In the summer...

...sometimes you have to walk around in just your diaper. Especially when you're eating a chocolate covered pretzel...

...and your mom forgets to pack an extra pair of shorts and then lets you drink two whole cups of water without first checking your diaper status.

I mean - this is where the low slung pants style is headed anyway, right?

Yes. Leslie and Taylor got to see what type of mom I REALLY am. Namely, forgetful.

Owerly

If at first you don't succeed, right?

These two are still figuring out how to deal with each other. (ok...you put your left arm there and I'll...no...wait...falling...ok, try getting your right arm higher. Let's switch sides, ok, kinda better like that...nope...still falling.)

I probably helps that Everly is getting older and bigger (sturdier). It probably doesn't help that one week I'm like "DON'T wrestle with your sister, she's too delicate" and the next week she's trying to take him down.

Trying to figure out what you can and can't do with a growing baby is tough for a toddler.

He usually does great. Calls her 'sweetie pie' and pets her head. Says 'nap, nap Ever!' when she heads down for a nap.

Which reminds me.

I am really loving that they are on separate nap schedules. She sleeps in the morning and late afternoon and Owen naps right smack in the middle.

I know some parents want the synchronized naps and I totally get that.

But right now it means that I get a good chunk of one-on-one time with each child everyday. That's worth being tired and have a kitchen full of dirty dishes at night.

Especially to have leisurely time to nurse and cuddle Ever. Without simultaneously having to sing the ABC song. Again.

So hooray for quiet time where I can nibble baby toes.

Late Spring

Doesn't Owen look miniature in this picture?

He and I took a wonderful walk earlier this week. We stopped to watch ants carry food across the path. Picked up flower petals and smelled them. Stuck sticks in the ground to mark a 'garden' plot. Biked 'fast' down a small hill (he made me go a few feet ahead of him to 'catch' him as he glided). We heard a branch fall from a tree and he hiked into the woods to put it back on.

I love the 'Oh! Look at dat, Mommy!' moments with my little partner. He is so insistent that I appreciate the specialness of whatever has caught his interest. Repeating the command to look, "see dat? see dat, Mama? see dat?"

He'll ask a question and then absorb the answer, usually with a 'huh?' to hold the space while he thinks. Shortly after he usually returns with, "ohhhhh" and repeats my answer to clarify.

It's been hard for both of us to be mostly confined to the living room during the last two weeks of potty training. Going outside again was like a revelation for both of us. The world looks so different, so alive. It's amazing what two weeks of growth (and rain) can do. Glad I have a pair of fresh eyes to help me catch everything.

Gratitude

If, on this Mother's Day, I was to thank one person who played a role in my own motherhood it would be our doula Shayla.

Technically she started as our birthing class instructor.

Jon and I were a tad behind the ball in signing up for birthing classes when I was pregnant with Owen. The hospital courses were booked through March. I was due Jan 30. No one told me that you need to sign up for a class the same day you see the second blue line.

It was one of the best things that ever happened to us.

After a little freaking out (by me) I did what I do best. Researched all our options, over and over and over again. We decided on taking some Bradley Method classes. They're 12 weeks long and I felt comfortable knowing that we'd be investing a little time to learn how this baby was going to make his grand entrance.

Shayla made the whole process seem so...normal. You hear the labor horror stories all the time, right? This was one of the first times I had heard that labor didn't have to be that horror story. That there could be dignity, support, ability, peace. And yes, work. But even then it seemed doable and as my due date drew closer I actually began to look forward to labor as if it was an amazing experience, a miracle that I'd been given the chance to participate in.

I was confident in Jon's ability to help me through the process. After 12 weeks he had mastered the basics. Massage, encouragement, massage, repeat. But we were a little nervous about all the remaining unknowns. What if something did go wrong? What if the baby was stubborn? What if the pain was stronger than I anticipated? Jon and I both felt like we'd be more comfortable if we had someone there to monitor the process, someone who'd translate hospital-ese for us if needed, someone who knew what I was going through and who could work with us even if the doctor or nurse wasn't there. Someone who could spot Jon if he needed a break.

