new season.

the clock is ticking. my belly button has lost all its subtlety. i can no longer put on my own socks. something tells me that very soon we will be a family of four. 

here i am, in full-blown nesting mode, lamenting our lack of matching coffee cups and wishing i could paint the hardwood floors a glossy white. i'm navigating a tightrope between needing everything to be immaculate, and throwing my hands in the air, letting it all go in favor of a nap and chocolate cookies.

these are challenging days, i'll admit. we've seen as much of the airport as our own driveway these past few months, with all of jeremy's departures and arrivals. almost every thursday evening on cue, i pull out the ironing board and press the same three to four shirts for his tired black suitcase while he packs up CDs in the office. this weekend he's in ireland drinking boatloads of tea (and probably some Guinness) in between performances. i am secretly hoping he'll bring me back a scarf, but i'd be equally happy with a gigantic hug and time alone to take a bath.

meanwhile, i attempt to gather a moment of composure while Eli pouts in the time-out chair. we've entered each morning with at least one crying fit before coffee, and then another when it's time to get dressed. more erupt throughout the day for various reasons, like my limiting him to just one cupcake and not allowing him to drive the car. yesterday, i kept him from climbing on the bathroom counter to investigate the blades of his father's beard-trimmer so he pulled my hair and growled at me. he misses his daddy and is growing impatient with this routine of saying hello and saying goodbye. i try to be patient, consistent, and firm, while also understanding and sympathetic of his two-year-old perspective on life and its cruelties. plus, he's adorable, so that helps his case dramatically.

lately, i'm barely keeping up. i've slacked on everything from thank you notes to projects to mopping the kitchen floor. these days, in moments, feel unbearably exhausting. sometimes i wish i was a chipmunk and could hibernate under the covers until it's time to give birth and all the swine flu has left the galaxy.

but then again, there's meaningful work to be done: like savoring the last precious moments of time with Eli before the baby comes to scoop up my attention. i'm also trying, with all i can muster, to be supportive of my road-weary husband who i know would rather be home if given the choice. he works harder than anyone i know, especially now. i would love to make him a fabulous roast chicken with rosemary and be cheerful and beautiful and slightly less reliant. lately, i'm doing well to pour jarred spaghetti sauce over soggy noodles. i am miserable with heartburn and achy legs and hair that needs combing. i know he deserves better (like U2 tickets), but i'm like the woman in that Suave commercial with everything in the world tugging at her until a bottle of shampoo comes along to put things right. 

there's also doctor's appointments, finishing the nursery, sorting through old baby clothes in search of onesies that can be worn again. at some point, i'd really like to paint my toenails too, if only i could reach them.

despite all of this, every day we grow more and more excited for our baby girl's arrival. we've almost settled completely on her name, but we're not telling yet. i suspect that it suits her well. the bed in her room is covered with stacks of tiny clothes in every shade of pink: little bitty socks and hair bows and ruffled pastel pants all sitting in anxious wait.

Eli started preschool in September. he goes twice a week and loves it. of course, he insists on carrying his own backpack, even though it comes down to the back of his knees and makes him walk awkwardly and weavingly, like a hunchback who has had too much to drink.

obviously, i haven't had much time for art or writing. i did sell all three of my "tomato art" pieces this summer, much to my surprise. i had kind of forgotten they'd been at the gallery since august, until one day this month when a check arrived in the mail out of the blue. good encouragement for picking up a paintbrush again sometime this spring when the flowers come out and the baby, maybe, naps.

i would like to resume blogging with better consistency also. i think there will be more to say in the coming months when my brain becomes less foggy. for now, i splash cold water on my face throughout the afternoon, enjoy the breathtaking colors of autumn out our new living room windows, and hold on tight for this new season: for all the wonder, chaos, sleeplessness, and beauty it's bound to bring.

