Mrs Louise Neumann. That is me, I am she.

We found two matching shells on the beach. Our 'married shells'. The tanned, muscly one resembles Forrest, and the white and weedy one is me, to a tee :)

As of last Thursday, I'm embracing my new status as the wife.

I powered through the giggles (an affliction of mine) to say 'I do' at the appropriate moment and landed one on my new husband's lips with all the grace (not much) and hilarity (plenty) that befits my usual manner. If there wasn't a video as evidence of the event, I'd probably still be asking whether it really did happen.

I should probably feel 'different', but this is simply not the case. I suppose I had already felt secure. I was already making lunches with good wifely enthusiasm ("mystery sandwiches' tomorrow, Dear?'). Forrest and I already bickered like husband and wife. Plus, married or not I will always forget to squeeze the toothpaste from the end of the tube. Nothing has changed.

The wedding was rushed for the sake of my visa requirements, so after my low expectation of the thing, I was ridiculously tickled by the loveliness of it, really. Who knew we would have the sweetest little lady in the whole of Alabama to conduct the ceremony, and who knew there would be surprise wedding cake, and a photographer, celebrations and a weekend at the beach with two of our nearest and dearest. The manta rays even came to play. My memory museum just opened a new archive. 

My Big Baby.

     The boy is growing up/ The boy is still a baby   

The boy is making friends/ Family photo

City drawing. Country living.

Re-doing  a portfolio piece that could use some fine-tuning:

I think I always dreamt about cities. I think I still do. San Francisco holds the key to my heart, and the mere thought of New York awakens ambition like nothing else.

Despite this, life at the moment couldn't be more 'country'- but it's really not that bad because I like the fact that we have our own (small) yard, I like that we can grow tomatoes, I like to run past fields of grazing cows, and I definitely like watching the little furry one sprinting in circles on his miniature garden racetrack. I even like cowboy shirts and freckled noses. 

Speaking of the four-legged one, I'm fairly sure he ate a toad last night. I was treated to an audio and visual production that nobody would welcome at 3.30am. It's lucky I love that little Stinker...

work and play.

For the first time in many months I have a little time to throw around and decide what to do with. It is far too easy to dedicate all my minutes to the dear little Sharkface who is growing at the most ridiculous of rates. However, even the furry one sleeps occasionally, and it's high time my website had a bit of an overhaul. 

Give me a month and it'll have to change all over again, when I find myself answering to a different name. Out with the Egger, in with the Neumann. But it's a matter of the baby steps for now. And speaking of babies, I think I can hear the thump of little (actually frighteningly large) puppy paws marching up the stairs. At 13 weeks, both of his ears have popped up, and he's less Sharkface, more Vampire Bat. The look on my face says it all.