What a title, huh?

Anyways, I am here to pick your brains.

The Squid’s been having a puking problem. 

It started about the time I stopped nursing, so it wasn’t that hard to figure out that it was a dairy intolerance.  When we switched to almond milk it helped clear it up from the puking every day to only throwing up one to two times a week.  The problem is that this has been going on for almost three months.  I’ve switched him over to a gluten-free diet, just in case…… but does anyone else have any ideas what might make a relatively healthy one year old throw up?  I’d like to feel like I’m doing something while I wait on the referral to the GI/allergy specialist to go through. 

Here’s a picture of him from back in December, when I was still nursing him, before we started having allergy (that’s what I think it is) issues:

And here’s a picture of him from last week:

Keep in mind that the photo above is AFTER he started putting weight back on.  Anyways, I’m open to any and all ideas or stories.

 Moving on to less serious topics:

On a whim, I decided to do a little research into my my new town’s Chicken Laws.  Yeah, yeah, they’re called “city ordinances”.

Whatever.  Quit being so technical.

Guess what I found out?

Three chickens.

Three chickens, no roosters, and up to six chicks.  We can have three chickens at our new Hobbit House!

Do you have any idea how happy this makes me?

I want one of these:

and I want one of these:

and then I want one of those plain-looking white ones that lay a stupid amount of eggs so I can have lots of these:

After a really long week, you have no idea how happy this makes me.

I think I’m going to name them “The Beckies”.  Is that narcissistic?  Or is it the opposite of narcissism?

Who cares?  Yaaaay!  I’m going to be moving out of California AND getting some chickens!

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEe3xfWfkG8]

Do you know what the worst thing about growing up is?

I don’t really know how to fly anymore.

I mean, I dream about it every once in awhile, but it’s a rare thing, and even when I do it’s not the same.  I know too much about the physics, about the lack of air density and the impossibility of it all.  Even if I do break free from my self-imposed ties to earth, I rarely get more than 40-50 feet off the ground. When I angle forward for a dive I pull up too soon, frightened to gain any real momentum.

I miss flying.  I can still taste the memories, the sweat of exhilaration, the sweetness of freedom.  I’d run as hard as I could, feet pounding against the ground, body leaning forward, until I gained enough power to kick off.

Leaving gravity behind was difficult – my arms would strain against the weight of it, pushing and pulling at the air, flapping hard, feet kicking as I gained altitude.

Then there was that sweet moment – the moment when I knew I had a succesful takeoff…. that moment when the strain of liftoff was behind, and I’d slow the beat of my arms down, rising from the ground in long, lazy spirals, playing with the currents of the wind.

I miss that.