Happy Birthday Dada!

You were the best person to burp me when I was itty-bitty 

and the first person to get me to laugh.

You are my favorite.

Happy birthday Dada!

Not all those who wander are lost

I'm really enjoying Teddy's new walking ability. It has transformed trips to the mall and, most recently, our afternoons.

Hand in hand we walk. He clings to my finger, not because he needs the balance, but because he knows he can't walk in the cul-de-sac without doing it. Thus far, we've had unseasonably warm winter weather which has allowed us a half hour or an hour every afternoon to wander.

Thankful Thursday

For homemade muffins on Sunday morning

For hand-in-hand wandering

For plans

For Christmas lights

For a clean house

What goes around...

I think parenting is all about payback. All the hassle you caused your "parental units," as I so fondly used to refer to them in my uber-cool teen years? It comes back to you in the form of your own offspring. Take the following examples:

* For 3 ok, 5 like 7 years I would cry out "mommy-o-mommy, mommy-o-mommy" every morning. I was relentless. Stubborn. And she would always come. My child? He basically kept me from sleeping a full nights sleep for close to a year. I dread the move to the toddler bed for fear he'll be genetically predisposed to an inability to get out bed without his mother.

* Are You My Mother was my favorite book as a little girl. My mother must have read it a zillion times. Now? I have it memorized because Teddy must hear it read at least 13 times in a row. Morning. Noon. Night. I find this equally obnoxious and awesome. Probably not far from how my mom felt about that book 20-some years ago.

Old St. Nick

I had thought I might regret not getting a picture last Christmas with Santa. I was right - I wish I had a cute little squishy newborn Teddy pic with Santa. Alas, this will go down in history as the first Santa pic. They are pretty stinkin' cute, even if my squishy newborn Teddy is mainly little boy now.

You're the guy with all the toys, eh?

I don't know ma, I think he's wearing blush.

Thankful Thursday

For hot tears in cold rain

For red wine during DVR'd shows

For Christmas music on sunny days

For messy rooms filled with books and love

For warm gloves in biting wind

2 minutes of hilarious

If you have 2 minute to spare and need a chuckle...

Untitled from M Ai on Vimeo.

14 Months & things

1. You are ever communicative these days. You sign "more," and we're working on "help" (which for now you do by just quietly and slowly clapping).

2. You can follow directions. That is, if you are feeling like listening to them.

3. Books remain your favorite "toy" and we've entered the age of I-Must-Hear-The-Same-Story-At-Least-23.5-Times-In-A-Row.

4. Building towers and putting lids on pots are always followed by humble proud claps (and sometimes a "I did it!" or just "did it!").

5. You can walk backwards.

6. From the day you were born you have been curious, always wanting to be part of the action. Lately this has meant you want to see what I'm doing on the counter and stove top while fixing breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Sometimes, I just throw you in the Ergo and continue about our meal prep. Sometimes, I let you bang pots and pans. Sometimes, we both just get frustrated. 

7. When reading books, you will often take my pointer finger to point to things on the page rather than use your own.

8. Words you've definitely said at least twice: yogurt, blue, yellow, dada, mama, doggie, cracker.

9. Your favorite letter is S. I make sssssilly ssssssounds and then proceed to tickle you.

10. Your laugh is my favorite sound.

11. When we put up the Christmas tree, you literally "ooh"ed and "aahh"ed. I think it blew your mind.

12. Going up stairs is now done on two feet. You swing your little leg out the side, straight out - ninja style - every step you "climb."

13. I'm pretty sure your favorite sound is the pitter-patter your feet make when you have your shoes on.

14. I haven't been this excited for Christmas in many years. I can't wait to see you tear into your presents with all the anticipation and joy your little being can muster. You make so many things new again. That is my greatest gift this holiday.

Every Day

Every day you become more and more you. Your joy, persistence, impatience, and warmth are evident every day. Some days I marvel at what a little person you are. Still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Dad and I created you, I watch you play and walk and eat and get into things you know you should not get into.

The mind boggles, really, when trying to make sense of the human heart and soul. It is during our quiet pre-dawn cuddle sessions on the couch, with the stillness as the sun yawns awake, that I bury my nose in your hair. And you are so known and so mysterious to me. I love that I get to love you every day. I love that I get to learn more about you every day.

Thankful Thursday (Thanksgiving edition)

For family

For health

For safety

For clean water & fresh food

For all the things that really matter

Sun

I have an unexpected afternoon to myself. Totally alone. For 4 hours.
And yet? I find myself drawn to your bespectacled little mug. I can't help it. I kinda like you.

