you remember the one. *updated with a bonus episode.*

Ah. Home sweet blog.

This week has been full of new episodes of Stephanie's Family Circus. There was the One with the Roach, wherein a disgusting thumb-sized (which is closer to hand-sized, for little ones) outdoor cockroach materialized out of thin air and landed on Asher in the bathtub. Picture me, screaming (OH HOW I HATE ROACHES), Asher screaming and doing the there's-a-roach-on-me dance, and Silas deeming the whole thing Sketchy and screaming in agreement. In the end we left the roach to drown in the bathtub. I sat on the floor of my room with two sudsy sobbing naked children, one on either knee, trying to convince them and myself that roaches aren't carnivorous, and we would all be okay. It was quite a moment.

Then there was The One With the Mud, in which Asher and Silas taught their delicate female counterparts about the beauty of dirt. For all the times I've taken my camera to the park, I really can't believe I didn't have it with me that day. They had a BLAST. We would all congregate around a slide that invariably emptied into a puddle, watch them catapult down the slide and into the filth, and applaud. There was mud in ears, mud in diapers, mud in curls ... So very fun.

There was also The One Where Silas Grows Up - climbing the big slide at Chick fi1-A (seriously most children are over two years old before they can manage those steps, for those of you unfamiliar with fast food playgrounds) and pummeling down, over and again. He also got his first pair of tennis shoes, which were christened at a different playground this morning, and he burned his fingers on the tires yesterday (did you know to pay attention when your children are around car tires? Because I really didn't. He's going to have the scars to prove it). He also mastered the art of a kiss, and will subsequently pucker up at the slightest provocation, delighting us all. This morning Brian told him good-bye for the day, and Silas kissed his cereal in response. All of that in a week. This part of babyhood happens so fast! I never get over it.

And there was The One Where Stephanie Gets Offered a Job. Three (more or less) in the past two weeks, in fact. In this economy (it's actually because of this economy that my position is in high demand, but that's another story) ... so I called another program this morning - one that has suggested the possibility of a future with them, but has never approached me - and asked if they would create a VERY part-time position and hire me to do it. It was pretty ballsy, even for me. I like my life, I don't need a job. But two mornings a week would not be a major life change for my family. The position would be a challenge, and would be a good next move for my career. They may not hire me, but still. It's always nice when people are calling with work, right?

And there was The One with the Soccer Game, wherein Asher had his first invitation to go somewhere with a friend without a family member with him. I wish you could have seen that little boy jump out of the chair, sprint through our leaving-the-house routine, then wait for his ride on the front steps, wearing his back pack, ready to go. It was SO. CUTE. He went with my friend Jamie's family to a neighborhood soccer game, where he and his buddy Andrew lapped the field (and jumped off the walls) for a few hours. I love watching my kids enjoy their lives - making friends, finding puddles, climbing slides. I love it all.

And then it's now. Happy Thursday all.

Wait - one more. The One About Shampoo. Baron, with your reasonable comment and being a GUY and all, it was your comment that sparked Brian's interest, and now he's doing it. Day One 'Poo Free. For crying out loud. He also called me and said, "Did you know there's this whole MOVEMENT where people are doing everything naturally? Cloth diapers and no chemical cleaners and everything." Um, yes, I did know that. It's EVERYWHERE, and now Brian's going to have something new to obsess over on the internet. Okay, fine, but I'm not giving up my Febreze. I'm just saying.

Good night.

so many things

On life with Baby H (who doesn't actually live at my house, to be clear, but is HERE, in my immediate family, and is shifting the landscape a bit):

- Something about seeing The Baby makes Asher lose. his. mind. He does fine when he's around The Baby, but afterward, he is alternately desperately needy and /or desperately misbehaving, and just generally desperate. Brian and I are guessing that A New Baby in the Family causes some sort of visceral sibling-esque reaction, a remembrance of things past. As a result I am digging up new stores of patience. Insert deep breath here.

- Perception really is everything. The picture below, taken this afternoon, marks the moment when Silas officially became a humongous babyzilla who must surely be capable of frying his own eggs and driving himself to the park. As of this moment, he is no longer The Baby.



Like I said, the landscape shifted. Right in front of the camera.

- Here are a few other pictures of Baby H, as requested by Elizabeth. He is every bit as beautiful as you would expect him to be.



- And my sister is a natural mama. I'm not at all surprised, but something about watching my baby sister morph into a mother is an experience I don't know how to accurately describe. So I'll just say that it is good.

On life with Silas:
- Silas and food. Just putting those two words together makes me want to sigh. He cannot eat any (at all, ever) oats, dairy, sweet potatoes, or cinnamon. (Keep in mind that ruling out dairy typically means ruling out almost any baked good, and no oats means no granola bars or cereals). Red dye causes him to break out (which rules out sausage, hot dogs - not that we eat them anyway, but still - many medications, and most popsicles and sweets), soy upsets his stomach. Clearly Silas's options for meals are limited. And now he has decided that He Has An Opinion about what he eats. The boy will not touch one bean. Not a single one. The other night Brian added a SINGLE black bean to his mound of grilled chicken, just to see if he would notice, and His Majesty located it and spit it directly out of his mouth. He's also tired of sandwich meat, and will only eat peanut butter if it is spread very thin and he's in a good mood. He throws his rice milk, drops avocado over the side of the high chair, lets carrots fall out of his mouth. I'm honestly running out of ideas. I can usually swing dinner and snacks, but breakfast and lunch are hard. How many scrambled eggs or whole wheat bagels can one child eat? And it's only a matter of time before he becomes bored with those as well, and then what will I do? Silas and food, Silas and food ...

