Oh, hi. I totally forgot about the blog. What with the sick kids, the Thanksgiving dinner, and the sick mama today. Throw in several Christmas trees, my first Etsy sale (yay!), and a mantle full of Santas, and I was just too busy to even think about blogging.
I haven't said much about what I'm thankful for this much, but I have a lot for which I'm thankful. Starting right here at the kids' table. We had a kids' table at Thanksgiving. With the four most awesome kids I know.
Look at this. How she has made herself be on the level of the children. She is looking at what has captured their attention. She is explaining the how and why of the science.
A few months ago, there was this emotional disaster. It was my hair that served as the proverbial straw.
Here's the thing. I didn't admit because it is tres embarrassing. You see, there was a picture of a haircut that I took when I chopped my locks. It wasn't Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts.
It was Kristen Chase.
(pausing to die of embarrassment)
I'll be the first one to tell you that I adore her. I've stated many times that hers was the first blog I ever read. But I can also say that I don't want to BE her. Not like creepy stalker BE.
I just liked her haircut.
Of course, on me, it looked like a mullet, but that's water under the bridge.
There is something FAR MORE PRODUCTIVE that I am going to copy from Kristen now. And that is a donation to Cricket's Answer for Cancer.
While we wait for answers, action, movement - wait to be lifted from limbo - I'll collect your comments. For every comment you leave, I'll donate $1 to Cricket's Answer up to $100. I'm pretty sure I can scrape that together in these tight times. It might require me to hit up Craigslist for some random selling of stuff, but I'll brave it.
It's a great cause. Cricket's Answer is teaming up with LympheDIVAs to provide medically necessary, yet not covered by insurance, compression sleeves for the lymphedema that so many breast cancer survivors experience post mastectomy.
$100 will require all five of my readers to make up different accounts and each comment 20 times. It will also provide just one sleeve, but one sleeve that someone didn't have before.
So. You can leave me a comment and send a dollar. Then, you can click over to Kristen and leave a comment and send another dollar. THEN, you could decide to write a post in this same vein and donate your own dollars. You know. If you wanna.
I'll leave comments open on this post until I wake up Thursday morning. I would say something fancy and professional like Kristen, and close them at 12 EST Wednesday, but I think we've established that I'm no Kristen Chase.
Oh, and GO TEAM WHYMOMMY!!!
So there was a break in the shamoopie fest yesterday. You see, part of previous shamoopie fests have resulted in multiple children, and sometimes, they tend to rule my days. That, and I couldn't find the cord to my old Viao anywhere, and it is the only computer I know how to edit video on. Oh, the grammar I have already destroyed in this post. Awesome.
Today is the day. Our anniversary. This time four years ago, we were packing the car and heading to Montreat, North Carolina, to have the perfect wedding. A couple of friends, a cake from Square Rabbit, a couple of pairs of Birkenstocks, and a stream in the world's most beautiful mountains. The only thing it was missing was our families.
This morning, I've gotten up early with the boys. We'll go pick up our mini wedding cake from Square Rabbit, go get our CSA vegetables, and then go to Stella's fourth birthday party. We'll do all of this together as a family. As much as a nice anniversary date with my husband sounds nice in theory, I have to admit - I'm so grateful to have Kevin as the father of my children - that I wouldn't want to spend the day any other way. There will be time for babysitters later. Right now, I'm enjoying our life as husband and wife - as parents.
Thank you for loving me, Kev. Happy Anniversary. Here's a little Buddy Miller diddy that makes me think back to our dating days. Next year, I'm fully anticipating recording something for you NOT on the Flip camera turned sideways on the piano. Heh.
My husband is far too hard on himself. This house has been far too hard on him. The addition hasn't gone the way he planned for it to go, and he blames himself. There is someone far more appropriate to blame, but since we aren't actually finished dealing with him, I can't talk about it yet.
When I say that I wish the fence was up so I don't have to see the overgrown bamboo, that is really all I mean. I don't mean, "I wish the fence was up, but my husband is a lazy ass who hasn't gotten around to it." But that's what he hears.
