You Know You're a Mom Monday

Mondays are now my day to celebrate motherhood, especially the silly and wonderful nuances of parenting a tiny one (or more than one tiny, when the day comes.) We'll be posting silly thoughts and pictures, momentous occasions and recipes for the hard-of-cooking (that's me).
 

Installment #1:

You know you're a mom...

When your idea of shoe shopping is looking for the other one.

Seriously. Where does he go with these? They don't even fit him.

[Please submit your "You Know You're a Mom If/When..." ideas to sarah@thewellhub.com. Can't wait to hear them. And don't worry. You will be credited by name and blog site.] 


And now for food. 

I don't know about you, but on days with my son, (that's Saturday, Sunday and Monday for me), I find myself completely shocked by the fact that we both have to eat...again...three times a day. Drat. My brain shrinks. I can only think of two foods, and he just ate them at the last meal. Bananas and hot dogs it is.


In one of my perfect worlds where my child is bilingual and born playing jazz piano, we are a little bit French and the well-behaved young one sits down to an adult meal of something from the Julia Child's cookbook. The moral of the story: he eats the same food we do, but smaller bites, smaller portions. 

Dinner time at the Siders. The turkey sandwich properly dissected by John David, the deli meat is now being mashed between his fingers. Knowing the difference between food and toys is not his strong point.

But in the world where I currently reside, my child still speaks a mix of Baby and a bit of barely intelligible English. It is apparent from his scheduled squealing that he must eat. And because I am usually the only adult around (when Josh is gone), I must feed him. And alas, I do not own the ingredients in the Julia Child's cookbooks. I cannot pronounce them. And I do not even enjoy cooking. These are the facts.


I need ideas for these times. A plan for ahead. I have to realize that the same thing happens every day, that we always need to eat and that's not going to change. Here are some of the tried-and-true meals I can pull together before the baby loses his marbles in a hunger tantrum on the linoleum.

Fruits:                       Veggies:                     Breakfast:              Entrees:
Apples                        Carrots                       Eggs                       Mac n Cheese
Bananas                     Peas                          Yogurt                     Cheese Quesadilla
Grapes                       Broccoli                      Cheerios                 Turkey dogs
Pineapple                                                                                     Pasta
Strawberries                                                                  

I would love to have more options than these, but this is about it. If you're a mom with good ideas and food plans, I would love to hear from you. Unless you speak French and want to judge me.  

Leave your foodie ideas in the Comments below. John will really appreciate it.
 

Sitting at the table. This is still rare for many reasons, one of which is that his bum is magnetically opposed to the seat. About 60 seconds after this picture was snapped, he weezled his way off the seat and fell backward on the floor. Sad baby.

 

Love makes light

The things that love you are right here. And they will hug you back.

It's been a heavy weather week - in the stratosphere, in my heart and in the hearts of friends all around. I think I cried every day this week. From what I hear, we all have. Crying like the messy, half a box of tissue kind of breakdown. It didn't help that the sky was pretty much bumming around, moping, fogging, crying, leaving pools of sad all around to step in.


There's been more to cry about than usual though. My dear friend lost her mother last Thursday. On Tuesday morning, as family and friends gathered in the Wesley Chapel to hug and say goodbye, I had the privilege of snuggling baby Zoe, rocking, swaying, praying her off to sleep. I listened good to all the stories of courage and fearlessness of this 50-something mom and thought that I really wanted to be that way too. 

Today I had a new sadness. Someone with a complicated pregnancy, a baby who would surely die before or shortly after birth. I called her and their abortion was all set up for Thursday. We talked about the grief, the sorrow of carrying a baby whose life would be cut short for certain. But had she considered all her options? We talked about grief, about how many families find it so helpful to see and hold baby to say goodbye. This can't be done with abortion. She had made up her mind, but I still asked her to pray, since she said she was a Christian and normally against abortion. I told her I would call her today and I did. But I prayed last night and this morning - I just prayed that she would choose to let her baby live and not make the death decision but to let God do it. But I so understand the dilemma, not wanting baby to come into the world to hurt, to suffer, to gasp a few shorts breaths. She was sending her daughter back to God, she felt. I understand why she felt that way, though it breaks my heart. I kept praying today. I don't know how their story ends yet. I wanted to hope.