- And now I will tell you the very cutest Silas story ever.

Asher had just seen The Baby, and was consequently melting into a puddle on the floor. I was holding him in the recliner, hoping proximity to me might right his world a little. But late afternoon is normally Silas's time to be held, and he came toddling over to me, arms outstretched, hopeful. "No, baby," I said. "Brother needs a little privacy. Go choose a toy." So rather than throwing himself to the floor (which is what would typically happen), he was resourceful. Silas walked into the kitchen where Brian was working, took his finger, and tugged him toward the living room. Brian followed his lead to the living room rug. He sat down, and Silas climbed into his lap, then rested his head against Brian's chest. He was determined to have some time in somebody's lap, and since mine was already claimed, he found another. So cute.

And with that I'm off. Thanks for sticking with me - it looks like I had a lot to tell you guys tonight. Enjoy your evening.

growing

The orderliness of the world around me always catches my attention. What I mean is this: drive over a state line, and many times the terrain changes almost immediately. And, there are some months - October, for example - that, in our corner of the world, see a change in the weather almost as soon as the month begins. It's as though the universe acknowledged, hey it's fall now, time to pull out the blue jeans and chill out with the 90* afternoons.

Birthdays are the same way. One year old is qualitatively different from eleven months old. As though a little body suddenly understands, I'm not an infant anymore, better hop to it and start growing up. It surprises me every time. Suddenly Silas at 12 months old is this little PERSON who drinks (soy) milk and eats french fries and says, "night-night" to tell me he's ready to go to bed. And throws fits in public and toddles around the house and climbs onto furniture (or anything, really, that will stand still long enough for him to scale it) and pushes trucks around and asks to be picked up ... I knew it would happen, but I never get over the wonder of it.

in which i get a clue, part 2

So we had this epic long virus, right? It was miserable. Brian and I both had it (on alternating days, thank goodness), and Silas still doesn't have his appetite back. Asher was sick first, and recovered the quickest, so Wednesday and Thursday, as Brian and I were sick and his brother needed constant attention, Asher was living the life of convenience. Goldfish and nick jr., friends. Without them we would have been lost. And that's fine and good (some days that's the best you can do), but by Friday we were ready to get back to normal life, or as close as we could, doctor's appointments notwithstanding. In the morning Asher played at a neighbor's house (how do parents survive without neighbors and friends? I really don't know) while Silas was at his appointment, so when he woke up from his nap, I was determined to have some fun with him. When I took him out of his crib, I asked him if he'd like a special snack.
"Special snack!" he agreed enthusiastically.
"How about a cookie?" I said.
"Great idea, Mama!"
"I have to bake them, so we'll have to wait a few minutes," I told him.
He was like a puppy on my heels. "Cookies ready?" he asked. And again, 15 seconds later. And again, 15 seconds after that, as I took out the tube of cookie dough. I nearly stepped on Asher twice, as he tried to back up in time and still stand as close as possible. "Cookies ready!" He decreed, when he saw the dough.
"Here," I said. "Why don't you color while you wait? Cookies are going to take a few minutes." That, too, was proclaimed a Great Idea.

Now, you should know that Asher has been coloring on his own since last spring. He started in his high chair until he learned some parameters around what is and is not a place to color. By the time Silas was born, Asher was sitting on his blanket and coloring his paper without wandering around with a crayon. There was that one incident a few months back, but we both felt then that he really didn't completely understand what he was doing, so we cleaned it up and didn't address it beyond talking about how we Only Color On Paper, Ever and Always, Amen. But by two, Asher clearly understands what is acceptable coloring material.

Also? He has a great big conscience (thank you Lord! A big conscience will serve him - and me - well in life). Anytime he is doing something he shouldn't, he will find me and say, "Hey Mama!" a little too sweetly, then hug my legs. As though he's trying to pre-empt any consequences with charm. He is so predictable that when he says "Hey Mama!" in that sugary tone, my reaction has become, "What did you do?"

So I'm in the kitchen, talking to my mom on the phone, when I feel little arms around my leg. "Hey Mama!" It registered on some level that I should be suspicious, but I was already juggling several things, what with the cookies burning in the oven, Silas strapped to my chest, and my mom on the phone. So I did not respond, beyond saying, "Hey Asher." He ran back into the other room while I took the cookies out of the oven, cut one up on a plate for him, and took it to his little table in the living room, still on the phone.

I turned around to face Asher in his chair and saw ... drawings. In forest and kelly green, as it were, all along the wall beside his table. "Asher Paauuul ..." I said. He covered his face with his hands. Then, "Mom, I have to go."

You guys told me that I would know when to discipline him, because I would know when he "got it." You were so right. It's so obvious. Guilt was all over him. I knelt down beside Asher, who was standing beside his drawing, and asked, "What happened?" Silence. I pointed to the wall. "What is this?" I asked.
"A MONKEY!" he announced.
"Is it a good idea to draw monkeys on the wall?"
"No," he said.
"You need to go sit on your bottom in the hallway," I said (this is time out in our house). He looked at me, eyes full of tears. "COOKIES READY!" He wailed. Then walked to the hallway, sat in the designated spot, and melted. "Cookies, Mama? Cookies READY, Mama?"

There's no replacement for a natural consequence. And when you draw monkeys on the wall instead of your paper, friend, the cookies will just have to wait.

calling all super readers (UPDATED to add size 3T)

to the book club!

