finger lickin' comfort

The other day a friend of mine said something that sparked a fire beneath me- a peculiar thing that I thought about and related myself to and I'll admit, had a good bellowing laugh about. It used to be that women grew up to cook like their mothers. Now, they grow up to drink like their fathers. It was raw, it was blunt, it was real. It took me a moment to process the statement before finally, a panic bubbled in my gut. While I'm certainly no alcoholic, I'm no gourmet chef either. There is such a pressure to become the "Domestic Goddess" that no wonder young women are turning their backs to the traditions of the home. But I think about my grandmas Danish food, my mothers fantastic and exciting way of celebrating unique holidays with food, my aunts pasta salad that I look forward to for months before Christmas Eve. These are all things that I've depended on throughout my childhood. They were just there; warm and delicious and comforting.
Comfort is such a key component to a healthy, happy home. Right now my laptop sits propped upon the hope chest that was my grandmothers and my mothers before it was handed down to me. Tucked inside are quilts and afghans made by the most nurturing people in my life- the jelly bean quilt I slept with into adulthood, the afghan my great-grandma made me for high school graduation, a patchwork from my mother one Christmas, an intricate blue and yellow quilt from my dearest friend, Hailey. Each of them holds a special memory- the softness or stiffness of the fabric, the tattered edges of the jellybean blanket or the smooth, starched edges of the intricate machine quilt. The smells, the yarn, the patches, they bring me back to my center, a place deep in the depths of my soul that makes me feel home no matter where I am.
I want Kade to grow up in a home full of hand made things. I want him to have quilts piled in his closet, hand made baby clothes to hand down to my future grand babies, recipes that live longer than I do. I hope in a hundred years, in my great-great-grand daugher's kitchen there is a recipe card that reads "Grandma Jessica's Peach Muffins." My own legacy, my own generation of traditions, of food, of laughter, of nursery rhymes, of love.
You only get to live once. One fleeting journey that can be whisked from under your feet at any given moment. You have to white knuckle the steering wheel and pray to God that your doing things the way He would want you to, taking full advantage of the beautiful life that He has so graciously gifted you.
It's time, friends, to be an in the now mother. For this girl, there will be many more afternoons spent in my grand mothers kitchen. I want to perfect Danish almond cake, learn to make a killer sausage soup and jot down every trick there is to fantastic leftover casseroles. I want to sit in my mothers kitchen and learn to crochet bonnets, blankets, you-name-its. Summers will be spent on my hands and knees in the dirt of who-ever's garden.  But it isn't just the tasks that I want to absorb from the nurturing mothers in my life, it's the wisdom. The things they experienced, the lessons they learned, their greatest joys, regrets and hopes.
We're losing this- this legacy of family, of tradition, of familiar comfort in the home. Today I sat down and reflected on this; I was finishing a quilt for Kade's bed and was becoming increasingly frustrated with hand stitching the final opening. I thought, why didn't anyone teach me this? And suddenly was struck with a heart wrenching realization- my mother did teach me how to hand stitch the opening so that the thread would be hidden. I remember it vividly. I was sitting on the dining room floor, pregnant and in tears with frustration. I had her do it for me, I said I didn't want to look at it again until it was done, I didn't listen to her. So, retreating to my mother for her never ending thread of encouragement is my only option. This time, I'll pay attention.

A flour dusted apron, a fresh cup of coffee and being completely engulfed by love and security. This is but a small flower on the path to happiness but it's bright and it's beautiful; a flower that you tuck behind your ear and take with you on the rest of your journey.

***

Kade has been progressing rapidly in the way he communicates and has been much calmer transitioning from Mama to whoever-is-babysitting. He's been so patient and has floated calmly on the raging sea that has become our life. He's relaxing a bit, sleeping in more often, "singing" in the car; finally settling in to the new life we're trying to mold. He's adjusting- a perfect example for me to look upon when, like lately, I've got a bad case of the Single Mom Blues.

It's good to be back to this place- this place of writing and relating- to slough off the layers of doubt and insecurity that are building up on my chest. A familiar place for me to dump my thoughts and finally have them come out fluidly. After weeks and weeks of pacing, rapidly typing, deleting... I'm back.

