey, buddy. Do you need to go potty?

Patrick: [points downstairs]

We go downstairs, and -- oh, what the hell -- into the bathroom, where I sit Patrick upon his own special mini throne.

Patrick: [sits there, looking around. Nothing happens.]

Patrick: Up!

Molly: Do you want to get up? Are you all done?

Patrick: All done!

He gets up and stands on the rug in front of the shower. And pees.

Molly: Patrick! You're supposed to do that in the potty!

Patrick: [picks up his potty and hands it to me. Smiles.]

Posted by Molly at 3:11 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

Last year, in late March, I spied a bag of Creme de Menthe Hershey Kisses on clearance at Target. I bought them. They were good. Last Christmas, I spied a bag of Mint Truffle Hershey Kisses at Target. I bought them. They were good. And they tasted suspiciously familiar. And so, when I was at Target last Sunday, I bought a bag of the Creme de Menthe Kisses to do a comparison.

The packing, in an attempt to mislead innocent shoppers, is quite different. The wrapping on each individual mint truffle kiss is quite a different green. But once opened, you can see that they look amazingly similar.

And the filling. It is the same. I call foul, Hersheys!

Just kidding. I don't care. They're both good. And just in case you were wondering, the recipe on the back (the SAME recipe on both packages) is good, too.

And finally, Patrick would like to wish you a Happy St. Patrick's Day.

He advises you not to drink too much.

Posted by Molly at 10:41 PM EDT

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink

I thought I would follow the last post with my 'resolutions' for 2010 (pronounced 'twenty-ten'). I was going to do 110 for 2010. I got distracted after typing up 11 and I have not revisited that little endeavor. But one of the 11 was to blog more. So to that end, I will cop out by posting photos!

Dec. 28, 2008	Dec. 27, 2009

Posted by Molly at 3:07 PM EST

Share This Post

Post Comment | Permalink