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.

I'm Not a Bad Mommy, I Was Just Born 50 Years Too Late

Okay. You all have been very patient with the lack of real updates lately, so as a reward, I promise to post every day this week. And I further promise to post pictures with every post this week. Starting today. Here goes!

Since it's been a few days, let's start with a Bad Mommy post. I know how much you all enjoy seeing proof of my terrible lack of parenting skills. To that end, I offer you Exhibit A:

Yes, that is my handsome son. And yes, he is in the dresser drawer.

I wish there was a fascinating story here, but really, there's not. The truth is that Miles became interested in the dresser one afternoon, so Patrick pulled it open and put him in it. Miles thought it was hysterical and hammed it up for the camera, as you can see.

Interestingly enough, this picture reminds me of something my Grandma Joy said to me, not long before Miles was born. I was complaining about how expensive babies are, and the fact that we hadn't yet found a crib for Miles. (If you'll recall, we never did get one until he was . . . what? three months old?) In her incredibly practical way, she says:

"You don't need all that crap. Just clean out a dresser drawer, line it with blankets, and there you go. Instant baby bed."

I started to laugh. But she was serious. She couldn't fathom why I was spending money on a place for Miles to sleep, when I had a perfectly good dresser drawer right there.

I guess things have changed a little since Grandma had kids. I often joke about being called a Bad Mommy, but honestly, we're a LOT more protective of our kids now. In Grandma's day, it wasn't unusual for kids to fall off of playground equipment and break an arm. It was rather expected that children would burn themselves at least once on a hot stove. Kids played with cast iron pots and pans, and probably pinched their fingers more than once. And, apparently, babies slept in dresser drawers without mothers fearing a call from Social Services.

I don't really know where I'm going with this, other than to point out how seriously protective we are of our children in modern times. Interesting, no?

Not Friday Photos. Sorry.

I know I'm supposed to post pictures for Friday. And I will try later, but right now, I don't have the latest ones on my computer, and I'm too tired to deal with it. You may get Saturday photos, instead. Sorry.

Miles is being freaking adorable, as usual, and also, freaking hyper, which isn't, necessarily. Every time he's fallen asleep today has been from sheer exhaustion. He will literally squirm and wiggle, even as his eyes droop to closed. On the plus side, that means no more kicking me as I try to convince him to nap. On the down side, though, it means he's getting over-tired, and apparently, isn't sleeping well enough to compensate. He stays pretty zonked for up to an hour after waking up.

Honestly, I'm too exhausted to think straight enough to write more. So, good-night unto you all.

Mold

We're not moving. Because apparently, painting over mold will kill it.

Right. I'm still not letting my son sleep in that room. That means three months of living crammed into one bedroom. Ugh.

Anyhow, anyone who reads this has already heard this whole story. I'll not beat a dead horse. Just look forward to three months of me whining about sharing a bedroom with a nine month old, my allergies to mold causing my eyes to itch until I can't see straight, and my utter frustration with the laws that are supposed to protect us as tenants.

Yay.

Quick Update

Hey, everyone. I know you want to hear cute stories about Miles. And trust me, I have plenty to share with you. But right now, I just don't have the time. Between tons of Festival stuff piling up, a baby who gets into everything, family visiting for the holidays (hooray!!), and oh yeah, mold in my ceiling that means we have to move about Now-ish, I just haven't had the time to write. I promise, I will write again soon. Really.

In the meantime, a picture of cuteness to make up for the lack of Friday photos last week. Enjoy!

Happy Fourth

I know I haven't posted for awhile, and you're anxious for news of Miles, but today, I have only a few minutes and there are some things I should really say today.

I know it's not 'cool' to be patriotic anymore. And there are days that I want to bang my head on the wall because of some of the stupid things we Americans do from time to time. But honestly, I can't imagine wanting to live anywhere else.

Americans are granted more freedoms than any other country in history. There are places in this where you can be executed for disagreeing with your government. Or for practicing the 'wrong' religion. Or for any number of other things. We are so unbelievable lucky to live in a country that allows us all to think what we want to, say what we want to, and do what we want to. Our freedoms make us special, even when they cause us to disagree.

As Americans, it is easy for us to take all of this for granted. To talk about how stupid our country is. How it's 'going down the tubes' or at least 'in the wrong direction'. To get all worked up over political divisions, the problems with health care, immigration, sexism, racism, unemployment, the terrible economy. And on, and on, and on.

But here's the thing: we're allowed to talk about it. We're allowed to disagree, and to voice our concerns. We're encouraged to say what we think.

And though there are many reasons I love this country, that is why I am unafraid to say that I am proud to be an American.

God bless, and have a Happy Fourth of July.

Dear Miles,

Dear Miles,

Congratulations, my little Monster. You have now been in the world longer than you were in my belly. And you are a whole Nine Months Old (as of yesterday)!

As I write this, you are playing at my feet, using a plastic spoon to tap out a rhythm on my chair legs, and playing with an empty box. You have become very good at sitting and playing by yourself, but you still want the comfort of knowing that Mommy is nearby.

Your personality shines brighter and brighter by the day. You are inquisitive, and happy, and ornery. One minute you will be examining a small bit of chainmail, lifting it up and dropping it to see how it moves, and to listen to how it sounds on different surfaces. Your little eyebrows knit in concentration, trying to figure it all out. The next moment you are standing up, bouncing and clapping your hands to a song on the radio. Then, you're climbing into my lap, only to lick my forehead and climb back down, smiling that mischievous smile you've inherited from your daddy. You smile all the time, and you seem determined to make everyone else smile, too.

Soon, I know, you'll be talking up a storm, and running all over creation. Already, I find it difficult to keep up with you. At the office, Erica has started coming to play with you so I can actually work. At home, I usually find myself waiting for naps to do anything. In fact, I've had to stop and start this letter many times, so I could pull you out of whatever trouble you are trying to get into.

You are getting to spend lots of time with Daddy, now. Mommy is back in the Renaissance Festival for a third year, so Daddy chose to stay home in the evenings with you. I come home to hear tells of wild crawling chases across the living room, and soft cuddles and singing before bedtime. One thing is certain, though: you seem to LOVE this time. And Daddy loves it, too.

My sweet, mischievous little Monster; I Love You. You bring such joy to my life every day.

Love, always,

Mommy