Safronified

For the time being. Can't handle. Xoxo to all.

Dear Kiddo,

Holy cow, you are keeping us on our toes. Literally. You are about table-top height right now, which means that with just a little bit of tippy-toe effort, you can see what's on almost any table-top. Your curiosity is insatiable. Today, as I tried to get a teensy bit of work done, you came into my room, and walked over to my night table, and one by one, I moved non-toddler-approved objects away from your grasp. When you finally realized the night stand was not going to materialize as entertaining as you once thought, you moved right along to the table beside the sofa, HELL BENT on finding SOMETHING that you could destroy.

You're not really that destructive. It's really curiosity more than anything. We need to get you things that you can take apart. You very obviously get that trait from your Carpa.

We are really hoping that you grow out of your "cranky" phase. You are very used to doing what you want to do, and you let us know when you're not happy.

Word you are currently using:
"ta" is tub--you love a bath.
"sy" is outside--you love that too.
"es go" is now sounding more like "lets go" and you LOVE to go. Your father and I now ask each other if the other is "ready to leave"; we avoid the word "go" at all costs.
This morning we walked into your brother's room to wake him up, and you said, "I uter I!" (Hi, brother, hi!). It really is precious to see you excited to see him, and he is excited to see you as well.
If we ask you what a dinosaur says, you say "Roar". If we ask you what a monkey says, you attempt to say "oo oo, ah ah", but it comes out more like "uf uf uf uf", which is ok, because you've been telling us that is what a dog/Francie says for quite a while.

And the other day, when Francie couldn't stop skidding on the wood floor and ran smack dab into the kitchen cabinets, you had a good laugh with your daddy, which means, that at the very least, your sense of humor is perfectly intact.

Love, Kiddo. Thanks for letting me be your momma.

Dear Bundle,

You are growing up so fast. And I am so busy. I know I will regret it, I know I will. I am trying to figure out how to get unbusy. I am trying to learn how to use the word "NO", in a sentence other than one directed at your brother, telling him to not write on the ottoman with an ink pen, or not step on you as he walks across the room, or not to whine about wanting to go outside in fifty degree weather.

Your daddy said he put you in the bathtub with your brother tonight. And he said you splashed SO hard, and your brother laughed, and splashed more, and harder and bigger. And you kept right on splashing, unabashedly. That splashing thing? You are good at it, much better than he was. That might mean that we are going to have our hands full.

You are such a good eater. In the morning, when we put you in your high chair, you sit there with your mouth open like a little bird until we put food in it. Occasionally you'll really loudly let us know that it is taking us to long to get the food to you, and we'll quicken our step, just to make you happy. You've been known to plow through quite a bit of food, but I supposed we had better get used to that, with two boys in the house.

You are SUCH a happy baby. Your brother was always a bit more pensive. We had to work a bit harder to make him smile and laugh. But you are always one second away from a grin.

And you appear to be in training as a stunt man. You can pull your feet all the way up to your mouth. It's amazing acrobatics, and definitely not genetic. And you are about to crawl. Any moment now.

You are fascinated with your brother's Duplos, his Mickey Mouse and Sesame Street, and pretty much anything that's going on around you. Your little eyes take it all in, and you get so excited and start kicking so hard, and we can tell that you are going to be running after him in pure admiration as soon as your little legs can carry you.

We love you gobs, Bundle. You are so much happiness for me.

Love,
Momma

Dear Bundle,

You arrived six weeks ago yesterday. We also affectionately refer to you as Magoo, since your father pointed out that when you scrunch up your face and cry you bears an uncanny resemblance to the cartoon character.

When I went to the hospital to be induced, things did not move along as quickly as they did the day your brother arrived. I also had an interesting thought to have a natural childbirth, so they didn't give me an epidural. I figured I was a tough cookie--how bad could this child birth thing really be?

