Oink

I saw this pig at the fair yesterday.

I got down on my knees and was all, Fist bump of solidarity, sisterfriend. I FEEL for you. Then I offered to take her out for drinks.
Then she snorted at me, as if to say, Please, lady. I have TWELVE babies scrambling and squealing and climbing and demanding that I feed them right now.

The farmer got in the pen to help this little runt stay latched on, because I guess even pigs need lactation consultants.

Afterward, he told me that if she were in a barn, he'd never be able to get in the stall and get between her and her babies. He said she'd attack him. I smiled and nodded and said, Of course. Mamas have to protect their babies.

Me and pigs. We just get each other. Except for the part where I like to eat them... and they probably don't like to be eaten. Sorry, pigs.

Play

This has been the summer of play. We've pretty much played away every single day, no matter where we are. Last weekend, we visited my sister. The best part of the weekend was how well Luke and my two nieces played together... so well that on the way home, Luke asked if we could move next door to them (I wish, buddy). Luke's favorite part of the weekend was when we went to a kiddie amusement park. This the part where I have to confess that I always feel like pictures taken at the fair or at an amusement park need to be edited so that they look vintage. Why? I don't know. It's a sickness.

I love how they all reached up their arms as the rocket ship went near the tree.

Six little feet dangling as they were, in the words of my niece, at the very tippy top.

Finally, we played a game of skeeball. Even Tommy got in on the action!

This summer, we've also had a lot of play at the park, which has been really great for all of us. This is Luke and Ellie. I imagine that in 13 years, this'll be what it's like when they drive to prom together. Assuming that there will be some sort of futuristic car that has two steering wheels, that is.

We've played a lot at home. Tommy got this Fisher Price Little People set for his birthday and both boys love it. Luke puts the letters in the mail slot, then Tommy grabs them. They play like this for awhile and I whisper to Shane at how wonderful it is to watch them play together so nicely, until Luke pushes him down and informs me that he no longer wishes to have a brother. I offer to put Tommy in the mail and send him away, thinking he'll tell me no. He considers it, then says, "That would be a good idea."

Luckily, I don't have any envelopes big enough for Tommy, so he gets to stay and play his favorite game: Peekaboo!

Three's Company?

Now that Tommy's a year old, I've started to get the questions on when we're going to have another. I remember getting those questions when Luke turned a year old, and I knew we were going to start trying that summer. But ask me that question now and my answers will range from: "Um, I'm not sure" to "When he starts sleeping past five" to "I'll answer that question when I'm finished rocking and crying in the corner." I don't know what it's like to have a difficult pregnancy or PPD, thank goodness, but I know that sometimes moms are afraid to get pregnant again for fear of repeating it. Sometimes I'm afraid to have another baby who is as much as a handful as Tommy was.

I never really talked too much about Tommy's sleep, because I know I'm lucky to have a healthy baby, even one who woke up a billion times a night...but it was hard. When he was itty bitty, I looked up high needs babies, and he fit every single category. Not just one or two, but every single characteristic was Tommy. Then I realized that I'd given birth to a very Type A little creature, which is not fair because Shane and I are very much not Type A people. He cried. A lot. Luke never cried. He nursed all the time. He never used the playmat that Luke loved because he wouldn't let me put him down.

He would wake up every hour of the night, starting at 10, until he'd finally be wide awake at 5 (he is still wide awake at 5 every single morning). When I was on maternity leave, Shane would take him from 5-7. I learned to live on those two solid hours of sleep. But then I went back to work, and I had to get up and get dressed at 5. It was painful. I'd catch myself starting to drift off on the drive to work. I fell asleep at my desk once during silent reading. As the day would go on, I'd have a hard time putting words together. In short, I was miserable. So was Shane. Every night at about 3AM, he'd say things like, "WE ARE NOT HAVING ANY MORE KIDS." And I'd say things like, "OH, I AM, JUST NOT WITH YOU, YOU JERK." We were so tired. We finally made some tough choices with Tommy's sleep, because the level of sleep depravation we both felt was unhealthy. Tommy could be up all night, but there was a nap waiting for him at the sitter's. Shane and I would be up all night, have to drive to work, teach all day, then come home and care for two kids. It just wasn't working.

