Tuuuuck.

So, yesterday, Miles and I went to Target to pick out a birthday present for Daddy from Miles.  Given Miles' complete hatred of most shopping excursions, I have to admit that I was expecting the worst.  I had no idea what I was in for.

We were without a cart.  For some reason, Miles has decided that the primary use of a shopping cart is to dive out of it.  Several times, I have managed to somehow catch my son mere seconds before he crashes into the floor.  Somehow, motherhood has turned me into some sort of disaster-sensing ninja with lightning-fast reflexes.  Highly useful, considering my child seems determined to bash his head on . . . well, any and every hard surface in sight.  In any case, I've found that, as long as we're not in a hurry to get anywhere particular, it's highly preferable to just allow Miles to walk.

There we were, meandering through the store, just the two of us: Miles darting off to look at the wall of TV's or display robot in the toy section, Mommy trying desperately to keep him from pulling all of the nicely-folded polos off of the racks.  Still, for the most part, it was a far calmer excursion than most.

Eventually, we had our items, and began making our way toward the checkout.  Halfway to the front of the store, Miles suddenly veered off into the women's clothing.  As soon as his feet touched carpet, though, he carefully laid down, then rolled over.  He flung a hand dramatically over his head, and said,

"I tuck."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him with an open mouth, thinking,  "Wha. . .?!?!?"  Laughter bubbled up and out, before I could stop it.  After a few seconds, I managed to ask, "You're what?"

"I tuuuuck," he repeated, drawing it out for maximum theatrical effect.

"You're stuck?" I guessed.

"Ess. I tuuuuuuuuuuuck."

I leaned over, and tried to pick him up.  Toddlers have this neat trick where they turn into really heavy, but really limp spaghetti; he did that, all the while pointing down, shaking his head, saying, "Uh uh! Uh uh!"  I put him back down.  He carefully, but dramatically, threw himself back to the floor.

"I tuck."

Not knowing what else to do, I walked a few steps away, out of his eyesight, but where I could still see his shoes.  Sure enough, he caught up to me a few seconds later, chattering on as though nothing had happened.  Twenty steps later, he fell to the floor again, this time in the middle of the main aisle.

"I tuck."

It took half an hour to travel the fifty feet or so to the registers.  I couldn't help but laugh.

Return of the Hubby!

I don't like to complain,* but this has been a really rough week.  Miles has been extra cranky.  I've been on edge.  Neither of us has had enough sleep.  And honestly, we've just been getting on each other's nerves.

This is what happens when Patrick goes out of town.

I am very aware of the fact that I tend to take my husband for granted.  He is amazing.  He is super helpful around the house, and he picks up the slack when I just can't manage for a day.  Our routine works so seamlessly that I often forget how much there really is to do every day.  He takes on so much that I just never think about.  Until he's gone, and I have to cover it all.

More than that, though, when Patrick is gone, I feel like I've been thrown off my game.  I am shaken.  I lose my ability to take on the world.  I am grumpy, and irritable, and prone to wild mood swings.  Everything feels slightly off-kilter, like someone removed an essential piece of my life.  Because honestly, that's what happens.  Patrick is essential to my mental well-being.

Last night, we had our Awards Party for Festival.  I was standing near the doors, a few minutes before everything was supposed to begin, greeting people as they entered.  I had turned to talk to someone briefly, and when I turned back toward the door, Patrick had appeared, looking dashing in his suit and tie, and holding a single red rose.

And with an inaudible twing, my world popped back together.

*Who am I kidding?  I love to complain.  That's half the reason for this blog. :)

My Favorite Picture

This is one of my favorite pictures of Miles, for a few reasons:

1) He's 'reading'. I am SO glad that this boy has an affinity for books. Often, he uses them as toys, tossing them around with wild abandon. But occasionally, like in this photo, he will sit quietly and simply page through them, as though he understands, somehow, how to use a book.

2) He's reading his Bible stories book. He is fascinated by all things related to religion. He loves to stare at the cross on his wall. Church makes him utterly happy. And his Bible stories book is the one he's most likely to be looking at on any given day.

3) He's sitting in a rocking chair that is just his size. I think child-sized furniture is absolutely adorable. Especially if it looks exactly like adult furniture, only miniaturized.

4) That particular tiny rocking chair belonged to his daddy as a small child. I love that connection that has been forged between the past and the present - as though the wheel of time has come full circle.

Father's Day

Miles would like to say, "Aahh Dadadadadada baah pfft!" Loosely translated, it means "Happy Father's Day!"*

As for me, I would like to say the same to all of the 'fathers' in my life. I love you all!

Mostly, though, I'd like to say Happy Father's Day to my dear husband. Almost nine months ago, you became a father when this handsome little bundle joined us.

Since then, you have proven yourself to be an amazing Daddy. You play with Miles on the floor, nomming his belly, or crawling away from him so he will chase you, both of you giggling hysterically. You turn diaper-changing time into a show, your crazy faces and high-pitched voices distracting him and turning the whole (sometimes disgusting) process into a positive, bonding time. You rock him to sleep, singing softly, turning classic rock songs into lullabies. His face lights up when you walk in the door at night, already blowing raspberries at him to make him laugh with delight. You are possibly his favorite person in the entire world. And that's saying something, since this kid likes almost everyone (a trait I'm certain he inherited from you).

But more than that, you are an excellent Daddy because you take such good care of not only Miles, but his mommy. I cannot count the number of nights that you have taken the 3:00 am feeding so that I can stay in bed. Or the number of evenings that you have taken Miles and entertained him so that I can have a few moments to myself to breathe. Or the countless times you have comforted me after a bad day, and laughed with me after a wonderful day. Somehow, you work eight hours (often more) a day, and still muster** the energy to come home and work and play and take care of us. You are often the first one up, and most nights, you are the last to bed. I can never express how much you mean to both of us.

Happy Father's Day, Love.

*I think . . . We'll just go with it. :)

**Oh, dear. I've started the condiment joke strain, haven't I?