Winter's Last Stand

A week and a half ago, we got 6 inches of snow overnight.

Asher was so excited to suit up and play in it.

He opted to remove his gloves early.

Then changed his mind.

But had fun all the same.

Snow is the most comfortable precipitation if you don't mind frostbite.

Good thing Asher hit the snow up when he did...it was completely gone two days later.

But that's Ohio for you. :)

Ganga and Lack

I like the way kids usually seem to fit into their families. I can tell Asher's ours, because he's obsessed with playing games, easily frustrated, eats like a horse, makes up random little songs to himself, can't stop talking, and is under the impression he's hilarious. Yep. Ours. And while giving birth to and raising a child certainly make for a lot of familial similarities, inevitably, kids will still manage to throw a surprise or two your way.

Enter Ganga and Lack, Asher's imaginary friends. Serious imaginary friends. Now Andrew and I were not particularly imaginative children; in fact, I remember being slightly annoyed with other kids who insisted on playing "pretend." But here I am, attempting to sit down in a chair, only to hear our Asher yell, "Watch out for Ganga!!!" It's perplexing.

He's been "seeing" them regularly for months now, maybe once or twice a week. He marched into our room the other day and announced, "My friends Ganga and Lack are coming over today!" Huh. Okay...asked what they planned to do, he replyed, "Just hang out." Fine. 

I didn't realize imaginary friends were a real thing...well, you know what I mean. And what I find most interesting is the consistency with which Asher describes these friends. Ganga (pronounced Gang-ga) is a girl, and Lack is a boy. They have the same mommy and daddy. They fit into Asher's hands. It all sounded sweet enough until we asked our son what Ganga and Lack looked like, and he said something chilling: "They have red eyes." 

WHAAAAAAAAT?!??? My kid's friends are demons?? Fantastic.

Because it wasn't some fluky, little kid thing. Every time we asked what Lack and Ganga looked like, Asher would always volunteer the same disturbing fact, and nothing more: "They have red eyes."

Seriously?! Is this real life, or did someone forget to tell me my child is starring in Children of the Corn 2?

After months of the heebie jeebies, we were finally able to gain some closure last week. We were treating ourselves to a nice breakfast at Chic Fil A, when Asher asked very politely if Lack and Ganga could come too. Curiosity piqued again, we started asking more pointed questions about his cohorts. 

What color hair do they have? 

"White."

You mean blonde.

"No, white."

What are they wearing?

 "Glasses."

 They're both wearing glasses? 

"Yes. Ganga and Lack have to wear sunglasses."

We exchanged looks of relief. Asher's friends aren't devils after all. 

They're albinos.

Growing, Growing, Gone

I wonder - is it normal to think about time everyday? Because I definitely do. I contemplate it's passage and marvel at how quickly the moments leave and never return. I love welcoming a fresh new day, and choosing how I'll spend its hours. But lately, I take issue with time for one reason: 

IT'S ACCELERATING.

Does it seem that way to anyone else?

 Maybe it's because as we age, each passing year represents a smaller and smaller portion of our lives. Maybe it's because as adults, we have license to do more than when we were growing up, and fuller days fly faster. I seriously just graduated high school, but somehow, my face is looking more and more like an old catcher's mitt. How did this happen?

Although, I don't think aging is completely culpable. No...for me, it's definitely these little boys that have quickened life's pace.

I'm a bit of a record keeper. Aside from this blog, I keep my personal journal, a journal to Asher, a journal to Preston, and separate baby books for each. I could certainly be better about writing, but they are all maintained with consistency. Because my real talent is forgetting. These accounts represent trappings of our lives which would otherwise be lost. It's such a comfort to hold on to our little details...the memories which will someday be "June roses in the December of our lives."

And pictures help too. 

Happy 5-month old Preston

 Oh stop it, I love you.

And who's this giant, slap bracelet-loving boy?

 

 

I mean, come on, Asher - three years old? Oh Ash. Our precious first. We only just brought you home, driving 15 miles an hour all the way. We still give slow drivers that benefit of the doubt. You, son, are a walking, talking - no. Running, screaming, miracle who insists on becoming a bigger boy each day. You may no longer be the baby we lovingly cradled, but I adore spending time with my smart, affectionate, fun-loving little boy. You won't always ask me to read you books or tell you stories, or make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You won't always welcome my kisses or wave to me from the top of the playground and shout, "I love you, mommy!" Yes, someday you'll shrink from our hugs, trading us in for friends, fast cars and girls.

 And while we're on the topic, please don't marry a crazy slut. Seriously, please.

And Preston. We still can't believe we actually have a living, breathing baby of our very own! At least for now. I've learned yogurt has a longer shelf life than babies...and since I'm intensely aware you won't stay little long, I relish every cuddle, kiss and squeeze. I try to breathe in every bit of your new baby sweetness that is evaporating so quickly. Your chubby cheeks are almost edible, and I love the way your downy head nuzzles into my shoulder, and your little fingers still wrap around ours. Your squeals and laughter fill us with such sublime sunshine, banishing every cloud and care. My heart starts to choke when I think of how short you'll be with us this way...but babies grow, and it's what I want for you, really.