Now, Tommy sleeps all night. Most nights. Some nights, he still inexplicably wakes up and lets us know that he doesn't want to sleep, not really. He's awake at 5 every morning, no matter what. He will not go back to sleep. The other day, I told him that I hope he doesn't love his wife like he loves me. He is, truly, a mama's boy. He's getting better, but there are days when he melts down if I leave his line of vision. Even if I go from the living room to the bathroom. Even if we're at the park, and I have to help Luke on the swings. Even if Shane is there--Shane's favorite thing to do is ask Tommy if he's chopped liver. As I type this, he's chewing on my leg, even though I've spread every toy he owns out across the floor. He's so full of energy. He's broken a glass from every set in our house because he crashes into things in ways that I can't understand. Baby gates are useless because he climbs them. He gets into markers that I swear should be out of his reach and colors all over his body. He tears down his mobile every single nap time because he must destruct his crib before falling asleep. He often runs through the house yelling for no reason.

So, the answer is... I don't know. Maybe never. Maybe when Tommy gains a little independence and sleeps past five. But the other answer is that I look at him and he is so much love and life and makes me SO HAPPY that I kind of can't imagine NOT having another baby. Even if that baby doesn't sleep at all and is stuck to me like velcro, that baby would still be worth it. Just like Tommy.

(But also? I'd really like to sleep.)

I've Realized...

That life with two boys means that every day is going to be a little messy...

Full of risks and new adventures...


A little off kilter...And really, really fabulous.


(Someday I'll blog without pictures, someday soon. But these days, this {rapidly escaping} summer, is about making memories.)

Black & White

I love black and white for serious faces. It makes them all the more serious and highlights things like dark eyes, long lashes, pensive stares, and very serious cookie eating faces.

Decisions

I'm not sure which is more delicious, the kissable cheeks or the cookie?

The Funny Thing...

About babies and weather? They're unpredictable. So while you might think you're going to have a baby in a certain place, you may end up having him on the stairs. And while you might think that having an outdoor party in July is pretty much a sure thing, because after all, it's the Midwest in July and it never rains during the day, ever, so little rain that the grass turns brown and the flowers wilt... you might end up with thunderstorms.

This was the view outside at exactly 1:30 yesterday. The start time of Tommy's party.

You can't see the driving rain because it was coming in SIDEWAYS, but if you look at the trees, you can see how they're blowing. The balloons that I carefully tied to the mailbox before the party started? Gone. The guests? Either sitting in the driveway waiting for a break in the weather or pulled over on the side of the road somewhere because they couldn't see. People would pull in, and I would open up the door to wave and let them know they were at the right place, then I'd close it against the rain.
The party that was supposed to be outside ended up inside, everyone sitting on the living room floor or in the thankfully dry garage, while Shane and our dads grilled in the driving rain.

But the food? Was delicious.

The babies? Caused all sorts of trouble and sported awesome hair.

And then, just like that, as quickly as it came, the storm left. The skies cleared. The kids went outside. The grownups moved off the floor and into chairs.
We opened presents. I had the best helpers ever.

At any given time, there were three presents being opened at once. It was awesome. I love how kids just jump right in.



How special it was to be able to celebrate his birthday on the exact day he was born. How blessed we are to be able to celebrate with so many who love us, so many who have helped us over this past year.

Do you think he knows how lucky he is?

I think he does.

Icing On The Face

I really want to tell you about Tommy's birthday party, but I am so tired. Also, my house is a mess, but mainly, I am so tired because you know, the birthday party and then for various dumb reasons, I've actually been awake since one in the ayem.

For now, I will just say that it was beautiful. The weather was wild, the food was plentiful and delicious, the birthday boy was spoiled beyond what we deserve, and the love was palpable.


Oh, and the birthday boy? He eats cake just like his mama.

Light One Candle

364

One year ago, at 4:25AM, I sent an email that said this: "I am awake with the stupidest cramps that feel like my period is starting and they better be doing something, otherwise they are extremely annoying!" Little did I know that they were doing so much that in less than 24 hours, I'd be sitting in the quiet comfort of a labor and delivery room, in which I neither labored nor delivered.
As much as I joke about "getting my home birth," the truth is, I wasn't opposed to the hospital birth we had planned. I'd had a good experience with Luke. I was so looking forward to laboring in the big whirlpool tub again. In fact, it's safe to say that I spent nine months looking forward to it. I was really looking forward to Beth taking photos during and after our special moments. So while yes, I'd tossed the idea of a home birth out to Shane before and if he'd agreed, we surely would have had one. Despite, I was happy with our hospital birth plans.

