We are all just fine

Today was Little Bird's first day of school. Technically, it's Mother's Morning Out, but since he can't say all of that, but can say "school," we're going with that.

Last night, I melted down. His backpack hadn't arrived yet. I hadn't even bought him a lunchbox because it hadn't occurred to me that he needed one - I was thinking brown bag, but he needed a freezer pack thermal thing for his milk. I hadn't washed the outfit I really wanted him to wear, and I hadn't packed up the things from his room before I put him to bed.

I felt like a failure, and I didn't want to be away from my little boy for four hours. It was going to be the longest I had been away from him while he was awake, and all of the sudden, I didn't want to take him.

There were excuses I could have used. He is cutting his canines and between the pain in his mouth and his torn up drool stool bottom, he really is very uncomfortable. That would have been a good excuse. But it would have been just that: an excuse.

It came down to reminding myself that this was going to be good for Bird. He needs to learn a little more independence. He needs to learn how to play well with others.

He was going to have fun. It was just me who was dreading it.

This morning, I packed his lunch in his daddy's lunchbox. It was just fine. I packed his diapers and extra clothes in his daddy's tres cool diaper bag. It was just fine. I dressed him in a different outfit than planned, and it was just fine.

We arrived a few minutes early, and while I was filling in the daily information sheet, he figured out the door handle to his room and let himself in. A teacher came to the door before I could catch him and brought him back to me.

"Just five more minutes, okay?"

Bird whimpered. He whimpered because he wanted to go inside and play. There were other children whimpering because they didn't.

When it was finally time for him to go in, he went willingly into his teacher's arms. I think that he looked back for an instant, but I might have just made that up to make it easier for me to walk away. He was just fine.

I came back, four hours later, to find him running circles, chasing about a dozen balls. The other children were watching the door for their mommies, but not Bird. He would have preferred to stay with the wonderful room full of balls. Mean, mean Mama, drug him away from paradise. He didn't miss me at all. He had a wonderful time.

And I'm just fine.

Labor Day

Of course, Labor Day is for laboring.

That's my husband. With power tools.

That's a giant hole in my dining room. To the outside.

Life with Kevin is never, ever boring.

Excavating by Bird

There has been a bit of construction going on in our backyard. Our good friend Tom owns his own tractor like thing, and he loves to move dirt with it.

We have lots of dirt to move, so that works out well for all of us.

I don't know many 19 month olds in suburbia American who get to ride a tractor around their backyard. Uncle Tom is the coolest.

And yes, I'm enormous. I'm well aware of this, but really don't plan on curing it until late January, 2010. So, I might as well enjoy it while I can. Even if the pictures are frightening.

Letters

Dear Blue Cross Blue Shield,

Thank you for having not one, but two very nice ladies available to help me over the phone today. I now understand better why I had to shell out a large chunk of money for my one routine ultrasound that is supposed to be included in my global maternity plan.

While your customer service people were nice and helpful, it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting screwed here. Having switched from an OB to a midwife will save you a huge amounts of money. The three days that I won't spend in the hospital this time? Will save you a huge amount of money. All of the decisions that I am making in this pregnancy happen to save you huge amounts of money.

So why is it that it's costing me so much more?

Sincerely,
Just another American frustrated with health care and insurance companies


Dear Jardin people,

You make a lovely crib. I did not mean to break it when I was so pissed off earlier today. I now know that I can't yank the rail up that hard. At least not without breaking the little plastic parts on the bottom.

The fact that you are sending me the new parts free of charge and so quickly is very nice, and it makes me wonder if you realize that it's my own damn fault the thing broke in the first place.

Sincerely,
A mommy who seriously needs a break


Dear Glenn,

I'm guessing that working at Babies'R'Us in the furniture department is not your dream job. Maybe you had your sights set on something white collar, 8-5, that came with a company car. I don't know. Maybe, you are really good at retail.

However, I for one, am grateful that you work there. You probably just thought you were doing your job, but unless your job description includes dealing with insanely hormonal pregnant women who cry on the phone to you while their toddlers scream and throw things in the background? Unless it includes that, you went way above and beyond today.

I didn't know the brand, the model number, or where it was made. You knew your cribs so well, that you helped me identify it over the phone by describing a couple of specific parts on it. When you realized that I still had one child using the crib, you asked if you could call me back so you could see if there were parts you could take off a crib in stock so I could have them today.

When you couldn't actually get the parts for me today, you instead gave me the part numbers and phone number and everything else I needed to order them myself so they would get to me faster. You did pretty much everything but come to my house and dial the phone for me.

My day sucked. You not only helped my fix Bird's crib, you helped fix my day. I should probably tell your boss.

Sincerely,
That same mommy who seriously needs a break

My boys

Dear Little Bean,

I think you need a new name. I'm not sure what it's going to be yet, but Butterbean just doesn't fit you. You, the kicking, twisting, must be made known, you.

You actually do have a new name. As of today, we know what we will call you when you are born because we know that you are a boy. Oh boy, do we know you are a boy.

The ultrasound tech didn't have that wand on my tummy for more that 5 seconds when you mooned us, threw your legs open, and showed us all of your glory. She didn't have to tell us what you were; I started laughing and said, "Is that what I think it is?" And it was. My little exhibitionist.

I guess it's safe to say now how very much I wanted you to be a boy. There are both pragmatic and emotional reasons involved. The pragmatic is obvious: I already have all the clothes you need in the proper season. Score.

The emotional reasons are a little more complicated. One reason is that I didn't want for your big sister to feel like she was being replaced with a new little girl. Maybe she wouldn't have. She's pretty amazing, and I think - I hope - that she is secure in how much she is loved. But I'm glad for that reason.

Also, knowing that you are a little boy reassures me that I know what to do with you. While I know that you won't come out just a carbon copy of your big brother, I feel like I know how to love a little boy and take care of a little boy. That might never make sense to you, since you won't ever be somebody's mama, but it makes sense to me.

My heart melts when I think about "my boys" now. I love saying it. I love finding reasons to say it. I can't wait until you get here and I get to say, "Today, me and the boys . . . " which is of course terrible grammar, but I love the way it sounds.

My boys. My boys.

My heart.

I am so in for it.

Love,
Your Mama

The kid's gonna be alright

I hover. It comes naturally to me. A smidge of control freak mixed in with an annoying amount of always being right sets poor Little Bird up for a lifetime of me up in his business.

Already, I'm consciously trying to let go where I can. He runs in the play area at the pool while I watch without chasing. He climbs up and goes down the Little Tykes slide without me holding his hand. He is learning everyday how to do more without me hovering.

