scenes of the weekend

{saturday night i spent seven hours (SEVEN HOURS) putting huck to sleep.}
{s-e-v-e-n!}

the many faces of hank the tank

CHECK IT.

are we an item? girl quit playin

sometimes my holbslovah comes up with these super wacky things to say that make me question the very essence of life itself.

if you think that sounds dramatic it is because you've never lived with a redhead. DRA-MA, those gingers.

like one time, when he confessed to me his deep, dark, ultra secret crush on taylor swift, and i was all, huhwha?

or like that other time, when i got pregnant and my butt somehow went all flat like a pancake, and he said, "it's okay, i like flat butts." and i was like, are you running a temperature?

so, now that i have set the stage, this is what happened today:

"walmart shares fell three percent today" brandon said to me. 

brandon is always telling me interesting things about the stock market, and i am always trying to prove my intellectual dexterity to him by saying clever things in return. while i searched my brain for something witty to say back, something to make him appreciate me not just for my amazing ability to be short (duh), i happened to catch him silently mouthing the lyrics to "baby" while reading whatever nerdy website it was he was reading, and shoot, there went my intelligent thought, right out the window. 

i was reading the urban outfitters sale page at the time, but you didn't ask me, did you?

i suppose the biebs is basically the next obvious step after the taylor swift and the flat butts, in a forward-progression kind of way.

as i was processing all this, my husband--with the two and three-quarters graduate degrees, who just last night, when i asked him what i should blog about, said, "you should write a poem. i don't know, something literary"-- randomly said,

"guess what movie we're getting next from netflix thanks to the yours truly?

and i said, "what?"

and he said, "kick ass!"

and i was like, "is that even a real thing?"

and it turns out, IT IS.

the other day while we were making goggely faces at huck, b said, "you know, he's totally cuter than justin bieber."

so i guess it's a thing now. taylor swift, flat butts, the biebs, and battlestar galactica. that's husband for you.

huck's taste in music skews more classic rock.

just a cute baby in a bed, that's all

bonus extra credit

the city, she gives and she gives

i feel like things must be better in the city. all i have to do is whisper my hopes and dreams to the skyscrapers, and they send my requests heavenward, and then all of my earthly desires manifest themselves along the concrete.

yesterday, after weeks of thinking, "i really must get a case for this iphone already before i drop it," i found a lovely, homeless blue iphone case, just sitting in front of the duane reade waiting for me. you can never be sure about these things, but i think it was left there just for me, by the lady of manhattan herself. she was in great shape, that blue iphone cover, she just needed a little spit shine (and also a thorough disinfecting).

who is this lady of manhattan, i wonder? is she the statue of liberty? the ghost of the chrysler building? my urban fairy godmother? whoever she is, i think she likes me.

ust the other day brandon told me he plans to be "one of those new yorkers." you know, one who never leaves the island unless it is involving a.) the beach, or b.) disneyland.

huck likes new york a lot but then what does he know? he's only four months old but already he prefers to see the city by arms. no strollers, thanks (strollers are for napping), no slings or carriers.. mama's two arms, please, and the whole city in front of him. he likes it, and golly! dude is heavy.

a chicken playing upright bass, and a holbstroller cameo

hope you're having a rad weekend!

today

best day ever.

world peace and diakriah (poops)

huck's mocs are from the ever-fabulous freshlypicked
mine are from the crew-jay

it has been four days now, and we are still living with the excitement of peter pan's remarkably unreliable intestinal pyrotechnics. i am telling you, that dog really knows how to live life to its fullest! 

so far one sock has resurfaced from the great and terrible panbowels, but it seems there may be more in there. how many baby socks are we missing, anyway? i can tell the city hasn't been as fun for pete this time around, and as usual, he is taking his anger out on socks. we're starting to wonder what should be done. 

for now, we are making sartorial decisions based on what does not involve socks (i.e., dog poison). mocs, not socks! 

some items of little consequence

right now, philip seymour hoffman, catherine keener, and christopher walken are filming a movie down the street from our apartment.

tell me, how many times do you think i could wander past the set, all innocently-like, on the off chance they need any eyelash-less extras, before it gets to be excessive?

six times? maybe seven?

*  *  *  *

i took this picture of mr. holbrook this morning. how does this make you feel inside? like anything is possible, am i right?

*  *  *  *

huck looks a lot like his dad in this one. 

*  *  *  *

after a weekend of intense intestinal distress, poor peter pan finally pooped out that sock he ate. tell me, but when you have an emotionally disabled dog who likes to eat baby socks when he's mad, what do you do? gold star to the holbs for this delightful note (poops).

*  *  *  *

today the highs reached gloriously into the fifties, so i introduced huck to central park. they got along grandly. and then we took the most ridiculously sunny stroll down fifth avenue. i changed huck's diaper in the dressing room at an anthropologie.

i didn't buy these sunglasses there, because i love my husband. happy valentine's day, baby! (i can never keep socks on that kid! they fell off in his stroller.) (that is a lipstick kiss. it's good, right?)