You all know the story, but I hope I can tell more. The amazing thing about technology is that there are elements I've forgotten, but I have emails and this blog, of course, to remind me. I'll always remember how his body felt as it corkscrewed out of me, landing in my outstretched hand. I'll always remember I never worried for a single second that I'd drop him or that he'd slip away from me grasp. I'll always remember looking down at his wet dark hair and the way I exhaled when he gave a throaty cry. I'll always remember not knowing that my parents were there, until I turned my head as my mom practically vaulted up the steps to the ambulance. I'll always remember how TINY the ambulance seemed as my mom, Luke, Shane, and my dad all crowded in and how lucky I felt.

I remember this last day of pregnancy. The cramps and the bloody show starting early that morning, but I'd been having both for FIVE straight days, so I wasn't too excited. Every night, I had waves of contractions, ten minutes apart, that would last for hours and then abruptly quit. My midwife assured me it was normal circadian rhythm. I was assured that my body was getting ready. She told me she thought I'd be in for a shorter labor this time, with less pushing: "maybe 20 minutes." This sounded dreamy, but I didn't want to get my hopes up TOO much, because shorter than 22 hours might still be a decent chunk of time.

Beth and I went for pedicures. She took what would be my very last belly shot, just a click of her phone. Of course, I thought that when the time came, she'd be taking photos of my belly while I was in labor. I am so thankful she took this shot, a mere eleven hours before he was born. Eleven hours before Luke was born, I was at the hospital, 5cm and swaying my hips through the painful back labor.

I remember that moment. My belly was so tight. The body that had allowed me to easily walk six miles the day before was screaming at short walks. The baby's head felt so firmly in my pelvis that I dared to hope that my time would be soon. I dashed from the pedicure to an appointment, to a non-stress test that we passed with flying colors because this baby never stopped dancing inside of me. I had two contractions on the 40 min drive.
The midwife said, Maybe this weekend. Maybe next week.

It was 5pm. I had two contractions on the 30 min drive home. Friends were over when I got home, they brought Coldstone cupcakes as a consolation prize. Sorry you passed your due date, but here's some cupcakes! They know me well. Friends left and I started timing contractions. Ten minutes apart, sometimes longer. I bounced on the birthing ball, while watching Thomas the Train with Luke. He kept shoving me off and saying it was his turn. We ate dinner. I gave Luke a bath, only calling Shane in at the very end because I had one contraction that HURT enough that Luke saw it in my face and DID HE THINK THIS WAS IT? He said, Maybe. But we've had a lot of maybes this week.

I kept wishing my water would break, like it did with Luke. It's so easy to tell you're in labor that way. I had so much pressure that I thought for sure it would. At 9:56pm, I emailed Beth and told her that the pressure was killing me but not the contractions.
At 11:27, I sent this email to Sarah: "I'm pretty sure I'm in labor. Tried to lay down, but it hurt too much, so I'm in the bathtub. Louise is on call but so far, everything is still spaced out."
At 11:40, I had a contraction so strong that it sent me jolting out of the bathtub. It was like hot pokers down my back. I thought, Oh great. Another posterior baby. Another long back labor.
At 11:44, I had another contraction--the closest they'd been--that sent me reeling out of the bathroom, into the comforting dark of our bedroom, where I buried my face in the comforter and roared. A primal sound that I couldn't believe came from me, but that woke up Shane sleeping in the next room with Luke. The rule of thumb is to call after contractions are 3-4 minutes apart for an hour, but I remembered my doula's reminder that second labors can turn fast and not to wait too long, so I picked up the phone and called. They put me on hold and I had another contraction while waiting, this time roaring into a pillow, my pelvis feeling like it'd split. I thought, I'm going to get an epidural as soon as I get to the hospital. This is WAY worse than Luke.

At 11:55, I went into the drafts folder in my email and sent this email, with the subject line, THUNDERCATS ARE GO
"So, I'm actually typing this email in advance, as per Sarah's suggestion. It feels a little weird, like I'm typing you from my time machine. However, if I had a time machine, I wouldn't need to type this email because I could just use my time machine to see when I'd have the baby. But since I don't have a time machine, if you are reading this email, I'm in labor! Or I accidentally hit send on the saved draft, but most likely, I'M IN LABOR."