P.S. Just for future reference (in about 12 years), I edited this picture after I did my chores and homework. It's true.  

Overheard

Me: Teddy, we don't eat shoes. Shoes don't belong in our mouths, especially not Momma's train shoes.

Teddy: ::babbles:: while sulking

Filed under "things I'd never thought someone would find appetizing" and "toddler antics that make me want to vomit."

Thankful Thursday

For brooms & steam mops

For signing & understanding

For ipod & headphones

For blankets & pillows

For hot tea & new mugs

Dear Teddy,

Well, we survived. You, me, Dad, your Aunt Molly. We all survived the (bum bum bum) First Overnight Without Mom or Dad. We, your lovely parents, took off to Philly to enjoy some adult conversation and a meal past 6pm. You, my little cuddly man, got a solid 36 hours of Aunt Molly all to yourself.

As we were driving back, anxious to scoop you up and give you a head-butt or two, I was thinking about how I couldn't wait to see you. But also how it was nice to not have to worry about anyone other than myself for a few hours. I missed you like crazy, but I didn't miss chasing you down the aisles of Home Depot or trying to decipher what you want to eat for lunch. And then I laughed to myself - this lesson is one that I'm sure you will learn soon:

The good stuff in life, the joy, is all the more appreciated when there is some not-so-good stuff, the trials. It struck me that the cuddles are that much sweeter after a trying day. Like desert after vegetables, you are my chocolate cake and green beans all wrapped up in one. You are my test and my reward, but neither would matter as much without the other.

So life returns to normal this week. You will probably splatter some squash on me, the floor, yourself, the high chair. And I may grumble. But then you'll probably carry Louie to me, arms outstretched, ready to be scooped up and snuggled into my shoulder. And I will remember how sweet it is to be a mom. Your mom. 

Love,
Mom

Thankful Thursday

For reminders

For notepads

For cash

For trips

For pasta

13 Months & Things

Here we are - the 4th of another month. One month after the big 1. I've decided to switch up the monthly update format to something that can be accomplished while I ensure Teddy is not inadvertently strangling himself with a cord or dumping flour all over the floor. Oh toddlerhood...

Without further ado, 13 things for 13 months:
1. You are super interested in utensils at meal time. Sometimes you use them as intended. Today, you actually got mac and cheese into your mouth via fork. I may have scared you with my enthusiasm at this accomplishment.

2. You can stand up with out assistance - as in, in the middle of the floor, hike your little toosh in the air and raise your body up.

3. You like to do squats while watching the news with us - up and down, up and down - on your little brick stoop in our corner. Sometimes you even laugh at yourself, which of course is insanely cute.

4. Walking is its own entertainment sometimes.

5. You have become a great cuddler - especially in the morning and after your nap. I treasure it. Every. Single. Time.

6. The mess you can make with a graham cracker astounds me.

7. Next to Louie, your favorite thing may be doggies!!!

8. You bring us our shoes, usually a complete pair, and request we put them on at random times.

9. You still refuse to wave. I'm still convinced you think that it's just your job to look cute while other people continually wave at you and smile.

10. Another favorite activity is helping us - unloading the dishwasher (one spoon at a time and handing it to me), pounding with the hammer (as Dad tries to progress on numerous house projects), sweeping, etc.

11. You can climb onto the chairs in your room and our couch, which means you really are dangerous if there are no adult eyes on you at all times.

12. The conversations you have between yourself and your toys are in depth and usually end with giggles.

13. You have taught me more in the past 13 months than I ever thought possible.

Thankful Thursday

For Thursdays

For stolen moments

For plans

For Tootsie rolls

For cozy, warm socks

How it came to be

Picture this:
One year old is wrangled into the carseat, both shoes and one sock are off before we leave the cul-de-sac where we live.

I do all but a song and dance to keep one year old awake on the drive to Target so as not to mess up the napping "schedule." This may have included multiple renditions of The Wheels on the Bus, Old McDonald, and Free Fallin' (what? it came on the radio, hence I had to sing it).

We arrive at Target, dodge the first rain drops, secure a cart and begin shopping. I quickly grab a few pairs of pants that may be suitable for work, all while trying to keep one year old from ripping all the tags off every stinking piece of clothing within grasp. I decide I'll take my chances and try on the pants in the fitting room. "You can't bring the cart into the fitting rooms," murmurs the clearly-childless-18-year-old-blonde-fitting-room-attendant as I request a room. I give her the you-have-got-to-be-joking look with a dash of please-take-pitty-on-me glance to the one year old now smiling sweetly, which she returns with a don't-test-me-I-carry-a-walkie-talkie-on-my-hip glare.