And dang, it feels good.

Bowling. I don't care if you haven't done it since high school and your terrible at it. Just Do It. It's fantastic. 

 

Kade beat me. twice. 

 

***

If you take your favorite peanut butter cookie recipe and then add Nutella, you get these:

And these are finger lickin' good. I made a batch for fun and then decided they were so good I had to share them with my bible study class. This one earned a five star spot in my recipe box.

 

And lastly, I received something in the mail today that made me jump for joy. I am an official member of the Letter Writers Alliance. Which means a never ending stream of pen pal opportunities, cool gifts and much, much more. Hurray! Long summer evenings spent scrawling out messages on personalized stationary? Sounds like a paradise vacation to me.

Do yourself a favor, call up a loved one and spend time with them. Write more letters. Weed more gardens. Bake more cookies. Whatever your craving: a book club, a coffee joint study group, a movie night. Your soul needs that kind of stuff, dude. Don't deprive it.

Sugar Coated Air

Sometimes, you have to sit down and force yourself to write. You don't want to, you cringe at the thought of banging out the words in your head and arranging them in straight little lines. The chaos of your life can't possibly be captured within this little white box- words simply do no justice to the incredibly inspiring, sad, peculiar events that have become the carousal theme music of my life. But writing is like tapping a stack of pages against a flat surface. All the crooked edges and loose corners suddenly lay straight against each other. The words on the pages don't have to make any sense at all- they look nice. They look presentable. You might be tricked into believing there's a novel written on those pages, if you only glance. I guess what I'm trying to say is that writing puts some order into my life. So, without further ado:

Spring has shown it's gleaming pearly whites. The air smells sweet. I'm not even kidding; all day I've been looking for the culprit to the incredibly enticing sweet smell in the air. But then, after an hour of yard work and many, many deep breaths I realized that is was the air. It's like sugar plum fairies were dancing on the wind. (Pause. Let us for a moment appreciate that sentence). So, spring has shown it's gleaming, pearly whites. And apparently, spring has good breath.

We slept in today. I woke up before Kade and lay with my face beneath the sheets, breathing and listening to the groans of the house, kids playing next door, the cat clawing at the carpet on the stairs. I knew it would be a good day before I stumbled my way up to the kitchen. The sunlight literally seeped into the house,  tiny dust particles floated across the kitchen table. When Kade woke up, it was time for play. We took a huge bite out of Spring, let it dribble down our faces, wiped it on our shirts. We played in the dirt, we went on three walks, we have eaten more fresh produce in the last week than I probably have in my entire life combined. We drove to the grocery store with our windows rolled down, cleaned out the car, changed our sheets.  It's been a few years since Utah got a real spring. I'm not sure how long it will last so while its here, we're going to hold on tight.

Kade is such a lover- his favorite toy right now is a stroller that he can push his 'baby' around in. He pushed it almost two blocks today before tiring out. He pauses to make sure baby is still tucked in safely, goes extra careful over hills and "pops wheeleys."

 

***

I love the smell of dirt. Around three o'clock pm today I was down on all fours in a flower bed. I pulled weeds, raked leaves, threw rocks back into the window wells. By the time I found myself back in the house my knees and hands were black, I had a spider bite on my knee and my cheeks were a rosy red. I also had a giant smile on my face and the faint smell of dirt in my nose long after my shower. There will be much, much more yard work for these hands in the near future.

Life has been its usual rhythmic chaos. Pockets of stress encased in glorious, fleeting moments of comfort. I'm ready for spring and the freshness that it brings with it. I hope the sweet smelling air lingers, leaving traces on my clothes and hair. I hope the sun's warm kisses leave freckles on my nose. I hope I can slow down and enjoy this. But mostly, I hope that you can too.

 

Happy Spring.