This is a public cry for help. My child is in need, and so far I have been unable to help him on my own. I am now reaching out to you, and asking you to help me help him. You guys are scattered across Oregon, California, Massachusetts, Texas, the Midwest, and the Southeast. Surely, if we all work together, one of us will be able to resolve the crisis. After all, it takes a village, right?

Asher needs new Diego jammies.

Apparently, Diego is SO 2007, and since Asher was not yet aware of the existence of cartoons at that point, he missed the fad. I bought some Diego pajamas on consignment, but Asher outgrew them before it got cool enough to wear them. Nonetheless, he spotted them in his drawer, and his gleeful cries of "Diego JAMMIES!" could not be ignored.

Exhibit A:



Please note the exuberance over the Diego jammies.

Exhibit B:



Please note his exposed little belly, the restricted movement in the shoulders, and the sleeves that can't quite reach his wristbone.

The child NEEDS Diego pajamas. Needs them. And no self-respecting toddler (or his mother) can continue to abide jammies that are so clearly too small. I check W@l-m@art and T@rget every time I go, and they are nowhere - nowhere, I say - to be found. But you, dear friends, have OTHER W@l-m@rts and DIFFERENT T@rgets in your areas. Maybe Diego is still in fashion among preschoolers in your area. There's only one way to find out.

Please keep an eye out for us. If you find them, PLEASE buy them (as long as they are priced such that you don't gasp and say, "WHAT?! For PAJAMAS?!"). I will write you a check including shipping, and put it in the mail as soon as I hear from you. Together, we can help Asher achieve his dream of wearing Diego to bed every night.

in which i foolishly ask the internet for parenting advice.

Not everyone. Just you.

Let me start this conversation by saying I am the most reluctant potty trainer you have ever met. Having done my part to potty train other people's children, in at least this aspect of parenting I have an idea of what's in store. I have seen the future, and it is gross. It is full of concrete park bathrooms and trying very hard not to touch anything while listening for a tiny splash to signify victory. It is deciding where to put my other child, who will be sitting but not crawling, while I balance the first precariously on a public toilet, lunch and shopping bags unmanned in the restaurant booth. It is poopy pants instead of poopy diapers. It is wet blue jeans and tears. Boo, I say. Just give me a diaper.

However, I will concede that if my children are still in diapers in junior high school, they will not exactly experience the full measure of joy seventh grade can give. At some point, I'm going to have to plough through one of the messier phases of motherhood and potty train my children.

But I thought I had another year. Little boys take longer to physically develop, right? That's my understanding, and every little boy I know has been closer to three than two before using the potty.

Except.

Asher has started telling me when he needs to poop. "Mama! Poo-poo!" and then he'll find a corner. As much as I would like to postpone this phase, it occurs to me that when he is spontaneously telling me what's about to happen, I should probably put him on the potty. At least, this is what I think. Or am I asking for a year long disaster by introducing the potty before he turns two? I don't know. What do you think?

First of all, I have accidentally started a tradition.

Long ago, we got a package in the mail from Lane and Mary, containing the coolest little dude-like baby shirt ever. And when Asher turned three months old, I took his picture in it. See?



Fast forward eighteen months. The heat has finally broken here (yay) and jeans and t-shirts are in order again. So today, on Silas' three month birthday, I put him in the same t-shirt and jeans Asher is wearing in that picture. Then I remembered it was his three month birthday. AND I remembered the picture of Asher. I am trying very hard to just let Silas be his own person, and not compare him to his brother all the time. Even so, I couldn't help myself. I had to get a picture.



In other news, I mentioned Friday that Silas was really tired. Friday and Saturday were hard days for him, but by this afternoon - after basically 72 hours of having nothing expected of him except to eat and sleep - he was better. We had an exceptionally peaceful bedtime hour, even with me working solo tonight. That was a nice surprise.

But seeing him in his brother's clothes reminded me that when Asher hit three months, we entered naptime HELL. Part of it was my fault, but even when I corrected my role in keeping him awake, he would still cry 30-45 minutes before/during every nap. I have all of these pictures from that month of Asher falling asleep in random places - in the recliner, in the swing, because he had the hardest time settling down that month. This weekend, Silas cried 10-15 minutes before falling asleep (if we were lucky - sometimes he never fell asleep, just cried through his nap time). And, as I just mentioned, he is three months old today. Several of you have researched sleep and babies more than I have. Do you have any insight into this? Is there something about three-month-olds and sleep I don't know about? The other thing I remember about that spring with Asher is that after the month of naptime HELL he settled into a great routine and kept it. Is this just part of making the transition into a nap schedule? Anyone have any thoughts?

Moving on -

Here are a few more pictures from today:

Doesn't this remind you of Seargent Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band? It's wonderful to be here, it's certainly a thrill ...


Brian and Asher wore matching outfits today. I also put Asher and Silas in similar outfits when possible. Yes, I am that mother. I don't ever tell Brian what to wear - any more than he tells me - but if I see what he's wearing, and know that Asher has something similar, I dress him like his dad. Asher loves it - Asher loves doing anything his dad is doing - and it's the closest to dressing up a baby doll I may ever get. But no matter what they were wearing, I would love this picture:

And this one ...



Happy Sunday.

When Asher was a newborn, I was, um, focused on his schedule. Focused, obsessed, you know, whatever. Whatever I needed to do, or anyone else needed from me, had to happen in between Asher's naps. If it didn't fit, it didn't happen.