I can understand why. This is his project. His dream for our family. This recording studio will be a place where he and I can work together on music just like we've wanted to do since we got together. When I complain, he takes it personally.
With as much nonsense as I take personally, I can certainly allow him that.
But for the record, I don't think this is his fault. I don't blame him for it not being finished, going over budget, or taking up all of our free time. What I see when I look at this behemoth of an addition is Kevin's ability to dream big and persevere.
I see his desire to provide for his family. His talent with power tools. His ability to envision a finished project. Especially that one, since I can't even envision a new paint color on the walls.
I know that before our fifth anniversary, we will be finished with the house (but probably not the landscaping - sorry, neighbors), and it will be lovely.
So for all the times I've gotten bent out of shape over this, I apologize. I love you, and I'm proud to be married to someone who can build his own dream. You are amazing.
Our song from 2009:
Saturday will be our fourth anniversary. In four short years, my life has done a complete 180 degree turn around into a life I didn't know I wanted. Only, I didn't know I wanted it because I didn't know the possibilities.
Kevin and I are a lucky couple. We started seeing each other about five years ago. We were both recently separated, and our quick coupling caused quite the commotion. Rumors soared about the length of our relationship and our fidelity in our previous marriages. Rumors.
Sometimes badness leads to goodness though. It wasn't an easy road, but there isn't a night that goes by that I don't reach over, run my fingers through his hair, and thank God that Kevin was brought into my life.
In four short years we have
It is finally sinking in why mamas get baby fever. After Christopher, I didn't have baby fever. I knew that I wanted another baby, but it was more practical than feverish. I really wanted two little ones in the house at the same time. I wanted them to be siblings close in age.
But now, Colin is sitting up. He reaches for me after I unbuckle his carseat straps. He reaches to turn pages in a book. His gums are swollen from the teeth that are considering making an appearance soon.
He is not my little baby anymore, and I don't know where the time went.
When I was a mama for the first time, the days and weeks, hell - the hours - drug on like a Jim Jarmusch film. It took forever for me to get comfortable and confident with going out in public. It took forever for me to feel like I could gracefully nurse my new baby. It took forever for me to settle into life as a dyad, a coupled unit with my firstborn son.
When Christopher turned six months old, it felt like an entire lifetime to me. So much had changed, and I had endured the tempest of the trial by fire education of a first time mama. It was a relief to get to six months.
As a second time mama though, things have been entirely different. Colin's birth serves as a beautiful metaphor for how I feel with him. We were immediately attached. Connected. We never broke that dyad bond after he was born, so we never had to reform it. It was just there.
Realize here, that I'm not comparing my sons. I'm comparing my mothering. That's completely different than comparing my children.
After Colin was born, we were back home in a matter of hours. It was as if he had just magically appeared into our lives - as if he had always been there. Christopher was just at a morning playdate, and when it was time to come home and eat lunch, well shucks - his baby brother was miraculously there.
And it's been that way ever since, leaving the days and weeks - and hours - to simply fly past. It's not that I'm not noticing milestones, it's just that I can't believe they've already come and gone.
First time mama was so frustrated if the baby wasn't asleep at a certain time. Second time mama is just proud that the baby has finally started napping on his own every now and then. He'll sleep when he's ready.
First time mama was ready to feed the baby rice cereal exactly two weeks before his six month appointment. Second time mama is just amused at the way the baby pushes his banana around on the tray and licks it. He'll eat when he's ready.
First time mama was trying to figure out how to get to BlogHer with the baby and still feel connected to her old self. Second time mama is just happy to be at home with her family and still feel connected to her whole self. I'll venture out when both boys are ready.
It's strange. On the one hand, I feel so relaxed; like there is time for everything. On the other hand, I feel like time is slipping away; like my baby is growing up a million times faster than his big brother did. I can blink and get a glimpse of next year, and the next, and the ones not too far away when Mallory is leaving for college, Christopher is starting school, Colin is more than a toddler, and I'm turning 40.
Life is becoming a fly by for me in some ways, and I'm grateful - because it's my children who gave me my wings.
Look at you. Five months old already. I don't know how the time has passed so quickly. You've been sitting up for almost a month now. It amazes me.