I talked tonight with a few of my girlfriends, and we've all had a sad week. Teary eyes and empathetic nods came from the round, coffeeshop table. And hopefully the feeling of being understood. It was after 9 when I got home, and John was in bed. My heart was already so heavy from the stacked up sadness. I wanted to see my son, to see his face light up to see me back. I could hear his lullaby music still softly chiming, and Josh said I should go love on him because he was going to go to sleep in the next 30 minutes one way or another. 


I padded down the hallway and peeked in. There he was, on his back, feet stashed in the rungs of the crib, paging through a fat, little book. He tossed it down and pushed himself up toward me. I swept him up and curled my head into his neck. He laid his head down on my shoulder and patted my back gently like his daddy taught him. We swayed, and I told him that I loved him, and I cried because I forgot I loved him so much. And I cried because was so happy he was just going to sit still and let me squish him and rock him like this. I cried because I was so tired and heavy with the pain of life, but I still have this hug, this baby, John, who loves me. And I have Josh. And Jesus, with His love so big I can't see the beginning or the end. I'm so so thankful that Love makes burdens light, lifts them with me so I don't go alone. 

And, right then, this baby that I was carrying, was carrying me.


And now: 16 months of the most important moments.

We're growing up together, Buddy. Me and you, both babies at this thing. There will always be enough time for cuddling. For love. Because it's always going to be 

the most important thing.

Quit Something Each Thursday: Guest Blogger, Allie Lousch

This will be a treat for us all. 

Today my front porch friend, Allie Lousch, is with us. I met Allie in 2005, my second senior year of undergrad. We were neighbors for months but didn't know it, until a homework assignment sent me into the street, into the homes of people I often saw but never knew. Allie was sitting on her porch that afternoon, and she invited me to sit too. We weren't strangers for long. She was eloquent and honest, and I was young and over-spiritual. Her raw authenticity broke me down and before I knew it I was sitting there trying to be honest too because she wasn't having the neatly-packaged, mass-produced, Christian answers. She wanted what was Real. She's still that way today, but now she shares her hospitality and adventure from place down in Georgia. Today we catch her writing on the beauty of light-living, and offering us a little clarity on how to actually do it. You can stop by her porch on the world wide web at allielousch.myadventures.org. Enjoy.

Quit Something each Thursday.

Travel light.

Comb & toothbrush & no extra luggage.

Keep it simple...

You are the equipment.

If you're not welcomed...Don't make a scene.*

Quit something each Thursday.

I've been re-reading and tinkering with these words lately.  The five first statements are recorded by a doctor, Luke, in a land far far away...  The last, "Quit something each Thursday" is from a listmaker named, Tim.

Each statement challenges and has me thinking, because I trust the sources.

Quit something each Thursday?  

In all of our going and doing we add so much to our schedules that end up subtracting from the sum of our living.  More meetings, more boards, more "yes-es", more doing, more stuff...more angst.

Think about this:  what do you really want your life to "say".  If you are the message, if you are the "equipment" - what is the point of your messaging and doing life?  Is it to garner more stuff and power and a place in the Winner's Circle?  If you are Eric Liddle or someone with his life call...maybe the winner circle is your next goal, but really - what is all this running around for?

Before you quit something today (it is Thursday), decide what you want to really live for and then subtract one thing that keeps you mired here instead of moving towards that one thing.  This will take hours, days, weeks, months...maybe years, but today's the day - Carpe Diem - and all that.

Caveat:  Quit something each Thursday is not a free pass to bolt from your responsibilities.  

Not happy in your family?  Don't quit it.  That is a short-term solution to what is often a long term problem...a problem that you see in the mirror daily.

Not fulfilled as a parent?  Don't quit your kids and shuffle them off to every sort of time-fill you can afford.  Get to know them. Ask for help. My guess is - your kids are in this world because at one time you wanted to love, nurture, and get to know them - not position them for an Ivy League education.

Not happy with your hair...okay - quit that. Call your barber and stylist today.

Take a nap.  

Daydream a bit.

Decide what is truly adding value - or has the potential to add value - to your life before you quit your first thing.  Write it down.  Share it with someone.  Get on your knees and ask for help.  Call.  Think before you act.  Give yourself that time...that grace.

