Table for Two

Some neighbors of G & G B. were getting rid of this table, and we were happy to take it off their hands. It fits perfectly in Sara's playroom, and although she's too tired to appreciate it tonight after a big day at school, I see many hours of coloring/eating/playing & pretending fun happening right here at the table for two!

While I Wasn't Looking

**Note: I absolutely cannot get the paragraphs in this post to format correctly, and it's driving me nuts. I apologize in advance for the irritating hyphens between each paragraph. It was my only solution for making the blob of words somewhat readable.

Sometime during the past couple of weeks, while I've been working (or just generally not paying attention), Sara has learned to go from stomach to sitting. In fact, the past two mornings when I've entered her bedroom to pluck her from her crib, this is how she's greeted me: sitting, smiling, happily playing with her animals. (No, I don't have a picture of it. Once she sees me in her room, I can't make myself turn around and leave to grab the camera. It would momentarily break her little heart).
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Sara has quit taking a dainty sip or two of water from her cup, and now she downright chugs. And her Puffs no longer get stuck in her palms, causing them to melt before they ever hit her lips. Sometime - and I don't know when - she learned to pick them up between her thumb and forefinger and point them precisely in the direction of her mouth.

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All this, while I wasn't looking. And I'm sure there are - and will be - other things, too.

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Back before Sara started going to daycare (which I like to call school because it sounds ... well, better), I assured myself that she would only learn to do new things in my presence. Milestones would only be accomplished when I was around to witness them. While I've always been quick to proclaim that I'm a proud working woman, I'm finally humbled enough to admit now that, yes, I am missing out. These days, our evenings and weekends are so precious, which is why you haven't heard from me in over a week. (That, and my brain is already back to working only certain hours of the day).

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The past couple of mornings, as I've gone out to get the paper, I've noticed that the temp is hanging somewhere in the low-60 range. And in the afternoons, we've been enjoying a cool 87-ish with a breeze (87 here really can feel pretty perfect ... like with anything else, temperature is relative). Point is, fall is coming. I so, so, so love the fall. It's starting to smell like fall outside, and the new candle I just lit even smells like fall to me. Still, if the smells themselves are not enough, there is one telltale sign that has to be: football. NFL preseason is well underway, and college kicks-off next week. Love it, love it, love it. Isn't it simply one of the most wonderful times of the year?

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Speaking of football, last night Steve and I, along with Big Steve and Mark, went to the Cowboys game. Steve, Mark, and a few friends purchased season tickets for this, the inaugural season in the new stadium (seriously, it's the Disney World of stadiums), so they'll be at all home games. With any luck, I'll be invited to a few more, too. It was so fun to get out and be part of the festivities. The stadium made quite the impression. Truly, it's amazing. And the foot long hot dogs were pretty excellent, too.

Even Sara, who stayed home and played with Grandma B. during the game, donned the appropriate game day gear.

Hope you are enjoying the signs of fall as much as we are. I promise to try really hard not to wait so long between posts next time. Have a great week!

Wordless Wednesday

Shoe Shopping

There are many things I hope to be able to provide for Sara over the years, not the least of which is my support for her education. As an educator, I see firsthand the benefits that come from parents playing an active role in their child's education. These parents attend open houses and conferences, band concerts and basketball games. I also see the painful void that exists for those kids who don't have the same support. And like it or not, when parents fail to show for even the little events, it can speak volumes to a teacher. So there was no way I was going to miss Sara's first Meet the Teacher Open House yesterday afternoon. While there, her teachers from last year took turns passing her around and smooching her, and her new teachers talked about how excited they are to have this group of kids in their room this year. Sara wouldn't have known the difference if we hadn't gone to her school yesterday, but I felt strongly that it was important for us to visit. You know, I always like to set a precedent. During our visit, I was reminded of how great her school is and how comfortable I am with the wonderful staff members who take care of Sara and her friends everyday. I'm feeling good about the start of Sara's new school year, and I'm very hopeful that -- come Monday morning -- the place and the people will still be at least a little familiar to her.

While I was talking to one of Sara's new teachers, she spotted Sara's bare feet and mentioned that the kids are required to wear shoes everyday this year (they are starting to walk, it's a safety issue, etc., etc.). Sara does own shoes, but to date she's only worn them a total of about four times. For one thing, Sara's feet are very fat, for lack of a better term. Sometimes we call them paws; I've just never seen the point in forcing shoes over them. The two pairs of adorable Mary Janes in Sara's closet won't fit her for a while yet, and with the exception of some summer sandals (the white flowered ones she's worn four times, mentioned above), all of her other shoes are for newborn feet. I knew we'd have to start shoe shopping soon since Sara is starting to stand with help and she'll be walking at some point, but her school's new rule expedited my shopping plans. I have to admit, there have been times when I've wondered whether I appear to others to be a little W.T. as I haul my barefoot child around town, but I've countered that thought by acknowledging that Sara's bare feet have simply been a nod to the little flower child buried deep inside her sweet soul. Sounds good, right? Regardless, no more barefoot baby here.

