Happy BOO day!
We're ready to settle in and watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with the lil' dude (and her GIANT bucket of sugar!)
And ... the lil' dude alligator extraordinaire!
Happy haunting.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Bootacular!
Happy BOO day!
We're ready to settle in and watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown with the lil' dude (and her GIANT bucket of sugar!)
And ... the lil' dude alligator extraordinaire!
Happy haunting.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sneak Peek
At the lil' dude's house, we've got Halloween on lock.
Any guesses as to what she'll be dressed as this year?
Any guesses as to what she'll be dressed as this year?
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Hoard
I know why people become those crazy, out of control hoarders.
It's because they have children.
Yesterday I ventured into the rafters above the garage in search of a t-shirt the lil' dude wore last fall for an event later this week. Picture the scene in Christmas Vacation where Clark is rifling through junk in his attic, and that was me for awhile yesterday. I have saved every single thing my nearly-three daughter has ever owned. I'll remind you she is an only child, and only grandchild. Her Godfather manages a shoe store, and her Fairy Godmother can't show up without something in hand. Imagine what our rafters look like.
Out in the open is her tiny bathtub, a Bumbo seat, booster seat, highchair, infant car seat, two bases, a swing, an exersaucer, a bouncy seat, a stroller, and a vintage school desk I haven't restored for her yet. What's more vast are the rainbow colored Rubbermaid totes and bins bearing all the rest of her stuff. After the first 6 or 8 totes, I got smarter about my cataloguing. I started labeling the tops with a Sharpie: 3-month onesies. Bird costume. Receiving blankets. Pacifiers. Bottles. Swimsuits. Crocs. Board books. Boston Red Sox hoodie. Jungle gym. Boppy pillow. Her first Columbia snowsuit. All her mini-Uggs. 9-month onesies. Her first Easter, birthday, and Christmas dresses. All her first bibs Christmas, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and birthday. Her first rubber duckies and foam bathtub insert. Burp rags, first jeans from Auntie H., Carhartt bib overalls from JW's daddy, tiny blue lifejacket, and handmade baby gifts from co-workers.
This is why people hoard.
How on earth am I ever going to downsize all of her stuff? How can I ever part with any of the tiny items that still smell like Dreft all these months, (and years) later?
How am I ever going to explain to her when she turns 18 that I have seven storage units full of Rubbermaid bearing her name and my memories?
It's tied to the same, insane mechanism in my brain that made it hard for me to part with my old cellphone, the pink Razr I had right next to me when I delivered her. It's the phone I used to text out her name for the first time, and to snap pictures of her chubby cheeks to show her village. It's the phone I bawled into when I talked to my own Mama when I was still pregnant and she was Never Coming Out a week (or so!) beyond November 27.
I know all of these things are just that: things. Material things that people aren't supposed to be so consumed with. Everything that should and does matter is already housed deep inside of me where it belongs. Her first steps, words, and falls. Her first laugh, black eye, and flu. It's all in here, wrapped up in the biggest, pinkest bow and bubble wrap where I'll keep it safe forever.
The countdown to her third birthday is on, and December 7 is very quickly approaching. I am well aware of that.
Could you tell?
It's because they have children.
Yesterday I ventured into the rafters above the garage in search of a t-shirt the lil' dude wore last fall for an event later this week. Picture the scene in Christmas Vacation where Clark is rifling through junk in his attic, and that was me for awhile yesterday. I have saved every single thing my nearly-three daughter has ever owned. I'll remind you she is an only child, and only grandchild. Her Godfather manages a shoe store, and her Fairy Godmother can't show up without something in hand. Imagine what our rafters look like.