This weekend, I stopped by my favorite maternity store to see what might be on sale and capable of making me feel cute - in other words, miracles. She keeps some toys in a little play area. Bird remembered right where they were and ran to them, leaving me to shop blissfully. It's a very small store, so I didn't think twice about leaving him to play while I tried on tops in the dressing room right next to the play area.

There were also two sisters there with their mother and a little girl who was about three. One of the sisters was pregnant and shopping, the other left to go to the china shop next door, and the grandma was giving fashion advice. Bird and the little girl were playing.

At least, I thought they were.

The little girl looked so sweet in her smocked dress with matching hair bow. It never occurred to me that she was a little three year old piranha.

As I was checking out, Bird came over and stood by me. The little girl followed him and started to whack him in the face with her fists. I let out an instinctive, "No," as I scooped up my child who was just standing there, being pummeled.

It happens. I wasn't upset, and I didn't think ill of the girl or her grandma. It could have just as easily been my child who has thrown a tantrum over a train. I just picked him up, and we moved on. No big deal.

Until we got home and I noticed his arm.

Bright red bite mark. Clear as day. It could have been used to trace her through dental records if needed. That little girl bit my Bird. Hard.

At first, I was all over myself about not watching him closely enough. How could I have let that happen? I made vows all night long to never let him out of my sight again - to never let go of his hand - to never stop hovering.

Then, the next morning, the bite mark was gone.

It dawned on me that he was alright. That really, he was going to be alright.

In a couple of weeks, we go to Mother's Morning Out for the first time. Bird won't just be out of my sight, he'll be out of my reach. I'll pack his lunch and backpack, and drop him off. As in leave him. As in get back in my car and drive away without him.

He might get pummeled. He might get bit on the arm. Or, God forbid, he might be the pummeler or the biter. I don't know what will happen.

But I do know that he is going to be alright.

To my dance partner

Dear Butterbean,

Next week we find out if you are a boy or a girl. I'm very excited. If you are a boy, then I have a lot less work to do to get ready for you. If you are a girl, then we get to use the name that I love so much for you.

I will be happy either way.

Last night you kept me awake as I lay in bed next to your daddy. The little flutter dance you did was undoubtedly adorable, if not just slightly ill-timed. I was alright with it though, because I'm enjoying having you show me your presence.

One of your brother's favorite words is "baby." He has noticed my protruding belly, and likes to poke it. A lot. So, I taught him to say "baby" when he pokes it or when I ask him what is in my belly. It's much better than people just thinking that he's poking my beer gut.

Every night we pray for you and we pray for all the people we know who are expecting new babies. When Bird hears "Ms. Heather and Mr. Mike," or "Ms. Tara," he stops nursing just long enough to say "Baby!" I hope that his enthusiasm for babies continues after you get here.

You will have a lot of people love you when you come into this world. You know, you have a lot of people who love you already.

Keep dancing, little one.

Love,
Your Mama

Best friends

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.

Nemesis

He's taunting me. I leave the front door open to let in the sunlight through the storm door. When I walk by, he doesn't budge. He dares me to come running out the door, cursing and waving my fists at him.

Sometimes I chase him all the way to the dogwood tree, shaking it until he runs up into the neighboring pine.

Sometimes I just sigh in defeat and kick the storm door. Those times, he sits still on the railing, staring me down, never missing a beat in the rhythmic devouring of the leaf he has stripped from my hibiscus.

I hate that damn squirrel.

"Squirrel" is the newest word in Little Bird's vocabulary. He has learned to go to the front door and yell it out to me, just to see me come running to save another branch of my soon to be naked topiaries. He steps aside and chants, "Squirrel, squirrel, squirrel," rolling the r's in that odd little baby way that he does. He likes it when I make it all the way to the tree shaking.

Gibson stands next to him, drooling. I should let him take care of that squirrel.

It was only the one on the right for awhile. However, today, when I opened the front door for the first time, there he was, hiding behind the planter on the left. He peeped around it, and I swear on my grandmother's box of handwritten recipes, he waved.

I really hate that damn squirrel.

Two weeks ago, my front stoop was flanked by two beautiful hibiscus topiaries full of lovely deep pink blossoms. Today, I didn't even bother to sweep it off or pull the weeds before taking pictures. It wouldn't have mattered. My flowers have been ravaged.

The biggest surprised is that the squirrel didn't stop and pose as I snapped photos of the devastation he has wrought.

He had better watch out. I'm planning my revenge at this very moment, and he just might find himself making a lovely rug for some Barbie's Dream House living room.

Damn squirrel.

Snapshot.

Because I don't want to forget this moment . . .

I'm sitting in the living room watching my children play. Lovely is shaking her hair and hands at Little Bird while he lays on the floor, laughing until his mouth is just open with no sound coming out. That laugh of so much joy that he can't get anymore out.

They occasionally stop to hug, but mainly it is just play play play. Almost every toy has been emptied from the basket. Bird has spun in a circle until he falls down, just to make Lovely laugh some more.

For this, we skipped church, and I'm so glad we did.

No more baby mullet

Little Bird has been sporting a mullet. I know this and admit it willingly, but I have been loathe to cut it. It curled up in the back, and I knew, even though my momma said, "Cutting it will bring the curl out more," I knew that the curls would be gone.

And they are.

It's still not a "little boy" haircut. He just doesn't have enough on top yet, so it's still a little baby.

A little.

He wouldn't sit in the chair by himself, and Trish kind of had to cut when she could because he was so wriggly, but all in all, it was a good experience. He really liked the big brush she used to brush away the hair from his neck.

I didn't shed a tear. But only because he needed me not to.

Nudges

Dear Butterbean,

You aren't even here yet, and I already feel like a failure as your mother. By this time in my pregnancy with Little Bird, he had dozens of posts about him. I thought of him constantly. I never felt alone. Even when he was still in my belly, I thought of "me and the baby."

I must confess, I don't think of you that way. Or at least I haven't started to yet. Sometimes, in my food and drink choices, I even forget for a moment that I'm pregnant. Then, as a second child myself, I replacing forgetting with an overwhelming guilt.

I think things are turning around though. Just a few days ago, I felt you move. Your big brother was climbing on me while we were having book time on the couch. He stepped on my belly, and you answered back with a little nudge.

It was the first time that I felt like the mother of two.

In about two weeks, we will find out if you are a boy or a girl. We already have names picked out for either case, and I will be happy no matter what. But I think of you in terms of a brother or a sister instead of my little boy or little girl.