while the grass grows shorter

today is yesterday. i am sitting on the front porch---the "swing porch" as Eli calls it. he is carrying a stick, marching around in rain boots despite a perfect blue sky to match his t-shirt. there's even a little breeze here in the shade this time of day (toward evening). on the swing, i can sit with a clear view of him as he pushes his toy lawn mower up and over long blades of late summer grass.

for amusement, i am wearing his straw cowboy hat with the sheriff badge on the front, pulled tight under my chin with a leather string and a smooth brown bead. my shirt, a st. patrick's day green and not exactly maternity, is pulled snug against a tummy that is serving double duty; currently, it's an incubator and a bookshelf.

the stack of books: Cold Tangerines (a birthday gift), The Time Traveler's Wife (a novel from the library), and a pocket-size decorating book called Old & New, is for later. they balance in wait of being opened, should Eli's lawn-cutting take as long as i suspect it will, considering his little legs and all the distractions of bug and rock and things to shake a stick at. and the fact that he's using a bubble mower.

the real mower hums from behind the house. Eli is back up on the porch with me now, plucking strands of lavender from the pots and pressing them to his small sweet nose. baby pumpkins spill across the ground just beneath us. we dumped our decaying halloween pumpkins there last november and forgot, until a month ago when twisty, thick mystery vines and curling leaves the size of dinner plates began to emerge. there are three yellow-orange globes nestled quietly in the grass among the chaos of sprawling green. they are growing just a little bit every day.

i am craving fall. i always seem to be eager for the next season a month before its arrival. i think i grow tired of too much sameness. this lawn has already been mowed too many times, the same precise pattern of long, neat rows until they weave around the sunflowers at the edge of a vegetable garden now wilted from august heat.

i don't have nearly the second trimester energy that i had last time, though my nesting instincts and desire to feather this place are just as strong. i attribute the lethargy to choppy sleep by night and chasing a busy, mess-making toddler by day, added to the full-time work of growing a baby.

our floors are badly in need of sweeping, but we are enjoying our last summer as three, and Eli is getting used to the idea of a baby as much as a two and a half year old can. he is sleeping in a slightly bigger bed now, occasionally foregoing diapers, and starting at a little school a couple of days a week. as for me, i am trying to relish the baby that's still left in him, not pressing him to grow too fast. he is small for his age, so that makes it easy. and he still likes lullabies at night and being hugged tight when he's scared. he still needs help figuring out which rain boot goes on which foot. and he still requires my hands to hold whenever walking down a lot of steps to mow the lawn another time before the end of summer.

tomato, tom-ah-toe

hello.

obviously it's been a little while since i've had a chance to post. lately, most of my inspiration seems to be devoted to projects other than writing, but i am hoping to get back to more frequent blogging very soon.

i am very excited to have been asked to participate in East Nashville's annual Tomato Art Fest coming up in just a couple of weeks. yesterday, jeremy took eli fishing for the first time off our local pier, and i had a day to spend painting away in my studio. it had been so long since i put on some music and worked until my fingers were caked with glue and strands of my hair were dotted with paint. 

this morning, i rushed over and dropped off my three pieces to meg at the gallery. it's always hard for me to be objective about my work, especially because Nashville is brimming with so many amazingly talented artists. from what i could glimpse inside the gallery today, this is going to be a really great tomato art show. i'm always a bit nervous to have my humble pieces hanging next to these amazingly intricate works, but it's still fun to contribute something and i'm mostly pleased with what i created.

[for now, i'll just give a peek at the details. after the art show, i will post the full images.]

growing and making.

and pruning and harvesting. chopping and rinsing. sewing and adorning.

now in the second trimester, i'm feeling the need to nest. to create. well, i always feel the need to create, but now i finally have the energy for it again. as a result, i am either on the brink or in the midst of several projects in my wee spare time...

-one artwork commission that i'm really looking forward to digging into.

-a writing assignment

-early thoughts and jots for the Tomato Art Fest at Art & Invention Gallery later this summer.

-getting ready (almost) to launch a little something i've been dreaming about for awhile now.