You have this hearty, throaty belly laugh that when accompanied by that huge open mouth grin you like to flash makes my heart completely melt.
We still co-sleep, and if for some reason I leave you sleeping in your daddy's lap and go to bed without you, I miss you terribly. It's the one good thing about the house not being finished yet. There is no pressure for you to go to your own room because you still don't have one yet.
I'm sorry that you've been sick so much. This morning, you vomited twice after you woke up, simply from all of the mucous you swallowed during the night. I don't know why you and I are having such a hard time kicking stomach bugs and colds, because you are certainly a breastfed baby. But we are both having a hard time staying well. You are a really good sport about it though. Thank you for that.
You have already stopped looking like a little clone of your big brother. I thought for a few months there that I was going to have identical twins, two years apart. You've come into your own though, and I apologize profusely for the ears I have passed on to you. You will most likely get teased over them until your hair grows in to offset them a little bit.
Right. And you are still so very very bald. That just means I can nuzzle your head all the more.
I read all about how I would have room in my heart for both of my boys. It's not that I thought otherwise - I knew I would love all of my children - but I didn't realize how much all of that love would grow. My whole life has become submerged in the depth of love I have for my children.
So your brother, sweet Bird, made me who I am, but you, my little Squeak, you complete me.
You are my littlest love.
I didn't think I would get to be a mother.
In my first marriage there were plans of adoption, disappointment, plans of insemination, and more disappointment. Then, there was an end to that marriage. That's the extremely short and shallow version.
Kevin is my proof of grace in this life. The reason that anyone gets to wish me, "Happy Mother's Day."
On a day where we honor our moms, I find myself wanting to shower my husband with adoration. He saw me for who I am, where I was, and loves me still even with all of my flaws. He trusted me to have his sons and provides for us so that I can stay home with them. He sees us as partners in parenting, making it only my "job" for the time that he is at his "job."
So thanks, Kevin. Thanks for knocking me up a few times. Thanks for being my support in pregnancy, birth, labor, and postpartum. Thanks for being the daddy-half. Thanks for loving me and loving your children like you do.
Happy Mother's Day to us.
This is how I started Bird's birth story, and I think it still applies with some minor edits:
I'm reminded more and more that this space, though shared with many, is still first and foremost a personal journal. So as I begin this journey through becoming the mother of two, I'll most likely drone on and on. Don't feel badly to skip some posts, come back later, or even just skim. I'm going to just record it all for the record.
For the record, for my record, the very long birth story about about a not so long birth.
It was noon on a Saturday. The day before my due date. I realized that I had forgotten to get a baby book for Squeak, and I had library books to return (which are still in my car at this moment), so we loaded up the family and headed to Borders with plans to go by the library after that.
I'm walking through the bookstore, mumbling to myself that they are always moving things around when I became uncomfortably aware that my water had broken. A quick escape to the bathroom and a couple of curses at my unpreparedness confirmed it for me. I came out with a sheepish grin on my face, and Kevin didn't even have to ask.
"You're kidding me," he said.
He wanted to bolt and started rounding up Lovely and Bird. I wanted to buy the dang baby book I had come for, and I did. It's not the most wonderful baby book in the world, but at least he has one. Maybe he was just waiting on me to buy him one before he came.
We grabbed some lunch at a drive thru and headed for the house. I called the midwife and my doula to let them know that my water had broken, but that I didn't have any contractions. It was just like Bird's beginning except that I wasn't freaked out by it, and I didn't have a jackass OB telling me that it was a worst case scenario to have no contractions and have my water broken.
I made a list of things to encourage labor to get on with it. The midwife had suggestions and so did Julie, our doula. I sent Kevin to Whole Foods to get me some more raspberry leaf tea and a king cake. The king cake didn't have anything to do with labor, but it was awfully yummy. I sat on the birthing ball and bounced. I walked steps. We did some other things that are none of yo' beezwax.
By 7:00 or so, there was still nothing, and the midwife started talking castor oil. I really didn't want to go there, but I was willing. She gave me until the morning to do it because she wanted me to get a good night's sleep.
