A large wall decal featuring a woman nursing twins used to hang over the breastfeeding aisle at the local baby boutique. She held one in each arm, like footballs.

The first time I saw this poster, a “woop” slipped from my lips. Renate rolled her eyes.

Breastfeeding doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m just a bit caught off-guard by the imagery associated with the product packaging.

Honestly - you don’t see this kind of thing every day:

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“Ferris - he never drives it. He just rubs it with a diaper.”

When I turned 30 last September, both sides of the family kicked in to help me get a new bike as a present. Touched, I decided to wait until this spring to make the purchase; no need for the bike to sit in the garage getting creaky in the cold Chicago winter. I would take care of this gift.

Last month, after several weeks of comparison shopping, I finally bit the bullet and brought home a new hybrid road/commuter bike. It cost a bit more than I wanted to spend, but it rode so smoothly and leapt ahead like a racehorse when I’d pick up the pace. I envisioned long rides up and down the Lake Shore bike path; me and this bike, we had a bright future.

The next morning I took it for an inaugural spin, not bothering to remove the plastic wrap protecting the handlebar brake controls. I just wanted to enjoy the newness of it for a bit, like those first few days of a new pair of shoes, when they’re scuff-free and you look good.

It didn’t last; the bike was stolen out of our garage the following day.

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Renate and I have reconfigured our apartment at least thirty times since moving in. Why? Because someday one undoubtedly looks back and says, I wish I’d spent equal amounts of time in the dining and living rooms.

Last fall we retooled our dining room into a sitting room. Two leather chairs face the television, with a bookshelf standing nearby in case the power should go out and we need either a) entertainment, or b) fuel.

The rearrangement was a smashing success. We now spend a good portion of our evenings on those leather chairs, either engrossed in our laptops (yes, we have become those people) or watching the tube (we’ve always been those people).

We’re usually enjoying a quiet moment in these chairs when the cat wakes from a nap and comes shooting into the room, squawking as if her tail is on fire, just to let us know that she IS HERE and she IS NOT HAPPY ABOUT SOMETHING.

Now that the guest room has morphed into a nursery, the cat largely avoids it. I think she’s protesting the loss of her favorite hiding spot beneath the guest bed, or perhaps ignoring the impending reshuffling of the pecking order. (Maybe I’m alone in that.)

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The last rough edges have been sanded off, and the lacquer is dry. Introducing the Myler Family Photoblog.

You may notice all the posts have been authored by me, but that’s temporary. Some of us here are still breaking in our blogging shoes.

We’ve backdated a bunch of pics - cruise around the archives or click ‘next’ to check it all out.

Built with Wordpress in eager anticipation of the actual new family member.

Overheard in the line for movie tickets tonight: “One for Iron Man, one for Sex and the City.”

Eight years ago my folks moved to a county west of St. Louis where farmland still envelops pockets of strip malls. Suburbs spider out into the countryside, but feral cats played in my parents’ front yard and distant coyotes yowled at night.

Apparently the wild followed them back to the burbs in October; my dad awoke early one morning to a pack of foxes playing in their back yard, and a family of curious squatters has settled in just past the fenceline.

Within the span of a year, all members of the Myler/Yssel family branches will have moved. Some have gone a few miles, others will leave the country. We’re staying put until after the wee one arrives, but then I expect our apartment will shrink to the size of a peanut.

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