-countless house details as we glimpse the end of this lengthy renovation tunnel. we're finally hanging the tinsel on the tree, so to speak, even if there are still some lopsided branches.

-planting. i potted a lavender garden on our upstairs deck, and on the ground below, jeremy's vegetable garden is flourishing. i'm amazed at the progress considering he grew a lot of the crops from seeds. tonight for dinner, i steamed our first pluckings: a big handful of green beans. the corn is almost as tall as Eli now, and in a matter of weeks we'll have bushels of tomatoes.

soon, i will return to post about our recent family vacations and to share more. but for now, here's a little look at how we're welcoming summer (mostly by eating) & learning more and more to enjoy the simple things in life.

Sit, Mama.

we celebrated mother's day on saturday because of jeremy's work schedule, and because we are busily packing today for a trip to houston to visit my mom tomorrow. hooray!

this mother's day feels different for a few reasons. the living room is strewn with trains, pieces from a toy doctor kit, building blocks, and little plastic trucks. eli has grown into such a little boy, a busy, curious one, who without prompting will wrap his little arm around my neck as we sit on the sofa or pat the cushion next to him and say, "sit mama, sit." it is evident that his greatest sense of joy comes when the three of us are together as a family. i am fortunate to have such an involved husband who spends so much time with our son; there is always much togetherness.

so it is different because eli has grown and changed, become more of a boy with all of the grubbiness and diligence and energy the word implies. he has also become even more tender-hearted and sweet. he still loves to be rocked to sleep, switching shoulders every few minutes for variety. if one of us runs out to the store for a bit, he'll heartily pat us when we return, saying, "Home Dada! HOME!" just to reassure himself that we've come back and to make certain we know he's glad about it.

this year is also different because now we've got another baby on the way! it feels odd to wrap my mind around being a mother of two, but i can hardly wait for this next phase of adventure and a new little life to fill our home.

yesterday began with coffee, of course, in my favorite mug with the poppies that my mom gave to me a few years ago. eli shouted, "happy birthday mommy!" as i was escorted into the next room for sweet mother's day cards, a beautiful purple orchid, and a box of art supplies. my husband knows and loves me so well, it's humbling.

after a busy day of errands, lunch, and gardening, J made the best dinner for us. everything (except the spinach salad, which might have been the tastiest salad i've ever eaten----is food always that much better when someone else makes it? this must be one of the laws of gastronomy) was grilled with cowboy charcoal on our patio: marinated steak, cobs of corn with the husks in tact and slightly charred, a fat yellow onion, and mountain bread brushed with olive oil. so delicious and homemade and summery. 

after dinner, as eli slept, we went out onto the front porch with small bowls of dulce de leche ice cream and sat on the swing, listening to the music filtering through the trees from main street. it was a clashing of bluegrass and something else coming from two neighboring "bars" but it sounded nice and went well with Haagen-Dazs. 

the air outside was perfect too. we just breathed in and felt thankful and dreamed about our future rose garden. then the mosquitos came around and i heard eli calling from upstairs. i opened his door and in the bit of light spilling from the hallway i could see him standing there, hair rumpled, clutching all of his luggage: a stuffed lamb, his pillow, two blankets, and his sippy cup. "want sleep with mama now," he said. 

well, maybe just this once. afterall, it was my birthday.  

Umbrella.

Being holed up inside the house like a termite for days upon days is never good for anyone, especially when you’re coming off a bad head cold and really need to see something (any thing) besides a box of tissues. But we’ve had endless rain since almost the precise moment I started to feel better. I am tempted, at this point, to take a cue from my friend Alison, bundle Eli up in his sunshine yellow rain slicker, shake his rubber boots free of slugs, and venture out in search of suitable puddles for sloshing. We may just do that this afternoon.