One year old is wrangled out of the cart, along with diaper bag, and 4 pairs of pants. I do all but a song-and-dance to keep one year old contained within the fitting room entertained while making sure pants will at least appear to fit. I glance in the mirror for 3.2 seconds and decide yup, these fit.

Pants are purchased.

Fast forward to yesterday, getting ready for work. One year old is trying to body surf down the stairs while I attempt to put together an outfit. I pull new Target pants out, pair with tank and cardigan, add a belt and flats and I'm out the door.Glance in the mirror? No time. Must wrangle one year old into carseat to get to day care so I can catch train.

Fast forward to yesterday, waiting for the 6 train at Grand Central. I glance my full reflection in the train door. I gasp in horror. How in gods name did I end up wearing "mom pants" to work?

Halloween v.2

This past weekend we had a Halloween party with the babies and parents that Teddy and I met at our "New Moms" group through the hospital where I delivered Teddy. Snow postponed us a day, but we still had a ball. Group shots were attempted. Costumes were incredibly cute. Fun all around!

Just for fun, here is the difference a year makes:

Oct 30, 2011

Oct 31, 2010

                                                                         

Thankful Thursday

For books you get lost in

For fall

For green tea

For songs that speak to you

For Kix

The fall and rise

Balance is hard to find these days. Your feet get steadier by the day, but every so often you fall. Hard. Square on your butt. And you scare yourself with the sudden change in perspective. Sometimes you will cry and crawl to Dad or I. Other times, you will find some steady piece of furniture to pull up on and continue on your merry way.

One of my most vivid memories from your birth was the pre-epidural contractions I felt. I stood, rooted in my hospital booties to the cold tile floor and found a steady piece of furniture to hold on to through a pain I had never before felt. I was being torn in two from the inside out. I could feel my body trying to make room for you, trying to help birth you. But in that moment, I know I fought it. I fought the splitting. And then when you were born, I fell. Hard. Square on my butt. And you scared me with the change you brought in my perspective on life. On myself. On others. On love.

It still leaves me feeling unbalanced sometimes. Still - after over a year of changes. I still feel split to the core at times. In the moments when I want to crawl away, you manage to surprise me with a hug (a genuine hug! by my child!) or a smile or a quizzical look as you try to fit the square block into the round hole. You give me just the thing I need to pick myself back up.

And as I watch you toddle away, you remind me that balance is not static. It is a constant process of falling, square and hard, and rising, continuing on our merry way.

Overheard

B:  Teddy, please don't drool on Daddy's tools.

Filed under "Teething" and "Helping" and "Home ownership"

Thankful Thursday

For feeling inspired

For hot apple cider

For candles

For pine cones

For rough patches

All there is.

Sometimes perspective is gained over time; sometimes it slaps you in the face on a Monday morning while watching TLC during nap time. Can you guess which this article gave me today?

Parenting, I’ve come to understand, is about loving my child today. Now. In fact, for any parent, anywhere, that’s all there is. ~ Emily Rapp

Pumpkin Day

Thankful Thursday

For routines

For Kraft mac & cheese

For bridges

For baby jeans

For dreams

Are you ever not a "new" parent?

It feels like we've I've been "celebrating" Teddy's birthday for over a week now. It is definitely unintentional. Every once in a while, throughout my day, I find myself thinking "wow, a whole year!" Or I'll find that I'm scrolling through the month-by-month pictures. Or I'll think back to how "one year ago today we were ____" (just leaving the hospital, still trying that whole breastfeeding thing, hoping he'd drink 2oz of milk, wondering what his laugh would sound like).

I feel much more than one year older. Teddy feels a whole lifetime older to me too. A year ago we were fumbling through diaper changes and burping, and today we're discussing discipline and ditching the bottle. Also, I've had a number people in my life recently have babies or announce their pregnancies. And I think to where they are now, where I was just one year ago. All the unknowns seemed so overwhelming. And then? You figure it out. You get the diaper changes down to a science. You don't live with burp clothes on your shoulder. You kid yourself into thinking "I got this!"