Out in the open is her tiny bathtub, a Bumbo seat, booster seat, highchair, infant car seat, two bases, a swing, an exersaucer, a bouncy seat, a stroller, and a vintage school desk I haven't restored for her yet. What's more vast are the rainbow colored Rubbermaid totes and bins bearing all the rest of her stuff. After the first 6 or 8 totes, I got smarter about my cataloguing. I started labeling the tops with a Sharpie: 3-month onesies. Bird costume. Receiving blankets. Pacifiers. Bottles. Swimsuits. Crocs. Board books. Boston Red Sox hoodie. Jungle gym. Boppy pillow. Her first Columbia snowsuit. All her mini-Uggs. 9-month onesies. Her first Easter, birthday, and Christmas dresses. All her first bibs Christmas, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and birthday. Her first rubber duckies and foam bathtub insert. Burp rags, first jeans from Auntie H., Carhartt bib overalls from JW's daddy, tiny blue lifejacket, and handmade baby gifts from co-workers.
This is why people hoard.
How on earth am I ever going to downsize all of her stuff? How can I ever part with any of the tiny items that still smell like Dreft all these months, (and years) later?
How am I ever going to explain to her when she turns 18 that I have seven storage units full of Rubbermaid bearing her name and my memories?
It's tied to the same, insane mechanism in my brain that made it hard for me to part with my old cellphone, the pink Razr I had right next to me when I delivered her. It's the phone I used to text out her name for the first time, and to snap pictures of her chubby cheeks to show her village. It's the phone I bawled into when I talked to my own Mama when I was still pregnant and she was Never Coming Out a week (or so!) beyond November 27.
I know all of these things are just that: things. Material things that people aren't supposed to be so consumed with. Everything that should and does matter is already housed deep inside of me where it belongs. Her first steps, words, and falls. Her first laugh, black eye, and flu. It's all in here, wrapped up in the biggest, pinkest bow and bubble wrap where I'll keep it safe forever.
The countdown to her third birthday is on, and December 7 is very quickly approaching. I am well aware of that.
Could you tell?
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Summer Photos
Recently, my sweet mother-in-law emailed me some photos from a weekend in August the Dad, lil' dude, and Beagle were home.
Did you know when I am not the one to dress my daughter, or see her, I always want to know what she wore for clothing? I know. It's random and maybe a little obsessive. But I can't help it. I just want to know what I missed.
These pictures are fun for many reasons. It's beyond the midway point in October. Summer seems like it was ages ago. I wasn't with on this trip, so I got to see the lil' dude (and her outfit).
Here she is talking to to Grandma S's garden frog. I heard they had quite the conversation.
And then there's THIS picture. I still don't have the right words for this.
It was taken the first weekend in August. The lil' dude was barely beyond two and a half.
But this picture!
It's wonderful.
And terrifying.
And amazing.
And impossible.
And unbelievable.
And obvious.
The picture!
How in the world was my two and a half year old on a BIKE?
Look how long her legs were. And are, now.
The other sweet thing about the picture is that's the very street where the Dad and Uncle D. learned how to ride their bikes, too.
Did you know when I am not the one to dress my daughter, or see her, I always want to know what she wore for clothing? I know. It's random and maybe a little obsessive. But I can't help it. I just want to know what I missed.
These pictures are fun for many reasons. It's beyond the midway point in October. Summer seems like it was ages ago. I wasn't with on this trip, so I got to see the lil' dude (and her outfit).
Here she is talking to to Grandma S's garden frog. I heard they had quite the conversation.
And then there's THIS picture. I still don't have the right words for this.
It was taken the first weekend in August. The lil' dude was barely beyond two and a half.
But this picture!
It's wonderful.
And terrifying.
And amazing.
And impossible.
And unbelievable.
And obvious.
The picture!
How in the world was my two and a half year old on a BIKE?
Look how long her legs were. And are, now.
The other sweet thing about the picture is that's the very street where the Dad and Uncle D. learned how to ride their bikes, too.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Thank You
I have written about this before.
And last season.
And just recently.
The Minnesota Twins. This email was in my inbox this morning, and it sums everything up perfectly.
To Sunny Days. To Division Titles. To Speedy Squirrels. And to Over Three Million FAITHFUL.
2010.