That's what I was dreading about having a second child - trying to combine two different little lives with completely different needs, and continuing to function on some level on my own as well. I was right to dread it - it's hard.

But we're getting there. Asher has been learning about how we're a team, and sometimes Brother has to give for Asher, sometimes Asher has to give for Silas, sometimes they both have to give for Mom and Dad. He hears things like "patience" and "wait your turn" a lot these days. It's a hard lesson when you're twenty months (or twenty years) old, but we're learning, all of us.

Lately Silas has had several late nights, busy mornings, interrupted bedtimes - and I kept remarking how well he was doing, how probably Asher could have done that well, too, had I ever given him the chance to show me. But last night and today I am reminded that I am right now, but I was also right back then to be so stringent about sleep. Yes, babies can bend. But too much bending and we all pay for it later. Both of them can do whatever is asked in the moment, but when we get home, it all hits the fan.

So today little Silas is exhausted. He's done all the bending he can do. We had to cut our morning short to let him rest, and even then it took him over two hours to settle down into a real nap, not just fussy dozing. It's our turn now to let that baby get the sleep he needs, and let everything else fit into his schedule for a few days. I guess our "team" is kind of in tune to each other. We all get hungry together, we all get overstimulated together, we all get tired together. And today, we're all ready for the weekend.

Happy Friday everyone.

like weeds, or kudzu, or rumors in a small town

Before I say anything else, I have something important to share:  Silas slept through the night last night.  Is still sleeping through the night, actually, because the time at the tone is 5:21, and he hasn't stirred yet.  

Hooray.

Now-

I am posting then and now pictures so that you can agree with me when I say, "They're growing up too fast!" By the way, this is most of why I stay at home. Some of it is financial - I work in non-profit, and would basically hand over my paycheck to childcare - and some of it is overprotectiveness? the desire to nurture? I'm not sure what to call it, but it's the belief that, as their mother, I am their best teacher at this age (though not at every age. Someone else is way more qualified to teach them geometry). But most of it is that I don't want to miss their childhoods. It's running away from me as it is, and the idea of someone else having more time with my kids than I do is just too much for me. It will be over too soon anyway, and I'll spend the rest of my life telling stories about the next few years. I don't want to miss a thing.

With that in mind -

in March


in August


June 22


August 31


in April


in August (yes, of the same year. Unbelievable.)


and my favorite - June 2007 (look at that baby!)


last weekend

Happy Saturday.

Apparently I was developing the wild-eyed, desperate look of a mother who needed the chance, for the love of all that is holy, to just finish my sentence, so yesterday I had a Break. Asher spent the night at Grandma's, and Silas, after spending the afternoon with Grandma (Brian's mom), stayed with my mom (Marmee) at our house for a few hours last night.

It was everything I thought it could be.

Brian and I went paddling, and the weather was nearly CHILLY. We also nearly sank our boat, but so did every other canoe that went down that rapid yesterday afternoon, so it must have been the water level that messed us up. Then we came home, cleaned up, and had dinner AND dessert in a restaurant that did not offer me a coloring page at the hostess' stand. It was lovely.

Please don't get me wrong. I adore my kids, and I love being home with them. But sometimes I just need a little time away. It helps me enjoy my job more and do it better.

So this is me, with less tension in my shoulders and less frustration in my voice. Aahhh.

tuesday morning news

Good morning.

Our friend Mark is staying with us this week. Mark is an artist in temperament and in skill. He is a dreamer, an activist, the kind of believer who wants only to honor God, not to build a reputation or career in ministry. He talks in pictures and engages my children. It's good to have him here.

In other news, I realized Asher is misbehaving more because he has too much unstructured time (thank you Take Home Nanny). So we made a Fun Box over the weekend. It has preschool-ish activities that don't require much prep or clean-up for me. Asher and I no longer have two hours at a time to spend playing together, but we often have twenty minutes here, fifteen there. The Fun Box is perfect for that. And he's only screamed once since we started.

I have also decided to let Silas sleep on his belly. The trade-off is that he sleeps in a common area at all times. At night, his bassinet is right beside me. I am not the kind of sleeper who wakes at every grunt (that's the upside of sleep deprivation, I guess), but I always hear him when he's really stirring around, even if he doesn't cry. I'm counting on waking up if he is struggling, I guess. Whether that's guile or faith I'm not sure.

Happy Tuesday.

We have hit the hump. What I remember most clearly from Asher's first few months of life is the fourth week. You can do anything for a little while, but sleep deprivation is cumulative. By week 4, Asher was his fussiest, and I was my most desperate. This was the week that I drove to Auburn just to make a phone call (he would sleep in the car, and I needed him to sleep. NEEDED it.), and began to realize there is a lot about being a mother nobody ever tells you. Like, when it gets better than week 4.

Here we are friends. Silas is 4 weeks old. He was up every two hours night before last, and every 2 1/2 last night, creating such a state of confusion in my bumfuzzled brain that at 4 a.m. I brought him to Brian. "He's crying and I don't know why," I said. "But I have to keep sleeping." Brian told me this morning he was crying because he was wet and hungry. Huh. How about that.

Add to the mix Asher, who, lined up against other toddler boys is relatively calm and easy to manage, but nonetheless has the "let's see what happens if ..." mindset that all toddlers possess. We had dinner with a friend last night, who observed, "You're going to have to throw every bit of stimulation you can at that child just to keep up. He's a little sponge." Indeed.