We headed to Target to do our shoe shopping, and while I could feel the excitement rising in my chest as we neared the shoe section, I didn't succumb to the desire to roam the women's shoes looking for a bargain. We went to Target for Sara shoes, and we left with Sara shoes. Have you ever gone to Target for something in particular and actually left the store with just the item you originally intended to buy? It's close to impossible to do. Today, though, I did it!


Here's Sara on her first real cart ride. We usually leave her in her carrier, but today we decided she was ready for the cart. She loved it! On the carrier note, she is SO sick of that thing (and so am I). We did scope out the next level of car seats, but didn't make a purchase. Sara is almost too big for her carrier seat, but it's hard to know what to buy next. We want to get something that will last -- most of the ones we were looking at are good up to 40 pounds -- but we have no frame of reference when it comes to 40-pound children. I finally texted a friend and learned that her 4-year-old is not yet 40 pounds, which leads me to believe that the seats we were eye-balling today would last us for a good long while. I just have to take a moment on this tangent: are we the only ones who stand in the car seat aisle totally perplexed by the full-blown car seats (not even the boosters) made for kids up to 100 pounds? If we'd been made to use those, I would've ridden in one through most of high school. In fact, I have friends who would still be riding in one. Somehow we all survived cars without airbags, some without seat belts, and even without baby seats ... yet someone out there thinks 100-pound children need to sit in these monstrous child safety seats. I'm all for safety, but I have to think it's gone a little far.

Check out Sara's new shoes, purchased thanks to the stimulus package we received from Great-Grandma Lou. Since she has sandals, we decided on some closed-toe tennis shoes in a slightly bigger size that will hopefully last through the fall.

Food, food everywhere ...

... on my face and in my hair ...

... barely any in my belly ...
... but this is fun, so I don't care!

Sara and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Flight(s)*

A few weeks ago, I decided that Sara and I should make a quick weekend trip to MN before the end of summer. I had no intentions of making the drive again so soon (or by myself, for that matter), so I booked a flight and started saying my prayers that all would go smoothly on Sara's first aero-adventure. Up until take-off time on Thursday, I prayed continuously for a relatively turbulent-free flight and a safe arrival in MN. As I held my darling, sweaty, squirmy, screaming child in my arms on our flight to MN, I could have kicked myself for my carelessness: I had forgotten, in my prayers, to specifically ask for my beautiful baby to be well-behaved.

I'm embarrassed to admit this now, but for the past nearly eight months, I've prided myself on the fact that Sara has never taken to a pacifier because it means we'll never have to break the habit. I've also given myself kudos for having a kid who doesn't need to be rocked to sleep, but who'd rather roll around in her crib and talk to herself until sleep overcomes her. But when I was stuck on the hot plane on the way to MN, I wasn't feeling quite so high-and-mighty about these facts. Perhaps if my child accepted a pacifier, she could've been soothed during the flight. Maybe if she relied on being rocked to sleep, it would've been only a matter of minutes before we were off the ground and she was asleep in my arms.

I was so glad to make it to MN in one piece, and even found myself able to laugh a little bit about the hurdle that was my first flight with Sara. When we had a repeat performance on the way home today, though, tears, rather than laughter, seemed the appropriate response. I could go through my list of excuses (a hot plane, a child with a stuffy nose, etc.), but I won't (with the exception of the two legitimate reasons I just listed).

On today's flight, I got to thinking again about how I should've been more specific in my earlier prayer requests regarding my girl's behavior, but then it struck me that it might not have done any good. I was probably due for some humbling. Still, while I struggled to calm Sara during the flights, I was blessed by fellow passengers who were empathetic in their glances, their offers to help, their sharing of stories of their children as babies, and their attempts to make Sara smile (many were successful in this, even though the giggles and smiles came in small doses and were short-lived). As I tried everything I could think of to make Sara happy (bottles, books, and bouncing worked), I couldn't help but reflect on pre-motherhood flights I took with an unhappy baby on board. I tried to pretend that I didn't remember my reaction - namely one of irritation - but the truth is, I can't count the number of times I've gotten off a flight and said, "Ugh, the plane was full, we left the gate ten minutes late, and there was a baby who wouldn't quit crying ... seriously." So that humble pie I referred to above ... yep, I had a huge, probably well-deserved slice this weekend (well, two (which should mean I'm good to go for a while, right?)).

In a twist worthy Oscar's nod, Sara fell asleep on both flights as we began our descent. Of course. Better luck next time.


This is the one picture I managed to take this weekend: Sara's first swing in the park! I promise she was more comfortable than she looks. I think.


*Title adapted from Judith Viorst's popular children's book. (In case you were wanting to get me for plagiarism, I've cited my source. So there.)

You May Not Really Want to Know This

This adorable, sudsy, bathing beauty pooped seven times today. That's no lie. I realize that to some of you, this is either information you really didn't want any part of or a fact about which you are completely indifferent. I get that. You just have to understand that, for us, this is record-breaking. Gross, but record-breaking.