A Funky Celebration

My lifestyle choices these last weeks have left my belongings disarrayed in a way that somewhat resembles a frat house. In fact, our lifestyle, period has been somewhat equivalent to those of frat  house occupants. We stay up too late, go out to eat far more often than I'd like to admit, sleep in until noon (yes, even Kade), leave dirty clothes on the floor and make second, then third pots of coffee, struggling to keep our eyes preyed open mid-afternoons.

I suppose you could accurately determine that we're in a funk. A big one. While we made it to church this morning, it was only after driving away while my phone sat vulnerable on top of the car. Kade plainly refused a nap. He sat in his dim room babbling and after an hour I gave in. We made it to Sunday dinner- an evening filled with temper tantrums and an unusually clingy baby. I was becoming increasingly agitated, wringing my hands and ducking out of my grandmas house earlier than usual.

I start work tomorrow. That means we have a new rhythm to fall into- of early rising and babysitters and (hopefully) a schedule. We (Kade and I) thrive on a schedule, something to rely on, a slow and steady pace of familiarity with bonuses thrown in; trips to the library, tap dancing through the grocery store (more on that to come), and jumping on the bed every great once in a while when we're feeling really dangerous.

After our long and frustrating day, I buckled Kade into the car and contemplated on my next move. I had errands to run- to fill my gas tank to save time before work tomorrow and go to the grocery store so I'd have coffee for my six a.m. wake up call. Kade was already crying but I determined to make the best of it- if necessary, I could quickly grab the coffee and get the heck outta dodge, waiting until tomorrow afternoon to make other purchases. I hesitantly pulled up to the gas pump and climbed out of the car, slid my card and began filling my tank. Kade immediately started flailing. I quickly put my mouth close to the glass of the window and blew my warm breath against it. I drew a smiley face, and received a smile in return. I wiped it away and continued making shapes in the glass. Finally, after shaking my head at the astonishing amount of cash it required to fill my tank, we drove to the grocery store. I felt lifted- accomplished. But I was still hesitant. Anyone who has or has had a toddler knows how quickly things can go from elevated to catastrophic.

The grocery store- I moved fast, happily chiming in to Kade everything on our list, letting him hold the items and toss them behind him into the basket. I bolted down the aisles, "tap dancing" and exclaiming Kade! Lookit! Progresso is on sale today! Woohoo! I was acting seriously over the top. But there was no shame, I smiled all the way and thought, My baby is so dang happy right now. And you know what? me too. Just as I was noting my sudden complete absence of insecurity, Kade let out a squeal, a celebration.

What have I been so afraid of? Things took a turn swiftly- it seemed in one infinite, fleeting moment in a Walmart I came to a fantastic realization: I am loved. I can dance in grocery store aisles, sing "Teddy Bear Picnic" not-so-quietly into my pillsbury cinnamon roll microphone and crank up Jewels Merry Go Round Childrens CD in my car like it's no body's business. I can, I can, I can. And I can feel dang good about it, maynard.

There are so many things to celebrate- dear friends moving home, a new job, Faith.. so many things to raise a toast to. In my case, this weekend prompted a huge chocolate pudding toast.

A toast to birthdays

A toast to $8 jeans that make me feel fabulous.

A toast to this game- seriously I can't say it enough I love this game.

A toast to library books- to all books and their warm characters.

A toast to growth- new teeth and new jammies mean a bigger Kade. A healthy, strong Kade.

As of this afternoon Kade has twelve teeth.. Possibly two more by tomorrow morning. 

And a toast specially for getting us out of this funk- a new routine that will hopefully chase away the I wish I had's and fill us to the bring with I'm glad we did's.

What are you celebrating today?