Apparently, REALLY bad. I asked for an epidural at 9.5 dilation. Who does that? With only .5 more to go? I can barely explain it--the words don't exist. The pain was so excruciating that it was only accompanied by fear--fear that it would not end. The only way to end the pain was an epidural. The second they gave it to me, it was time to push, and after three contractions and nine pushes you were here, at seven pounds and eleven ounces. The cord was slightly wrapped around your neck, and the doctor pulled it off. I waited to hear your cry, and then you did, and they laid you on my chest.

And I'll be frank: I was just glad the pain was OVER. I feel a little bit guilty for not indulging in the emotion of the moment, but I figured I have a lifetime of emotion to experience with you--and at that moment, the only emotion I wanted to experience was that of sweet relief and relaxation as, funny enough, the epidural kicked in.

You had quite a bit more hair than your brother, and it was mostly dark. A brown shade, where as your brother's was strawberry. And your little eyes were dark navy blue, again, quite unlike your brother. You had ten fingers, very long fingers, and ten little toes. And skinny little legs and skinny little arms.

I nursed you for almost an hour straight, maybe longer. The nurse kept walking into the room saying, "he's still eating?" I was completely committed to making sure that my milk came in quickly, and plenty of it. That night, I nursed you almost non-stop, and when the nurses asked if I was sore, I told them I wasn't, because I thought it was best for you and I didn't want them to stop me.

Your brother came up to the hospital to meet you one day, and he took a few looks at you and then grunted in an indication that he did not approve, but he would like more grapes. He then spent the next week walking by your bouncy seat and scowling at you/it. He didn't like it when you cried--and we couldn't tell if it was out of fear, concern for you, or frustration at the lack of attention on him.

We took you in for a weight check on Saturday, when you were only three days old. You were slightly jaundiced, but nothing alarming. On Monday, when we took you for your first check up, the doctor was pretty alarmed at how yellow you were, did some testing, and ordered a little baby light bed to be sent to the house.

THAT was a long night. It was so important that we get the jaundice to go away, and they told us to not count the minutes you were IN the bed, but to count the minutes you were OUT of the bed. So, I sat up with you for the entire night, making sure that you didn't bat away the little flap that had to cover your face. A nurse came the next day to test your blood, and we were relieved to learn that you didn't have to be in the bed any longer. It was a hassle, but then again, a lot about being a parent is a hassle, but frankly, you're worth it.

I honestly don't know where the past six weeks have gone. I've enjoyed so much time with you. You are completely breast-fed. My gut instinct on milk supply and letting you eat whenever you want to has completely worked, and you are gaining plenty of weight and growing like a weed, and not very skinny any more. You are sleeping almost all the way through the night, which means, a happy household.

I love you, baby Bundle. And as I look back at how short an amount of time we will have together, I want you to know how much I am enjoying every minute of it.

Love always,
Momma

I used to write every night before I went to bed. I've asked myself lately, where has the time to write gone? Why is it now so hard? And I know the answer is in the little bundle sleeping in a bouncy chair on the coffee table, and a hooligan sitting contentedly in a wagon while his father pulls him around our lawn.

The time might be hard to find, but the words aren't. Every time they come to heart, I remind myself that I need to be writing them down. Every time I remind myself to write them down, a little bundle cries, or a little hooligan starts whining, and I'm off to juggle motherhood and life again.

But, it's quiet for a few moments. Kiddo is out side with his da-da, playing golf now, and incessantly saying "Oh, wow"--two of about a dozen words that he'll choose to use when it's convenient for him. Bundle is snoring.

I am so blessed.

Methinks I need a good cry. A good ol' end-o-my-rope, can't take any more, it's gotta get better from here, cry. I'm not good at that, though. And as I get older, the only thing I think I'm actually improving on is an art to bury my emotions under a layer of pretend apathy. I'm not sure if that's because I've learned that there isn't really that much in life worth getting that upset over, or if it's because it makes me feel better to act nonchalant.

I can't (won't) go into it here. It wouldn't be chic, or polished, or temperate of me to get into the details. I've tried to define the emotions over the past week, and I can't land on one that's just right. To say "devastated" would sound melodramatic. "Frustrated" doesn't seem to go far enough. "Disappointed" is trite, in comparison to the details. And I know better than to let anger take hold, but there might actually be a touch of plain old "angry" in there.

