Somebody has been about to roll over for a month now

And somebody loves puzzles, especially ones that involve letters and their sounds

Tonight, I told Spencer that his bath was so full, it looked like he was in a swimming pool.  He told me "ready to go to the real swimming pool."  I said we could go in the summer, but he said he was "ready to go to the real swimming pool next week!"  I feel ya, kid.  Love it.

Evelyn is still sick, but not sick enough to take naps any longer than thirty minutes.  She's getting back to her "normal" little self.  As you can see in the above pictures, she is losing her hair in new and exciting patterns (as did Spencer).  In other news, I have been ordering her "pre-owned" dresses and other various clothing.  Today, something came in the mail, and I wasn't sure what it was.  So, let's just say it, if you're starting to lose track, you've taken it too far!  =)  I really am enjoying finding some cute things for my precious little lady.

Someday, everyone in this household is going to be well for an entire week simultaneously.  It may be in 2022, but it'll be a great week.

"Ready to go to the real swimmin' pool NEXT WEEK!"

Amen and amen.



Favorite lines from Spencer this week:

Oh!  Mommy!  We have a problem!

A bubble!  I cannot believe it!

Curtains!  With animals on it!  What animals are on those curtains?

My eye is hurting.

I have an idea!  Follow me!

Me: Do you know what a sea urchin looks like?  S:  It looks like a ball.  [The obvious favorite]


Kind of a Big Deal

I blog for lots of reasons.  Most of them unimportant.  I mainly do it because I love writing, but it's not nearly as much fun if no one is reading.  And since Zondervan hasn't exactly been beating down my door for my latest theology-the-way-I-see-it manuscript, Blogger offering me the option to "Publish Post" is really my only publishing option.  So, blog I do.  I write, get things out of my system, show off my kids, at least practice attempts at being clear, succinct, stylized, etc.  And, there are a handful of people that actually read it.  There are even a couple of people who offer feedback, always a pleasure.

As I was pinning things for my niece-on-the-way's nursery (Meredith, feel free to leave her name in the comments, I won't tell anyone), I came across this wrapped canvas from wheatpaste.com

           Pinned Image

I smiled so big, and then truly laughed out loud.  Maybe that's really why I blog.  [Not a big enough deal to figure out how to embed my actual pin, mind you....]


Something in the Nursery Is Finished

Evelyn's crib bedding is complete!

She loves it!

Heather Bailey's Nicey Jane and Pop Garden collections provided the inspiration.  Gigi provided the mad sewing skills.


A Loud Morning

Thank goodness for the sweet, understanding, real-life staff at speech therapy.  Evelyn cried almost the whole hour of Spencer's therapy this morning (mothers who survived an infant with colic, again, I salute you).  It's unlike her, but she was up every other hour last night.  She's teething.  Like, for real teething.  I think I can see both of her two front bottom teeth.  Gee whiz.

As she screamed in the waiting room, I think to myself what others must be thinking:  "Feed that baby!"  (I tried), "Change her diaper" (I did--don't you hate public restrooms of any kind?  Or is that just me?), "What's wrong with you as a mother that you can't calm and comfort your child?"  All I could think about was that unopened bottle of infant acetaminophen we had at home.  Clearly I should have given her some last night, and again this morning, but I like to err on the side of caution.  Or, in our situation, sleep deprivation and craziness.

Instead of offering unhelpful advice or giving me "what's your kid's problem" glances, the receptionist commented multiple times what a beautiful / sweet / precious sound it is to hear a baby cry.  Wow.  Can she come over to our house?  What a seeing-things-in-the-right-perspective kind of lady.  Not all baby's can cry like Evelyn.  Not all babies live long enough to cry as loudly as Evelyn.  Babies are gifts, crying or not.  And they're precious.

Other office ladies smiled at me compassionately.  And not in that, I-don't-know-what-else-to-do-so-I'll-give-you-a-weird-smile kind of way.  Therapists and parents went on their merry ways, even asking us how our Christmas was and commenting on how much she'd grown.  Some, after walking into the waiting room and realizing who was screaming, said, "Is she making all that racket?"  Reminding me it is unusual for her to do this, and instead of worrying about to what degree we were bothering those around us, I could feel free to focus on helping her.  Another lady with whom I typically converse with at length asked me with a smile what I'd done to her.  And chatted with me quietly as I packed up our stuff to drive Evelyn around the surrounding neighborhood in hopes it would settle her down (it did not).

I finally held her to sleep in the car, only to have to put her back in her car seat to go back in and retrieve Spencer about ten minutes later.  And she screamed.  And people were nice.  Again.

Be nice.  It goes a long way.

Tylenol was administered when we got home, and she's sleeping as I type.  Spencer is not sleeping, and went so far as to eat spaghetti to stall for more time before being put down for his nap.

Oh, now she's crying.

The end.