Yes, it's want I want. But still hard to watch happen at such high speeds. So take it slow, tiny gentlemen.
And I'll take it in.

February Crafts

Okay, deceptive title. If we're friends, you know I'm not crafty. My lack of cuteness and creativity is something I've had a vague awareness of for years, but upon moving to Ohio among so many talented crafters, it's blossomed into a full-fledged insecurity. 

But no matter. I've realized it takes all sorts, and the seriously crafty need people like me to admire and purchase their peddled creations. So that will be my role. And while sewing doesn't make my heart sing (I said sewing, I meant destroying expensive fabric), I have realized I actually enjoy useful, small-scale projects.

Here is an example of a "craft" on my level: this Christmas card book. I hate throwing cute pictures of family and friends away, and figured by punching holes and adding a ring, we'd have something to set out on the coffee table and flip through next Christmas.

I know, you're in awe. Maybe I'll break down the steps and post a full tutorial. 

 I've also learned to really love paper crafting and card making. I only make really simple things, but have so much fun doing it. No kidding - it's like dessert at the end of a day to me...if I finish all my chores, the kids are asleep and Andrew is studying, I get to watch a show and make cards. Fun and somewhat practical. And fortunately, only requires the ability to stamp, cut and paste. My kindergarten teacher probably had no idea she was watching my skills peak. Here are some Valentine's Day cards...

 Not elaborate, but simple and sweet. Special thanks to my friend Lindsey for always helping me and letting me use her expensive stuff. And here are some little tags we made for a Valentine exchange:

And some cute little note cards to bundle and give away.

I'm also getting into bad photography.

So while I have no illusions about my level of talent, it does feel good to create something small. I'm even investing a teensy bit in some new tools to make it a full-fledged hobby. Exciting.

...and maybe embarrassing to any real card maker who sees this. But you gotta start somewhere.

So what are you in to lately? What makes your heart sing?

Lip Smackin' Smiles

Preston Andrew cut his first tooth today! I'm going to miss that gummy smile, but our baby boy is now exploring the wonderful world of solid food!

 Spooning squash into that untrained little mouth took me right back to a couple years ago with this big guy:

Time, it flies! Obsessed with these sweet little men.

Three!

Asher turned three last Sunday. It was sneaky of him, but it's just the sort of thing I've come to expect. Why are these babies high-tailing it into adulthood?! Cool it with the growing up!

Okay. So he's three. We still have lots of time.

You know, if it weren't for pictures, I think I might have a tough time remembering what Asher looked like as a baby. Sad but true.

Here's our guy on the day he was born:

Then on his first birthday:

And on his second:

And now his third:

 

 

I knew he was growing up, I just didn't realize how fast.

Congrats on the big 0-3, Ash Man! We love you more than you could possibly know.

Jet-Setting, the Golden Age, and Alopecia

We took Andrew to the airport again yesterday. Another conference, in St. Louis this time. After this school year, he will have traveled to D.C., Chicago, Bentonville, St. Louis, New York, San Diego, Phoenix and Philadelphia.We really miss him while he's gone, but the boys and I are getting used to managing on our own. I will admit to having a little travel envy...especially because these conferences and conventions are mostly paid-for schmoozefests, with amazing food and accommodations. I am genuinely happy for Andrew's opportunity to go, but somehow him calling me from a black tie gala while I'm sporting a greasy ponytail, bouncing a baby and wiping a bottom is too stark a juxtaposition.

But I don't mean to make our plight here at home sound too bad...in fact, we are presently experiencing a bit

of a golden age. No one is teething or potty training; no colicky newborns or unruly toddlers (most of the time)...we can go out to eat with Asher happy coloring, while Preston looks on contentedly from his carrier. I can light a candle, and our eldest knows not to touch it, and our youngest is physically incapable. What a beautiful stage. I know it won't last, but while it's here, I'm gonna relish every minute.

 The most recent photo of our golden soon to be 3-year-old.

 (I know him wearing pj's in our van raises questions, but it's a long story.)

Life at present is so good, in fact, I'm afforded the luxury of worrying about the vain and trivial. Because, you see - I am going bald. Yes. Slick bald.

The months of effortlessly gorgeous pregnancy hair have vanished, and I am left brushing out my former glory in silky clumps. Welcome, scalp patches! And those steadfast few strands surviving the hormone change fall prey to young Preston, whose chubby fists claim more and more each day.

Here's a recent pic:




Okay, so I only dream of achieving that kind of volume...but you get the idea.

Luckily, I have a sweet, sympathetic husband, who frequently encounters my fallen friends, and comforts me by saying things like, "Eee! Are you kidding me?! Gross!" 

I just hang my head and hope the action doesn't cause more hair to give way.

Oh well. Things will improve in a few months. Maybe a head full of flyways will be a hot spring look.
 Or better yet, hats.