Seven minutes before Luke was born, I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I couldn't make words come out of my mouth. I was also pushing so hard that it felt unnatural, because he wasn't in the right position. I never felt that overwhelming urge, despite being unmedicated. Seven minutes before Tommy was born, I learned how that urge felt, on my knees pushing before I even knew I was pushing, without even trying my body taking over, I realized I wasn't going to labor in the whirlpool tub, after all.

The next email at 1:41:
"Its a boy, you guys. He was born on the stairs before we could even leave. No I'm not kidding!! Someone call Beth in case she's still on standby. We are at the hospital now"

I remember struggling to find the words so they'd know I wasn't joking. Too much of a whirlwind to even think that, of course, I could just take a picture with my phone. I'm not sure I remembered that my phone had a camera. The responses involve a lot of questioning on whether or not I was serious, until at 3:06, Beth sent this email after we spoke:
"I just talked to her and she sounds amazing.
7lbs 11 oz
nursed at 1:30

Luke and parents are there at the hospital, APGAR in the ambulance a nine. 911 dispatcher said birthday is today, the 18th at 12:02 am. She was able to hold the baby, skin to skin, in the ambulance all the way to the hospital.

Luke saw everything. He started to get scared and unsure WHILE she was having a baby, so WHILE she was having a baby she was also calming Luke down. Seriously? WONDERWOMAN.

Also, since she's ALWAYS NAKED, it appears the fire department got quite a show."

I love this email because I didn't remember what time we nursed for the first time. I'd forgotten that they did his APGAR in the ambulance. It's all so blurry, but in a beautiful way, like when you spin around in a circle and watch the colors dash by your face.

Blurry, beautiful. What a year it's been.

Oh, Brother

Luke,

A year ago, you used to kiss my tummy every night. You used to talk about your "baby brother or sister," excitedly. I was excited, too, but a little sad and scared because you were our world and what would it be like when you were still our world...but someone else was, too?

When he was less than 24 hours old, you came bounding into the hospital room, ignored the outstretched arms of your mom and dad (remember? those people who were your world just a mere 24 hours ago?), sat down and said, "I want to hold MY baby."

That's not to say that we didn't have our moments (hours, days) of sibling rivalry. Moments where I wondered if maybe I just wasn't right for this job, this daunting task of raising two boys to be good citizens of the world. The times where we told you to be gentle. Where we said to stop loving TOO hard. Where we reminded you that he was little. Where we told you that he didn't mean to jam his finger straight into your eye. And the ever popular, "Space, Luke, give him space!"

But when you love him, you love him fiercely. When you went back to the sitter's, you told everyone that he was your brother, Tommy. You told them not to get too close. You sat protectively by his side for the first week, before you finally trusted that no one would hurt him. I love you for that, for protecting him when mommy couldn't.

Today I watched you digging a hole, so deep that you might dig all the way to China ("Who's China, mom?"). So intent that you didn't even look up at me.

But of course, I saw him coming toward you, with that look in his eye. The one that says that he wants to do JUST what big brother is doing.

So intent you were, you didn't even notice him.

Until suddenly, you were digging out a foot along with your dirt, and I wondered how you'd react to the intrusion on your serious excavation.

I knew, then, as you said, "Oh no! I got dirt on Tommy," and reached over to gently brush off his back, that you are most certainly right for this job, this daunting task of being a big brother.

Adventures In Sick

This weekend, the boys and I were sick, sick, so sick. Friday, I spent the entire morning in bed with a feverish, sad Luke, who started to feel better at about 2... at which point, Tommy started running a fever. Unfortunately, Tommy is a spaz and instead of sleeping off a fever like most normal people, he attempted to scream off a fever. And scream he did, until about 2 the next day, at which point I started to feel miserable. It was like a revolving door of sick.
I was pretty certain that I was dying once or twice. I never run fevers (and my normal body temp is 97.3--I'm some sort of reptile), but I did Saturday and Sunday. Saturday night I ended up shivering on the couch, until Shane touched my neck and told me that I was burning up and should get to bed. A quick thermometer check put me at 102, which convinced me that I was, indeed, dying. Because I'm five and don't understand how bodies work, I curled up in bed underneath my comforter, until I woke up an hour later, a full degree hotter than I was, probably thanks to the giant comforter in which I'd cocooned myself. Hilariously, I made my way downstairs to get aspirin, only it took me 20 minutes because I had to stop and lie on the couch for ten minutes before I could continue downstairs (which only further proved my theory that I was, indeed, dying). Somehow I made it up and down and back to bed, only to discover that Luke was now inhabiting the bed with me. He very sweetly rubbed my head and then spent the ENTIRE NIGHT sleeping pressed up against me. Which is exactly what you need when your forehead is hot enough to fry an egg.