Until then we have windows, and as I look around out there, it’s almost as if I live in a slightly less quaint, less cobblestoned, Irish countryside. The fog is thick on the hills, a canopy over the verdant landscape popping out with every make of tree, frond, weed, and leaf imaginable. It’s almost like a rainforest, and I half expect to see a toucan or some sort of exotic monkey perched from above, instead of the wide-winged hawks that usually hover overhead when the sky is visible.

It would almost be dreary if it weren’t so beautiful, the contrast of thick milky mist and brand new twists of fresh green life springing forth.

Beauty aside, we are weary of being indoors, Eli with his train set on the coffee table, me with my shopping list as I scour the internet for intriguing recipes. While we long to go out, the ants are seeking refuge from the flood, squeezing in through narrow cracks around the kitchen windows and marching in diligent formation toward the breadbox.

My friend Katy wrote an entry about a rainy day, curled up in pajamas with a book and a perfect little snack. It reminded me that a day like this, even if it seems, at first, to be an annoying repeat of the past four you’ve had, can be full of sweetness and warmth if you know where to look.

Before Jeremy left for work today, I made us lunch. I thought we needed something semi-gourmet but comforting at the same time. A can of Campbell’s condensed tomato soup would hardly do, and we were down to the last heel of bread. I ventured out beyond the rainforest and returned home with ingredients for one of our favorite now-extinct sandwiches. We used to order it at JJ’s Market, back when we were dating, before the place was sold to less ambitious cooks. I replicated the recipe in our kitchen as best I could:

Slice a croissant lengthwise and open flat. Layer with very thinly-sliced green apple, narrow strips of rotisserie chicken (JJs got their chicken from a Japanese restaurant across the street so I had to make do), thin wedges of creamy havarti cheese (I was supposed to use Brie, but close enough), and a few squirts of grainy honey mustard. Place it under the broiler for a minute or two until the cheese is oozy, and wa-la! A perfect sandwich for a rainy day.

We ate at the small kitchen table while Eli nibbled on leftover apple wedges and bits of cheese since I’d already fed him lunch. The dog paced the floor, looking for remnants.

Once J had rolled down the gravel drive to go, the two of us waving to him as raindrops splashed our palms, it was time to flee for the covers. I filled Eli’s favorite sippy cup and piled a soft extra blanket in his crib. He didn’t protest naptime as much as usual, and I can hear him in there now, chirping away with his plush-filled friends, singing little songs. I love witnessing his imagination from beyond closed doors, where I can only hear him laughing to himself and to make-believe companions, conjuring simple stories and engaging his mind to wonder and believe in things far beyond what he can see. This is some sort of early practice in having a bit of faith, I think. It’s also the reason I’m okay with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and don’t get hung up on the notion that I’m telling my child a lie. I don’t know who I’d be today without having learned to hold tightly to the end of that string as my imagination pulled me every which way and beyond. [I had kind of a bookish, stringent phase in my faith years ago, and while the knowledge was good, helpful, even formative, I felt a little heart-deflated after awhile. It seemed less like love and more like geometry. And I was terrible at geometry.]

I digress.

I’m in my favorite rainy afternoon spot: our cozy grey half-done bedroom. I pulled a curtain to conceal the un-renovated portion and to make this feel more like a cocoon. On the bedside table, there’s a sample-size grapefruit and hyacinth candle that I won at Alice’s baby shower for coming in second in a game of Name That Tune. I haven’t burned it yet, but I leave the little tin lid off so the citrus-scented wax fills my quadrant of the room. Lately I’ve been finding it the best, most comforting smell in the world so I am hesitant to light the wick and send it burning into nothingness. This may sound odd, but actually, these days, I really cannot get enough of grapefruit in any form. I buy, at minimum, two fruits a week and slice them open in the morning, eagerly scooping out their bittersweet coral flesh with a demitasse spoon and drinking the yummy juice left in the rind. I must be Vitamin C deficient following the sinus cold.