In many ways, I feel like I am right there again - the unknowns feel overwhelming at times. I read the pregnancy books and the "what to expect the first year" books. But now? Now I have to think about what kind of parent I really want to be. Now the rubber really meets the road. How will I discipline him? How will I teach him to share? How will I get him to drink from a cup? This may sound silly, but all of a sudden I feel those new-mom jitters all over again. And they feel just as scary. I just got this schedule thing down and can reliably predict that he'll sleep from 8pm-5am or so, and now I'm supposed to feed him all real meals and teach him how to talk? 

It may as well be Oct 3, 2010. 

Milestone Moment #9852

The pride and excitement on his face get me every time.

Untitled from M Ai on Vimeo.

Thankful Thursday

For Google

For noisy  houses (followed by quiet houses)

For hair dryers

For pumpkin-spiced coffee lattes candles anything

For kisses

The one where Teddy is too cute for words

Dear Teddy

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

Here we are - one year later. A whole year of growing and learning and crying and changing and laughing and loving. For you, for me, for Dad, for our little family. It feels like so long ago that you were a scrawny-legged, wide-eyed newborn who barely fit into newborn pjs. It feels like you've always been a mobile baby, but I fondly remember the days when would just lay on your playmat and bat at the jingly pig and bunny rattle.

This last month has been a big one. You are now sleeping better at night (but naps are hit and miss). You now have 1.5 top teeth and 3 bottom teeth. You point at everything, seemingly asking, "dat?" You know the words "doggie" and "deer." (I thank our wildlife-filled backyard for that latter one.) The biggest change? You can now walk. Right now it's still a game to you; a fun trick you like to pull out at parties do to impress Dad and I. But there is no doubt you can walk halfway across the room. Arms stretched out straight to the side, huge grin, and giggles in your wake, you come barreling towards the open arms of Dad, then me, then Dad again, then me again.

You are barreling towards toddlerhood at record pace. Or maybe that's just me having more and more moments of disbelief. I can't believe you can walk. I can't believe it's been a year since you were born. I can't believe we've all survived. I can't believe how hard this is. I can't believe how much I love you. I can't believe how much has changed.

I've been thinking back often to a conversation I had with my mom while I was pregnant with you. "All a baby really needs is love. You just have to love them," I remember stating, but really wanting to make a question. My mom agreed, (unknowingly?) reassuring me in my moments of pre-parenthood uncertainty. There have been even more uncertain moments since. But in moments when I really don't know what to do, when I just want to be able to reason with you, I go back to what I know (because my parents taught me, and Dad's parents taught him).
That all a child needs is love, unconditional. And arms, wide open.
You will always have both.

Love,
Mom

All you need on your birthday is...

lots of love

and a little cake.

Thankful Thursday

For airplanes

For open windows

For Lysol wipes

For birthday parties

For the past 52 weeks

Thankful Thursday

For the first night you need a blanket on your bed

For baby consignment stores

For pizza delivery

For dust-busters

For time to think

Purple

I am hunched over you; blonde hair, orange t-shirt, tiny toes are all I see. You hold onto my two index fingers with a grip so tight it hurts. Moving on two feet is scary business, after all. I notice after a few more laps through the kitchen, around the dining room, past the TV, that my two fingers are purple.

I know that my heart is pumping the blood to them, but your grip stops it from reaching the tips of my fingers. Your grip, equal parts trust and fear, literally stops my hearts' beat. And it reminds me of how your heart used to depend on mine. How mine, in a less literal way, depended on yours. Bent over you, finger tips such a deep purple that it makes me begin to seriously worry about the fate of my two pointers, I let you hold on a few more seconds to savor the dependence. 

Just as you are working on letting go and taking off and walking on your own two feet, I am working on letting you go. It's selfish, I know. But I grew you, I fed you with my own body. You are so much a piece of me, but you are completely your own person. So for today I help you walk, knowing that one day soon you will walk all by yourself and the blood will return to my fingers.

But my heart may never beat the same.

Helping

Thankful Thursday

For flat running paths

For Ikea

For remembering

For traditions

For slow-cookers

Overheard

B: Teddy, can you say "shelving unit"?

T: ::babbles::

Filed under "Baby's first trip to Ikea"

Can't you just hear it?

Recently I've found that Teddy full-on laughs. No more of those cute little baby giggles. He finds things genuinely funny and truly laughs.

It is the purest joy I've seen in a long time.

Shut the barn door

Mrs. Cow's time as photo buddy is quickly coming to an end. We'll need to find a new buddy for the second year. Or maybe I'll just go easy on me him everyone and not try to pose my soon-to-be toddler for monthly pictures. Time shall tell. (You are in suspense aren't you? These are the things that keep you up at night. I know. It's major stuff.)