Sunday, the fever was gone, but my throat was sore, and I was still certain I was dying thanks to a pounding headache that not only wouldn't leave but would get worse if I moved my head in certain ways. Monday morning, still with the headache, so I headed off to urgent care, which is actually slightly more pleasant when you aren't bleeding everywhere (and this time I remembered to bring a photo ID, jerks), but still not a place I enjoy visiting. When the doctor came in, I instantly wanted to punch him in the face, which was a strange reaction. I justified it when he spent most of the visit talking to me about spinal taps and what a spinal tap would be like and would I like to come to the ER to get a spinal tap? But then, he told me he was an osteopath as well as an ER doctor and he could adjust my neck and maybe that would help with the headache, and it was a bizarre moment where I was all, "Well, I hope this guy is legit and not just trying to go all Mortal Kombat and snap my neck, but this severe headache probably means I'm dying anyway, so why not?" SO THEN, he did all these crazy adjustments, one of which involved me with my head buried in his arm almost falling off the exam table, and I kept thinking, "How do I get myself into these things? Why don't these things happen to anyone else I know!?"
But! As soon as I sat up, my head felt better, and obviously, he didn't snap my neck, so I figured we were good. Then he gave me antibiotics for the throat and told me that if my head started to hurt, I could come to the ER tomorrow and he'd do a spinal tap. Seriously, those were his parting words.

On the drive home, I was on the phone with my mom and suddenly I shouted, I KNOW WHY I HATE HIM!! To which my mom responded, "Uhh... what?" Because we were talking about cupcakes at the time, and she knows I'd never use the word hate when talking about cupcakes. No, instead, I realized that this doctor and I go WAY BACK to the night Tommy was born, when he tried to yank back the blanket to look at Tommy and I seriously thought he was going to take away my baby. In hindsight, everyone in the ER was kind of in a tizzy when we were wheeled in and we ended up with about eight people around us wanting to see Tommy, so he probably didn't have any ill intentions (unlike a year later, when he clearly tried to snap my neck and failed), but it's nice to know that at least I'm not losing my mind.

This is turning into the longest post ever, isn't it? What I really wanted to tell you is that I was very sick this weekend, so today when I felt better, I spent the entire morning cleaning. I did five loads of laundry and scrubbed bathrooms and the kitchen and vacuumed and made the kitchen table look nice, and I feel like I scrubbed my soul a little, because that sort of sick where you can't do anything but be in bed and feel miserable and be sad for how you feel? It's the heaviest, worst kind of sick.

{Two seconds after I took this picture, my soon to be one year dumped an entire fistful of noodles on the clean floor.}

Swept Away {Review}

If you've been reading me for very long, you know that we're a family who loves vacuum cleaners. Although I don't usually do many reviews, I could not turn down a chance to review a vacuum cleaner, right? At least, not without feeling like I was letting down Luke! So when Panasonic emailed me about doing a review of the Panasonic Jetspin Cyclone Vacuum, I jumped at the chance.

I'm going to be honest. I'm a vacuum snob. I wasn't sure how Panasonic would live up to my vacuum cleaner, but as long as I'm being honest here, I have to tell you that I've only used the other vacuum cleaner ONCE since receiving the Panasonic. Simply put, I love it.

Even Tommy, who now loves vacuums as much as his big brother, prefers it to the toy vacuum cleaner!

There are so many reasons why I adore this vacuum cleaner. First, I love the dirt sensor. It takes a lot of the guesswork out of vacuuming by sensing the amount of dirt particles still in the patch of carpeting and lets you know whether you need to keep working on that area. With two kids who at any given time are leaving a trail of crumbs, this is necessary.
The vacuum also did a much better job on the kitchen floor than my other cleaner. While my other vacuum (twice the price of this one!) also has a bare floor setting, it has never done much on our kitchen floor. The Panasonic did a great job of grabbing loose crumbs and food particles, so much that I was able to just vacuum prior to mopping, instead of having to use a broom to sweep.