Julie paid lip service to the good night's sleep as well, but confided in us that she had taken a nap in preparation because she knew that as soon as I lay down to go to sleep, the contractions would start. She showed us some acupressure points, and told us to call her when contractions were coming 10 minutes apart for an hour.
From that point on, it was like whatever was suggested, my body took as a command. I went to bed around 10:30 and wasn't there 5 minutes before I had a contraction. By 12:30, we were calling the midwife to let her know they had been 10 minutes apart for a little over an hour. She said to call back when they were 5 minutes apart for an hour. The very next one came at five minutes, lasted for 2 minutes, and an hour after the first call, Kevin was making the second call while jumping into his blue jeans.
Meanwhile, I was changing the sheets for our neighbor, Cyndi, who was coming over to stay so we wouldn't have to wake the kids in the middle of the night. I did forget to leave out a clean towel for her, but I think I can get a pass on that.
I gathered up our meal for after labor, a Trader Joe's Moroccan chicken dinner, some juices, bananas, and the bags I had packed three weeks ago, and we hit the road.
Halfway to the Birth Center, the contractions had me gripping the door handle so hard I thought I might pull it off. They were way different than the ones at home. When we arrived, we parked in the back where I thought we were supposed to, and couldn't get in the building. After a phone call and a few more contractions, I finally just started beating on the door. Turns out, we could have just walked around to the front.
When we got inside, I tried laying down on the bed again to get some rest. Lee Ann, the midwife on call, checked me and declared (once again) that I had a lovely pelvis, which is nice to hear when you are aware that it is about to have to squeeze out a small watermelon. She also declared me to be pretty well effaced and about 3 cm. I was disappointed in the 3 cm, and assumed that we had a hella long road ahead of us. Lee Ann went to take a nap, because I think she assumed the same thing.
It was a little after 3:00 AM at this point.
By 3:27, I was standing up and having trouble focusing through contractions that were coming about 3 minutes apart and giving me just enough time to vomit in between them.
By 3:31, I was trying with all my might to subliminally will Kevin to put me in the car, take me to UNC and get me a freaking epidural.
It was best for me to quit watching the clock at this point. So I did.
The fear though, was that it was going to be like this for another 10 hours. I figured that 3 cm and my dang marathon labor with Bird were indicators that Squeak wasn't going to pop out for a good long time. I didn't think I could do what we were doing for much longer.
Julie kept saying to take it one contraction at a time. I heard her. I tried to heed it. I'm not sure how successful I was, but it was the only way to make it.
Some time before 5:00 AM, I asked to be checked again. Jewel, the midwife who was on nurse shift for the night, presented a brilliant diversion of the tub. I agreed to get in the tub. I needed to get off my feet, and I couldn't sit or lay down, so the tub seemed like a great plan to me. Much better than the plan I had concocted of getting checked, finding out I was only 4 cm, and running for my life towards the nearest medical intervention.
They started running the water in the tub, and it was like someone had put headphones over my ears and turned up the volume to eleven. It was so loud, and I couldn't keep to a low moan during contractions because I wanted to drown out that sound. I don't know why it was so awful, but it was. Finally, the tub was ready. I've seen women be all prepared and leave on their bras or a swim top or something. I just stripped completely naked and got in, trying to beat the next contraction.
As soon as I got in the water, my body gave me a five minute break. I slept soundly for five minutes. I only know it was five minutes because that's what they told me. It felt like an hour. That sleep was broken by a manageable contraction, which was then followed by the most freaked out I have ever been in my life.
I don't know how I came up with the scenario in my mind, but even though I knew I was going to be allowed to push naturally and with the rhythm within my own body, for some reason, I still thought that they were going to tell me when to start doing that.
Um, no.
The second tub contraction, I found myself pushing with all my might. The shadowing nurse jumped up and ran to get Lee Ann. She had just asked me if I was feeling some pressure, and I didn't answer her. I was trying to figure out what I was feeling when WHAM! Pushing.
All of the sudden I didn't feel the contractions anymore, but I knew when I should be pushing. I could feel his head almost immediately. Kevin grabbed one leg, giving me resistance to push against, while some of the other team members grabbed the other. I kept pushing and not getting him out until Lee Ann told me that there was a drop in his heart rate and I had to get it done.