I guess that's because your big brother is right here in front of me. You won't understand this for a long time, but he is still just a baby himself. He still wears diapers. He still eats with his fingers. He still sleeps in the crib that will become yours, and he still nurses from the same "nuh-nuh's" that will feed you.

He is still my baby.

But you will be my baby too. And I'm learning a little better every day how to love you both. In the meantime, keep nudging me. Every little flutter nudges my heart closer to you.

I can't wait to see you again at the end of August. I do love you.

Sincerely,
Your mama

The right path

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.

Time enough to know

My brother and I grew up about a mile from on set of grandparents and just across town from our other grandmother. We saw them regularly. Spent every holiday with them. Had sleepovers with them. Ate Sunday dinners with them.

Now, my parents are 12 hours away. They live around the corner from my brother and his family. Momma talks about the grandchildren coming to play in their backyard. She tells me about the meals they share. Even the Fourth of July was a family gathering complete with a new croquet set for the grandparents' backyard. Bro's kids are taking full advantage of having their grandparents so close by, and that really makes me happy. They are growing up like I remember growing up. Close to family.

My children will have to do things a little differently. We will have to have phone calls and pictures. Emails and blogs replace time around the table. We have to cram a whole lot of loving into short bursts of time.

That's what we did last week. Little Bird spent the week with his Nana and Gee. They were a willing audience and always had a lap available for book time. They were initiated into the Yo Gabba Gabba fan club. Bird was quickly following his Gee around, knocking persistently on the bedroom door when Gee would manage to escape for a moment. There were hugs and kisses and "night night's" for everyone.

Today, Bird and I spent some time looking at pictures on the computer. We got to one of him sitting on Nana's lap, and he pointed while he said, "Nana."

"Yes, that's your Nana, Sweetie. Good job."

We got the the picture above, and I pointed to my daddy.

"Who is that?"

"Baby!"

"Yes, and who is that with Baby?"

"Gee!"

He called them both by name. I kissed his head and sent up a little thankful prayer that it was enough time for him to know them.

Play me that mountain music

We're back. I know, you missed me and didn't even know I was going somewhere. Well, I did. We just got back from spending the week in the mountains. Surprised? Good. I learned the hard way not to tell the internet where I was going and when I would be there.

Last Saturday, Kevin, Little Bird, and I met my parents in Black Mountain, North Carolina, for a week long visit. We loaded up the dogs and most everything else we owned and headed west to our favorite place on earth.

While we were gone, Bird seemed to have a developmental explosion. He added more new words than we could keep count of, and his communication skills overall made him a much easier child to please and to discipline. He had his first Popsicle, his first hike, his first trip to the Biltmore, his first skinny dip, and his first berry picking outing. Even the days that his gums bled from the molars busting through were mostly filled with complete toddler joy.

There are pictures and stories to share, but for tonight, I'm just checking in for a quick hello. There was no cell phone or internet for the week. I have as much reading to do as I do writing. Hope you have all been well.

The best day

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.

Tips for BlogHer '09 from someone not going

This year, I'm sitting out BlogHer. It doesn't have anything to do with the conference - BlogHer is terrific. It's also terrifically expensive, and with me not working anymore, it's just not practical for me to spend the money on it.

With that disclaimer out of the way, I present, "How I Would Do BlogHer '09."

1. Even though you are there in person, stay online. You will likely miss something if you aren't checking Twitter. And use your hashtag #blogher09. Because some of us will be living vicariously through you, you know.

2. You are responsible for your own fun. Don't wait to be invited. Sit down at a table and meet people. Show up at a party and have a good time. Introduce yourself to the person next to you in a session. Don't wait on someone else. You do it.

3. Try to mingle. Even if you have a group of friends there, pick a meal to share with someone you don't know or someone you wanted to meet.

4. It's not about the stuff. The amount of product thrust at you can be overwhelming. Take what you want - what you can use, and leave the rest. You probably can't fit it all in your luggage anyway.

5. Don't take it personally. Any of it.

6. Some, okay, a lot of bloggers suck at small talk. Why else do we take to the written word? We can edit, mull, contemplate, and craft our words. All things you can't do at a cocktail party. When the conversation lulls with your newly made blogger buddy? Ask them about their kids. Or their pets. Or their roommate. There are always plenty of things to talk about if you are asking questions of the other person.

7. People are not their blogs. You only get a small glimpse of what they choose to share in their writing. Just because you've read their blog for three years doesn't mean you really know them. Take some time in person to meet them as a person and not a blog.

8. Wear cute shoes. Okay, so that's shallow, but I do recommend it. Just ask Amie, my roomie in '07. I think I packed a pair of shoes or boots for every hour of the day.

9. Don't feel like you have to go to everything. You don't. Sit something out and have a cup of coffee with a friend. An old one or a new one.

10. If something does cheeve you, don't write a blog post about it. Suck it up and review #5.

I hope y'all have a fabulous time. There is a huge part of me that wishes I could be there, and I will miss seeing you. There is also part of me, however, that is enjoying just watching y'all all scurry about and not having to be scurrying myself.

If you will excuse me, I have some more not preparing for BlogHer '09 to be doing.

Little Bird's best friend

This week isn't going to be as much fun for Little Bird as last week was. Last week, his big sister was tracked out of school and was home with us. Bird was in heaven.

Lovely was a fabulous dance partner, a wonderful audience, a master storyteller, a patient art instructor, and an energetic outdoor companion. We played with trains and blocks, his farm set and balls. It was a week long fun fest at our house.

Today, Lovely went back to her mother's, and Bird stood at the door watching her leave with her daddy. I thought it would tearful, as every time she left the room last week, he cried for her, but he was alright. He waved and gave her one of his sweet, multisyllabic Bye's as she walked to the car.

As an only child for 11 years, Lovely has taken on the role of big sister like a champ. She has been unselfish with her toys, her time, and her daddy. It is quite impressive. She is quite impressive.

One afternoon last week, Kevin came home early from work to stay with Bird so that Lovely and I could go see the new Harry Potter movie. We both reread the sixth book before the movie - Lovely, because that is what she does, and me, because I wanted to be able to keep up with the conversation after the movie. We also watched Freaks and Geeks together over her break. I considered it an important part of her pop culture edumacation.

I guess it's safe to say that my week isn't going to be as much either. She is just as good of a stepdaughter as she is a big sister.

Welcome to the world, Rena Rose

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.

Hello. Just back from the other side of the plague. Taking one more day to recuperate, but I finally feel well enough to even type. It was that bad. Poor Bird has been quite a sport as I rot his brain with too much TV.

