one book

Sometimes we're both just one book away from a better mood.


fit in

I continue to get the distinct impression that he is not going to fit in any boxes.
In fact, that box the universe provides little boys at birth?
I have a feeling he's building a rocket ship with his.


Love doesn't stink.

I don't know, I kind of think love smells like little boys and bourbon after they're in bed, like artichoke dip and laughs with my sister and chocolate covered strawberries before dinner, like loyalty and like the lavender lotion we used to lather on Celia every night.  


Walk and Awe

I cannot force myself to do it every time, but today I chose his experience over my convenience.
Everything moved so much slower.

Sometimes he makes me slow down and sometimes he makes me speed up and most of the time he makes me smile about things that may have otherwise become stale.


11 month review

At eleven months, Hank loves to climb and to un-garden all the house plants, to eat fish and cheese and fruit, to flip light switches and take baths. He is a confident walker, a voracious book eater and a strong-willed tiny despot. He is constantly insisting that music be playing and has the best little one-armed dance move.
He is pretty much the most lovable little baby in the whole world.
I'd give him two thumbs up and all the stars in the sky.


the juggle, the struggle, the joy

The boys are all asleep, the process of shutting it DOWN concluded.

Sometimes, after the bedtime routine, after just one more book/sip of water/back scratch, we get the chance to sit down.
The boys continue to make things. Mostly very loud music, and also very big messes.
There is evidence of this ringing in my ears and settling around my ankles.

I keep making things, too. Mostly mistakes. And then I compound my errors, the coils of the day tightening, constricting my organs, and I find myself sneaking chocolate coins from the Tooth Fairy’s stash, eating peanut butter straight from the jar.

But sitting down at the end of it, deep breath, it's easy to survey our good fortune.

Parenting is hard.  How lucky we are to experience all of it though, the juggle, the struggle, the joy.


in the making

It turns out that while we've been making Valentines and making eye contact with our kids and making a living and making grocery lists, there've been some troubling things happening in the world.  Instead of making much time for social media, instead of letting the political landscape make us crazy, we're doing our best to make time for the people we love.  We've been making senators listen and making small donations, but mostly we've been making beds and making blueprints and making snacks and making out and making faces at the baby.



Tolliver tried flippers in the pool for the first time last weekend.  He kicked around for just a few minutes before popping up, goggled face and huge grin, demanding the universal young swimmer's Look at me! and then declaring: I'm gettin' the hang of it!

Tucker's piano teacher has been assigning challenge pieces - the most recent with a new time signature - that stretch Tuck way beyond the "this comes easy" zone.  He plays for a few minutes here and a few minutes there, whenever the mood strikes, repeating the same hard phrases, making lots of mistakes. But he handles each error with an enviable measure of grace.

And baby Hank walks all over the place these days, navigating our space with intuition and intrigue, gauging whether he can make it on two feet from one spot to another.  He stumbles often and stands again, each day traveling farther and falling less.

I can't help but feel proud of each boys' pluck and perseverance.
And I wonder, does complete disinterest in perfection make it easier to be a beginner?