Soak it up, Shake it up

Sitting down to write has become some what of a dreaded task. I pace in front of my tiny laptop for a good half hour before perching myself upon the very edge of my wooden yellow chair. I start a sentence, take a diet coke break, finish the sentence... This nasty bout of writers block is merciless. It pulls at the seams of my imagination, it frazzles every last creative hair on my red head. Sylvia Plath writes, "Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." These words ring unbearably true. There's no excuse for not writing- worst case scenario? It won't be eloquent, it won't make sense, it may not inspire, it may not mean anything... I've been learning about my own insecurities. Digging deep into the depths of myself to find that unnerving voice that sparks fear into my finger tips, making them timid. I think the biggest of my insecurities, as far as writing is concerned, is the fear that I may disappoint. There is the expectation- to be a blogger, to write weekly, daily, often. People ask me regularly why I don't start writing a book. Let me tell you the honest and raw answer: Publishers have deadlines. I can hardly write one blog post a week, a feeble attempt. Imagine writing a book in a year. The main problem is this: it would have to make sense. After hours on end, piling pillows onto my hard yellow chair and cracking open can after can of diet coke, I had one page. Hardly a page at all, really, as it was banged out in size 14 font and had plenty of run-on sentences and spelling errors. I scanned it over and over again- searching for something salvageable. Nothing. I clicked the little red X in the corner of the screen and as if to mock me, the program asked, "are you sure?" Yes, I was certain. There was nothing there but the ramblings of an undereducated wanna-be writer. It wasn't going anywhere- a short story that had run itself into the ground before the first paragraph was over. An entire book in one year? I may need twenty. But, dear readers, I haven't given up. This isn't a testimony of trying and failing, this is evidence that I'm trying, failing, and running back towards the wall- full speed ahead. I imagine there will be a thousand, maybe a million short stories that will be dumped into my overflowing virtual recycle bin. But there will be at least one worth sharing.

Oh, Lawd. Pray for me until that day comes, with a special request that I don't get carpal tunnel.

***

On to real life matters.
Kade is becoming more and more bright each day, charming everyone around him by blowing kisses, making scrunchy faces, and giving the most magnificent hugs the world has to offer. He pats your back, as if reassuring you, instead of the other way around. He holds my face between his chubby little hands and puts his nose to mine, a friendly reminder that I'm his mama and he's my baby and we're madly overjoyed over that fact alone.

It's a recent goal of mine to be more active with Kade- this has prompted walks around the block, sliding down the slide in our new backyard, and an evening spent at our local "Kangaroo Zoo." (Pretty much a building full of inflatable toys, all of which Kade is too small for which requires me climbing up them with him attached to my hip) In our new place, we are within walking distance of three parks, the library, the swimming pool and a local favorite doughnut shop. This is the neighborhood I grew up in, the neighborhood I thrived in. I can't wait for the weather to warm up so I can spend hours on end walking around, getting ice cream, swimming until our hands are pruned, pacing through the endless shelves of books.. a learning opportunity around every dusty corner.

Things are hectic. I feel overwhelmed and air headed. Today, while moving furniture for the umpteenth time, I had forgotten the keys to the storage unit. A twenty minute drive to retrieve them was enough to leave me gritting my teeth after an already stressful day, running on little sleep after a late night of cleaning. As if on cue, picking up on my mood, Kade let out a giggle from the back seat. I glanced back and he grinned at me, holding his shoe in one hand and a bare foot in the other. I faced forward again and turned up the radio- singing to my stereo and feeling lighter. Gosh Darn It, if anyone can clear the sky of dark clouds, it's this little dude.

 

Kade and cousin Braxton were playing with "The Basket" today. It was a train, a car, a plane, a motorcycle popping wheeleys. 


I'm searching out, almost desperately, more happy moments. More opportunities for little perks- like soaking my feet while Kade plays in the tub. Or letting Dotty have a front row seat to all of mine and Kade's adventures, letting him dangle out the "pack pack" or sit buckled into the shopping cart.

"Kade, where's your eyes?" Lord all mighty, can we just admire those lashes for a moment?

And then, there's haircut number TWELVE. He's getting more patient. He's had lots of practice.

And, like a rock, there is my grandma. Always opening her home to us- our home away from home- and being really patient with me when I lose my focus. And especially for inspiring me with her fun ways in keeping the kids busy. Holy Cow, where does she come up with this stuff?

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

I'm praying things will start moving more smoothly- we'll get settled in, make it to church, read books before bed, have time for cuddles and lazy afternoons. Until then, we'll soak up the shake up in the best way we know how. 

With a sense of humor. 