Before the plague hit, he and I tried out one of Abby's projects. Linus is about six months older than Bird, so when I see something on My Sweet Babboo that I want to try out, I bookmark it for a little later. Back in March, she posted about an edible finger paint and even included a great picture of the artist hard at work. Click on over and check out how well Linus is doing. Note how he is painting on the paper. It's awesome.

Little Bird? Went straight for the thighs and belly. Tribal warrior, that one is. He gleefully stuck his open palm into the paint and began rubbing it all over his body. Between the body paint and his affinity for rhythm, he might just be destined for Blue Man Group. Frightening.

Regardless of the artistic outcome, Bird had a good time. It did get a little sticky, but when it did, he just became fascinated with how his fingers had to be pried off his belly. He's a little goof.

I'm THAT mom too

Tonight we toured another hospital and met a group of midwives. They were lovely, and the hospital was alright. I don't think it's what I want to do, but it's still a very viable option.

During the tour, we proceeded to be the family that made all of the first time parents in attendance think, "OH DEAR LORD. What have we done?"

Little Bird was a holy terror. All he wanted to do was get down and run like a mad man. When we put him down, he ran in circles and squealed at the top of his lungs, making it very difficult for the midwife to be heard. If we picked him up, he thrashed about and screamed, "nononononononono" until we put him back down again to run in circles and squeal.

I thought Kevin was going to implode. I thought I was going to collapse.

People stared, and I know they were thinking, at least the ones who were still carrying their first child safely around in their bellies - they were thinking, "I will never let my child act like that."

What they fail to understand is that we weren't letting Bird act like that. Bird was choosing to act like that because he is his own little person. We were trying everything we knew to do to distract, redirect, occupy, or remove him. Only, when we were in the hospital part of the tour, we couldn't remove him because you can't hang out in the hallways. We didn't have a lot of options, and I could only whip out a boob when I had somewhere to sit.

It was his choice to act like a little hellion, and tonight, we failed to find the magic button to make him stop.

We were THAT family. He was THAT child. I was THAT mom.

There is a lot of talk about being THAT mom going on. I hope that you'll click over to Triangle Mamas and read about Susie's recent experiences as THAT mom. It's an awesome lesson in looking at someone through eyes of compassion instead of judgment.

It's also an awesome reason never to step foot in a Whole Foods again. Buy local. Buy fresh. Buy organic. But do it straight from the farmer and the dairies. It's better for everybody, and you won't risk getting treated like dirt from the emo artist lead singer check out people at Whole Foods.

Little Bird's pajama drawer

I like for my drawers to be neat. I like for clothes to be put in the exact same place every time. I like to fold my underwear. I like to organize my t-shirts by color, size, and softness. I like to fold my socks into neat little tubes that you stick directly onto your foot and unfold as you put it on.

At least I used to like all these things. I've been freed a little.

I still insist on folding my t-shirts all the same way. All the towels are folded in half, in half again, and then into thirds.

Kevin has freed me from the sock and underwear compulsiveness. I now toss my socks in one drawer and my panties in another - all wadded up.

It's liberating.

This sense of freedom has not found it's way into Little Bird's room. It's the only room in the house that stays compulsively neat these days. Until the construction is finished at our home, I've resigned myself to live in a bit of a mess, but Bird's room, it stays clean.

And his clothes stay organized and neat.

At least they used to. Before Bird decided that he wanted to "help Mama."

Little Bird likes to help put away his pajamas. He doesn't just like to help, he insists upon it.

And so his pajama drawer belongs to him completely. He has even figured out that he has to put both hands in and stir them up good so that the drawer will close. It's hard for me to close that drawer with those pajamas all twisted and the tops and bottoms scattered amongst each other. But he wants to do it himself, and I want him to learn.

My way is not necessarily the right way. Little Bird is his own little person with his own little messy pajama drawer.

I couldn't be more proud.

Entitled to change my mind

On the rare occasion, I have to admit that I've been wrong. Today is one of those days. Craigslist isn't always entirely a pain in the ass.

I mean, when you score a little beauty like this for $25, how can you complain?

It makes the outfit

Little Bird spends most of his time with me. He watches me do my hair and put on make up each day. Most of his friends are little girls. However, he does love to watch the older boys in the neighborhood, and he will imitate his daddy over me at the drop of a hat.

There is something though, that can only be blamed on me, and that is Bird's love of fabulous shoes.

When we were shoe shopping at Stride Rite one day, he picked out every pink and sparkly shoe he could reach and brought it to me. We left with a very manly pair of navy blue shoes, but the boy had spoken. His heart craved shoe bling.

Yesterday, I had grabbed the camera to take a picture of a baby hawk that was sitting on the slab for our soon to be garage. On my way back to the kitchen, I had to stop and get a shot of Bird in his favorite shoe. The shoe that was declared "scrumptious" by the gay men's vocal ensemble I accompanied once. A ringing endorsement if I have ever gotten one.

I can't wait until boot season this year. I have a feeling Bird is going to rock some Fluevogs.

Song Bird

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.

You have to cut that out

Yesterday, we went in for our "nurse talk" where a patient history is taken and the nurse talks to you for about an hour about the rules. Nurse Kathy was nice about Little Bird tagging along with us. She wasn't so nice when she chuckled each time she said the word, "mature." Apparently referring to my age was the funniest thing she had done in a long time.

Little Bird climbed up in my lap near the end of our talking to and asked to nurse. Nurse Kathy asked how long he had nursed, and Kevin said that it wasn't a past tense thing. I said he still does, and she raised one eyebrow at me.

She said, "When are you going to cut that out?"

"When he's ready."

Then she put her professionally medical foot down and told me that I had to stop nursing my child. The doctor would tell me, and I needed to go ahead and do it now.

I just smiled.

The thing is, I had been sitting there thinking to myself that this could be easy. Just stay here at this OB practice and have a baby the way most of America has a baby. It's what I did last time, and Bird turned out just fine. Sure, some of the doctors and nurses annoy me, and it's complete overkill, but it would be the path of least resistance and familiarity.

Then I was shaken back into reality. That nurse, with her eyebrow raised in disapproval, was a good reminder of why I'm breaking up with my doctor. Maybe not at my next appointment, but soon.

After all, I'm a "mature" mother. I'm making informed parenting and birthing decisions. I'm done having doctors roll their eyes at me while I'm in labor. I'm done having nurses raise their eyebrows at me.

It's time for a change.