And here is the rub: Asher really is soaking up every thing right now. He wants to know how the world works, all of it, in no particular order. And in order to keep him from climbing the walls (to see what happens if he does) I really do need to give him as much opportunity to learn new things as possible. Which stands in direct conflict to what Silas needs, which is predictability and calm and most importantly, for the love of all that is holy, to be held. So every morning I wake up and think, who am I going to mess with today? Will I bungee Asher to the house so that Silas can have a little peace in the world, or will I strap Silas to me, let Asher live a little, and deal with the overstimulation screaming later?

Alas.

Week 6 is only 10 days away, though. By week 6, my world was much brighter last time. Let's hope that will prove true now, too.

Happy Thursday every one.

on smiles, Erickson, and traveling circuses. circi, Brian would say.

Guess what.

Silas just smiled at me.

To anyone out there who is thinking, that baby is too young to smile; he probably has gas - First of all, boo. Second, it was different. He was awake, looked at my eyes, and grinned. I know that's not supposed to happen for another few weeks, but clearly he is an extraordinary child.

Shortly after Asher was born, I remember reading that the Navajos believe whoever witnesses a baby's first smile is linked to that child; the baby will take on the adult's characteristics. This information stuck with me because Granny first made Asher smile, and Granny's life was characterized by laughter. Asher, too, is quick to laugh, and his name means "happy."

So what will Silas take from me?

In other news, I've realized something about myself as a parent. I love order deep in my soul, so I always thought of myself as a routine/structured (i.e., Babywise) parent. Even when I didn't follow Babywise whole-heartedly, I held on to the label, because it seemed to be the most accurate description. But that's not true. I have a degree in human development, which means I've studied who knows how many theories of how children and adults become who they are. Erickson convinced me. Erickson says that every stage of life has a question to be answered, and that the questions are cumulative. Right now Silas is learning to trust me, and, by extension, people in general. And while my sleep is important, my autonomy is important, and his independence is important - nothing matters as much as Silas learning to trust, creating a framework for understanding and accepting love. Which is why I am so excited to see him beginning to calm down when I pick him up to feed him. He's beginning to understand he doesn't need to cry anymore, because I am going to take care of him. That knowledge is way better than my sleep.

Asher is transitioning out of the question of trust and beginning to learn about autonomy. He is figuring out that he is a separate entity from me. I see it in everything he does - in the way he screams when I say, "no", in his fascination with his own reflection, in his desire to use his newly discovered language. He is his own little person, with his own ideas and shadow. The challenge, as a mom, is to allow him to grow into his own person while teaching him to function as part of a whole - in our family, in a group of peers, in the wider world. Any suggestions?

Finally, the Circus is going on tour tonight. I'm taking both boys to a restaurant, and then home for bed, by myself. Go ahead, laugh. I am sure that I will at some point in the evening, too. The good news is that both sets of grandparents will be at dinner, so someone can make sure Asher doesn't pull down the tablecloth or eat the sugar packets. Come on, come all.

Happy Monday, everyone.

Silas is starting to wake up. I love how babies, after they are born, take a nap for two weeks. He is nearing the two week mark, and has been more awake today. Let the fun begin.

We went to one of those places this morning that has all of the blow-up equipment for kids (moon walks, slides, etc). This place has a preschool hour on weekday mornings, and since we're vacating, we took Asher. He loved it - loved it so much that I don't have one single good picture to share, because he was too busy playing and our digital camera is starting to show its age. I would love to have the kind that has a zero delay when you take a picture. All of my pictures from the past six months are of the side of Asher's face, because by the time the camera works, he has moved on. Alas.

Anyway, it's been a fun week. Here are some pictures from the past few days.




Playing with his dad. Have I mentioned that Brian is perfectly suited for raising little boys? He's the biggest kid on any playground. When we lived with the Searcys, he used to make up obstacle courses at the park and get the kids to compete on who could make the best time. When we were at the church picnic, he had the kids organized and trying all kinds of stunts on the water slides. He had as much fun as Asher did this morning. And slept just as well after lunch.



Making a cake with me. We're adjusting to me not being able to pick him up. I spend a lot of time on the floor. My favorite part of making the cake was Asher's spontaneous "YUUUMMM" as he ate the batter.



Enjoying the batter.



Look at how small that baby is. You can't see it here as much. Look.



This is Silas, hanging out on the couch. Tiny. By the way, he does have other clothes. Somehow, the only two times he's worn that shirt, his picture has ended up on the blog. Go figure.

birth plans, discipline, sleep deprivation, another gift,

and a partridge in a pear tree.

1. I don't have a written birth plan. Like Julie, they feel a little silly to me, because if I have learned anything in the past few years, it's how little of life we get to plan. Parties and field trips, that's about it. Everything else is outside of our control. Even so, I have learned a few things from the previous experience, and I know a little more about what I do and don't want this time around. I DO want to sleep at night, if at all humanly possible (isn't it ironic that in an institution created specifically for healing, it's almost impossible to get any sleep?). I DON'T want to bring home an exhausted and confused toddler, matched by his exhausted and overwhelmed parents, so I'm going to do my best not to be a baby and to let Brian and Asher have a normal night time routine at home while I'm in the hospital. I also DON'T want any more pain medication than I absolutely have to have. I'm a lightweight, my doctor says, and pain medicine messes with my head (so does anesthesia, but with a cesarean, that's unavoidable). I'd almost rather deal with the pain than deal with the side effects. That's it. That's all the plan I have.

