Five Months


This evening, for the first time, our little man sat in his high chair while Dad and I ate dinner. I’d given him a little transition cup with a tiny bit of breast milk and a spoon. He immediately put the cup in his mouth and we helped him take a few sips. He chewed on the spoon. Husband and I laughed at him and visited until he turned cranky that the cup was not as free flowing as the breast he is used to. It was fantastic. The first of many family dinners to come. 

When little man was tiny, our routine was to get up every few hours at night and then, around six or so in the morning, he’d stop sleeping if we left him in bed. So I’d hold him in a big chair in the living room and rock and sometimes read or knit while he slept. It was such a special time. 

Now, I wake up to his little coos and ahems from the pack and play beside our bed. If I sit up, there he is smiling at me with his wide toothless grin. He does a little happy wiggle that means “pick me up” and I do.

We cycle through our day, on a 2 hour repeat of eat, play, nap interrupted by the occasional trip out or walk with the dog or lunch for me…

He’s starting to sit for a few seconds by himself and is fascinated by his body–he grabs his toes every chance he can get and he is practicing rolling back to side (he has long mastered front to back). 

He’s a delight. I’m home with him and we have a quiet days except for our strong loud guard dog and the three of us couldn’t be happier… except when the door opens and the fourth member of our family comes in. Then there’s barking and jumping, laughing and smiling at Daddy(!) and me feeling as full and happy as I ever have. 

Thank God for this little family. It’s so much more than I ever knew I wanted. 


Nap time


We’ve had a busy week of preparation for some friends’ wedding party to be held at our house this weekend. Nap times have been full of kid in his bouncy chair and mommy gluing and tying at a nearby table. What fun it is to be tying fabric on mason jars and gluing buttons on letters and thinking of them. Weddings, no matter how big or small, no matter how churchy or courthouse-y, always mean something to me. There’s the beginning of something there, a spark of community verified through commitment. And I am so happy to be concentrating on these two people whom I love. 

And now, right this minute: I am knitting, baby in my lap, dog resting on a load of clean diapers (oh well), birds working on making their nests and emptying our bird feeders on view outside through our big windows. Could life get any better?

On Autism


Once when I was twelve or thirteen this mother at the church where my stepmother was a children’s minister asked me to go swimming with her daughter Kirsten. I knew Kirsten and she was a little strange in the overweight, dressed weird, speaks in a strange voice sort of way. But then again, so was I. 

This was coming off a junior high trip where my friends had swum away from me at the lake because I was an irritating know it all and had parked my thick glasses on the shore. So, once they left me I couldn’t find them because I couldn’t see. I found my way to the beach and laid around on a sandy towel. I let my skin blister around my one piece speedo in the sun and put my glasses on, watching the beautiful youth tan, playing with a beach ball in their bikinis. 

Kirsten was there, with her mother the youth sponsor. She was wading awkwardly in the water. 

So it probably was not surprising that her mother would spot me. And that I would befriend her while we watched Kirsten and also the others. I always liked adults more than my peers. 

So I went swimming with Kirsten in her pool at her big beautiful house. She showed me her my little pony collection. Odd for a thirteen year old, but, well, you know, people like different things. We swam and ate and then I went home. And sometimes I’d talk to her at youth dinners, avoiding the others. 

Weeks later, I was going back to my mother’s house for the school year and Kirsten’s mother pulled me aside. “Thank you,” she said (Was she teary? Did her voice crack? I was really surprised at her emotion), “Thank you for being kind to my daughter. It’s been hard for her since her Daddy left.” And she gave me a hug. 

But I wasn’t kind. I was just clueless and lonely. 

I was thinking of Kirsten tonight. That’s autism. And, to be kind, all we have to do is swim and look at my little ponies. And be ourselves. 

This isn’t a story about anything I did. It isn’t heartwarming or good. But it is about normalcy and weirdness.

Sometimes we see oddity and we make fun of it. I’ve done that, too. I always regret it. But this terrible trend of shaming others for being weird and posting photos (I’m looking at you, “People of Walmart”) needs to be called out. It’s just as bad as bullying. We never, ever, know the whole story.

Sometimes there’s disability and sometimes there’s not. But always, there’s a person.

At 12 weeks


At 12 weeks, we are really getting to know each other. I wake up (the last time, we are still getting up to nurse a couple of times a night) to little coughs and grunts, like “ahem, I’m awake over here,” and I sit up and look in the pack and play next to my side of the bed and there is this radiant little smiling face looking back at me. I am not a morning person, but I cannot deny that I leap out of bed chatting back happily to that joyful coo. 

We have a little routine to our days. There is baby carrying time and baby holding time and baby needs to sleep by himself in the swing time (which, oddly, comes out to the shortest time of all three of those). And there’s lots of baby play time. We love to read together. His favorite book is The Blue Horse by Eric Carle. He coos and talks to the pictures, scanning the pages with his eyes. He loves to bat at toys with his closed fists and sometimes, he grabs one and is pleased and surprised with himself. 

I am always pleased and surprised at him, at every moment of his precious life. 

On Dogs and Life and Transitions


Sometimes endings are so shocking and hard that it takes a while to move forward, which is what has happened to this blog. 

 When my Roxie died, I was so crazy heartbroken. Blogging over the years has been so entwined with her and our life together. It was the dog, my projects, and me, stuffed into one tiny dwelling or another. And then it was husband, dog, projects, tiny house. And it was good. So, so good.

Roxie’s death was in the midst of a new beginning. I so wanted her to be a part of it. I wanted her life to span with mine from single college student to settled family member. But, well.

I haven’t written up a legacy of her life yet. I’ve sat down to do this, but there’s too much to say. How do you say goodbye to a companion properly? I can’t, not yet.

So. I’ll wait. Turn the page.

In this new chapter, the tiny boy, the husband, the dog and I live in a big house. And, blessed be!, it is still so, so good.

Real Quick


It’s time for my Oh-My-School-Is-Out-And-I-Have-Time-To-Blog post!

I’m going to start with the bad. My dear dear dog Roxie died last month. She had a heart attack of sorts. It was very sudden and unexpected. She had been happy zipping around the yard the day before. I am going to write a long post about my friend that shaped and supported my life for nine and a half years, but I have not been able to form the thoughts into fitting words yet. I love her so, and I miss her so.


The good includes a fantastic third year teaching, a spunky and enthusiastic puppy, and lots more:







Little one, looking pensive; Our landscaping survived one year with us (yay, cactus!), New knitting; My interpretation of the Crayon Monster Art Tote, made for my niece’s second birthday; Some Jaywalker socks, created for my father (and modeled and styled by him).

Be back real soon! With more…