Butterbean at 9 weeks

I've been working on the post about our visit to the OB today, and I'm just too tired to wrap it up for now.

For now, I give you Butterbean at 9 weeks. So much more like a little baby this time. He was dancing his little bootie off in there, shaking his little fetal fins like pom poms. It was really cute.

Cherries in the Snow

This morning, I painted my toenails before we left for brunch. I usually go for purple or blue toes, so it made sense when Kevin looked down at them and said,

"Hmmm. What color is that? That's not your color."

No, it isn't. It's my daddy's color. His favorite, or at least one he asked me to wear once. So on Father's Day, every year, I make sure that I'm wearing it.

It's a rich, bright pink, and I think maybe my mom wears it too. If not the exact color, she usually chooses one very similar. It looks great on her toes.

In fact, I remember when she was in a coma and the week afterwards, I was assigned the task of massaging her feet and lower legs. She was bloated and weak and struggling just to survive at this point. Taking on my duty, I lifted the covers at the end of her bed and saw the most perfectly manicured toes. Her feet were still beautiful, and I'm fairly certain she was wearing "Cherries in the Snow," the same polish I put on this morning.

We both wear it because he likes it.

All while I was growing up, I felt like I couldn't do enough to please him. My grades were always a little too low. My clothes were never quite right. I didn't think I would ever measure up.

Funny. Now that I'm all grown up, I know that all it takes to make my daddy happy is something as simple as bright pink toenails.

If you look closely at my fourth toe on my left foot, you'll see that it is completely bruised. I did this by twisting it in between two tiles on our bathroom floor. A grout injury, if you will. And my husband says I'm not graceful. Hmph.

Little Bird changes his mind

We've come a long way from the first time Little Bird tasted apples. He is quite the fan now, although he chews them for awhile and then spits out what is left. Same with clementines.



Chew, chew, chew, spit. Endearing.

Bird does love his fruit though. Every afternoon after his nap, he gets a smoothie. He follows me into the kitchen and watches me load up the blender. As soon as I turn the blender on, he starts spinning in a circle and then runs back and forth the length of the kitchen, waving his arms in the air and yelling. He gets really excited over his smoothie.

Like I said, we've come a long way since the introduction of fruit to our Little Bird. Here he is last summer, having some apples.

Meal planning and other rambling

Oh, my heart. Almost daily, Bird does something that astounds me. Simple things that are so normal, but that to a first-time waited-so-long mama, are amazing.

I don't think this is necessarily fascinating reading material, but it's about all I think about some days. Between that and the overcoming nausea, I've been a little silent lately.

I do think that this pregnancy is going to end up with a healthy baby come the end of January, 2010. Today marks 8 weeks, and I am quite certain that things are progressing.

We've been spending our days biding time the past couple of weeks. There is lots of mommy-on-the-couch time with Bird climbing over me to reach the books that have been placed carefully within his reach. We read a lot. We watch too much TV. We try our very best to make it to the pool or the park after nap time when I feel better. We also infringe upon our neighbor probably way too much, but she is the type of person who meets you where you are, feeling good, bad, or ugly, so it's nice. I can be talkative or silently fighting off feeling like crap.

Summer is moving slowing, I'm afraid.

Meal plans have gone out the window. I've got to get back on that. At the beginning of the year, I took my dayplanner, which I always insist on having even though I have used it less and less since I left the non-profit world, and turned it into a meal planner. (Leave now if you are already bored, because it's about to get a lot more boring)

Each page has a week's calendar on the right and the left page is half blank and half full of lines. It's a planner that came in the infamous SVMoms swag bags last year at BlogHer, a BusyBody Book. At the beginning of the month, I go to Costco and buy meat for the month. I divide it up into portions of 2 or 3 and then freeze it. After listing what all in is the freezer on the blank section next to the first week of the month, I start filling in the days with meals, checking off the contents of the freezer as I go.

There are some constants. Tuesdays are swap meal days with Cyndi. Friday nights are breakfast for dinner nights. I also always buy 2 whole chickens every month so one night we have roast chicken, then the following night we'll have chicken enchiladas or some chicken casserole. Also, buying the whole chicken ensures that we always have chicken stock in the freezer.

Using the planner means that I can also incorporate Lovely's schedule into the planning, making sure I have lunch fixings on hand for her time with us as well. Or, if Kevin has a meeting or whatever, I can put it right in the same calendar where our meals are. The blank sections give me room to jot down a new recipe to try, and the lines for each week give me a place to make my grocery list right next to what meals we are going to have.

This was a fantastic system until I started getting really woozy when thinking about food. Planning meals is very difficult when just considering food makes you want to yak.

I have got to get back to it though, because I completely scored at the North Hills Farmer's Market yesterday. Thanks to Ilina, I was able to scoop up the full share of someone who wanted out of their committment to the very booked up Double-T Farm CSA for the rest of the season. Farmer Tom was looking for a "friend of a friend" to take it over, and Ilina was just that friend I needed to convince him to sell the share to me.

This means that every Saturday, we will have a whole mess of beautiful, tasty, organic, local produce to work into our meals for the week. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it. This week we have lettuce, carrots, cabbage, cucumbers, leeks, vidalia onions, zucchini, and zepher squash. The carrots taste exactly like I was standing with my grandfather in his garden. We would wash off the vegetables before we even got back in the house and munch on them in the backyard. I haven't had a carrot that tasted like that in years, until yesterday.

If I don't plan ahead, I'll be sure to forget what is in the fridge and let it go to waste. That would be awful, so I'm going to get back on it for sure this week.

It looks like I've written myself into a goal. I had better quit before I make any more promises to myself in public. Wish me luck.

Be sure to go over and enter the giveaway at Triangle Mamas. As of right now, it's been up for almost 48 hours and no one has entered. That is both embarrassing for me and great for you at the same time. It's for Animal Planet's Emergency Vets for the Nintendo DS. I don't even care if you have a DS. Just enter. It will make me feel better. Mercy buckets.

I'm holding still, Bird is wiggling

Forgive me. I'm exhausted and nauseous and every idea I have for writing gets sucked up by mommybrain.

In order not to go an entire week without posting anything, I give you Little Bird doing the Yo Gabba Gabba song about wiggling and holding still. It makes me laugh every single time.

Goodbye isn't so bad

Yesterday and today, I said goodbye to three very important people in my life. Three students of mine have graduated. They are really an end of an era for me.

They have been in my studio for 10 years. I have watched them grow up, and they are not only my students, but my friends. One is going to music school, one to art school, and one to film school. Three very artistic and creative young people of whom I am so incredibly proud.