Thankful Thursday

For B working close to home

For jumper cables

For hummus

For cold rain

For house guests

Dear Teddy

I'm at a bit of a loss again of what to say on this occasion, your 11 month birthday. I waver between reminiscing on how much you've changed in this short time; of remembering your peaceful newborn-ness; of hair that wasn't long enough to fall in your eyes. Between that and looking toward next month. To one year. To all that my next letter will mean - to you. to me. to everyone who has loved you these months.

I find it hard to settle in this time. To really sink my teeth into what it means to be 11 months old. Lately, for you, little one, it's meant day care and one more tooth and a few shaky steps. 11 months has meant opinions being shared, no's having meaning (to you and us), and giggles so joyous it makes me think the world will really be ok after all. It has meant calling Dad, "dada dada" and hummus for lunch.

I call this "strategic finger placement"

  I guess it's been pretty magnificent and pretty normal all at the same time. Funny how life can be like that when you stop and think about it; no looking back or forward. Just looking around and thinking, "yup, this is today." This is what it means to have my heart outside my body for 11 months. 

Love,
Mom

Thankful Thursday

For power

For local ice cream shops

For the earliest signs of autumn

For heating pads

For trains

Glimpses

These days  have been filled with glimpses of who you'll be. So far I've seen that you'll be independent, as in no-tears-when-I-leave-you-at-day-care-for-the-first-time kind of independent. Upon my return? You glanced at me, and then kept right on climbing over the other babies playing.

I've seen that you will be opinionated, as in let-me-know-when-you-don't-like-something-by-banging-on-the-floor-repeatedly kind of opinionated. You yell at Dad and I as though we're the idiots who don't understand Teddy-language. (Ah shucks, who am I kidding. You're going to be looking at us like we're idiots for about the next 20 years...at least.)

I've seen that you will be persistent, as in I-will-sit-here-and-figure-out-how-this-wheel-turns-if-it-takes-me-all-day kind of persistent. Your desire to figure things out, to understand, to know - it will take you far and leave you with more questions than answers.

I've seen that you will be someone who draws others in, as in every-person-in-the-grocery-store-must-say-hi-to-you kind of draw. I have yet to meet someone who wasn't enchanted by your blue eyes and 2-toothed smile. (Except the middle-aged guy with pink hair behind us in the check-out line. But he was buried in his Vanity Fair magazine, so he doesn't count.) I hope you give love and compliments as easily as they come your way (even to pink-haired middle-aged men).

Because, as it's been since the beginning, your heart is all that matters. And from what I've seen so far, it's gold.

Thankful Thursday

For cool mornings

For big, outdoor blankets

For dirty knees

For online shopping

For drives to nowhere (and back)

5:15 + bay windows

Owning the house has meant lots of new traditions. First up seems to be this: 5:15, our bay window, waiting for daddy.

Overheard

B: Teddy, we don't climb into the dishwasher.

Filed under: "Things I didn't think we'd have to say to our 10-month old" and "Things I wonder how often we'll have to say once he's a toddler"

This kid loves his books

Thankful Thursday

For dancing

For Nutella + pretzels

For black & white pictures

For 5:15pm + bay windows

For email

Night

I let you cry the other night. Dad was out of town; it was me and you, kid. For three whole days.

After barely making it to 8:30pm, I let my eyes close. By 9:30, you were crying. And I let you. I knew you were not hungry or wet or in danger. So, I just let you cry. I may have cried a bit too. I hoped the crying would not scar you for life would be a gift of learning to self-soothe. Of not trying to shush away the pain, whatever unknown pain it was that night. Or any night.

Some nights there is rest. But as painful as it is, as much as I really don't want it to be so, sometimes there are just tears.

Thankful Thursday

For hills

For afternoons

For farmers' markets

For ceiling fans

For power drills

It is. I hope.

It's raining. I hope the basement doesn't flood. It's quiet. I hope the baby doesn't wake just yet.

It's slightly warm, as in the way a cup of afternoon coffee leaves you just the tiniest bit uncomfortable. I hope I'm not addicted to caffeine. It's Tuesday. I hope the rest of this week goes quickly.

It's playtime and storytime and music time in his new room. I hope I never forget this moment, right here. It's 9pm. I hope B doesn't hate me for crawling into bed right now.

It's different, these days and nights; this time in life. I hope that I will look back as an old lady and nod, thinking,
yes, those were the days. 