At some point, Kevin thought it would be a good idea to document this water birth with a flashing camera. All he got was a blurry picture of me flipping him off and telling him to, "Cut it the f*** out!" Nice of me. I also remember screaming at anyone in earshot to "Take. Him. OUT!" because I was certain that there was plenty for them to grab and just pull. Crazy, I know.
Time was morphing. I thought for sure I was pushing forever, but really it was only about 15 minutes before I finally felt Squeak's head make it through. It was quickly followed by a chunky little body which before I could sigh with relief, was placed on my chest.
While the cord was pulsing, the team tried to get Squeak to cry. I'm not sure if there was tension or worry, because I was just soaking in the warmth and squishiness of my new son. But they kept at it until Squeak finally let out one good "WAH!" and then was quiet and content again.
After the placenta was delivered (which by the way, is really messy to do in the tub), I passed the little guy over to his daddy, who was ready for skin to skin (I love that man) with his new son.
I got out of the tub and dried off. Walked to the bed and sat down, watching my big man and little man bond. The midwife checked me out and declared me tear-free. Not a single stitch was needed, which amazed me since it felt like my vagina was turning inside out and being ripped apart.
We nursed. We rested a little bit. I got hungry, and NOT for Moroccan chicken. After all, it was morning. Kevin went out and got us breakfast.
The thing is, all of this post delivery stuff - I'm telling it like it's mundane. But it was the unknown bonus to Squeak's non-medicated entry into this world. I was knocked out from Bird's birth. Stayed in the hospital for two more nights and then took another week at home to be able to move around painlessly.
I was totally ready to go home about five hours after Squeak was born. It was awesome. Bird barely knew we were gone. He just had a lovely morning playdate with his BFF, Pippi, and then we were home with his baby brother.
I think the biggest difference in the whole experience is that I surrounded myself with people I trusted and put myself in an environment where I felt safe. I didn't go into the experience feeling like I would have to fight for simple things like being allowed to eat or drink if I was hungry. I was confident and had visualized the experience over and over again as positive and successful.
The whole thing was as close to perfect as I could have hoped for, except for the end result, which is far more perfect than I ever dreamed.
Welcome to the world, Little Squeak.
The silence doesn't mean much. It's just me turning inward a little, focusing on the job I have to do in the next couple of weeks. Focusing on the tangible now.
There was drama on the interwebs, and I knew that my emotional state and my big mouth needed to take a break. Step away for a little bit so that I could not waste my energy on fighting a battle that would soon dissipate into thin air as people simply moved on from it.
Besides, I have a job to do.
Week 37 presented with contraction after contraction. My face broke out, my tummy was upset, and I felt ready. So ready that I almost said "yes, come on" to my heart friend who I would love to be here for the birth. I'm glad I didn't though, because my littlest is still tucked warmly inside my belly, waiting on just the right moment to appear.
Week 38 presented with hardly any contractions and the energy to get some things clean around here. Kevin helped me with the kitchen, even cleaning off the bookcase which until now was simultaneously displaying my favorite Gail Pittman pieces, his favorite power tools, and a pound or two of dust. I am so happy to have it back to being pretty.
Week 39 is here. My littlest is a little less active; he tends to squirm most when I'm trying to sleep of course. I am peaceful. He will get here, one way or another, and within the next three weeks. I'm comfortable with all of the midwives. I have my bags packed. I have wonderful friends who are standing by to help us.
I'm into savoring.
Savoring each nursing session with Little Bird, as I don't know when it will be his last time not to have to share me. Savoring each morning that I get to roll over and lay on Kevin's chest while we snuggle and listen to the chit chat over the baby monitor. Savoring each turn and stretch that I feel inside me as I remind myself that this is what life is about now. No matter what parts of me remain - musician, arts advocate, teacher - the parts I love most are wife and mother.
The last days as a family of four are precious to me. I'm savoring them as best I can because once we become that family of five, I know that it will immediately replace these days as the best days of my life.