A few options for today's Quit something each Thursday:

• Quit complaining (ouch.)
• Quit surfing your lazyboy or computer while your kids, spouse, friends, or lonely neighbors, are looking for something or someone to pour into them
• Quit buying a dozen donuts on the way to work...when you work with only two other people
• Quit driving too fast (double ouch.) 
• Quit one voluntary professional obligation that looks good on paper, but sucks the joy/life out of you
• Quit that second team you are on and use that time to read, go for a walk with your husband, visit someone
• Quit creating a vortex around yourself to hide in - a black hole that examines everyone else's trip ups and leaves you unaccountable
• Quit paying full price for half-price relationships

And one more thing:  Read Tim's blog, 20 notes, quotes, and thoughts and let me know what you think and what you've quit this Thursday.

*Eugene Peterson's, The Message

Thanks for letting me share your writings with us, Allie.  Let's do this again sometime.   

Now don't forget, everyone. Tomorrow is Thursday. Take a few minutes to figure out what you can say "No" too. And start today, I mean, tomorrow.

Sarah

Married to the job

I like my husband. He's attractive. Dresses great. He's hilarious, and he gets my jokes. He's incredibly smart, an unbelievably intuitive partner and parent. He's insightful, good with people, takes care of the money (thank God!), and he loves God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit (and knows the difference between them all. And that's not just a given, ok?)

I benefit so much from being around him, soaking up all that he is, from having him for a best friend.

But there's one tiny problem. We never have anything to talk about. Unless you count church. Church goers. Church not-yet-goers. Church used-to-goers. People who like us this week. People who don't like us this week. People who will probably not like us next week. We talk about the church plant. Church policies. Church finances and meetings and who-what-when-where churchy stuff. Yup, that's pretty much all we talk about. We also talk about our son because he's hilarious and parenting is extremely rewarding/challenging. Sure, I squeeze in convo about adoption and my work and what my friends are up to. But these two things take up our lives. I think they're supposed to, but I didn't know what I was getting myself into, okay?

See how happy we were. This may have been due to the fact that we had other things to talk about. We're this happy most of the time, but it's just a bit more complicated now. 

I really should've seen this coming. I was in full-time ministry for a year after college before I decided it was definitely not for me and went into the "secular" universe so I wouldn't have to be a "professional Christian", which is what ministry felt like to me. It was this all-encompassing life of a minister that did me in. I never knew when I was working. In ministry, you make friends with the people you are reaching. It's wonderful. And terrible. They're your friends and dinner party pals, but you are also correcting and guiding and encouraging and praying with and for them. So confusing for a girl with poor boundaries. [That was me, in case that wasn't clear.]
Going further back: I've been a ministry volunteer in some fashion since 1999. That June, Nate Severson and Hillcrest Covenant Church took a chance on me as a youth ministry leader. I was a flaky 17-year old, fresh out of the pages of Reviving Ophelia, determined to start a teenage revolution and prevent the young girls of America from getting their souls sucked out by Cosmo and false body image expectations and bad boyfriends. But I didn't even come every Sunday. My communication skills were terrible. Some of the parents thought me and my nose ring were a bad influence. Maybe they knew that sometimes I got drunk the night before church and had to come lead a small group the next day. 

I had so much left undone in my own soul. God bless Nate though. I think youth ministry and those sweet awkward tweens who adored me, I think they saved my life.


Fast forward 11 years and the man I married, this wonderful, bearded man with deep, squinty eyes and a sharp theologically-bent intellect, this man took a job as a pastor.

He still looks at me like this.

It started small. As in, our influence was small. Everyone looked at us sideways to see what we were up to. They were right. We were a bit aggressive at first, despite our best efforts at humility. But it wasn't long before our impact grew, before we became trusted, sought-out. But with growing influence comes more suspicion, more accusation. And before we knew it, the people who we loved so much were hanging out with people who don't love them as much, and these people made decisions which "will self-destruct in five seconds". Or five years. But either way, it's so painful to watch. Like letting your teenage daughter go out with that loser guy and you can't prevent it because she's doing it behind your back anyway, and you just have to let her fail, but you pray the fall will be light and the pain not-that-much, and that she'll be back soon.


This is what pastoring is like all the time. The love you feel for all these people who sit on our couch and cook lunch in our kitchen on Sunday afternoon and live in our basement and cry into the nook of our shoulders - it's crazy. It just takes over your life. Takes over our life. 

So you can imagine. I don't even do this for pay. I'm just married into it. But the pain hits me too. When people leave, when they misunderstand our intentions, when we mess up and overreact, and they stay mad and we can't convince them how sorry we are, that'll just mess wreck my body and sleep for days if I let it. If I let it. It's a choice, I know, but I'm such a rookie at this. 