 

To and Fro

I find myself often referring back to something my mom taught me. I was eighteen, pregnant, behind the wheel of her shinny red car. Slow down into the curves and speed up out of them. Funny, at the time I was irritated- absolutely flustered because there is a good reason I waited so long to get my license. She had told me this before but I'm clumsy, I turn too sharply, or I don't turn at all. I wasn't listening. Now, two years later I think back on those words with a whole new perspective. When life throws you curves, slow down. As the curve is coming to an end, speed up. Work harder. It seems these last couple of weeks, God is testing me. Curves are being thrown left and right so quickly that I can hardly dodge them. All I can do is slow my pace, take a deep breath, search deep inside the very fabrications of my soul and find faith. At the end of the night, when Kade is asleep and I'm alone with my thoughts, it's very easy to fall into a sort of sick sadness. My light is dim for the night and the darkness starts to creep in. Of course, admitting this is difficult- the words don't splay out in front of me smoothly. It's a choppy, timid rhythm. Insecurity at it's very finest.
If I only wrote when I was belated, lets face it, this blog would be sappy. It wouldn't be real- a web of lies crafted together to impress who? I'm here to tell the truth, to learn to tell the truth more often and more willingly. So, here it is: Sometimes, I'm sad. I get lonely. I got pulled over again. After spending the entire day working on my car, I had a stinking head light out. I sometimes forget to pray. In the midst of all this trial and tribulation, I stand strong but when the door closes I am a heaping pile of sheets and wool socks, shaking and calling out God, where are you?
This is absolutely ridiculous, of course. God is always here, he never goes any place. There, in the crooked smile of Kade's face, the way he clapped his hands and danced in the glow of the police lights- there is God. There is faith and hope and love. And the most important of these is, you know the verse, love. And those nights, when I'm reduced to a small pile of rice packs and wet hair, there is Kade giggling in his sleep- serenading through the baby monitor and filling to the brim every inch of air around me. You see, for every bad, there is a good. It's all about balance, baby. If we knew everything- if we never faced bad days, never battled to have our way- we would never think of Him. The idea is to trudge through the mud with a grin on your dirty face. In my case, imagine a baby building mud pies beside me, his yellow raincoat squeaky clean and his face a rosy red.

***

Moving is a huge task. Boxes fill every square foot of my apartment. Impossibly making it smaller than before. I fret around Kade, terrified that a box will come tumbling down. This is unlikely, granted. I am Super Mom, Packing Professional. I whisk about the house putting heavy things in the bottoms of boxes, blankets in the top, stacking perfectly even, never more than two boxes high. It's a Lego maze, little trails of Cheerios guide you in and around the living room. A tippy cup is tipped sideways atop a small box, cars line the edge of another. By the end of tonight we will be in a new place. There is a part of me, small but unwavering, that is sad. I was ecstatic to move into this apartment- the vaulted ceilings, the way Kade's room is just a stretch of the living room. I decorated in warm colors, I bought colorful food, I did my best to make this a home. And it is. So while I'm looking forward to starting fresh, there is a nostalgia here. It's already seeping into the walls, my memory soaking up the textures, the smells, the sounds. Storing it all in a safe to be re-opened on a particularly long night. A treasure box of remember when...

It seems like February is my transition month. For three years now, the only way I can describe February is drastic. Here I am, unemployed, moving, single. A year ago? I had just gotten a new job, my relationship was blossoming, I was moving into my own apartment. We found out Kade had a heart defect.

Maybe it's the winter. My mind is numb, my nerves are deadened. I need some stimulation.  
Well, I certainly got it.

*** 

Moments ago, I sneaked ever so quietly into Kade's room. I perched myself upon a box and watched him sleeping, sighing. His new glow in the dark pajamas shown bright and he wiggled his sweet bum in the air, tucking his legs in tighter against his chest. He has ketchup on his face, left over from our dinner date. Because of a late night at grandmas, we skipped bath time, slid directly into lullaby's and tucked ourselves quietly into the still of the night. We didn't even bother turning on the bedroom light, my hands have dressed this baby often enough that they need not be guided by light, but only by memory. This warms me. This is something I never want to forget. Something to write down and read back to myself in my old age, reminding myself of my sweet baby boy and how well I know him. I could dress him in the dark, probably in my sleep.