So, I'm left without answers, and the classic stand-in for a lack of answers is, "Everything happens for a reason." Talk about trite. I feel like I'm just patting myself on the head and telling myself to "run along, now". But there are no other answers. No other solutions. No (clear) options. No magic wands. No rainbows, and definitely no pots o' gold.

There is probably a lesson to be learned in here somewhere. I can't find it yet, aside from a solid reminder of "do unto others as you would have done unto you."

That leaves me with forward motion. One foot. In front. Of the other. And repeat. With the hope that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a train.

Dear Kiddo,

Where do I even begin? Next week you turn eleven months old. It's hard to believe that we will soon be celebrating your first birthday, when it seems like we have just barely had you home from the hospital. I haven't kept up with milestones, like a good mother should, but I have random photos on my phone and funny videos here and there that I can work on piecing together someday.

Lately, when I come home, you hear my voice, and start crawling towards me, making very loud almost-crying, but really just give-me-attention noises. When I pick you up, you just relax and start looking around. You're not interested in talking to me, but insist on being held by me. In the nursery at church on Sunday, you relaxed a little bit when you realized I wasn't going anywhere, but would occasionally turn around to make sure I was still there. Sometimes, when I'm sitting on the floor with you, you just crawl over and start crawling all over me, like I'm your jungle-gym. You love to be held, are just fine with being smothered with kisses, and love to know that I'm near.

You've been pulling up and crawling since almost nine months old. You are starting to form sounds, and have lately been saying a lot of "dah-dah-dah" and "neh-neh-neh". Sometimes you say "neh-neh-neh" when we are trying to dress you, and I've actually speculated that your telling us, "no, I don't want to put pants on". In that regard, you are SO boy. All about the playtime and food. Really not so concerned with much else. A couple of weeks ago we were out in the front yard, and across the street a neighbor started a pick-up truck. You got so excited, and a little bit nervous, and I thought it was so funny to see your reaction to a truck at such a young age. On a similar note, you're not sure what you think of the garage door mechanics just yet, but find it very fascinating.

Your face is starting to get rounder, like your dad's. You have darling cheeks, and a "very large brain", as one of your older friends called it the other night. Your expressions are so telling, and constantly make us laugh. When you don't want what we are feeding you, you purse your lips and put your wrists up to your face. When we tell you "no", your lower lip puckers out. You know exactly what getting in trouble entails, and sometimes decide to proceed anyway, even with warning. We've already had several conversations about consequences and making good decisions, and I'm actually convinced that it hasn't been too early for us to chat about those things.

This week, you've been all about a very random lobster rattle. You haul it EVERYWHERE. All across the family room, entry way, and bedroom. I found you dipping it into the toilet this past weekend, and couldn't get it pulled away from you to try to sterilize it. We can't exactly figure out what your fascination with it is, but it is definitely the first thing you go for every morning.

At your nine month check-up, your doctor told us not to give you dairy products, chocolate, peanut butter or strawberries. This has been difficult. It is hysterical watching you eat ice cream, which to date has been by far your favorite food. I'm also not hesitant to let you try a little of almost anything. Last night you had a few bites of mild salsa, last week, some sausage pizza, a little syrup in your oatmeal (that was your dad--and you said "yhmmmmm" after every bite), pieces of ham or chicken. I think you somehow survive almost solely on "Organic Puffs", these little cereal-type, fruit-flavored things that melt to mush in your mouth. I don't think I could exist without Puffs at this point.

Your hair is starting to come in as a very pale strawberry-blonde red head, and your eyes are hinting just a little bit grayer than they used to be. You don't laugh, but when we're entertaining you and you're happy, you emit a sort of "eh-eh" giggle, that is more kin to a machine gun than a belly laugh. You're pretty serious, sort of shy, and, even though I know you're not, very mine. When we found out we were having a boy, EVERYONE (literally--everyone I talked to from one side of the country to the other) told me that "little boys love their mamas", and Kiddo, you do. You and me, we're thick as thieves.