2. Brian and I were up in the middle of the night talking last night, and it was so much fun. We were waiting out Asher, who is in the midst of a sleep THING that is potentially miserable for us all, and it wasn't fun trying to decide when to let him cry and when to go to him. But after he fell asleep we stayed awake for another hour, talking about nothing of any consequence. It's the kind of thing you do all the time when you're dating, and then never again once you get married. And in this season of our lives, when time to just hang out is rare, it was a gift to us both to have the time together.

3. Anyone been reading Arwen's posts lately on discipline? I think about her point all the time, how teaching and discipline only belong in the context of love. If I didn't love Asher so much, I couldn't possibly have the authority to discipline him. And when the goal of parenting is to build a relationship, not to control another person, the "how's" begin to answer themselves. I HATE spanking him, so I don't do it unless I earnestly believe that is what is best for him in that moment. In my opinion, this is a good argument against corporal punishment in education. Children have to learn to follow rules and to function in society, but who teaches them, and how, is profoundly important for their future. Also, I think of my role at this stage as one of a teacher more than an enforcer. With a few exceptions, he's mostly learning what the rules are. He's also learning to read (and to believe) me, just as I'm learning to read him.

4. For those who keep up with such things, Asher had his 18-month check-up today. He got the DPT and Hepatitis shots, and it was the first time he's understood what was going on, and it made us both very sad. "Bites!" he said when they injected him. Sad. He's in the 90th percentile for height, 75th for weight, and 95th for head circumference. My boy is almost 3 feet tall at 18 months old. Geez. Anyway, he's a perfectly healthy, developing kid, which is the part that matters.

5. T-21 days. I had an appointment yesterday, and a few things are happening that would suggest labor is imminent, but it's like my doctor says: all that really tells us is that I'm going to have a baby. There is not any way to know when. So I'm doing my best to function as though I'm having a baby in three weeks, so that I don't sit perched, waiting for labor, until I drive myself and everyone around me crazy. Besides, I still have a few loose ends to tie up around the house, and Brian is out of town tonight, so today is really not convenient for me. And Friday we're going to the lake, and next week Mikkee will be in town ... so July 8 is as good a time as any, I guess.

How has your week been?

all of the random things I've been meaning to tell you.

* Someone recently asked us if we ever miss Asher being a newborn. We nearly laughed out loud. NO. Emphatically, absolutely no. It's such a sweet time, but it was just as stressful as it was fun. What I do miss, though, when I think about it, is six, seven, eight months old. Six months old is GOLDEN. He could smile, he could eat, he could SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT, he could laugh out loud and enjoy new things. He was also stationary (briefly, because Asher could roll around the house like a champ pretty young), slept for a good portion of the day, and was easily amused. Six months old is the age when moms foolishly begin to think, gosh, if this is what life as a mom is going to be like, I can handle another one. I could handle being pregnant and doing this, even. And then, about the time you get pregnant, they they begin to move. Anyway, I LOVED last summer. I love this one too, for different reasons, and as you all know, I absolutely love watching him learn to talk and do new things. But I do kind of miss six months old, and I'm excited that I'm about to get to do it again. We have a lot to look forward to.

* Macaroni and cheese. That's what I've been eating lately. Also, fresh peaches. Aside from grandparents, fresh local peaches are the best thing about living in Alabama again. Canned peaches, while tasty in their own right, have been so loaded down with sugar they should really be called The Candy Formerly Known as Peaches, and grocery store peaches taste like cardboard. But local peaches, after a rainy spring, are the best fruit ever. Asher and I together can easily put away four in a sitting (they're small, okay?). Brian has been gone more evenings than usual lately, and our dinner de jour has been macaroni and cheese, (fresh) green beans, and peaches. YUM.

* My niece flies in this weekend to spend her summer in town. Can you believe she is 13 years old and going into the 8th grade? Me neither. She is really excited to be here for Silas' birth, and she and Asher love each other (Asher talks about her all the time). I love her too, and can't wait to see her.

* Last night I woke up to contractions. I had them consistently for one hour before they stopped. They were significant enough to make me feel nauseous, but clearly they were not actual labor contractions or I would be holding a newborn right now. I didn't have false labor with Asher until the weekend before he was born, so the idea of doing that for the next month is new to me. I really wish I could call a meeting with my uterus, and explain that this child will need to be surgically removed, so there is absolutely no reason to be rehearsing for the big day. My muscles can just relax, already. Also, while the idea of no longer being pregnant is appealing, Silas needs to stay put at least another week or so. So, seriously, back off with the contractions.

* Speaking of - little boys and aggression, I swear. I have such a mild-mannered child, but that does not prevent us from having to address hitting, pushing, biting, and general aggression pretty regularly. He started hitting Taylor (and pulling his tail) a few weeks ago, so we told him to tell Taylor to "back off" if he's too close. I mean, the dog is still significantly larger than Asher and gets excited enough to wag his entire back end when we come home, and that back end can take Asher out. So. We were at our neighbor's house, and the other little boy was attempting to share a toy with Asher, and Asher started to hit him. I corrected him, of course, so he looks at the little boy and says, "Back off!" Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, an 18-month-old using language instead of aggression is definitely progress. On the other, perhaps we should have chosen a more appropriate phrase ...

* Brian, through no fault of his own, got to spend a night at the beach with one of his good friends yesterday for free. He was absolutely apologetic about it, as well he should be. He doesn't even LIKE the beach. I love it, and wanted so badly to go this spring (I've missed my window now), but it just didn't come together. At least if he liked it I could be happy for him to get to do something fun. Alas. Maybe we'll go this fall.