Shayla jumped into that role and was amazing. She met us at the very beginning, two nervous, excited pre-parents, trying their best to stay calm and focused. She helped us in about a million ways during those 14 hours (and I probably only remember about a tenth of it all). And at the end, she made sure we were happy and safe before she slipped out, leaving us basking in the glow of our new baby boy.

It was hard, hard work. It amazes me that she helped us with such quiet grace and strength the entire time. The nurses stopped in periodically, the doctor was there for the delivery, but Shayla was there every moment.

Birth is a vulnerable time, especially for a new mother. I'm grateful that when I play back those memories I feel only peace. I'm grateful that those hospital classes were full of snappy, on the ball parents so that we had to look for other options. And, while it may be an unlikely pick for a Mother's Day shout out, today I'm thankful for our wonderful doula. If only everyone could have that kind of support there probably wouldn't be as many of those labor horror stories.

Thanks for being a part of our happy story, Shayla.

Happy Mother's Day!

Firsts: bike edition

I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible but the grin kept sneaking back onto my face.

It's a really ugly little bike. The colors are faded from the thousands of tiny bums that rotate in and out of the seat. The handle bars are something out of a germophobic parent's nightmare. If you look closely you can see the surface slightly wriggling. And the lack of ANY bells or stickers or buttons to push clearly identifies it as being from the early to mid 1990s.

Still, it's the only bike at the rec center and that makes it the most sought after toy among the 2-3 year old set at Open Gym. Sometimes there are tears.

It had been in the possession of an older little boy for most of the morning. We threw the ball around for a bit and Owen took a turn on the rocking police carboat. He kept an eye on it though and when it was free began his slow walk over. Owen never runs full force toward the object of his desire. He keeps it slow and looks around to see if any other kids are making a move at the same time. Not one for trouble, he tends to defer to more agressive kids, regardless of size.

This time he's unchallenged. It's a light day and most of the kids are early walkers - not yet interested in going fast.

As usual he begins to push himself around a la Fred Flinstone. And after a bit, as usual, I recommend giving the pedals a try. No pressure or anything but they really do help you go faster.

Something clicked and I could see the shock on his face as his feet actually started moving in sync with the bike. Push, push, push....pedalpedalpedalpedal. Push, push, push...pedalpedalpedalpedalpedal.

I kept my surprise in check and played it cool with one quick "There you go!" so as not to scare off the moment (or the other parents).

But as he sped off to the other side of the gym I couldn't quite stop the smile from spreading itself across my face.

At the Park with Owen

We went up to Baltimore to visit a friend a few weekends ago and took the kids to Patterson Park. It was an old favorite destination and I think Owen remembered his way around pretty quickly.

This was pretty much all I saw of him the whole time:

Shots of him, from behind, going full speed.

The Back 40

A few weeks ago Owen and I planted a few variaties of herbs for our back-deck garden attempt. It's more a learning experience than anything, for him and me. That's what I tell myself whenever the little delicate starter cups get knocked over or spilled. I say 'whenever' because this has become a frequent occurrence. I'll be surprised if anything grows to harvestability.

But I'm using it as a chance to talk to Owen about how plants grow. He'll see the pots and proudly declare that a tiny seed grows into a MIGHDY TWEE! I'm working on drawing parallels between that tree and his little life and spirit. It doesn't always feel like he understands that obedience, worship and all the other things that go into personal watered-ness are as crucial to his development as water and sun are to plants - but I know that it's sinking in, somewhere. Children just understand. (That and I rely heavily on grace to impart truths beyond my poor teaching skills.)