*  *  *  *

my holbslovah got me a package of these little guys for valentine's day.  

if you haven't had a chocolate peep yet i will give you the cliff's notes: 

they taste like you have died and gone to heaven.

*  *  *  *

my huckly's hair is this close to being long enough for a mo-huck. also, he is radder than your grandma.

peace out.

huck's eyelashes did not grow in until he was almost two months old, for the record

behold the lashes, when they were real

if i could take this whole weekend that i just lived, bundle it up into a cute little package, and then top it with a pearly bow of wisdom, it would look like this:

please be careful with your eyelash curlers.

the first thing i thought after i stumbled sideways while attempting to curl my lashes and push huck's bouncy chair with my foot at the same time, thus ripping out the entirety of the eyelashes on my left eyelid, was: huh, i always figured this would happen to me eventually.

the second thing i thought was, that did not hurt nearly as much as i thought it might!

and then i realized what had just happened, and i fell to my knees and rent my clothing in despair! (not really.)

noooooooooooo! i thought. my one true beauty!

oh brother it is startling how much of one's feminine identity is kept in your eyelashes. and what of me now? huh?

eyelashes   !!

brandon came home from his walk with the pooches while i was in there trying to be brave about things. 

"no matter!" i was saying in a chipper tone to my huckleberry, who, let's face it, was entirely to blame. "just eyelashes! they grow back! right? don't they?" 

and then the holbswalker took off his scarf, triggering a massive release of pent up emotion. 

"what happened?" he asked.

"let's not talk about it, i am in the depths of despair," i answered.

i walked resignedly into the bedroom and laid my bones on the bed in a tragical heap. i bemoaned my very existence. i dreamed up wild solutions, like winning the lottery to pay for eyelash extensions, or ripping out the rest of my lashes and calling it "art!" or possibly never leaving the apartment.

i will tell you i have never felt more anne-shirleyish in all of my life. it's good for you sometimes. that's my theory anyway.

eventually i remembered this thing called "false lashes," which are actually pretty cheap and somewhat realistic looking these days, and then things perked up quite a bit. especially since i realized that i could justify an immediate trip to the duane reade to get some. going to the duane reade is one of my most favorit things to do lately. while i was there i could probably also look at nail polish colors and get a pack of twizzlers.

and so, really . . .
and, they grow back! right?
i mean, don't they? 

henry holbrook and his mother

henry holbrook and his mother hope you have a terribly fancy weekend.

a love song for elevators everywhere

today i am grateful for the elevator in my building. 

while it was really exciting the other day to discover that i could lift my 30 pound stroller plus my 15 pound baby up an entire flight of stairs, it was even more exciting when i remembered afterward that i wouldn't ever have to do it again.

dear tiny little elevator in my building: i love you. thank you for always cheering up the hucklebaby when he is fussypants by dazzling him with your sparkly fluorescent lighting and your beeping on every floor. thank you for always smelling like other exciting dogs, so my puppies can gleefully sniff your every corner. thank you for being you. thank you! thank your! 

(p.s. the story goes that a woman here in the city named her son otis, after an elevator she knew and loved. what would you think of me if i told you that woman was almost me? it's ok, my mom talked me out of it.)

DECISIONS

It seems to me lately like maybe decision-making is not my strong suit.

Well, sometimes I am really good at decision-making. Like one time I decided I should never wear earrings that dangle, and not to toot my own horn or anything but that decision alone has spared me countless hours of unnecessary accessories shopping.

But actually I am horrible at making decisions, and I know this for a fact because last week we made a doozy of a decision. Last week Brandon got a job offer.  A JOB. OFFER.

Well, actually, he got two. Two job offers!

Now, one job offer is fun, but two job offers? Two job offers is an ulcer waiting to happen, Steve.

We had two jobs to decide between, and also two cities.

Anyway, we made a decision. Well, Brandon made a decision. I threw my hands up and decided to turn off my brain until things were more settled, because that is just my right as a human being.

The point is, The Holbrooks are employed!

And we're staying in New York!

AND MY HUSBAND HAS A JOB!

chubbalubbaflubba

there is one thing my boobs have never been, and that is impressive. but man, my boobs have sure done a number on old huckleberry's thighs, i tell you what.

they're like the little boobs that could!

he's like a little late sunday night snack.

tastes like sugar!

today peter pan walked around all day with a q-tip stuck in his beard

i don't think he minded it a bit.

if i were bill murray

if i were bill murray,
(one can only dream!)

and i had to live a day over

and over

and over

this wouldn't be such a bad one i don't think.

(wouldn't you kind of love to be bill murray for a day?)

p.s. good old punxsutawney says it'll be an early spring.

tell that to the upper west side, will ya?

image via

yes, that is a car.