Kevin has declared 2009 the year in which nothing was finished. My new shiny outlook gets to declare 2009 the year in which many things began.
Either way, we still have major construction going on at our house.
It's going to be lovely when it's done.
That's my mantra. I say it three times as I breath slowly and stare out the back into the mud and mess. Really, it's not that bad. It is going to be lovely, and Rob, our contractor, is an amazing miracle worker. Truly.
2010 will be the year for finishing a lot of thing though. The house will get finished. Our family will be complete. Kevin will finish up a lot of lingering projects at work. He's really looking forward to it.
I'm okay with not being finished though. I'm kind of looking forward to starting a bunch more new things in 2010. Here are a few that come to mind:
1. Becoming a mama of two boys.
2. Learning to live without the extreme highs and lows I've had.
3. Tandem nursing.
4. Writing and recording again finally.
5. Getting back in shape.
Lovely will be starting high school. Little Bird will be starting multiple days of preschool. And my littlest boy will be starting life.
So here's to never completely finishing and finding plenty of new things to start in 2010.
Happy New Year, everyone.
Little Bird's big sister is 13. You wouldn't know it by hanging out with her - at least, not in the stereotypical 13 year old girl way. She is rarely moody, does what she is asked, and loves to spend time with her little brother. We really couldn't ask for more.
I was surprised that she didn't ask to do anything with her friends for Halloween. I asked her if they were getting together or having a party or anything. She rattled off different plans that they all had, but didn't mention missing out on anything. Hadn't she wanted to go do something with them on Halloween?
"No," she said. "I wanted to go trick-or-treating with Bird."
Cue me melting into a gooey mess of warm fuzzies.
They are two peas in a pod. Just so you can get a small glimpse of the joy my wonderful children fill this house with, here is a video of them pretending to eat their daddy's feet. The laughter is beyond contagious.
There are few people who come into your life as friends and then remain that way forever. Sure, I've reconnected with plenty of people on Facebook, but there are less than ten there who I've been friends with for ten straight years.
A lot of that is my fault. I decided to try and completely fuck up my life in my 20's, thereby rendering me not such a good friend. Truthfully, it wasn't so much a decision as a series of really bad decisions. Including my choices in new friends.
In fact, in my collection of Facebook friends, there is a time warp of about 8 years. I have high school friends, a handful of college friends, and then jump ahead to 2005. With a couple of exceptions.
One shining exception is Uncle Dave. He has graduated from his old nickname of Tattoo Dave because he really is more family than friend.
This past weekend, Uncle Dave came for a visit. He lives in Portland now, and we miss him a lot. The last time we saw him was when we took off to Portland for a weekend to see Dave and Crowded House. It was almost two years ago to the weekend, and I was almost exactly the same amount of pregnant then as I am now. Funny.
Little Bird had never met Uncle Dave. He has seen pictures, and he has heard Dave's music. Here he is head bobbing along to one of Dave's tunes:
I love that.
Uncle Dave, who really would be a wonderful Daddy Dave with the right Mommy, got to spend lots of time with Bird, and Bird couldn't have loved him more. He was fascinated, and I know that he misses him now.
I know this because when he picked up his pretend phone today, he didn't call Papa for the first time in forever.
He called Dave. "Day-ahve?" Multi-syllabic Dave has earned a treasured spot in Bird's imaginary phone calls.
It's a good man and a good friend who stays your friend through divorce, remarriage, and then not only tolerates your toddler, but actually enjoys spending time with him. Could the universe please explain why he hasn't been snatched up already?
After my oldest dog, Chelsea, died in December, Bird seemed to lose interest in dogs for awhile. The other dogs are so much bigger than Chelsea was, and with Bird just learning to walk, he was leary of them.
I can't say that I blame him. Gibson and his big chocolate lab tail can still knock him down with one exuberant wag.
This summer, he has become inseparable from the two big dummies, as we affectionately call them. "Dog" is constantly coming out of his mouth.
He hears them in the backyard, barking, and he runs to the door to help let them in.
He likes to help feed them by carrying their bowls to the utility room where we keep their food.