It was hardest saying goodbye to the artist. He and his family are moving back to Sweden. I most likely won't see him again. We had dinner with them this past weekend, and they gave Little Bird the Brio train set that belonged to their boys. Even better than the gift though was watching the two teenage boys and my one little baby boy play with the trains on the floor together. They were so sweet.

The director isn't going too far from home for now. She'll be at North Carolina School of the Arts. She could be going to the school of the arts for any of their disciplines really. She acts, sings, plays guitar, composes, is a visual artist, and isn't just dabbling in them all. She's really good at them all. Today she gave me a Muse CD/DVD as a goodbye present. I love that she gives me things that she loves.

The pianist is going into music therapy. She has been student teaching at a music school for children from low-income families for two years now. The beautiful thing is that twelve years ago, she started out as a student in that school. Her mother is amazing. They immigrated from Turkey and have built successful businesses. She has her mother's focus and an immense amount of talent to back it up. I know I'm not really saying goodbye to her. I just won't see her every week anymore.

I invest myself deeply in my students. There are a few students who I invested too much of myself in and who let me down, but for the most part, whatever I invested was returned much greater. Especially by these three.

I won't be taking on any new students for awhile. I've got things to create. Albums to record and most importantly, babies to grow.

Meet Butterbean. He's due January 26, 2010, on Little Bird's 2nd birthday. We got to meet him today. He said, "swish swish swish swish," which translates into, "I love you, Mama." At least, that's what I'm going with.

Why I didn't sell him to gypsies

Last night, we decided to skip the baby motrin for Little Bird. He has had it most nights over the past month because of his incredibly slow, torturous, horrific molars. The top ones each have one corner broken through, but seem to be stuck. Some days, Bird just puts his hand in his mouth, chomps down, climbs in my lap, and cries. It's so pathetic.

Skipping the baby motrin was a bad idea. He woke up this morning crying out big sad "MAMA's" in his crib. Usually, he wakes up babbling and playing with his heartbeat bear. I went and got him, and he didn't stop crying until we made it downstairs for his morning "nuh-nuh."

He didn't get better. He took his plate of eggs and threw it across the dining room. He screamed when I wouldn't let him hurl his grits too. He clung to my leg as I tried to clean the kitchen. I decided we needed to go somewhere, so we went upstairs to get dressed, and he proceeded to empty the top drawer of my bedside table, bang on the glass shower doors, flush the toilet, play in the trash can, and try to turn the water on in the bathtub. And he ran through that cycle about five times. Every "no" from me sent him on to the next thing in the list of stuff he knows not to do.

We finally left the house. I called my mom and asked for help. He was driving me crazy. I've started trying to use "Time Out" with him, but he's too little to sit by himself, and as soon as I get on his level and look at him in the eyes, he either puckers up for a kiss or he starts to laugh. I don't think he understands that he has done anything wrong, he's just glad I've stopped whatever I was trying to accomplish to pay attention to him.

When we got home, he was still being incorigable. I decided it was naptime, just a smidge early. He didn't disagree. I gave him the much needed baby motrin, and he slept for a couple of hours. When he woke up, he was cooing and talking sweetly again.

I was hopeful.

I brought him downstairs and fixed him some lunch. He was a hungry boy, aksing for more with his sign instead of by whining and pointing. It is so much more pleasant. Then? After I gave him more? He signed "thank you" for the first time. I hadn't even cued him for it because I was just happy he wasn't screaming anymore. He did it again the next time he got more. It was fantastic.

We played on the floor for awhile after lunch, stacking and building and then knocking it all down. We read some books and sang some songs. He was a littel angel. Just when I thought he couldn't get sweeter, snack time came.

I asked him if he wanted a smoothie, and he responded with an enthusiastic nod. He had been nursing, and when I put him down on the floor, he started wailing again. This time, though, he was easily consoled when I took his hand and started walking him into the kitchen singing made up songs about what was going into his smoothie. He danced in the kitchen while the blender sang, and after I handed him his cup, he reached up and took my hand, leading me back into the living room for a little more lap time.

That's two things. A thank you sign, and him reaching for my hand instead of the other way around. Two new things on a day that I thought was going to completely suck rocks.

I barely remember the morning now. Except for those eggs.

Just as he is and will be

That's an $8 balloon. A giant Elmo head balloon. I have an unreasonable fear of balloons, but only the latex ones, so this one, although it made me slightly nervous, came home with us today after our visit to Sesame Street Live.

Little Bird and I sat on the front row for the show. I figured he would either love it, or it would scare the wonkers out of him. He loved it. The only part he didn't like was not being able to get up and dance. He made do kicking and dancing in my lap though, and we had a wonderful time. He even loved it when the characters came off the stage into the audience. The Count got a high five, and I thought Elmo might have to shake Bird loose from the bear hug he gave him.

There is nothing like watching your child enjoy himself and have a good time.

The family sitting next to us was doing the same thing. They had brought their son, and they were having a blast watching him enjoy himself. He was probably in his 20's, and he was in a wheelchair with multiple disabilities. When we sat down next to him, he greeted us with some verbalization and reached out for Bird. His father pulled him back and apologized. I told him it was just fine; that we appreciated the warm welcome.

When his mother came and sat down, she had practically cleared out the souvenir stand. She was grinning from ear to ear and showing her son all the things she had found, not the least of which was a spinny thing that lit up. Bird liked that too.

As much as Bird wanted to dance, the young man sitting next to us wanted to dance even more. He shook his wheelchair each time the music started. His parents had to hold it steady even with the brakes engaged. He was having a fabulous time.

I thought about all the activities and places to go that I try to find for Bird. The playgrounds, parks, children's museums, the pool, shows, whatever. I want to have these experiences with my child and watch him enjoy them. I know that there will soon be a time when he has outgrown these things.

But the family sitting next to us, they are stuck right there. Sesame Street Live has been and will continue to be awesome. There have been and will continue to be diapers to change. There has been and will continue to be a very limited amount of communication.

And I started to cry, but not because it was so incredibly sad, but because I thought that mother was so incredibly amazing. So what if it was the 10th year in a row she sat through Sesame Street Live? She loved every character who came to greet her son. She loved every clap and kick he gave to the music. There was pure joy in her face as she watched her son enjoy himself.

As different as our sons were, I felt like I understood this woman - this mother. If Bird did nothing but get bigger, if there were no more developmental changes, I wouldn't love him any less. I would take him to see Elmo year after year. I would change diapers for the rest of my life. I would still love being his mother.