But what really, really sold me on this vacuum was the 12-foot stretch hose and on-board tools.
(See? Let's just pretend that that's a picture of me in my awesomely clean house vacuuming curtains and not the reality, which is that I looked at this and thought, "OMG! I'm supposed to vacuum CURTAINS!?")
I have a severe aversion to vacuuming stairs. So much that I'd rather do just about ANYTHING than clean stairs, but living in a tri-level, this is hard to avoid. I just can never get the crack where the stairs meet clean, no matter how hard I try or what tools I try. Except that the first time I used the wand to vacuum my stairs (without any tools), I nearly fainted. My stairs were seriously cleaner than they've ever been and with no effort from me. After trying the stairs, I used the wand along the baseboards (my other problematic cleaning area) and same results. Cleaner than I've ever seen, with no effort--not even an extra tool. And then? I fainted for real.
I could go on and on, but if you're like me, you always have one key component that you search for in vacuum cleaners... and mine is definitely the ability to clean stairs quickly and easily. I've finally found the perfect cleaner for that (now if only I could find the perfect mascara).

Overall, this vacuum cleaner is excellent for the price ($249.95), and when I clicked on the website, I actually expected it to retail for more. This vacuum cleaner is also supposed to be great for houses with pets, and I should also mention that it's extremely easy to maneuver. I had no trouble with it and my three year old has spent a lot of time pushing it around with the house, without so much as a struggle. Yet, despite the lightweight, it definitely does heavy duty cleaning.
I'm wondering, what's your one big cleaning issue when it comes to vacuuming? Stairs like me? Bare floors? Or maybe you too never realized that you were supposed to vacuum curtains (I mean, REALLY, who thinks of these things!?).

One, Two

I wish I had a recording of my voice when I told Shane Tommy was a boy. I just remember having so much joy and pride in my voice. No regret, no wishes that he was a girl, despite what strangers at the grocery store constantly say, "Aww, two boys? I bet you wanted a girl."
"No," I always reply, "I'm so lucky to have my two boys."



And I am.

Photo by Beth Fletcher Photography

America!

I had grand plans of taking firework photographs this weekend. I even read up on how to best photograph fireworks. And then, we had Shane's aunt's funeral to attend the evening of July 3rd, so fireworks were out that night. Then July 4th came around and it totally would've been a great time for me to take photos of fireworks, except that, well, there were various reasons why I was not wielding a camera.

Instead, I have a picture of this purple daisy that makes me think of a firework, because of the way the petals explode from the center. ALSO, purple daisies signify dignity and pride, which could also relate to having pride in one's country. Did you know that? I didn't, until I looked it up to try and justify using this picture for You Capture. As you can see, I have succeeded.

The End

As Shane and I walked around the neighborhood last night, I remarked that a year ago, I was waddling this same walk every night, in an attempt to coerce a baby out of my uterus. It made me think about how much I love the end of pregnancy. I do. I really do. That's not to say that I don't get anxious to meet my baby, because oh my goodness, I cried in my midwife's office on my due date when she said I'd made no progress (PREGNANT WOMEN: I delivered a baby within 48 hours of no progress, so take note that progress can mean nothing!). I didn't cry so much because I was done being pregnant, but I cried because I just wanted to meet the baby in my belly.

But still, the end of pregnancy is beautiful in its mysteriousness. Somehow, you have a full grown infant inside of you. Somehow your body works just right to keep a baby safe and warm and growing for forty weeks (and oh, how lucky you are in this). Somehow the baby doesn't jab right through your stomach with big movements as they run out of room. Somehow your body will continue to work right by delivering this baby into the world when he/she is ready. You don't know when, but you know that no one is pregnant forever. You know that the baby is going to pick his/her birthday, which you have to admit is pretty neat. And depending on when your due date is, you may start out a month knowing that you're going to have a baby THAT MONTH. People smile when they see you. They ask what you're having, and if you don't know the gender, they make guesses based on your belly. They ask if it's your first child. They congratulate you. And sometimes if you're really lucky, they have a hard time believing that you're nine months pregnant (but then other times, they ask if you're having twins). You daydream about your baby. What will labor be like? Will the baby look like me? Will it have hair?

