Yes, I'm alive, aka the briefest of updates.

Some days there is not enough coffee in the world; nor are there enough hours in the day.

I've sent out some poems. Three of them came back to me like children who did not get into the college of their choice, and three are sitting in some editor's pile waiting their turn.

We're trying to get our sleeping household in order. As in everybody in their proper beds. Boychen did surprisingly well last night; but once again I have given birth to a son who wakes at 5:45. Good lord. If those two boys didn't resemble us and each other so strongly I'd suspect lab error. Seriously, how can R and I - for whom sleeping is an Extreme Sport - have produced these roosters crowing at the sun? Stupid farming genes.

The weather, at least, is lovely.

We bought Small Boy a new bicycle helmet because the last one vanished off the face of the earth and it is strictly forbidden to ride anything with wheels sans helmet and Small Boy was missing his Like-a-Bike so. We got him a Giro brand, like his mama. I'm a Giro girl 'til death - back in the day I cracked a few helmets but never a skull. Giro's been good to me.

Boychen will be six months old on Monday. I can't believe it. He can sit up unassisted for brief periods. He puts everything in his mouth. He's got two teeth. He is a happy child. He loves his brother. He covets the cat. He's eating baby food. I leave you with a picture: