Fit for a king.

We stopped by a neighbor's yard sale this weekend. Of all of the things that could have caught his eye (toy motorcycles, a bicycle, a kid-sized car), he made sure we were not leaving without this:


He pulled it out of the box of toys and squealed with delight - with its golden wheels, purple plastic faceted beads, and tulle flourish, can you blame him? It's been his favorite all weekend.


I secretly hope it lasts.

"In all the world,

never has there been before,

and never will there be again,

another like him."

(Photos taken 02.25.10. - in celebration of turning one.)

Home

Wanted: Charm. Age. In need of a little elbow grease (yes: paint, refinishing; no: sledge hammers, shingles, serious cash). Big enough. Bug-tight. Dishwasher and sink sprayer. Room for a baby, dog, and (perhaps) a few chickens to roam. Piano nook. Places for muddy shoes and an ironing board.

Let the hunt begin.

365 days

1 day.



1 year.


We are celebrating this beautiful boy and all that he is.

While in Minnesota I had this great idea that I would set up a little photo shoot with my favorite subject in honor of Valentine's Day. Really, what else is there to do once the snow has been shoveled?

What does every photo shoot need? Props! Given that I'm not so big on cutesy (top hat, baby tuxedo, and red roses?), I decided I would sew a simple heart pillow. (Remember, the snow was shoveled.)

Of course the best time to start a project, especially sewing, is late at night. It was around 11:45pm when I was 3/4 of the way done that I realized perhaps I could have picked a simpler method, like, oh I don't know... a heart cut from red construction paper?

The following day I waited for some good light, set the scene, dressed Anders, and handed him the heart... which he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.





Lesson learned? Simple is usually better.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.
(Holiday cards to follow.)

P.S. Rumor has it someone is ten months-old today. Ten months is far too close to twelve months for my liking.

Windchill

In a few days we will be on a plane heading East, ready to share in some merriment with the ones we love. There will be stories to tell, a baby to gush over, wine to share, too much food to eat, presents to exchange, and many-a-photo to take.

Unfortunately, there will also be this:

(Minnesota - December 2007)

It's a package deal. Albeit a cold, bitter package.

Happy Birthday Lilman

9 Months Old Today.

I know it is exactly the type of thing we're supposed to say, but it is hard to believe how fast the time has gone.

The Little Fall

Fall is in the air. Time keeps on ticking, and we're quickly finding ourselves remembering the good old days of sleepless nights and baby acid reflux. You've heard (or experienced) it all before — what happened to my little baby? How did he get so big?

All of that.

That's all well and good, but with age comes great adventures and responsibilities. Anders has accepted, and excelling at, his role as resident baby singer, eater of sweet potato puffs, constant stander and less frequent faller. Though it is a bit early, there are signs he's already accepted the burden of taking care of his parents as we inch toward the Septembers of our lives. We take care of him, and in turn, he takes care of us.

To celebrate this beautiful symbiosis we have going, we decided Anders should have his first brush with pumpkins AND reality TV. Luckily, we live minutes from the littlest pumpkin-growing reality TV stars around - The Roloffs. We visited the farm, pet some goats, looked at some pumpkins, and had a lovely chat with Amy about the recent Nikon product line. We're pretty much family. To be sure, Anders wasn't quite ready for the excitement. Our hope is that the memories, and resulting photos, will endure for years to come.

FALL 2009!

Book Babies

It's no secret we are relatively introverted. Given the choice, we usually prefer to stay in where there are private jokes, paninis, and Netflix. "Outside" there might be people. Who want to converse.
This is why the Universe thought it would be funny to send us the most social baby on the planet. Anders lights up when he sees other kids. He looks at adults expectantly: "Surely they'd like to shower me with praise. Have they seen my dimple? Maybe if I coo..." Well aware that it's not all about me anymore, coupled with visions of Anders becoming John Candy in "Only The Lonely", I know what I have to do.