The flip side is, of course, that barring unseen events, Bird will continue to develop. I have a few more years to enjoy Elmo with my son, and then he will be on to whatever comes after Elmo. He'll be off to little league, elementary school, and everything after. Maybe that makes it easy for me to say that I would still love being his mother, but I say it sincerely.

I sincerely believe that we love our children just as they are, just where they are, and just how they will end up. Mothers love their children. It is just what we were meant to do.

Brain sucker

I still pee on sticks. Can't help it. Just have to make sure those lines aren't fading. They aren't. It's not that I don't feel good about this or have hope. I do. I just need to see those lines popping up faster and faster. It's beautiful.

Yesterday, no - Wednesday, Little Bird and I went to the Farmer's Market. We tasted every strawberry there was to taste and bought four quarts of our second favorite. Our first favorites were being sold by a man who got mad at me when I asked if the fruit had been sprayed or just the flower. Too bad. They were good berries, but I'm totally willing to go with second best if they weren't loaded down with pesticides and fungicides.

We also bought sweet onions that look like the onion weeds in our yard on steroids. We found our favorite Mediterranean squash, zucchini for bread, purple and green asparagus, more herbs to pot, pork chops, and milk. I love the Farmer's Market.

I loaded up the back of the Jeep with all of our spoils and turned to see Bird stuffing an entire strawberry in his mouth, stem, leaves, and all. I tried to extract the leaves from his mouth, unsuccessfully so. In the meantime, I had dropped the keys to the Jeep in the back with the produce. I slammed the hatch closed and wheeled Bird around to the back seat only to find that the Jeep was locked.

Good news: Little Bird and my cell phone were not in the locked car. Bad news: Diaper bag and all of my purchases were, and Bird was wet and hungry.

He began screaming as soon as he swallowed the last strawberry. Kevin works way too far away to come and rescue me from the Farmer's Market, but that didn't stop me from leaving him pathetic voice mails. In the end though, it was wonderful Cyndi who saved me. I called her to ask her to look up numbers of a car thief for me. Instead, she reminded me that USAA would help and gave me their roadside assistance number.

They had someone at my car in about 20 minutes. I love USAA.

Later that day, Little Bird and I went to the park. I was very careful not to lock my keys in the car. In fact, I left the hatch wide open. Completely forgot to close it after I got the sand toys out of the back. Just left the diaper bag, gps, and everything in the Jeep wide open. Luckily, nothing was stolen while Bird and I romped obliviously around the playground.

Really, if you think about it, I suppose I don't need to keep peeing on sticks. This little embryo is already sucking my brain dry.

Climbing

This one is sticking around. I hope for a long time.

HCG is climbing, and I've been told to stop worrying. It's possible the nurse who told me that is not a mother.

Next stop, ultrasound in a few weeks. Until then, I have a few other things to keep me occupied.

As in, Little Bird has decided he knows how to match pitch. Maybe this seals my fate as a complete music geek, but I totally shed tears of pride and happiness. He isn't even 16 months old, and he can sing back three pitches accurately to me.

Be still my heart.

My oldest is singing, and my youngest is hanging in there. I am a lucky mama.

Sticks and lines

Obviously I'm distracted. I wrote this earlier today and accidentally hit "save now" instead of "publish." This is my 627th post on this blog. You would think I knew the difference in the buttons.

Monday morning. There are still two lines.

On Friday afternoon, the nurse told me my progesterone looked "fantastic." This morning, I'm going back in to see if that is still the case.

That's about it.

I'm a little preoccupied.

Can you hear me in there?

Dear little squishy block of cells,

I think you have a fighting chance. Your due date? The same as your brother's. That means that you are still so tiny, without much form yet and with so much uncertainty.

It's strange though. As Little Bird and I hung out in the kitchen today watching the "vroom vrooms" in the backyard pouring concrete, I felt your presence. You were real to me. So I picked up the phone and called the nurse. I laughed off how I had peed on a stick too soon, but that it was definitely positive.

Two lines.

Tomorrow morning I go bright and early. We'll look at drops of blood and ask them to make sure there are things there to keep you stuck right where you are for the next nine months. You have a fighting chance. I will fight for you.

That is a promise. I got them to agree that if I show up first thing, they will rush results so that if needed, I can start meds over the weekend. No chances, Baby. You fight the good fight in there, and I'll fight it out here.

I sure would like to hold you one day. So stick around, okay?

Love,
Mama

I know the risks. I know what might happen. I also know that it doesn't hurt any less when I try not to attach. It's my choice, and I'm choosing to start loving right now.

Ditto junior

At church, we pass a dignified attendance pad in which everyone on the pew writes their name, and we all pretend not to be too interested in it as it comes back down the line. If you are too interested, you are nosy, but if you don't look at all, then you are aloof.

Damn Presbyterians.

I always look. In a church with 4000+ members, I want to know if I'm sitting next to visitors or not so that I can speak to them appropriately. I would hate for someone to visit and not be spoken to at all, even if I'm not currently the most active member. I can still say "hello."

This past Sunday, two men sat down to our right. When the attendance pad came back down the pew, I peeked at it and noticed that the man on the end had entered ditto marks for his name, followed by, "Jr." I laughed out loud, which was incredibly inappropriate, but whatever. It was funny.

It immediately made me think of Little Bird.

As his mama, I have the extraordinarily difficult task of caring for him day to day. I have to make sure that he is learning as much as he can learn, being nourished, resting, developing social skills, and that he stays safe. A mama's job is a hard one and is the most responsibility I have ever borne.

However.

Bird wants to be exactly like his father.

Bird wants to be the ditto marks that follow his daddy around. When Kevin was installing the baby gate at the top of the stairs yesterday, Bird sat mesmerized by him. He picked up a screwdriver and began trying to "help" Kevin put the screws into the wall. He mimicked Kevin using the drill, and he tried his very best to pick up the exact same screws that Kevin picked up.

I think that Kevin has the much more difficult task when it comes to parenting. If he trips and yells, "shit!" then the next word that Bird will learn is, well, you know. It is not unlike the unrelenting paparazzi where if you do that one very uncouth thing? They are going to catch it on film. That is what Kevin's life with Bird is like now.

It is a huge responsibility, and I can tell that it is already weighing heavily on his mind. Kevin wants to be the kind of man that his son can model. He wants to be someone that Bird can learn from and imitate to become a good man.

What he doesn't realize is that I have always known that he was. It is one of the many reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.

If my son can learn to be half the man my husband is? I will be so very proud.