And then, all in one fluid movement, you have a baby in your arms. He nurses constantly. Sometimes you wish you could put him back in your belly just to sleep for a few uninterrupted hours, but mostly, you love being able to look into the eyes of a sweet new baby. When Tommy was just 48 hours old, he woke up in the bassinet next to the bed. Without even thinking, as if on autopilot, I scooped him up, laid down, and started nursing him. Without turning on the light. Without even stopping to think about what I was doing, until he was latched and contentedly nursing. I just did. We moved together, as if we'd been doing it for a hundred years, as if it wasn't his very first night home from the hospital. Just like the moment he was born, as he slid into my hands, and I caught him like that's what I was supposed to do, like I'd done it a million times before. Moving together, in the rhythm that both of our bodies just knew how to do, not even pausing to think. And we've moved together ever since, this boy and I.

Pledge

Yesterday, Luke took his job of passing out tootsie rolls during our 4th of July parade very seriously. So seriously that when I tried to snag one from his bag, he admonished me that they were for the people watching.

Initially, I had a little mommy guilt about taking away the parade from him. Instead of getting to sit and watch it and fill a bag full of candy, he was going to have to be in the hot sun, possibly behind loud fire trucks, not getting any candy. But you know what? My little boy loved his first taste of GIVING. Instead of asking why he didn't get a bag of candy, he thrived on throwing candy to help fill the bags of other kids. All he's done since is talk about how much fun he had being in the parade. Instead of getting a bag of candy, he got a t-shirt... one that he didn't want to take off, but he also got a lesson in giving and how good it can feel. I am so proud of him.

My other little boy spent the entire parade in the Ergo, looking like this, drawing a laugh from an ironworker walking with us. Tommy OF COURSE had his hands in my mouth, and he teased me to take my fingers out of my mouth, then told me I should just bite them and he'd take them out. I assured him that I have tried biting many times, and he just won't get those fingers out of mama's mouth. And so, he slept while I passed out beads to excited children, and also to 80 year old women who apparently are really into bead necklaces? Or maybe just into tickling baby's feet, because they all smiled and tickled a sleeping Tommy's toes.

Then, we went to Shane's aunt's funeral, who was suddenly, inexplicably gone too soon. Shane read the 23rd psalm at her service and though he was so brave and his voice didn't even waver once, I was sniffing back big tears (especially when he read, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever")We're still trying to wrap our minds around it, but at her service, one of her requests was a moment of peace... for everyone to turn to those around them and offer hugs. How beautiful. I didn't know the people sitting around us, so I hugged and kissed Shane, and then hugged the girl next to me, a total stranger. How many times do you hug someone you don't know? Not often, but it felt good and right. And so of all the lessons I carry with me, yesterday taught me the importance of giving and holding tight to the life that surrounds you, because there is so much life.

Today, get out and give hugs. As many as you can.

The Morning Sun Is Shining

[like a red rubber ball]

I got this stuck in the tree yesterday. Luke was not happy with me, but he said, "it'll be all right."

This weekend is busy for us (what about you?). We're walking in a 4th of July parade with a politician we support (and though I hardly get political, if you live in my district... I hope you'll support her too--regardless of party affiliation, she stands with teachers and public schools).
Then in the afternoon/evening, we have a memorial service for Shane's {dear} aunt who succumbed to breast cancer too soon. Please get your yearly checkups. They can and do save lives.

Sorry about telling you who to vote for and how to take care of your health, but when I support something, I can't help but have my heart in it, you know? It's been a long few weeks for us, in our hearts and sorrows, but...

{I think it's gonna be all right.
Yeah, the worst is over now,
The morning sun is shining like a Red Rubber Ball.}

Greenie

I had some really fabulous ideas for photos this week, but they just didn't happen. Somehow, not only did I take very little photos, but my house also didn't get cleaned. I'm not sure what I spent my time doing.

I love this daisy because it was a single pop of color in a sea of green. Also, I just love daisies. They make me so happy.

Do you know what makes me even happier than daisies? Sharing food with friends. When I visited Julie and Sara Joy, we shared this delicious appetizer (we also shared fried pickles). Chili cheese fries with green onions. I gave Tommy a fry and he ate it so quickly that I had to check his lap to make sure he didn't drop it.

Do you know what makes me even happier than daisies and fried food shared with friends? DESSERT shared with friends. We totally got something off of this delicious dessert table (and then we went to a bakery. Yes, a bakery AFTER eating dessert), which conveniently had a vase full of green stems in the middle.

Oh, and clearly the answer to the question of what I was doing when I was not photographing and not cleaning this week? I was eating. Check back next week when I discuss how my pants no longer fit.