This kid kills me.

Seriously hilarious video on so many levels. (Not sure what happened to the sound, but if you can tell how the people on TV are dancing, you can only imagine the music.) The dancing. The clapping. The arm move. The dropping down. I mean really?


Dancing! from M Ai on Vimeo.


I only wish I had moved the dang walker, but I didn't want to distract him from his moves. 

Thankful Thursday

For bedrooms

For shop vac

For tears

For being employed

For kiddie pools

Dear Teddy,

10 months old today, little man. I'll be a broken record and say, "I can't believe it!" It's true, though - I really can't believe we are so close to one year of having you around. You have spent the past month adjusting to all the changes that have been going on in our little family. Moves and jobs and new rooms are just as overwhelming for you as they are for Dad and I.

You have mastered climbing up our new stairs and clapping. You have different "voices" - for singing and talking and reading. You love books and music and your soccer ball and banging on things (floors, chairs, legs, tv stands, end tables). You are cruising all over the place, and you're still trying to figure out this sleeping through the night thing.

You are the most playful you have ever been. And it's that playfulness and your giggles and your proud clapping that keeps me going through these transitions.

Love,
Mom

Doors

Since we moved, Teddy's separation-wariness seems at an all time high. I've especially noticed that he hates doors. It's as if, when someone shuts a door, he worries that the person has vanished forever. I know he grasps the idea of object permanence given his play, but there is something about a person behind a closed door that just doesn't sit well with him. I had been wondering about the best way to respond to this.

And then my mom left after her visit to help us move.

I had driven her to the airport, sleeping baby in tow. We talked about furniture and the scenery. And then I pulled out her suitcase from my car and hugged her goodbye and drove away. And I was sad. A lonely sad. A closed door sad.

In those moments, I empathized with Teddy like I hadn't in a while. It's lonely, this saying goodbye thing, no matter a moment or a month. So my new thoughts on responding to Teddy? Empathizing with the tears, closing doors when needed, and knowing that he too will learn that loneliness only spurs us towards loving connection with people who really matter to us.

Firsts (and lasts)

I've always been a bit sentimental. Ok, a lot sentimental. Reminiscing may be one of my favorite pastimes. In a way, this blog is one big way I can indulge my sentimentality and reminiscing. And so it seems appropriate to write a post about our moving from Teddy's first home.

We navigated the crazy process of home-buying and short-sale-ing and duct-cleaning, oh my! Today we move. Today we tape the last box and clean the tub one last time. The tub where Teddy had his first bath. The bedroom where he first slept. The living room where he first crawled. The dining area where he first ate. The kitchen where his first bottle was made.

The first home he ever came home to.

Teddy will not remember these four walls and two windows. But I hope that one day he will spy a fire truck and it will remind him, somewhere deep inside, of his first home.

(Pictures brought to you by Papa Bob and Behr Sly Fox Red and our new dining room.)

Thankful Thursday

For Cheerios

For Moms

For ice

For home

For rest

How to really love a child

Be there. Say yes as often as you can. Let them bang on pots and pans. If they're crabby, put them in water. Read books out loud with joy. Go find elephants and kiss them. Encourage silly. Giggle alot. Remember how really small they are. Search out the positive. Keep the gleam in your eye. Go see a movie in your pyjamas. Teach feelings. Realize how important it is to be a child. Plan to build a rocketship. Stop yelling. Invent pleasures together. Surprise them. Express your love. Alot.

Children are miraculous. 

~ Sark

This won't be forever

When it's midnight and then 3am and then 4:30am and then 5:47am, and you are crying out, I try to remember this won't be forever. One day you will sleep. And I will too.

When you open the drawer for the 10th time in 30 seconds, and you laugh as I tell you "no," I try to remember this won't be forever. One day you won't find drawer-contents so interesting. And I won't either.

When I find a new way to make you laugh, by playing hot potato with a rattle, I try to remember this won't be forever. One day you will find me insufferable. And I may too.

When you relax into my arms, belly full and eyes heavy, I try to remember this won't be forever. One day you won't need me to rock you to sleep. And I will miss it.

This. Today. It won't be forever. And that, my son, it the very definition of bittersweet.

Thankful Thursday

For fro-yo

For water views 

For shade trees

For home delivery

For laughing babies

Scenes

 Bucket hats and jogging strollers

Future beer-snob

 New tricks 

 Favorite toys

 First meal in our new house!

 (We're klassy like that)

Hip-riding Ergo style