I'm also learning. Mostly that starting an herb garden is kind of expensive. Seeds are cheap but dirt and planters are kinda more than I figured. We'll probably break even next year. I'm taking this year as a bit more of a toe dip into 'real' gardening. (Real = more work than putting a few tomato plants in the backyard.) Next year I'm planning on becoming these people (my new favorite blog) and fulfilling my dream of living on a small farm and making catsup from my own garden.

Sigh, one day.

Until then I'll try my best to keep the one spindly little garlic chive plant from getting pulled out or overwatered, or swept off the porch, or smelled to death.

You can do it little sprout!!! We're all pulling for you!

Quite the spectacle(s)

Earlier this week the family loaded up in the Mazda and headed back to our local generic ey-doctor/glasses hut to pick up my snazzy new frames.

While waiting (in the near empty store) for my name to be called off the list we amused Owen, and ourselves, by letting him try on some of the kids' samples.

At that point I realized that I was one of 'those' parents.  Then I justified it to myself because he does, after all, put them back when he's done pawing them.  Plus he's so darn cute.  

Evidence*:

The "I'm soooo cuuuuuuute!" face.

These were a little too Elton John for me.  Or grandma.

Probably my favorite.  But I may be biased by the overbite and excessive cheekage.

The "Pop-pop".

Thankfully Owen does not need glasses - at least for now.  But given the stellar genetic material that he has to work with it won't surprise me if we're back at some point for a real fitting. 

*Please note how Jon is holding or restraining Owen in almost every shot. It proves we are good parents.

Robot

Owen has a new fascination with robots.  I think it's thanks to a Sesame Street podcast we have on machines.  Anything can be a robot - his cars, a book, a picture of the Chicago skyline on my shirt.  I wish I had the ability to see into his little brain.  It must be fun.

Yesterday little shell pastas - placed carefully on his finger tip - had the honor of being the daily 'whoa-bots'.  Until they were eaten.  Mac and Cheese flavored robots are the best.

  

For Gina

So that next time you check there'll be new pictures up.  :)

The new favorite game: a camouflage jacket allows him to blend seamlessly into the surroundings.   Especially when standing perfectly straight and still in the leaves.

Shopping with the grocery cart.  (Then it turned over in the wind, spilling the contents across the parking lot, and Jon almost got hit by a car while trying to recover the plastic tomato.  The drama!)

The remains of the snow pile out front is patrolled by the local fire truck (fi-uh twuck).  Because fires can start where you least expect them.  Like in snow.

One bald-headed, almond eyed, sweet-cheeked babe.

First Skate

I should let Jon write this post - maybe he'll come back and publish an edited version?

I would say that Jon is a hockey fan...but that'd be putting it mildly.  

So naturally, he has two main sports related goals for our kids:

1. have at least one of them play organized hockey (read: birth an entire playoff-winning team)
2. have all of them comfortable on skates early on (read: birth an entire playoff-winning Mite [8&under] league team)

Owen's second birthday was designated, no, destined  to be the first time he would strap on those glistening foot-rockets.   

But, somehow, Jon and Owen found themselves at a rink 3 whole days before this birthday anniversary.  Disregarding the deadline they threw caution to the wind and rustled up a pair of child size six, double-blade skates.  

Apparently, Owen loved it.  I missed the milestone - but it might be for the best.  There are some lessons that need to be taught by someone with a deep passion for the subject, an innate ability to transfer knowledge, the God-given grace to break down the skill components in such a way that a 1.99 year-old can understand it...and someone with at least a degree of skating competence.

Go Flyers!

(gosh, Jon has a handsome profile.)

Now that Owen is talking we have conversations all the time.  Usually little ones about what he wants me to play or about a book or a puppy we saw out the window.  But sometimes he gets going - usually when he’s on the ‘phone’ with Pop-pop or Hank or Evan.  He starts laughing and talking so fast that the words become a blur of gibberish.  Other times he whispers to me.  Low, quiet secrets that I can barely hear are usually long sentences of made up words.  I’ll whisper a secret back, of course - what good buddy doesn’t return the favor?  We can keep these little exchanges up for a long time - with wide eyes, lots of head nodding and gesturing to drive home the (imaginary) point.  