Why do I do it then? I mean, other than the fact that it's my husband's job. It's such a good question. It's because we can't do anything else. It's a calling. A big, huge magnet in the sky with all the gravitational pull of heaven behind it. It's excruciating at times. But I know on the worst days when we've just lost someone else so dear to their own decision that takes them out of our lives for now, I know that Jesus knows exactly how we feel. He just sits there with us and says, "Yea, I know what you mean. It hurts so bad, doesn't it? But this isn't the end of the story. You still have me. And I love you." Being loved and understood is so nice. So necessary to keep going.

We still have each other, Babe.

And on those oh-so-sad, lonely days (that seem much more frequent now), Josh and I often say to each other , "Babe, at least I've got you. We've still got each other," just to remind ourselves that the being misunderstood part isn't the end of the story, that we have a few people who love us well, who we know won't bail. We have our adorable John and that jumpy puppy in the backyard. We have a house-full of people who will listen to our rants and pray for us. We have our families who have loved us for years and years, especially our parents who held strong when we were so unlovable and mean. Now we know what it's like. Yea, Mom and Dad - we get it now.


But just so you know, I'm not going to quit this thing. Certainly not my partnership with my husband, but not even this church gig, this nights and weekends, sidecar business I have going when I get done with my 40-hour a week paycheck. (And it's a calling too.) But I'm not going anywhere. I have a faithful God and a loyal, tenacious husband and with these two around, our roots are going down, down, down into love. Into Love. Into the place where I can move out of running on fumes and live and love with leftovers to spare, the good-tasting kind, with a smile that I mean. No matter what they say, no matter who stays or goes, no matter what the offering was that week, no matter how many seats are filled. That's the kind of love I'm burrowing into. It's all I got.

Yes, I met my match.

My favorite for life.

[Photo credit is the absolutely brilliant and gorgeous, Sarah Tafoya Howell. Check out her gallery of beautiful people at saratafoya.com.] 

The most Brave I could muster

Hooked up with The Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Friday Writing. Today's topic: Brave. The concept: write for five minutes without stopping or correcting. I did okay for my first try. And yes, I know I'm late.

Okay go:

I remember that day when I had never seen his face. A rumor of a baby. Pain and tightness. Deep breathing. Phone calls from family and friends. More breathing. 

Then to the hospital. It would be soon now. But it wasn't. Slower and slower than I thought I would go. And then all the stories I heard that were bad came true. My natural nice slow deep breathing, bathtub birth was leaving. Strapped to a hospital bed, nausea, baby's heart rate. This isn't normal, they were telling me. Fear came. And pain. And fear. And pain. I asked for medicine but it just made me a little sleepy. They were going to have to sedate me. Something was going to have to change.

Then something did. Heart rate up. Mom doing better too. My mother held my hand and tag-teamed with Josh. Then Rachel came. She sat by the tub I could sit in now. I groaned and she reminded me to breathe. Worship music played in the background but I don't remember it. I remember groaning and moving in and out of this beautiful trance. Thank God for it. Thank God for Rachel and her quietness. For Josh and his steadyness. For my mother and her comfort. They were all there at just the right time. 

And then he came. After the new day, he came and I forgot it all. The pain, the tightness and cramping and agony of it all. Forgotten. It was the most courage I'd ever had but I had no way to leave the moment. We were all in. Me and Josh and this baby we'd never met. And when he came, the bravery was worth it all. 

And STOP.

A few photos of the journey:

Right before we left for the hospital, in between contractions. I thought after a day and half of labor that I was at a 4. I was at a 2.

A couple hours into hospital labor and I'd lost my composure. It was "zombie pain brain", all literal, all the time. Cords everywhere, beeps and machines and not the frolicky, floating labor I'd dreamed up. But my faithful mother just sat there and prayed and prayed and held my hand and looked concerned because she really was. Just what I needed from her.

I didn't know I could do it but I did it. There was no turning back even though I felt like bailing. But this was my reward. At 12:51 am on a November Monday, I got what I'd been waiting for. Worth every minute.

 And here are the all-stars:

My miraculous mother. Look at her with her minutes-old grandson, a Natural at Nonna.

My handsome, heroic husband. He endured labor too, mostly in the form of me not laughing at his jokes for about 6 hours. I'm sure that was very painful. But seriously, a stand-up guy who bring calm to every situation.

And Rachel, my heaven-sent doula. I didn't call her until I got control of my labor back and headed to the birthing tub. I wish I had called her earlier. She was amazing! But she was right there when and where she needed to be, breathing peace into the intensity. What a blessing!