It’s 4 pm now, and the prospect of him actually sleeping seems iffy. He’s chattering away contentedly and a bit softer though, so I might read awhile to see if he drifts off. Currently, I am reading two books at once, which for me is a never-do. One is a classic, kind of ragged and heartwarming and innocent. The other is scarcely a literary masterwork but it’s keeping me amused and maybe even mildly, if somewhat shallowly, inspired. Also, Nora Ephron is making a movie out of it (with Meryl Streep no less) so how awful can it be? Depending on my mood, I flip between the two books. For the past several days with all the rain, I’ve concentrated more on the latter; I can’t really take ragged and heartwarming when there are so many clouds surrounding my house.

As luck would have it, we’re being forced to get out of here soon, sickness/rain or not. It’s almost vacation time and I’m grateful. First, a trip to Texas for my mom’s dinners-to-knock-your-socks-off, and to pick up some of my father’s things. Which reminds me. During the ceaseless rain of Friday’s entirety, I took a long nap and had a sweet little dream that I was with my dad in his backyard. He looked good and healthy, and we just talked about nothing in particular except that I was glad he was alive and that the backyard looked really nice. Funny as it sounds, I love these dreams, simple as they are, because it’s the closest I can come (insert imagination) to spending time with him in real life.

I woke up kind of happy and sad mixed together. Eli had just woken up too, so I scooped him up and said, "I just had the nicest dream about your grandfather." He looked at me with his big brown sleepy eyes, and said, “Can we go see him now?” Being hazy from such a deep rest, I burst into sporadic tears, but not in a way that scared him. He just continued on talking about apple juice and trucks, and chirping affectionately at Gottie--his beloved stuffed lamb. I held him in my lap as tightly as I could and pushed my face into his soft brown hair that smelled ever so faintly of grapefruit.

Me and Cat.

my sweet little boy & i have had the most miserable spring colds all week long. it is worse for him because he's not altogether skilled at nose-blowing and can't completely articulate what hurts. mostly, he's just been raiding the popsicles to get through it, while i have been pouting on both our behalves. one of my dearest friends gave birth to her daughter this week and i still haven't felt un-germy enough to go by for a visit; for me that has been the most frustrating part of the whole thing.

today i decided i at least needed to leave the house for a few minutes, if only to breathe some fresh air and change my mood. so with Eli napping in his bed, wearing the daddy-appointed combo of a royal blue mickey mouse t-shirt and burgundy sweat pants with a bulldog on the thigh, i headed out.

i decided to take Maude, my aunt's old VW bug. [i still can't get used to the idea that it's mine.] good Cat Stevens was already in the cassette player so i opened both of the smaller side windows, angled them at my face and zipped down the driveway.

there is truly nothing like that old car and some familiar tunes crackling from the speakers to bring me out of a funk and into a nostalgically happy place. i drove the curvy snake roads at a medium pace, scooting over to let faster cars pass so i could enjoy the scenery. the hills between here and White Bluff, the next town over, were edged with pink and white dogwoods arching out over the road.

for two minutes i felt like i was back in Palo Alto, on the winding California roads where this car spent most of its life and where i spent just enough of my childhood for it to feel like home in my memory. then a hint of some scent came through the windows and reminded me of how melting eskimo pies smelled at the neighborhood pool snack bar in Houston, where we sat on damp towels and let our shoulders bake in the sun, ice cream dripping down our arms. i made a circle and came back down Craggie Hope road, passing the entrance for Bethany Camp and then a yard with two shiny black horses eating afternoon grass.

my head felt a little less cotton-stuffed, at last, so i drove to Sonic for a small diet vanilla coke because who can beat their crunchy ice on a hot day when you have the sniffles? i thought about that Nanci Griffith song, the one about the five & dime. i puttered along behind a trailer hauling a backhoe, and knew that if Eli was with me he would have shouted, "mama, look! a digger!" with such excitement despite his stuffy nose. that made me miss him, so i almost turned back when i saw that the Sonic lot was packed with rows of cars and several dozen high school kids hanging out of the windows yelling to each other. but once you have a vanilla diet coke in your mind, especially with the special ice, it's hard to let it go, so i waited. it was rather toasty, sitting in Maude with no a/c and no wind to blow through the slanted windows. i turned down Cat Stevens so the kids wouldn't think i was listening to old people music. in retrospect, i should have turned it up.