My Family

is beautiful.

Especially the tall guy with a beard.  

Carousel

The lights, music, and galloping steeds captivated our boy.  "Again, again, again," is pretty much all he could muster.  Eyes wide as saucers, he watched the world beyond the carousel whirl.

Is there anything better than discovering life through the eyes of a child?

Good morning!

most of us are (mostly) awake

Owen Birthday - Part Two

Deux candles for my boy

A birthday is not complete without balloons.  

I asked Owen yesterday what he'd like to eat for his birthday dinner.

He requested chicken.  And then rice.  I asked if some stewed peas would work too and got a nod.  So I made dahl to add in some vegetation. (for the first time...thanks Headleys for the recipe!  I need to practice but it was a start)  

Now...asking Owen what he wants to eat tomorrow is tricky.  Asking Owen what he wants to eat right now is tricky.  His favorite food today is his worst enemy tomorrow.  As in: "why would you feed me that - are you trying to kill me?? Do you hate me??   

Which is why I just can't ask.  I make food and he eats it.  Or not.  

But, in the spirit of birthday generosity, I made his requested foods.  And, VERY surprisingly, he loved it.  Ate every bite.  Add in that he had knowledge that cupcakes were waiting and this becomes a birthday miracle.  Either that or he has confirmed my suspicion that children just love Caribbean food.

Yes...that is chicken in a bowl.  Fancy.

Owen could hardly wait for us to stop singing before devouring his 'cakie'.  Chocolate cake with cream cheese icing - he is his father's son.  

It was a nice family birthday celebration. His present isn't quite finished...but that just means a longer celebration, right?  

Owen Henry

Two years.

People say that they can't remember life before their children.

It's not that I don't remember what it was like before you came.

It's that I don't want that anymore.

Life is too much better now that you're in mine.

Happy Birthday Owen.

Love, Mama

Life lesson

Owen and I have been attempting to take advantage of the little pockets of snow we get each week.  Last week, after trying and trying and trying to make a snowman (or snowball - I'm not an overachiever) out of the dry, dry, fluffy, powder snow, we gave up, came in and made hot chocolate and peanut butter crackers, bien sur!

Owen helped me whisk in the hot chocolate powder and spread peanut butter on the crackers.  Mostly on the crackers.  Then, sitting at the dining room table we had another of those Mama/Owen conversations that I love so much.  See the text below.  I’ve added a bit of continuity to the story since I had to continually interrupt him and verify key components (i.e. make sure that ‘whining’ wasn’t ‘running’) and to laugh - he was so serious, especially about the helicopter.  It went something like this (but took muuuch longer to tell)...

Owen’s snack time story

One time there were some kids...in red shirts...in a car.

They were whining.  (we don’t like whining around here.) 

Whining sound effects - whawahwhawah.

 

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!  <---- Owen’s laughter.

The drove away - RrrRMmm,rRrrmMmm.

The police came.

Then, a helicopter rescued Pop-pop (my dad) from the tree he was stuck in.

THE END!

Let that be a lesson to us all.  Whining gets you no where.  Except maybe jail.  

And my father really shouldn't be climbing trees.

Cloudy Flight

I got a little mobile up for Owen!  

Personally I think it came out better than I thought it would. The idea started out as paper airplanes but Target had little wooden plane in their dollar aisle a few weeks back and I picked up a few.  Much better.  And easier.

Jon and I painted two of the planes while watching Iron Man II (mehh...not as good as the first one) to add a little more character.  

The clouds are fiber fill that I shaped to look more billowy.  

A little fishing line and a tall, handsome man provided the gravity defying effect.  I'd like to add more clouds, and maybe even another plane - but for now it looks like a little air show is happening right over his pillow each night. 

Any guesses as to who painted which plane?  :)