Humble pie a la crab

Today I got a serving of humble pie. And it had a crab in it. I almost sent it back. But I'll be darned if I wasn't the crab.

Don't let this charming crustacean fool you with his big eyes - he has an enormous self-pity complex. Not cute. But I can relate.

It was that time of the week again. Time for me to do one of the least favorite parts of my job. An annoying task made more annoying by the fact that I've been doing it for the better part of three years. I complained aloud to my boss, told her I didn't much like it. Whine, whine, went the less than attractive sound coming from my lips. This job is beneath me.

You see, I'm chairwoman of some committee at work now. I'm getting important. But alas, it seems no one will recognize it. I've been here in this clinic for three years, and I still have this job, this low task that no one else wants, and I can't stand. It's even more miserable, perhaps, because I'm some sort of expert on the topic, bringing all sorts of questions from staff and patients across my desk. Why me? Moan. 

Oh Humility. I don't like you sometimes. You're the one I pray for with extreme caution. Only in my most transcendent moments can I ask for you. And right away I regret it. Because I pray for humility, and then I keep jobs like this. Maybe I'll take it back.

But today came the Epiphany: My favorite things should be the smallest things, the most
unseen, the most ugly, unattractive things. This job right here - this is the job I should love the most because no one wants it, and it's terrifically mindless monkey business. Because as I enter into this job, I get a little lower, and a little closer to Jesus, to His heart and the way He lived His life. 

Internal groaning ensued. And the cognitive dissonance made me a little teary-eyed right there in the office. I cried because I don't really believe Jesus' kingdom methods. Even though they sound so nice.  

     "Service is the key to influence." 

Sounds like it's straight out of a John Maxwell book. I'd probably quote it in a Facebook
post. But I don't want to live it. I don't want the nominal, invisible work. I want to matter. I want to matter, please.

But there it was, the nagging, sinking knowing that I should dig right into the smallness, get as low as I can, cherish the opportunities to sweep leftovers off the floor with my bare hands. I should treasure every dirty diaper, relish grimy bathtubs begging for a soak. This is my kingdom, His kingdom. I'm most successful down here where no one can see.  

See, domestic servitude is the bee's knees.

What kind of a God wrecked the system like this? What kind of God puts on flesh to get dirt beneath His fingernails? What kind of God elevates the midnight janitorial shift to heaven's celebrity status? The place of washing feet, palming smelly toes in my hand, that's the place of true honor.  This is where I catch His eye, steal His heart. And I know that's what matters. 

Dear God: Teach me to love the simple, small things. To enter into humbleness with gratitude. And please, please meet me down here.

Swamp Mother

Swamp mother. Noun. A female parent who does too much crap, gets really stressed out and whines a lot. And forgets the point of life.

That's me. A swamp mother. A mother who is swamped with meetings and projects and genius ideas that no one else really understands (half the time). Two months ago I started to delegate some of these projects, assigning them here and there to willing hands. Some of this worked, some of it didn't. Either way, I am here 6ish weeks later wondering why I am so busy. Why I am stressed, frenetic crazy brain, constantly in motion from one thing to the next. Last night my friend called me on it. She said my parenting style is often behavior management and my "busyness" is at the cost of my child. She said my son deserves my attention, a look in the eye for correction and affection. She said all that and neither of us batted an eye cause we knew it was true.

Not one to waste time implementing wisdom (usually), I took her advice. It was really good advice after all. I slowed down. I cancelled one meeting today and postponed another. I talked to my son slowly. I focused on him. I used patience, not anger. I chose not to attempt control over him (which never works - grrrr), but to redirect him, offer him choices, play, enjoy each other. 

Then suddenly, it hit me, how overwhelmed I am as a parent, how I have no idea what I'm doing. I felt like a new employee, first day on the job, looking at this kid like I was meeting him for the first time, and we're just getting to know each other. Incompetent. I am supposed to teach this child everything he needs to know for life? Who thought this up? But it's not about my knowledge, I guess. It's mostly about relationship, about time and intention, value and affection. And my son got all that today - and the day was a success. How do I know?  Because before his morning nap, he climbed onto my lap, wrapped his chubby arms around me and gave me a big, long hug. A hug! Yes, that is success. And I think his IQ increased at least 10 points from all the positive attention because by 8pm he'd also learned the sound a sheep makes: "Baaaaa", complete with the bleating sound. Smartypants. Maybe he's gonna be a farmer.

