Only boy.

Exponent of breath, and other things.

The house is quiet and I am the only one here. Marley the Boston snores atop the couch he is not usually allowed to sleep, but I let him anyway (grace abounds). Outside, the crickets maintain their steady melody 'neath the moonlight as I munch my Starbucks pumpkin muffin. These moments to self replenish the peace and contentment I so often beseech my Maker.

Many mothers (and, lots of people, for that matter) covet alone time. In the frequent, frazzled search for something, anything, to let up, we relish even the smallest fifteen minute repose. I am overjoyed at a break. But happy that my life is full of messes and exhaustion, disorganization and early mornings.

As much as I complain, really,

I wouldn't have it any other way.

And while I should snatch the opportunity to soak in the bath while enjoying a glass of wine, I'm tempted to reach for Wilder's baby album and be absorbed in beauty. To reminisce and be elated for what I have, and for what is to be.

I am thankful for solitude--its quietness. Its thought-provoking tendencies. Thankful that it is not a mainstay in my journey, nor a doorway to loneliness.

My life is sweet and full, like a gingham-lined basket of cozily nestled pumpkin muffins.

Which I will gladly share.

LOVE is anterior to life,
Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
The exponent of breath. Emily Dickens

Happy things

Just some things that make me happy:
Mod chairs at Legacy Antiques.
Uh, all of the above.
Colorful wall art.
The lamp.
And the happiest thing of all: motherhood.

I do know this...

I know that whatever God does,
It shall be forever.
Nothing can be added to it,
And nothing taken from it.

Ecclesiastes 3:14a

Full house--this is my bliss

Nothing brings me more joy that to have a full home. Rugs awry with fresh crumbs strewn about. The bathroom hand towel wadded in a bunch on the lavatory. The candy dishes empty.

Can it be like this every day?

Thank you, friends and family, for sharing your love and light for our son. Your presence in our hearts makes us richer than King Solomon.

May you be blessed aplenty.

W with Uncle B

G'ma Kathy and G'pa Har

Jeff & Rach, Grant & Carson

Grey

Click here for robot cake recipe

Purity--you see it, too?

Amy & Katelyn

Dave & Amy ("Damey" because they are inseparable)

Ori & Grey

Juls, Liz, me

Drew & SG (they drove the farthest)

W & Aunt Andrea

At the end of the first year, our babies have reached beyond the nest of our arms. They're mobile, discovering and learning on their own. Babyhood drifts into the toddler years in the blink of time's eye. With their burgeoning independence, we're asking new questions, and wondering if we ever really needed all of those receiving blankets stacked in the hall closet. I carried my daughter in a front pack for months, running errands and cooking dinner with her head against my heart, but the vividness of that time has already begun to fade. The first year of motherhood dilutes like watercolor; the soft essence of experience hovers in memory. Sleeplessness probably blurs some of our recollections, challenges, and triumphs.

But that's ok.

We've made it through.

Excerpt from The Mother's Book of Well-Being, by Lisa Groen Braner