* I won a book about clowns, written by Diane Keaton, from a blog contest. And that, my friends, is the MOST random thing that has happened to me in a long time. I am pretty excited about the book, mostly because it's a good conversation starter. "Yes, I won it in a blog contest. Isn't that funny?"

What about you? What's the strangest thing you've ever won? What age do you miss? What fun trip is your spouse taking that you're missing this summer? What's your favorite fresh food? Pick a question, any question. It's time for All Things Random.

sprinklers and observations

Please scroll down to skim the previous post, or the first part of this won't make sense.

1. Picking out a sprinkler with Asher.

We went to Target today and made a quasi-impulse buy. Those of you who know me well know how frugal I am, so to decide at 1:00 to buy a toy and drive home with it by 3:00 is impulsive by my standards. But our air is out (we'll get to that in a minute) and we're on day 2 of 85* weather which means, friends, I hope you enjoyed the spring because it's over. Now we'll just get gradually hotter like frogs in a pot until we all jump out or boil alive, whichever comes first. With that in mind, today seemed like a good day for a sprinkler. And it really was. We picked out a twirling penguin on a surfboard; Asher enjoyed it until he tried to catch the spray and got repeatedly squirted in the face, at which point the water hose became a better toy. The boy has no fear whatsoever of water (his mother would be a little more comfortable if he was slightly more intimidated by it, because since bringing him home from the hospital bathtubs and baby pools look more like death traps than fun to me). But sprinklers feel safer (whether they are or not), and he loved playing in the water. And I loved watching him play.

On a different note, I've been writing observations in my head all day. Want to hear them?

Observation #1: Until a few years ago, I had always worked with babies and toddlers, not preschoolers. This doesn't sound like a big difference, and I guess it's not in most ways, but there is one aspect of teaching 3-5 year-olds for which I was not prepared: a large part of every day is spent discussing poo. I teach J on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and no matter what plans or objectives I have for our day, at least an hour will be devoted to if, when, how, or why we go poo-poo on the potty. After our 23rd unsuccessful trip to the public bathroom in the park with J announcing, "No poo-poo on the potty!", I was beginning to question my life. I felt better when I saw two little boys standing side-by-side, pants at their knees, peeing into the sand box while their mothers watched and laughed. And in the moment, I understood exactly why the moms were laughing - at least they didn't have to change wet clothes. Nobody has a handle on this potty-training thing.

Observation #2: Our air is out. I'm not sure I can pray for my air conditioner with a clear conscience, so I am seriously hoping the whole thing needs to be replaced. It is under warranty until September, and this is the second time (since September - and how often do you use the AC in the winter, even in Alabama?) that it has broken down. Please oh please just die, so we can get a new unit for practically nothing. Please please PLEASE don't wait until next October to die. Amen. Also, I have been thinking about pregnant women in desert climates who must be completely covered to leave their homes. I'm dying in 85* in a t-shirt and ponytail. Do you know how HOT those women must be?

Observation #3: I have picked out a bed for Silas. Do you know that, aside from a travel swing purchased a few weeks after Asher's birth, this will be my first purchase of new baby equipment ever? I have found most things on consignment or yard sales, I borrowed an infant carrier, Asher's bed is a hand-me-down, and our kids have three sets of grandparents. Aside from the occasional outfit (or impulsive sprinkler), we haven't bought much from a store for either of our kids. I guess that should be #2 on my Thousand Gifts list.

Observation #4: I was talking to J's mom today about how anxious I have been about this birth, and she brought some much-needed clarity to my thoughts. She said, "It's because you know how much he means to you now. With your first child, you have no idea how much you are going to love them. Now you know." Yes. Yes I do, and that's why I am so much more afraid. Thank you.

Observation #5: Jon & Kate Plus Eight comes on back-to-back episodes in the middle of the night on TLC. I watch it but I am not impressed. Kate is not a happy woman, or, at least, she does not present herself as such during the taping of the show. I know mothers of large families, and I know how busy they are. But she just doesn't seem to enjoy her life very much. That's my opinion, for what it's worth.

Observation #6: I was shopping today for a baby gift, looking through all of the tiny pink sun dresses, and I had a moment where I actually felt a little sorry for mothers of girls, who have to contend with so much PINK in the world. I kept looking over at the adjacent rack and thinking about how boy clothes are cuter because there are so many colors to choose from. This, from the woman who was so convinced she was having a girl that we didn't even consider boy names until the morning we were driving to the ultrasound. Not once, not at all. We've come a long way, baby.

Happy Tuesday, everyone.

my day, part 2, or, the gospel according to the indigo girls

Scroll down for part 1 and some great pictures.

After a few more trips down to the dock to wave at the BOPES!, feeding butter beans to his grandmother, playing with the water hose, chasing the cat for a while, walking a retired baby doll around by the hand (the same way he has been learning to walk with me), emptying a kitchen cabinet, and countless stops to bang on the piano, our trip to my parents' house came to a close. For Asher, it was better than Disney World. It was a 24-hour-party in which he was the star of the show. What kid doesn't love that?

Now, when I was 15, I was the definition of extroverted. The longer I was around people, the more energized I became. But the older I get, the more I appreciate balance. By now, I function best when I have equal parts quiet and excitement. But an hour in a car with a toddler can hardly be called quiet. Most of the time, Asher occupies himself by narrating books and noticing the scenery with what is quickly becoming a characteristic exuberance for language. I normally spend most of my travel time saying, "Yes, baby, that is a leaf." I assumed the quiet I was craving after the Asher Show Marathon would not begin until after bedtime tonight.

I was wrong.