Admist the sadness, smack dab in the middle of a dark, suffocating hole of lonliness, there is a comfort that there will always be something I know. I know my son. I know what he likes and doesn't like, what makes him happy and what comforts him. I know how to tease him into a volcanic eruption of giggles and squirms. I know that he likes to talk when we go on walks, babbling and squealing and inquiring "Dat?" an airplane; a fire truck; a heart shaped rock;

Times like these are when I make lists- lists of things that make me happy, things that have occured lately that are precious and soothing.

Like a trip to Ikea with my sister, a "road trip," giant pieces of pizza and picking out plush vegestables for Kade to cook with.

Teaching Kade his body parts. Kade, where's your nose? Marveling at how incredibly bright he is.

Hours of "Bananagrams" with my grandma and sister. Learning absurd words and laughing hysterically when I knock down Emily's pyramid.

Family.

Late night trips back and forth to and from the laundry mat, smelling like tide and eating oatmeal cookies.

Plain and simply: watching him grow.

The theme of this post is a back and forth kind of deal- some things are hard right now. Some are simple. But I'm swaying somewhere in the middle, which is where I'm supposed to be.

Faith Never Failing

Today was laundry day. This fact is evident by the jeans I'm wearing- bought at the beginning of eighth grade, the bottoms torn and tripping me as I stride through the grocery store. The fact that I used a t-shirt to dry my face this morning? That just drives it home- It was most definitely laundry day. I enjoy the smell of tide. I like hanging my shirts to dry, the way my room perforates downy for the entirety of the day. I like pulling the clothes out while the dryer is still running, folding them still hot, and tucking them into the deep drawers of my antique dresser, still warm and free of creases. I iron Kade's button down shirts and hang them on crocheted hangers, ready for anything. Doing laundry is bliss to me, the perfect way to start a day like this one.
There is, of course, an ebb and flow. Yesterday, I was full of doubt, today I feel like a floating free spirit. I knew that was going to happen. God has these funny ways of nudging me along, reminding me always that right around the corner is something new.
I'd like to add here that I'm still in the middle of an infuriating writing funk- it happens.
I'm looking forward to the next month: a new beginning, more time for sewing, simplicity at it's finest. The hustle and bustle that has been my life the past year is being overshadowed by a revolutionary idea: Slow the heck Down. Have you ever tried observing things as if you had opened your eyes for the first time? For example, Kade always observes things with a fascination that I crave. He intently stares at objects (old or new), wants to know the texture, if it makes noise, how it works, the each and every cog and wire that fabricates whatever whatcha-ma-callit he's got in his little fingers. When did we lose that passion? Perhaps, as we get older, we get so accustomed to things, ideas, thoughts, that we don't appreciate them anymore. Sound familiar? I don't want to do that anymore. I want to wrap a quilt around my shoulders and appreciate every thread holding it together, I want to smell it, to note the way it lays, stiff or soft. I want to finger paint. Sound crazy? It might be- but when was the last time you dipped your hands into a deep plastic cup of paint and went nuts on a piece of construction paper? These things keep us young.

Be barefoot, forget to brush your teeth sometimes, drink your coffee as sweet as you like it- with real sugar. If I see splenda in your hand, you'll be scolded sister. Make a crown from flowers and twigs. Go swimming in the river. Or, if your really desperate, do them all, at once. If that's what it takes to get a little spring back in your step, then please, for the love of Pete, DO IT.

My day was overflowing with good vibe, ebb and flow type stuff. Kade and I joined my Mama for lunch, snow flurried down as we indulged on Mormon Muffins and roamed through the shops. I bought fabric to make Kade a new bedding set. I bought valentines. I went to the grocery store and filled my cart with fresh fruit and a bottle of laundry detergent (needed after how much laundry I did this morning). Birthday cards for my brother and sister lay on the desk, anxiously awaiting a kind, sincere message to be scrawled across their textured insides. I seized the day, Kade's yellow raincoat was removed and replaced so many times his head was spinning. We were in, we were out. We were happy campers.