Here are a few snaps of our mother-son day. The weather was frighteningly un-Marchish. So we made good use of the day by playing outside.

Here the curly-haired adorable surveys the house pooch and prepares his approach. Don't you think he looks like a kid from a 1950's TV show with that hair and cardigan. I may have done that on purpose.

That is a kid-sized basketball and it's still huge. Happy he's still so wee.

A sick papa and out of town mama brought Mr Ashford for a visit. The boys have been friends since the womb so we always love having him over. He's quite polite. We expect him to have a wildly successful political career.

Oh my goodness. Did the boy find his thumb? All this time we allowed the "bink" to our chagrin only to avoid thumb usage. Drat.

Here he is, scaling the coffee table with the aid of a motor vehicle. (It really is motorized but he doesn't drive it cause it freaks him out.) He is not allowed to climb on things after his stunt on the kitchen table this weekend. This picture was snapped seconds before we carted off his teddy bear bum to timeout. 

Cauc.U.S.

This must be why they called it the Grand "Old" Party

They say you make some of the biggest decisions of your life in middle school. That's true. Partly because that's the first time I drank beer on purpose and the first time I asked a boy out. [Since you're dying to know, he said "No". But it's okay, Doug Adney. I'm happy now.] 

Fast forward 17 years and here I am again, in a middle school cafeteria, still making gigantic choices, but this time about who will run the United States of America. I attended the GOP Caucus for Riley County on Saturday, my first caucus ever. Needless to say I did a few things wrong, or backwards, but I wasn't ridiculed to my face so we'll call it a win. I got there two hours into the event so I missed the speeches from the candidates' representatives. I didn't even know they did speeches at these things. Fortunately, I still had time to talk with the reps though, but I didn't know that either until I'd sat down at a cafeteria table and cast my vote. I could've asked questions about the process, but that would've revealed my ignorance. Instead, I learned by trial and error. So consider this photo-journalistic journey through the caucus a raw tutorial if you've never "caucused" yourself. 

I guess you go in here.

Amazing that this stuff is held in a junior high cafeteria. Politicians and representatives hobnobbing amongst milk stains and Cheerio crumbs. Tell me you love the irony.

I found friends who came to caucus: Barb and her son, Dave.

Politician menu: oooh, oooh which one should I pick?  Not telling.

Newt's representative, Ms Friesen, offered me her speech to read since I missed it. To the left is a list of reasons why Newt is the man. 
[Most of the other reps had left for the day, except Ron Paul's, but his table was crowded with collegiate, idealistic libertarians, and I didn't feel like arguing about the fact that we can't pull out of Afghanistan tomorrow or that, for some many reasons, we can't dissociate from Israel. So I left them alone.]

And here she is, a very convinced Ms. Friesen, Newt's representative who also happens to be a homeschooling mother. She told me all the reasons why Romney's pursuit of venture capitalism wasn't really going to create jobs and Santorum just needed a little more vetting, although he's a very nice guy. She had some compelling arguments. But I'd already voted.

See you in 8 more years, GOP Caucus. Or 4, if we get more of the same in November.

So there you have it, a real, live caucus experience through the eyes of a real, live caucus rookie.

An Argument for the Origin of the Species

According to the Biblical text we were created as humans straightaway, breath of God in our nostrils and up we leapt, on two strong legs. No primate origins to speak of. And yet, after an early morning hour with this 16 month old, one has to wonder if maybe Darwin didn't have a toddler too. #CuriousGeorge.
 

He climbed up on the chair by himself to get an adult view of things..

...and since it was time for his second breakfast, he opened the Cheerios, from the top of the kitchen table.

Afterwards he went fishing in the [forbidden] Lazy Susan.

With disgust he shows Mom a piece of polyester filling he found...

And then properly shreds the thing into tiny bits.

A few minutes later he finds himself going shopping,

and then makes a right good mess of his diaper bag.

The Adirondack chair makes a good stepping stool...

...but it turns out it's also quite nice as a seat.

Can you see why I usually don't feel the energy for a workout? Perhaps it's because I've already had one.

A Bad Case of the Sillies: Fun with PhotoBooth

So emo, so Andy Warhol

Can you imagine a world with two Sarahs and two Johns? Let's not. :)

The gene pool is a deep, deep place. How else can we explain how I ended up with a blond-haired, blue-eyed child?