ten minutes later, home again with a slightly clearer head and a better perspective. jeremy was waiting to take me out to the vegetable garden he planted yesterday. he grew tiny sprouted corn and green beans from seeds. we have tomato plants too, in several varieties, and i'm already thinking of oven-roasting a big salty pan of whatever we can't eat fresh or give away. want some?





spring is good, i've decided, even with a little annoying sickness. sometimes a quick change of scenery is all you need. the ranunculus i planted a few weekends ago have uncurled, bloomed, and multiplied. when my nephew jake was born, there were beds full of bright red and yellow ranunculus outside the hospital waiting room window. it was such a happy morning and i remember thinking those were the prettiest flowers i had ever seen. almost like poppies but with extra layers of beauty. i've been wanting them ever since.

april 6.

today is my husband's birthday and he's away in new orleans, working for us, his family. he just called from the french quarter, one of his all-time favorite places, to say that he's not particularly enjoying himself because we aren't there with him.

in honor of jeremy's 33 years of life, i've compiled a list of things that make him so unique and lovable, and that always make me miss him when he's away.

1. he is a connoisseur of coffee and is fanatical about Peet's. he makes the coffee every night before bed so that all we have to do is flip it on in the morning.
2. he eats as much pasta as your average italian on a weekly basis, and especially likes spicy tomato sauce.
3. he keeps our monthly budget on a spreadsheet and has things figured to the dollar at the top of every month.
4. he possesses a large collection of bags--backpacks, small shoulder bags, mountain bags, computer bags, travel bags, bags to put inside of bags, bags.
5. he is handy with a hammer.
6. he loves to collect patches, even if they don't necessarily get sewn onto anything.
7. although he never wears it, he still has a very old, fairly oversized, faded jean jacket circa 1992(?) in our closet.
8. he loves being home and is a creature of habit.
9. he is a scholar of history and knows an astonishing amount of random but useful facts about almost any subject you might throw at him (much like a Jeopardy contestant). last night just before falling asleep, for example, he told me all about how thatched roofs are made and how they function when it rains.
10. he rarely watches any television except for news, but is an avid LOST follower and will restructure the day's events in order not to miss it.
11. his idea of a perfect day will always include a bookstore.
12. he also likes a good cup of irish or english tea.
13. he is one of the best fathers i have ever known.
14. he is not afraid to say he's sorry first in an argument, and often does, even if i'm the one more noticeably in the wrong.
15. when playing any board game involving words, he is more inclined to invent non-existent words just to amuse himself than to try to win the game.
16. he appreciates John Denver as much as I do, but prefers John Lennon or Johnny Cash.
17. he is a loyal friend and is not afraid to hug another guy or tell them he loves them. i've always admired this.
18. he is into trees.
19. he is not very good at keeping surprises because he can't hold it in for more than a few minutes. on the day of my 30th birthday SURPRISE party, he asked a friend right in front of me: "so are you coming to the um....shindig...tonight?" (thinking that would be subtle enough to keep me from catching on).
20. he almost always uses #2 pencils to write (ironic considering #18).
21. he has very nice teeth.
22. he wishes we had a yard full of chickens and a few goats.
23. he works much more than he rests and almost never asks for help.
24. he often reads the end of a book before he gets through chapter one.
25. he was raised in Pennsylvania but detests being cold.
26. on road trips, he usually tries to find a Bob Evans restaurant to stop and eat, even if he's by himself.
27. he always makes sure his family is taken care of before himself.
28. he almost always writes music before lyrics.
29. one of his most prized possessions is his vintage J-45 guitar.
30. he has been to Australia.
31. he always makes sure that the car is clean and has plenty of gas.
32. he thinks i am unusually short for a human, even though i'm 5'3".
33. he is my closest friend.

observations on a lawnmower.

