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.

Our Holiday by the Numbers

1 last long Christmas break before Andrew is a slave to clinic.
3 weeks away from home.
60 hours spent in our van, with
2 little boys.
2,800 miles driven between Ohio, Oklahoma and Kentucky, to visit
70 different family members.
4 wonderful Christmas mornings
1 surprise musical number, completely unrehearsed (I love you, mom! :) Brought back memories of the time you threw me a surprise sweet 16 and invited only strangers).
10 different games played (ready for this? Rumikub, Geographacts [Andrew's idea #lovethatnerd], Transamerica, Spicy Farkle, Things in a Box [personal favorite], Ticket to Ride, Mafia, The Name Game, Settlers Cities and Knights, Settlers Seafarers), and in case that's not Mormon enough, 
7 bottles of sparkling grape juice. We had such a great time! Happy New Year!  

Candy from Strangers

It's the very way Asher came to love Santa as a 1-year-old. The bearded giant handed the boy a miniature candy cane, we credited him with a few gifts, and old Saint Nick was in like Flynn!

...We should probably brush up on strager danger.

 

And while Santa isn't at all who this season is about, he sure is fun to believe in for a few years.

Wishing you and yours joy and peace as we reflect on the miracle of our Savior's birth. So eternally grateful for his life, example, atonement and resurrection.

Oh, and enough of all this "Happy Holidays." Merry CHRISTMAS, by golly!

Preston Churchill

I was looking over this year's Christmas card, and had a funny realization.

Our sweet Preston looks a lot like Winston Churchill.

A fat, bald, old man.

 

Don't you think? I don't mind too much - Winston Churchill has long been a huge hero of mine. But still...hopefully as little man grows he'll trade Winston's looks for his wit and wisdom. 

Hopefully. :) 

How Global Warming is Making Me a Better Mom

Good thing I couldn't find one of Asher's trustee tennis shoes today. Otherwise, I wouldn't have thought to put his boots on for our walk. We couldn't waste a 63-degree day in December (sorry polar ice caps, but global warming has been good to us), though I hadn't realized how much water had pooled from last night's rain. 

So there we were, babe bundled in stroller, toddler following dutifully alongside, when Asher notices a puddle and looks at me to gauge my response to the idea we both knew he had. I'm not always the best about letting him get messy. It was 12:30, and he was already on his third clean outfit (due to the dismantling of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and "accidentally" jumping into his little brother's bathwater)... but since he'd donned boots, I smiled, nodded, and the boy went charging. What a sight. A little boy gleefully being a little boy. 

I am always amazed at the way he beelines for the puddles I do my best to avoid. I'm too quick to scold him for the childhood crimes of curiosity, over-excitement and mess making. Armed with my good intentions for firmly raising the boy right, I sometimes forget he's just a boy.

I drew the line when Asher started dragging his fingers through the stagnant water, topped with oily rainbows. No sense in my child getting sepsis on my first day of enlightenment. He needed yet another pair of clean pants by the time we returned home, but it was a very small price to pay. He had such a good time.

Blessing Preston

We blessed baby Preston last weekend in Andrew's home ward. He's already 3 months old, but we wanted to wait until both our immediate families could both be there, and I'm glad we did - it was a really special day. Andrew gave a beautiful blessing, and I felt so proud to be momma to that obese healthy baby boy.

Here are some pics of the day:

    Sweet face! 

Ready to have the rolls unleashed on you?

Boom! Don't his arms look like Popeye's? ....If Popeye seriously let himself go? Andrew's wonderful Aunt Suzie made this little blessing gown, and it does a great job masking his enormous thighs. She should start a plus size baby line.

We love you so, handsome little man! Intensely grateful to call you our own.