A note from Whoville (or at least what feels like one of Dr. Suess' lands of craziness and irony):
My sister's saying I don't blog enough. I'm just trying to keep up with my precious toddling noodleheimer, so forgive my scattered thoughts.
Lately the basic format of a day is wake up, eat, go outside, take a nap, eat, go outside, take a nap, and so forth. (Along with some other un-pleasantries that come with a diapered babe.)
Let me take a moment to further explain the photos.
I pushed Oli around the yard on the tricycle for quite some time yesterday. It was like pushing a chalkboard being scraped by fingernails - the wheels could use a little oil.
Do I need to explain the dancing street urchin? I was in a hurry.
The reason I sepia'd the 'old man' picture, is because Oliver was the pinnacle of fashion faux pas, wearing navy, black, and brown all at once. Not his fault, mine. I didn't want anyone to know, so I changed the color...
Oliver's teeth are amazing.
I'm happy to announce the breakthrough to sign language that Oliver has recently made. He can sign 'more,' 'all done,' and as you can see 'please.' I didn't want to teach him to sign at first because I thought it was just a silly thing that over achieving mothers made their children do. Once again I am humbled, put in my place by the discovery that I know nothing and have nothing but judgemental thoughts most of the time. In an act of desperation, I resorted to 'try' sign language to prevent Olives from grunting and whining about everything he wanted. Thank you, moms, for the brilliancy of baby signs. Along with the encouragement from my dear speech-pathology master Megan, I succumbed to the wonderful world of silence, which is truly golden.
Next allow me to point out another mommy blunder - letting a one year old feed himself spaghetti. I thought I would never be that stupid. My brains have officially left my head and gone somewhere unbeknownst to me. Yesterday I had the rare privilege of going to the salon to get my hair done. There is a dear friend and miracle worker who transforms me from beast to beauty ( my hair anyway), Aubry. What they say of stylists is true - they...ahem, we... are also counselors. Aubry has the divine blessing of a little daughter, Adison, who inspires her in every way. Are you wondering why this subject is not a new paragraph? It'll tie together, here: Aubry said she thought all her clutziness and absentmindedness was a result of being pregnant, and after she had the baby she would return to her normal intelligent self. But after Addy arrived, she discovered that 'normal' becomes a new state of mind, and that 'back to normal' will never exist. Isn't she wise? Oh Aub, I love you. All this to say - spaghetti is everywhere and I'm to blame.
And now the real kicker, not pictured -- my parents and sneaky little sis went behind Oliver's and my back and last night surprised us with the early birthday gift (for Anna and me) of a plane ride to Dayton, OH, where Oliver and I will spend a long weekend over Ann's birthday. This is a dream come true. I'm always wanting to surprise people with this or that, then my own family (Andrew was in on it, too), pulls a fast one on me. Oh dear. I'm overwhelmed with shock, awe, and gratitude. I love you, family!