It was quite the incredible year. From opening a new ballpark, to putting up 94 wins and capturing the Central Division title, it was a year that will be indelibly etched into memory.
True, the ending was not the one everyone hoped for. But as we reflect on the year, you can be certain this disappointment will only breed a deeper commitment.
It started with the opening of a new ballpark. Target Field.
A glimmering 40,000 seat testament to the beauty of outdoor baseball. A seemingly magical ballpark that opened to the waiting eyes of the faithful from every corner of Twins territory. With wonderful views and wide-open skies that were perfect for fireworks and flyovers. There were shimmering walls. Natural grass. Memorable statues. Sun-drenched outfield. Star-filled nights.
And a 100% electrified atmosphere.
And there was baseball.
Baseball as only the Twins can play.
Denard's day of three-baggers. Justin's amazing start. Frankie's pitching. Carl's 'stache and Gardy's 800th win. Numbers 573 and 574 off the bat of the ageless Jim Thome. There was Danny Valencia's beginning. There was Delmon Young and his extensive RBI collection.
There was Cuddy doing whatever it took to win, while the local hero, Joe Mauer, ripped the cover off the ball during a second-half hitting tear. And there was a new clubhouse, baptized with its first playoff champagne.
Then there were those moments that can't be scripted. A rainbow landing in right field. A falcon perched on a foul pole. A squirrel that wanted to play third base. And, of course, there was a sunny, 65-degree day in April that cosmically welcomed baseball's return to the great Minnesota outdoors.
But mostly, most importantly, there was you. Over three million of you, clad with Twins read and blue, cheering with all the gusto you have, making Target Field the greatest place in the world to be.
We are grateful.
So here's to you.
Thank you.
And just as the sun sets in the west, and the buds return to branches every spring, we'll be there again and again as the Twins take the field for another season.
Baseball is in our blood and defines our family, and we're proud of that lineage.
So here's to us.
And last season.
And just recently.
The Minnesota Twins. This email was in my inbox this morning, and it sums everything up perfectly.
To Sunny Days. To Division Titles. To Speedy Squirrels. And to Over Three Million FAITHFUL.
It was quite the incredible year. From opening a new ballpark, to putting up 94 wins and capturing the Central Division title, it was a year that will be indelibly etched into memory.
True, the ending was not the one everyone hoped for. But as we reflect on the year, you can be certain this disappointment will only breed a deeper commitment.
It started with the opening of a new ballpark. Target Field.
A glimmering 40,000 seat testament to the beauty of outdoor baseball. A seemingly magical ballpark that opened to the waiting eyes of the faithful from every corner of Twins territory. With wonderful views and wide-open skies that were perfect for fireworks and flyovers. There were shimmering walls. Natural grass. Memorable statues. Sun-drenched outfield. Star-filled nights.
And a 100% electrified atmosphere.
And there was baseball.
Baseball as only the Twins can play.
Denard's day of three-baggers. Justin's amazing start. Frankie's pitching. Carl's 'stache and Gardy's 800th win. Numbers 573 and 574 off the bat of the ageless Jim Thome. There was Danny Valencia's beginning. There was Delmon Young and his extensive RBI collection.
There was Cuddy doing whatever it took to win, while the local hero, Joe Mauer, ripped the cover off the ball during a second-half hitting tear. And there was a new clubhouse, baptized with its first playoff champagne.
Then there were those moments that can't be scripted. A rainbow landing in right field. A falcon perched on a foul pole. A squirrel that wanted to play third base. And, of course, there was a sunny, 65-degree day in April that cosmically welcomed baseball's return to the great Minnesota outdoors.
But mostly, most importantly, there was you. Over three million of you, clad with Twins read and blue, cheering with all the gusto you have, making Target Field the greatest place in the world to be.
We are grateful.
So here's to you.
Thank you.
And just as the sun sets in the west, and the buds return to branches every spring, we'll be there again and again as the Twins take the field for another season.
Baseball is in our blood and defines our family, and we're proud of that lineage.
So here's to us.
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