Our local library hosts Book Babies once a week. It's an hour of stories, songs, and playtime for infants. After a welcome song and a few short stories we are "encouraged" to stand and dance with our babies "to help them learn rhythm." Half of the adults can't find the beat and our awkward facilitator, who tends to stomp around in circles while holding a private conversation with the rooster puppet on her hand, seems to hear a different song completely. The music stops and buckets of toys are dumped out on the rug, signaling playtime has begun. This is where it gets tricky.

1. The adults are expected to socialize.
It's okay. I might sweat a little but I have enough social grace to ask the other adults about their babies and pretend to listen.

2. The toys are shared.
Anyone who knows babies exist also knows what happens to their toys. It's usually something like, "That's a cool dump truck! I am going to stuff the whole thing in my mouth! Whatever doesn't fit, I will lick!" or "She's sucking on a red block! It looks delicious! I want a taste RIGHT NOW!" This would be a good time to point out that at the exact moment Anders was born, I was given the ability (a super-power, really) to see microscopic germs. And let me tell you: They. Are. Everywhere.

So this is what happens: The music stops. The toys are dumped. The babies descend. The licking begins and the mom next to me turns to make small talk. As she introduces herself, I hear, "Hi. I'm So-and-so and this is my daughter, Swine Flu." Did you say Swine Flu? Wow, what a coincidence! That little boy over there is also named Swine Flu and he's here with his brother, Rotavirus.

Knowing that I don't want Anders to inherit my complexes (as lovable as they may be) nor remember his childhood as, "No, no honey. We don't play with those toys, we just look at them." I suck it up, close my eyes, and let him lick the wheels of the dump truck.

I guess I should also see if So-and-so and little Swine Flu want to get together for a play date. Maybe next time.

1997. 2002. 2009.

A whole lot to celebrate. Happy Anniversary.

Last night I opened a can of worms. The label on the can? eBay. As I stood at the counter grazing from a container of ice cream, I browsed the dizzying array of toys from my childhood. With opening bids starting at $4.99, I hated to think Anders would suffer a joyless childhood, naively playing with inferior "modern" (ie: non-chokeable) Fisher Price.

Love at first sight:

I had visions of a toddler, giggling, as he pulls this little plane behind. Its captain bobbing and propeller spinning as he runs by.

And this one made my heart skip a beat:

Picture an afternoon spent driving the luggage cart, loaded with its tiny suitcases, to and from the plane. Anders might enjoy it too.

Perhaps the nostalgia and plane appeal is inspired from our recent trip to the Midwest. Anders was the perfect passenger, calmly enjoying the flight from his window seat. His mama on the other hand?

I spent my pre-infant flights callously flipping through magazines, failing to notice the part of Delta's safety video that specifies, "In the event of a water landing, special life vests will be distributed for infants and small children."

Water landing. Infant.

The panic that cursed through my veins as my heart rate increased only served as more proof that, yes, this would surely be the one that goes down. And just to review... as we are barreling nose-first into a large body of water, I should calmly remove my bottom seat cushion and wait for a stewardess to distribute a life vest for the baby in the window seat next to me?

Thankfully no special life vest had to be distributed and my heart rate returned to normal upon seeing Dave at the gate. Hopefully future palpitations will be reserved for eBay.

We have new cell phone numbers. If you are in need of them, please send us an email.
Take care "651", old friend. You will always have a special place in our hearts.

Happy 6 months, littleman.

Five months and 10+ pounds later...

Dave and Anders. Happy 1st Father's Day.

Look, a castle!

I checked on you during a nap, watching for the stripes of your onesie to rise and fall with your breathing. I couldn't help but sigh at the sight of you.

Like a goldfish surprised by its castle every time it swims by, I find myself constantly caught off-guard by your cuteness. If I look away for a few seconds, I often find my castle when I look back. and I can't help but sigh.

Goodbye to Our Girl

Patsy Beans Ewald - You will be missed. We love you.

2 Months

Well...you blink a few times and two months have passed. Who knows where the time goes?

EASTER.

Not necessarily happy, but Easter nonetheless.