back to the 'patch.

I wasn't going to post today in preparation for November. But then the girl has to go and be all cute and covered in cinnamon sprinkles. And I'm a sucker for cute. Here's her round pumpkin head a year ago on our trip to the 'patch with our MOPS friends.And in the same spot with the same friends today. Last year, she cuddled in the sling. This year, she ran.

No more posts from me until Thursday. And then, I fear, much more than any of us want to hear.

in response.

For the record, this is the last time that I was fashionable. The year was 1987. Somehow between then and now, my skin lost the ability to tan. The rainbow pastel dress was my idea. Mom, I'm blaming you for the perm.

I loved the comments section from Claire's birthday letter. I loved it, because 18 months ago I had no mommy friends. Now, I make one comment about being out of style and the mamas come riding in to cheer me up. Don't we all feel like the frumpy one sometimes? Since having Claire, I feel like I have no idea how to dress myself. If anyone has tips on dressing the 30 year old post-baby body, I'm all ears. Just, please don't suggest rainbow pastels or perms.

18

Dear Claire,
Seriously, when did this happen?

This month you added "howareyou?" to your little vocabulary. You love babies, books and shoes. If we take ours off you quickly retrieve them and shout "shoe!shoe!shoe!" until we put them back on. It's annoying. Sometimes I just want them off, girlie.

You and I crammed into a dressing room yesterday so I could try on a few things. I was having an especially frumpy mommy day. Not that I'm blaming you, but the body just isn't what it was before you were born. Things have changed. Migrated. As I pulled another "not-right" top over my head, I caught a glimpse of you in the mirror. It's hard to criticize the person you see in the mirror when you've got your very own tiny cheering section beaming up at you. You began to wave and smile. You had already been stuck in that stroller way too long, yet you were full of joy, just smiling at me. You are too little to realize that your mama is hopelessly out of style. You only see your mama, and for now, I am enough. Anybody that can make a Gap dressing room enjoyable is my kind of girl. I am so lucky to get to spend my days with you. Your joy is contagious.
Love,
Mama

part of an email to the dadaship, away for the night.

Claire squealed with delight when we pulled up to the house tonight. She saw your truck and thought you were home. Smart one, that girl.

“DADA DADA DADA!” She screamed, and then quietly asked, “Da?”
“No, honey. Dada will be home tomorrow.”
“Mama?” She replied.
“Yes honey.” Mama’s here.

I remember her before she had words.

Miss you. So does Monk.

this just in.

A few days ago, Steph sent me this recipe, from this new cookbook. Finally, a break from Raisin Bran.

Pumpkin Oatmeal (tastes like fall)

1 cup old fashion oats
1 cup milk
1/4 cup canned pumpkin
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 hefty dash of cinnamon

Microwave all of it in a big glass bowl for 2-3 minutes.

Throw in a handful of raisins after it's cooked. Eat up, friends.

pumpkinhead.

I'm pretty sure that I am somewhere around 40% water and 60% pumpkin spice latte by now. I love fall. The leaves. The costumes. The pumpkin patch. It makes me want to wear wool socks and eat butternut squash soup. I spent a few hours making inedible pumpkin bread yesterday with Claire. I'm not sure what I left out, but the bread was not right. My little assistant enjoyed eating the canned puree so much that at one point she seriously attempted to get the entire bowl from my Kitchenaide mixer into her wee small mouth.
I'd like to use up the rest of the puree to make something we might actually eat. Can anyone recommend a good pumpkin scone recipe? I mean, besides the recipe that involves the Starbucks drive thru. We are quite familiar with that recipe around these parts.

you make me wanna be brave.

also the reason my underarms stay dry.

Having my own pointy chinned-strawberry blond, I wonder about how to combat all of this. I love her little body. Her wee, round belly. Her dimply hands. I want her to know that she is enough. I'm so glad that there are years and years before I have to have answers for her. I am so glad that for now, she struts around in her diaper and dances like a wild woman. I am thankful that junior high dances are a long way off.

i can't quit you.

Who else doing this in November?

planned parenthood.

As I have documented all over this blog, becoming a mommy was not in my plans when I became pregnant with Claire. My pregnancy was filled with tears, confusion and guilt. It is still a marvel to me that I was such a Fertile Myrtle when wonderful women, who were better equipped to handle motherhood were working hard to have babies without conceiving. For me, the guilt and confusion eventually faded and I can honestly say I wouldn't change one bit of my life.

We got a night away this weekend, in which we enjoyed some fancy cable television, sleeping in (to 8:30) and 24 hours where I wasn't responsible for anyone's poop but my own. On the way home, Nate casually mentions that maybe it's time to start "trying" for the next baby. For me, this is such a loaded word. I remember, two years ago waiting until week 20 to tell people about Claire. I remember fumbling for my words when people asked me if we were "trying" to get pregnant. I had plans. I wasn't prepared. I felt ashamed.
How often do we miss out on joy because we're trying to plan everything to happen at the exact right moment? And there is One who knows better than we do.

Claire was not unplanned. Not at all.

america's next top baby.

There have been plenty of cute stories and hard lessons over the last seven days. Before I get to all of that, there is this. I'm pretty sure I found the best timewasting website ever. Ever. If you were dying to know what Claire looked like with Tyra Banks' hair, wonder no more, friends:
Miss Jay would not approve. "You are not America's Next Top Model."

Or Cameron Diaz's hair?

Or my personal favorite, Keira Knightley's hair?

Looking a little bit Donald Trump, girlie.
Someday, she's going to hate me for this.