Studio Plus One

So we finally gave up the bedroom to the Boy:

...and placed the bed into the nook originally planned for the crib:

(The easel was also moved into the room...and the chair was moved around in this room as well.)

This has effectively changed our place into a studio-plus-one apartment.

After we got back from our long trip to New York, we started leaving Cass alone after he went to bed and began sleeping on our foldout sofa bed. I likened it to sleeping on a sheet draped over monkey bars.

The glorious result was that the Boy started sleeping through the night. For the first time ever. All hail leaving the room alone.

I finally convinced Corrie that moving Cass's crib to the nursery nook and expecting him to sleep through the night at this time was unrealistic---due to our loud street and our own needs as working adults---and that right now it would be better if we were able to sleep on our (quite nice) bed out front.

So, like all parents, we adjust...

Things My New Phone has Said to Me

I went swimming with my old phone, then went on a long trip with no connections (pretty cool), and have since procured a new phone. It was prety cheap when we signed on for another two years, as we've found a company, Credo Mobile, that supports progressive causes.

Anyway, this new phone turns out to be one of THE new phones, the Samsung Galaxy S8. It's pretty damn fancy.

It has a thumb print recognition to unlock, if I so desire. But it also has a retina scan unlock option.

My phone has a retina can unlock option. Ohhh kaaay.

Sometimes it seems to have a brain of its own, and it has said some strange things to me.

After having it for a few days I noticed a little message. I swiped to read it. It said:

"It looks like you go to bed at 21:59. Would you like to check your alarm for tomorrow?"

Now, going to be before ten pm would be awesome, but frankly it's unrealistic at this (and likely any future) point in my life. Why would my phone think my it could tell my bedtime? Is that when I stopped using it the first few nights?

The second thing has happened a few times and makes me laugh each time. My phone has suggested multiple times:

"Change your phone number for security sake?"

WHY WOULD I WANT TO CHANGE MY PHONE NUMBER? Only five people call me, and I need them to have my phone number!

So weird.

So goes the fancy new tech shit in the world.

Five Generations on the Corkboard

The Cabin of my memory is a wooden box built on plot of reclaimed wilderness on the edge of the national forest. It's i the vicinity of Mt. Lassen, the southern most volcano in the Cascade range. Three hours away from Sacramento, it was a usual haunt of my childhood.

Now that we have a kid, we've been more proactive about considering making trips there, trying to make it a priority among our other adventures with the Boy.

He climbed the stairs; he got to see how we feed Charlie, the name we've given to generations of blue jays that eat peanuts off of the deck's balcony's railing; he was strapped on for a hike through the meadow (now a wetland) and off into the adjoining forest.

The smells smells are the same; the sounds are the same.

We went into the national park, Mount Lassen Volcanic National, and did a spectacular hike (Cass was again strapped on in the Ergo carrier). The pictures are amazing. They're also currently buried on Corrie's lappy and will hang there for a minute.

Inside there's a corkboard where folks are asked to put pictures from visits over the years. We had the Fuji Instax with us, which is basically a Polaroid camera, and took a few and added even less to the corkboard.

It was in that moment that I realized that there were five generation of people enjoying the Cabin on that corkboard.

There were plenty of black and white pictures, some from 1962 that showed my Nana, my great-grandmother Theresa Pedrotti (nee Alamano). Nana was born in Italy in 1904 and grew up in California's Bay Area.

Also pictured in black and white were her daughter, Mary, with her family: husband Tom, two daughters Kathy and Peggy, and son Tommy. Kathy's my mom, who goes by Kate now.

In color are photos are my brother and I, and the two of us with our cousins Mike and Liz, and two with me and Cass.

From Theresa to Mary, to Kate, to Pat and on to Cass, we have five generations spread over almost sixty years, shown on that family history corkboard.