I can't even begin to explain how you do my heart good. I always enjoyed babysitting because it made me stop and enjoy the simple things in life, like coloring with a box of crayons, or digging in a sandbox, and I feel the same way when I'm with you. The computer closes, the phone stays in the next room over, and we just hang. I love walking into the room and have you reach out for me, with those very insistent, pick-me-up-now sounds. I know that all too quickly, you are going to be a giant kid, starting sports, getting a driver's permit, and texting friends. It makes me sad, to realize how fleeting this time is. I know it's impossible for you to understand that, now, and possibly ever--since it really is something only a mother knows how to cherish. But all it means is that I love you more than you could ever know. And that's that.

Love always,
Momma

I need a decorator in the worst way. Have had several opportunities lately to submit my house to big blogs and magazines, and it's not cutting it. It has me feeling down. I gravitate way too easily towards that Oklahoma "let me put toile everywhere and then top it with MacKenzie Childs" look. UGH. I need someone to push me towards modern, but help me balance it with family antiques and classic.

The look I'm going for is Hamptons modern meets old school (meaning, I have stuff I can't get rid of). We'll see how this goes.

I don't know what it is about weekends, but it leaves me with a hankering to DIY. Having no energy to DIY after chasing a 10 month old around all day, I've sufficiently satisfied my DIY urges through the use of Photoshop. Tour with me, my dining room, in its current state:

Blah walls. The paint color is Pratt & Lambert's Contemplation, flat finish. It's the same color as in our bedroom, but the north facing light and shaded front yard doesn't do it any favors in our living and dining room. It has bugged me since the day we painted it, I just thought I could work around it or live with it. I cannot. Enter Photoshop rendering number 1:

Ummm, NO. I know damask is a hot (fading?) trend, but it's never been a personal favorite of mine. It reminds me of all things Victorian, and ahem, we've been there, done that in decorating. It is fun for stationery (we have plenty of that to prove), but the interpretation here is old spaghetti western saloon meets French country. Gag. We are so not going there. Enter Photoshop exhibit number 2:

{Sigh.} This is SO much better. This is it. A tweak here, a tweak there, but this would be perfect. A little pinky-red (but not salmon), a little French blue. Until I can afford to get rid of the inherited dining room furniture (not gonna happen), or figure out how to modernize it, might as well work with it.

I've found myself creeping over to the side of negativity lately. Wanting to get all that off my chest, I found myself sitting here, trying to figure out who to call and heart-dump to. I couldn't think of anyone, and then I realized that the better approach would be to count my blessings. Find something positive in the negative, and focus on that. So, I'm going to implement the practice of counting blessings:

I'm grateful for a successful tradeshow recently.
I'm grateful for a team who is motivated to get the projects done in a timely fashion.
I'm grateful for the opportunities sitting just around the bend.
I'm grateful for the unexpected financing we received to help make some of this happen.
I'm grateful for good sales reps who see the potential and are out selling our lines.
I'm grateful that a co-worker recently had a perfectly healthy baby and is celebrating that new life!
I'm grateful for a shipping manager who could beat lightening if they were in a competition.
I'm grateful for an art director who knows how to kick booty.
I'm grateful for a production manager who goes the extra mile, and knows when to ask for help.
I'm grateful for a bookkeeper who keeps us all in line, whether we know it or not.
I'm grateful for a husband who knows how important my "alone time" is.
I'm grateful for a sales manager who can sell some socks off you.
I'm grateful for a marketing director who can also sell some socks off you.
I'm grateful for a collaborator who thinks win/win, and that energizes me.
I'm grateful for a talented graphic designer, who has an amazing knack for interpreting our brands.
I'm grateful for the positivity exuded by our main typesetter, whose positive attitude is hard to resist.
I'm grateful for the creativity brought to our team by current web manager.
I'm grateful for a customer service manager who believes in where we are going, and works so hard to make that happen.
I'm grateful for new opportunities.

And I pray that the Lord would grant me the wisdom to manage all of these assets to their advantage and His glory.