Final Halelujah

There is something I promised a friend several weeks ago. A promise made over the phone as I was parking the Jeep at the mall.

"I want to see that picture with the Easter Bunny!" she said.

"I promise!" I replied as I hung up in order to park within the lines.

I fell through on that promise. On the one hand, you could say that my friend is probably used to that. She has been let down a lot. She is honest and forthright and expects nothing less from others. People haven't been kind to her. Plus, she has essentially thrown herself in front of semi trucks in order to keep peace and to make other people comfortable.

As much as I love that about her, it is hard to watch. My momma has always said that I'm loyal to a fault. The loyal friend in me has spent a lot of time banging my head against the wall when I've been unable to help her. Sometimes all you can do though, is be there. Listen when there is something to hear. Reach and reach back.

Today we are saying goodbye to her blog. I'm not saying goodbye to her. I'll stalk her until she takes legal action. But I know how it feels to feel pushed out of your own space. I know how it feels to shut down. It may be "just a blog," but it was her blog. Her words. Her space.

And it was beautiful.

So, for what it's worth, Girl, here's your photo. You'll love it because it's horrid. It's dark and the rabbit was ridiculously tiny, so they used the dollar store footstool to prop her feet, and just wow. It's bad. Professional photographers. They're everywhere.

I'll miss your space, your words, and your photos.

























P.S. Just in case you want to see the first time I admitted to stalking Girl, here's the post. We've come a long way from me stalking her from afar.

Love and attention

It's been an awesome day. Not only did both of my boys go to church with me this morning, but Kevin even watched Little Bird so that I could take my time getting ready. That meant a date with the flat iron and complete eye makeup. That meant moisturizer, Avon Magix, AND foundation. That meant painted toenails. I felt like an actual woman.

After church, Kevin made brunch, including hollandaise sauce. From. Scratch. He even fashioned a double boiler our of one of my stainless steel bowls and a pan. Aside: I guess I could unpack that box of kitchen stuff now that we aren't moving. Bird was being particularly grumpy today, and had refused his nap, so he joined us for brunch and had an English muffin with peanut butter. After brunch, he went down like a champ.

I came back downstairs to find Kevin sitting on the floor - which I had cleaned yesterday - scrubbing the fronts of our kitchen cabinets. He had already finished the dishes, so why not, right? Sweetheart.

For the rest of Bird's nap, Kevin and I lay on the couch and watched The Business of Being Born, which I think was a good Mother's Day selection. Bird woke up in the middle, but we brought him downstiars and finished it anyway. He loved looking at the babies, and when they would nurse, he would point at the TV and say "nuh-nuh," which is what he says for "nurse."

After that we went to North Hills, which is a fabulous outdoor mall less than a mile from our house, and had some Ben & Jerry's before we hit the Target for some baby forks and some other random stuff.

Following our outing, we came home, Bird rode in his new car and I planted some Hybiscus, some parsley, and tarragon. It's a good day that ends with dirt under Mama's nails and a baby with dirty knees.

There was a card, and a hand soap & lotion set for my kitchen sink - just what I asked for - and as much as I appreciate them both, the day would have been complete with just the company of my boys. Their love and attention is all it takes to make for a fabulous day.

Yard sale happiness

Momma and Susan have delicately pointed out that I'm a slacker blogger these days. Of course, that's not at all what they said, but that's how I'm going to think of it. It will help light a fire under me a little better.

I would love to get back up to a post a day, but I'm not promising anything. It's so much harder now that Little Bird is GOGOGOGOGOGOGO all the time. During nap time, there are so many other things I need to get done, and well, Twitter. I blame Twitter.

Today's news isn't horribly interesting, but looking through my archives, that never stopped me before, so here goes.

We loaded up Little Bird and went down to Glenwood South to an open air crafters market. Why is it that these markets are 90% jewelry these days? And not even very unique jewelry, although most of their names include the word "unique" somehow. Unique boutique. Beaded Uniquely. Unique Creations. If you can't come up with a more clever name than that, I'm thinking you aren't very creative anyway.

The only booth I found interesting was a quilter. I thought that I was totally uninterested in quilting when I started sewing. Then I started saving my fabric remnents. Then I joined a fabric co-op. Now, I'm thinking I had better learn to quilt or my home is going to become overrun with fabric.

On the way home, I spotted a yard sale with a faded Little Tykes car near the driveway. I asked Kevin if we could check it out. Bird loves the trucks with steering wheels at Marbles, so I had been thinking of getting him a car for outdoor play. This little car needs some tlc. It's faded and dirty and the steering wheel is loose, but it was only $5. For another $5, they convinced us to take home a tricycle.

The trike is missing the pushbar, so I looked it up just a minute ago to see if I could order just the pushbar. I can, and it's $18. Turns out the tricycle new is $180. Seriously. I had no idea. We came home with a Kettler trike for $5. I'm not believing it. Probably helped that it was almost noon. Everything out on their tables was priced really high, and I can imagine that several people were interested in the trike, but they were asking too much early in the morning.

Score for us. Bird lurves his new car so very much, and I'm going to order the pushbar this afternoon so we can take walks on his "new" trike.

It's a good day.

Little Bird makes friends

We've been in sunny Florida. Kevin's aunt/godmother lives near Sarasota. Little Bird and I had never met her, so it was high time for us to make a trip.

It didn't look good last week. First I realized that I had booked our flight for PM instead of AM. That put us in Florida a little past midnight with our 15 month old. How fun does that sound? Then I couldn't remember which car rental I had reserved a car with, and we hadn't received an email confirmation. So after many frustrating phone calls last Tuesday, we decided to try and get on standby in the morning and I found we had a reservation with Alamo.

Flying with a 15 month old in lap is an adventure. You really need 2 laps for said 15 month old, so I was glad Kevin and I always had seats together. Also? Still nursing that 15 month old was a lifesaver. That "neh-neh" really kept Little Bird happy on take off and landing.

For the most part though, Little Bird was an excellent traveler. He has this really cool mix of wanting to be with Mama and Daddy, but at the same time, being very curious about the people around him. He will smile at a stranger, play peek-a-boo with them, or keep waving until they just have to smile back. It doesn't matter what they look like or how old they are.

The older hippie sitting across the aisle from us on one leg of the trip became fast friends with Bird. Saying their goodbyes, Bird waved enthusiastically, and Professor Surf told him, "Goodbye little dude. Go doing something great one day."

And considering how my child can draw a smile out of everyone he sees, what I wish I had said to him was, "He already has. He creates joy."