He also like to help them eat by squatting next to their bowls and putting the little pieces of kibble that they drop back into the bowl for them.
This week, Bird learned how to give them cookies. Now, he will go into the kitchen and put both arms up towards the cookie jar and say "dogdogdogdogdog" until I get two dog biscuits for him to share with his best friends.
I think I love it best when he sits with them on the dog beds. Just one of the pups.
I think the Setter loves him too.
I don't want to sleep there, I'm not particularly interested in peeing there, and I certainly don't want to cook there, but I do love the woods. I love mountains specifically, and I love streams.
I'm not sure why we don't do more hiking. We have the dogs for it. We have the kid for it. We have the love for it. We just don't get around to it.
Kevin is a doer. There is always a project either in full swing or in planning mode. It is one thing I love about him. He finishes what he starts, and he starts big things. His plans are not lightly made nor are they easy to finish. Right now, he is adding onto the house. Just he and the contractor. When he comes home from work , he works some more. On the weekends, he's building. I'm excited for the new spaces, but I think I am more excited for him to finish so that I have some of his time and attention back.
All this to say, I think this is why we don't hike. We do things together as much as possible, but this is a stage in our life where Kevin is determined to get things in order. I love him for that. I miss him, but I love him.
While we were in the mountains, I had him back to myself one day. He wanted to know what I wanted to do, and I chose this hike. We packed a backpack full of snacks, water, and diapers. The dogs got to tag along and tap into their inner hunters. Gibby ran out about 10 feet ahead with his tail pointed straight up. He even helped corral Little Bird when he got too far ahead of us.
We miss a turn along the way - rather, I missed a turn, and we ended up about 40 minutes off track. Luckily, we had also packed our Babyhawk, so tired Bird could ride on his daddy's back when he got tired. And after playing nekkid in the creek for awhile?
Bird was really really tired.
It was a great day with my boys, my dogs, and a trail in the mountains.
Today is our third anniversary. Three years ago today, Kevin and I jumped head first into marriage. The months preceding our impromptu nuptials were set to a Damien Rice soundtrack as we spent every moment we possibly could together. We were so surprised to find each other. So surprised to fall in love so quickly and so deeply.
One of our songs. For you, Kevin. You are truly the love of my life.
I know I haven't posted in over a week. I was totally wrong about being over the plague last time. It was just some weird two hour break and then things got way worse. Aside from my sinuses still cleaning out and the persistent cough, I am well now, and there are pictures and stories to post. But not today.
Today belongs to Leanne, Daniel, Lydia, and Rena.
I have been reading Daniel's words since January 2007, and openly weeped at my computer this morning because I am so very happy for them.
Congratulations to an amazing family.
When Little bird was 7 weeks old, I started taking him to Music Together classes. Some insane idea that I should be "doing something" with him. At 7 weeks old. I'm crazy, but I mean well.
Maybe though, it's not as crazy as I thought. Today, at just shy of 17 months, Little Bird serenaded us with "Trot Old Joe." It may be that the only people who appreciate this are Liz and Kristin, but that's alright.
The song goes like this:
Trot, Old Joe. Trot, Old Joe.
You ride better than any horse I know.
Trot, Old Joe. Trot, Old Joe.
You're the best horse in the country, ohhhhh
Whoooooaaaaaa, Joe.
The "Trot, old Joe." part is, "Mi-Do-Do," or a descending major third. Today, it was the last song we heard in the car on our way home from the grocery store. When we got inside, Bird started dancing around the kitchen singing, "Doo, doo doo" in the rhythm and pitch of "Trot, old Joe." He did this several times and then threw his head back and sang, "Whooooaaaaa!"
Just to show me that I wasn't making out something that wasn't there, he did it again at dinner. After he was finished eating, he started singing again. Kevin immediately recognized that Bird was singing an actual song, because it was. Of course by the end of Bird's impromptu concert, he was doing only one "Doo doo doo" before throwing his head back in an enthusiastic "Whooooaaaa!"
He has been trying to do the pitch and rhythm echo exercises at the end of certain songs on our Music Together cd's for awhile. But tonight - an actual song.
My little singer. He already knows how to play my heart strings.
