so… how’s the weather?

Hi, my name’s Allison. You might remember me, I was a person in my own right before I had this ridiculously adorable child who scrunches up his face against his chubby arm.

Nice to see you again, too!

And yes, we got a new camera lens finally, months after receiving fabulous advice from these friends whose photography website you can view here. After you view it, please don’t come back here just to tell me how dumb I am for waiting so long to take their advice. They clearly know what they’re talking about when it comes to bokeh. Also, yes, this is me groveling and thanking them profusely for said lens advice because it rocked my world (once I eventually got around to listening to it).

Did you see that just there? That was me, talking about something besides OBaby.

You’re welcome.

While I’m on a roll here, please allow me to reminisce for a moment about life as an Oregonian. There are a few events that stand out to me about growing up in Oregon; an earthquake over spring break in 1st grade, when that oil tanker somehow crashed into the Oregon coast (What is that? O Crap! North America, dead ahead!), Tanya Harding and Monica Lewinsky’s links to the Rose City, Mt. St. Helens rearing her ugly smokey head again, and finally, that one time my senior year of high school that it snowed in the Willamette Valley.

and the entire state shut down.

so we went outside and took pictures in it, barefoot.

This can be called “Look! There’s white stuff on the ground!” with the alternate title “Holy locks of love my hair was long.”

There’s something about being an Oregonian that makes you expect moderateness in all things but politics. The ocean is always chilly, the drivers are always nice (and if they’re not they must be Californians who migrated north), and the weather simply doesn’t go below 40¬∞ or above 90¬∞ or sohelpme the entire state will raise a ruckus over it.

Like this week, when it hit 105¬∞ and I swear I heard my family and friends’ sweat dripping from all the way on this side of the Mississippi River. Or the other time that it snowed (last winter) and the state shut down… again. Once every 5 years seems like enough frequency for someone to run out and purchase a snowplow, no? I was home for a few days’ visit in January, shortly after the world-ending (again) snowfall, and dare I say it was my most common topic of conversation.

“It’s so good to see you too! Why yes, that is a baby in my tummy… WHOA! FIVE WHOLE INCHES YOU SAY? THAT’S INSANITY!”

Not that I’m complaining, because clearly we could use a little something else to talk about from time to time.

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This concludes a post in which OBaby and/or OBaby related events/equipment are not the primary focus.

You didn’t think I could do it, did you?