About five minutes down the road, after remembering our day out loud (BOPES. JACK. MARMEEEEEE!), Asher asked for his blanket and pacifier. He'd already had a nap, and we normally have a strict rule about saving pacifiers for bedtime, but it was such an unusual request that I complied. He got the glazed-over look of a tired baby with a paci in his mouth, and I wondered if he was going to sleep, but he didn't. Instead, we listened to the Indigo Girls together. In between songs, he'd ask (quietly - a decibel I did not realize he was capable of using) for more music. And when he recognized a word, he'd announce it softly. "Love," he said. "Jesus!" This one was his favorite, and he repeated it a few times, smiling as he said it. "Jesus!" "Jesus!" very softly, from the back seat. "True?" "Water?" "School." And - my favorite - a word that came out of his innocent mouth as "Uck," which I am certain he thought was referring to his dad's vehicle. We let that one pass us by. This is how we rode home. Until we pulled into the driveway, Asher and I listened to the Indigo Girls, occasionally repeating the important words, and relaxed for a while.

I love the words that stood out to him. We learn language by the repetition of sounds, a thousand times over, until babble becomes associated with an object, and imitating that babble gets us what we want. How long do those little neurons have to fire before nonsense becomes substance? How many times do we hear a word before we understand it? My professor once asked it this way: "How much 'cup'ness do we really need to comprehend before we understand that c-u-p holds our drink?" It's a difficult question to answer. But the salient words for Asher, the ones that he recognized, were so sweet. I love that these are the words he's heard enough to recognize, repeat, and know that he's saying something.

Except Uck. That one was all him.

my life is good

It only took me the better part of three years to figure out how to post pictures in the sidebar, but at last I have succeeded. What do I win?

There are very few things in life that are predictable, so I'm always a little surprised at how ordered pregnancy is. At week 13, like clockwork, the symptoms of early pregnancy disappear. And as I am nearing the end of the second trimester, set your very slow watch by it, my second trimester energy is diminishing. I feel very, very pregnant all of a sudden. Not big, so much, but just - I'm suddenly aware that all of my available energy is going into growing and chasing babies. This morning, by the time both Asher and I were showered and fed, the breakfast dishes were done, the diaper bag was packed, and the car was loaded, I was ready for a nap. It was only 8:30 a.m. Knowing that I'm not even big yet, and that it's not even hot out yet, and I already feel this way, makes me want to cry. Then take a nap.

Every pregnant woman I have ever known at some point has said to me, "I am never doing this again." Most of the time they don't mean it. So don't take me too seriously. I love the result. Really, it does no good to ask me how many babies I want to have, because I want as many babies as possible. What you should ask instead, if you want a true estimation of the direction of our family, is, how many c-sections do you want to have? How long do you want to be emotionally unstable? How many miscarriages are you willing to potentially have? How many major life changes do you want to have? That would be a truer measure. Babies are priceless. But all that it takes to have a baby - that's different.

In the meantime, Asher refuses to stop growing up. He's morphing into his own little person, and vacillates between doing the opposite of whatever I ask of him and clinging to my legs. It's all part of developing an identity, I know, and most of the time I have the patience for it, but it makes for some funny moments. My favorite this week was on Saturday morning, when he was trying to pull something from the kitchen counter. This is Not Okay in our house, so I told him no and moved him away from the counter. In response, he bit me. BIT me. Which earned him a trip to his bed, of course. Normally, when he's put in his bed he protests, but this time, there was silence. I walked out of his room and heard, rather than tears, a little voice calling, "Daaa." As in, "Dad, I pissed Mom off, will you come rescue me?" I was so glad I was already out of the room, because there's no way I could have kept a straight face for that. Brian responded, "When you bite your mom, you're on your own kid."

So, my life is good. I keep chanting that phrase because it's the truth. I can forget it in the moment, but a frustrating or exhausting moment is not the same as discontentment. My life is good. My life is good.

Happy Monday, everyone.

Asher is approaching the age where little boys become obsessed with something - balls, trucks, trains, hammers, something. Asher has a few loves in life - boats, guitars, flags, and balloons. He discovered balloons on his own, but everything else that he loves is connected to a man that loves him. His PaPa (Brian's dad) has an American flag in his front yard, which began the flag frenzy; Big Daddy (my dad) walks him down to the lake to watch the boats (which is so incredibly impressive that given the choice between cake - a treat that is rarely offered - and boat, he will choose a boat every time); and, of course, his dad plays the guitar. So I wonder, does Asher love these things, or does he love the men with whom he associates them? Is it really boats that are that exciting, or the chance to stand by the water with Big Daddy? Would he care one iota about flags if PaPa didn't have one? Probably not, is my guess.

It's made me think of how our families shape so much of who we are, not just habits but what we consider beautiful, what we love, what we want. I have a clear memory of paint brushes rinsing in a glass jar at my aunt's house. The water is tinted green from paint, and the sun is shining through the glass, reflecting onto the brick wall of my aunt's kitchen. It was the first time I ever noticed something was beautiful. Twenty five years later, I always choose shades of green or red for my home. Brian and his dad bonded over air shows and motorcycles. Lane has mentioned buttermilk and baseball. My mom took me to hear classical music, local orchestras or touring pianists, and to the library. Would I love Chopin apart from her? I can't imagine that I would.

So Asher loves flags, but mostly he loves his family, and he associates them with objects. I wonder, in twenty five years, if he'll put a flag in his front yard without fully knowing why, or if he'll watch a boat cross the water and smile.

I will.