To make up for yesterdays disaster of a diet, Chef Kade made dinner tonight. Tortellini, sweet potatoes and chicken. He was in heaven.

We used the "Good China." 

 

I also turned this: 

  

into this: 

Hallelujah! We're getting closer. 

***

Kade didn't want his picture taken today. He was a ball full of energy, but when the camera came on, he was a turtle in his shell. Stop it, Moooom. 

Kade-stay-cation

Smack dab in the middle of a serious, no, a chronic case of writers block, I find myself frustrated and exhausted. Boxes are stacked in my living room, Cheerio's are smashed into my carpet, and our oh-so-energetic-college-student neighbors are throwing a party; on a Tuesday night. In the middle of this, I sit in the same sweats I wore to bed last night. My hair is a twisted, curly mess, the rubber band barely containing it, a thick knot at the nape of my neck. I stared at this screen for freaking ever. What sort of inspiring words do I have tonight? You have to write something! Jessica, pull it together dude. So, here it is, the grand theme of today: Sometimes, no matter how hard we try or how well we display this put together facade of "such a good mom," we have our off days. When I say we, I mean we. Please, someone side with me here and concur that you are a pledged member of the Actual Person club. Kade had Nutella for breakfast. He ran around in a diaper and socks the entire day. He ate TWO huge cookies, one after another and when he didn't want his nutritious dinner (which I prepared in a last ditch effort to salvage the day), I caved and let him fill his belly with tapioca and buttered rolls- chocolate milk on the side.
You see, for all the days we find ourselves breaking a sweat dancing across the kitchen, making pancakes, coloring crayon masterpieces, going on walks... we have these days. When such days come to a close, I find myself tired and a little bit (forgive me) ashamed.
Oh boy, now I've opened a rather large, squirming can of worms. I feel inept and weary and if I were to write a review of my day, it'd go something like: Girl, you could have done more, you could have tried harder. Slow Down, for gracious sake. But, the truth of the matter is that while I sit in my sweats, suffering from a rather infuriating bout of writers block, pausing every third word and backspacing vigorously, Kade is asleep on the other side of this white textured wall. Last time I peeked in on him, he was covered in sleep lines, like little canyons dancing across his cheeks and shoulders. His arms and legs are tucked under him, his bum straight up in the air, and Dotty sits guarding him, just inches from the top of his flushed face. Obviously, he isn't as enthralled in shame as I am. In fact, I think it's safe to say, after reviewing today's photos, he had quite the relaxing day- sort of a Kade-stay-cation. He likes tapioca pudding, he'd much prefer some chocolate in his milk, thank you very much, and he'd rather run around the house clad in a kangaroo printed diaper than his jeans and t-shirt any day. I suppose this post was more for me than for you, dear readers: a reassurance for myself that while I may feel down, tomorrow is another day, full of opportunity. It is okay to have off days. Off days make us human- bring us back to the raw center of This is life, and it's hard. But it doesn't have to be miserable.

Just ask this guy- does this look like a bad-day-face? 

I'd like everyone to meet our new pal, Jelly Cat. Kade parades around the house with JC in tow, patting his back and kissing his little nose. This morning, I caught a glimpse of him spooning air soup from a tiny toy pot into JC's mouth and wiping his face with a tissue. He also carries him around in his mouth- biting his ear and dragging him on the floor, choosing his old method of crawling as opposed to his bounding steps. Of course, he prefers Dotty for sleep time, but JC is his new partner in crime during waking hours. It melts me.

He pats JC's head and says, "Shhh." 

It was a particularly exhausting day- it seemed nothing got done and I had a big fat list of "I wish I had," toward the end. Some days are like this, but watching my baby nurturing his baby, tells me that I'm doing something right. It makes my heart swell with pride.

I'll be back tomorrow with a (hopefully) more refreshing post. Until then, JC got strawberry jam on him today, Mama duty calls.