Our upstairs bedroom has become my favorite spot to sneak away in the afternoons. Especially afternoons like this one, when the clouds are hovering and the thunder is beginning to rumble. Our bedroom is a bit cave-like anyway, but it’s just the sort of room I’ve always wanted. The walls are silver-grey and angled. Our lofty iron bed is covered in white, and is high enough that if I stood atop the mattress, my head would almost skim the ceiling. (I wasn’t sure so I just tried it.) The old grey velvet sofa is for once not piled with laundry to be put away, so were it not for the tangled springs beneath the surface, it would be a perfect place to curl up and read. We have only one very low window draped with something sheer enough that I can see the sky darkening fast.

While Eli naps, I huddle here atop the covers, surrounded by a mound of pillows, and catch up on writing or steal a few pages of a book before he wakes and calls to me again. Last night, I started reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. My friend Melissa just finished it and it inspired me to dig out my unread copy. After a few days of sporadic excavating in piles of dusty books, I gave up and bought another copy for $3.60 at the used bookstore.

It seems very still right now, and eerily quiet. I think this is the literal calm before the storm they talk about. I like rain on days like this, when we’re all home and tucked in, Jeremy downstairs with a hot mug of afternoon coffee, working away in his office. The dog is terrified of storms and is nestled deep on his polka-dotted bed inches from his master’s feet.

Not thirty minutes ago, the whole group of us was outside in the backyard, swatting at bees and scraping grass clippings from our shoes against the pavement. With the entrance of spring, Jeremy has resumed lawn mowing, and for the first time, Eli has taken a special interest in this activity. He insists on watching the entire process, as his father weaves even lines up and down our acre lot. Two weeks ago, we bought him his own little toy lawnmower that blows bubbles while he pushes it. He proceeded to mow our entire lawn and our neighbor’s too.

Today, upon seeing Jeremy lace up his work boots in the kitchen, Eli put down his fork mid-bite, pushed his plate away and insisted it was time for him to mow the lawn also. So off they went, and then completed the bonding experience by clinking their cups of Gatorade together an hour later. I do love raising a little boy.

Lightning is flashing now and the thunder is definitely causing the dog to shake downstairs. I know this without seeing him. He is a boy too, but somewhat cowardly.

Watching the grass being mowed twice, simultaneously, (once with a blade, once with bubbles), I couldn't help but feel really proud of Eli for choosing such a great man to look up to. I know he's only two, and maybe at that age every little boy sees their father as the most fascinating person to ever walk the earth, but regardless, their mutual admiration is my very favorite thing to observe.

Every morning the two of them have a few minutes in the office listening to music (usually "Bono" or "Coldplay", at Eli's request). This morning, it resulted in coffee being spilled all over Jeremy's desk--and onto some expensive recording devices I don't know the names of. Eli said "Sorry, dada" without prompting, and offered a hug into the mix of flying dishtowels. In the evenings after I feed and bathe Eli, they watch fifteen minutes of a Disney movie together, bundled up on the couch while his hair dries.

I'm not sure how long this season of Jeremy working from home will last---though we've never known anything different---but I know there's something important and possibly rare about Eli having the chance to begin and end every single day knowing how much his daddy loves him. Even when the coffee spills.

*better point out in case my mother is reading, he's not as close to the street as it appears. there's a little hill, and then a ditch filled with leaves.

snapshot.

yesterday, i bought a yellow sweater because i needed something sunny. no more brown. slowly, the redbuds and cherry trees around our town are springing forth with pink and white and there is grass again, just in the nick of time. phew.

eli is celebrating being two with a vengeance lately, testing our patience and persistence to follow through. he is a lovable little elf, but prone to hourly tantrums this week. the yellow sweater is helping.

today, i am loving this photo of my husband taken at our friends brannon & melissa's wedding last month. i hope he never stops playing music.