On Wednesday, James and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary by working opposite shifts. We didn’t see much of each other, but we exchanged sweet greeting cards and looked forward to a date on Friday.

It’s not an easy time in our lives. Which means that the marriage thing takes a bit of extra effort, too. But we’re in it together. Fighting our way back into the black, and it actually looks like we might even be making some headway. In the meantime, we were able to take an afternoon for the two of us, thanks to a friend coming over with her daughter to play with our boy for awhile. And we caught a movie and lunch. We even had the opportunity to talk to each other for awhile.

The extra working has been hard on us both. But when we do actually exchange a few words here and there, I’ve been feeling the value there a little more than I used to. The quality is still good, even if the quantity has lessened. Just another one of those reasons I love that guy. One of those reasons I married him.

Happy anniversary, James. There’s no one I’d rather have fighting by my side.

I haven’t been much for holidays lately. And it’s not just because I’m broke and lazy. It’s really because I have no friends.

Now, I know that’s not entirely true. But on holidays when everyone has someplace to be, someone with whom to share in the consumption of beer and grilled animal flesh, it can get kind of lonely in a small condo with a single other person, who doesn’t yet speak much English.farm.

James and I are now cramming nine shifts of working into seven days. Holidays included. We have few mutual friends. We have only this little family of three that we’ve set up here in this place, no cousins, grandparents, siblings, in-laws or even stand-ins for any of the above nearby.

I try really hard not to think about how much fun everyone else is having on their day-trips to the beach, their barbecues, their homes being taken over by relatives and friends. I don’t focus on all the noise and laughter and chaos I’m not hearing. Someplace to be. Other kids around to play with my boy. Fireworks. Celebrations. But yeah. It all crosses my mind at some point.

I say out loud, “I have no friends,” like a joke. Ha ha. See how lonely I am? It’s no big deal. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a loser, so let’s just have a little laugh about it, and you can go on telling me all about the time you spent with the people you love.

I feel pathetic. I know I have friends. The problem is that I can’t spend time with most of them due to distance or other circumstances. And the time I do spend just isn’t enough. Social gatherings are too few. Too far between.

I actually did have a pretty good holiday weekend. I gave each of my boys a haircut. James and I watched a ridiculous movie while M napped. And after James went to work and M woke up, we took a nice walk to the pool and splashed around. We talked a little bit with a grandmother there with her two granddaughters, but her enunciation left something to be desired, so I couldn’t always make complete sense of her commentary. Nonetheless, the conversation was welcome. M enjoyed himself, and we came home and cooked fried rice. When James got home just before 1:00am, we had some quality time together.

So it really wasn’t a super depressing day all day long. But there were definitely those moments when I couldn’t help feeling the absence.

Dear Michael,

Your age now sounds like I’m over-counting. Eighteen, and even nineteen, sounded like you were still close enough to new that counting in months was to be expected. But here we are at twenty, and it somehow seems too much. You’re not so new at this game of life anymore. And you’re out to prove it, too.

You still surprise me every day with how much you have been paying attention. Fortunately, your daddy and I have been doing our best since you were born to curb our potty mouths, so with a bit of luck, that won’t be an issue. At least not for awhile. You pick up new words every day. Words that we don’t always realize how much we say. You tattle on yourself when you’re doing something to which we’ve previously said “no,” by saying “no” to yourself mid-act and until one of us realizes what you’re up to. Most of your current “no-nos” involve climbing.

You climb onto the backs of the couches to reach previously unreachable objects. You climb up into your high chair if the tray’s off, and you say “eat,” and “chair,” to alert us to your current state of hunger (or to let us know that you noticed your high chair sitting there and when you notice it there, it obviously must be time to eat). You climb the small bookshelf in your room to reach the fish bank and the lamp on top of your dresser. You climb up onto your changing table after diapering is through in order to finish whatever you were doing with the safety belt.

You are still enthralled by anything that fastens. And you’re learning how things fasten. You love walking around with Mommy’s or Daddy’s belts, and you hate getting out of chairs that have buckles. There was a time when you would even cry and throw a fit if we dared to separate your body from the safety restraints in your high chair or stroller. However, you have since matured enough that you understand there’s a time for everything, and it’s not always going to be time to sit in your seat and play with the buckles.

You are learning many words that have allowed you to ask for various things throughout the day. But my favorite request of yours remains wordless for now. You love music. And most of the time, if we have the stereo playing, you only occasionally glance up at it and notice it’s on. However, if it’s not playing, you want to play it. So you point and make a little noise, you look at me, and you start to dance. The best part is that you now know exactly which button to push on the stereo to start the music, and you can climb up to the back of the couch to reach it and everything, but you still point and dance. And I pretend that I don’t understand right away so that you will “ask” me again.

You jump on the bed. You run. You are beginning to grasp the magic of the fort. Since you were a tiny little infant, I knew that this day would come. Since that very first game of blanket peek-a-boo, I knew there would come a time when we would sit together in the dappled light underneath the hand made afghan like two halves of a secret, giggling and playing. I like forts, too, and I hope that if you ever feel the need to post a sign outside one of your blanket and furniture constructions that says “no girls allowed,” you might make an exception for your mommy.

You love the pool, and I know I should take you swimming more often, but as much as I like to go with you to the pool, I am torn between water fun time and my adult household responsibilities like grocery shopping, dishes, laundry and the occasional inspiration to organize and clean a little deeper some days. I’m also in the process of taking on some extra hours of work, which seems to have already begun to affect your mood. You cling to me. You climb on me. You cry “Mommy” when I try to put you down after rocking you to sleep.

Some days, you assert your will in such a way and demand so much of me that I find myself wound tight, easily agitated, impatient and crabby. Those days make it difficult to appreciate the truly amazing person that is emerging in you. I love that you have mastered so many things that have frustrated you in the past. And I love encouraging your attempts to master the activities and objects that continue to thwart you at this developmental stage. I try not to get upset with you, because outside the heat of the moment, I realize that you’re only doing the best you know how. That as perceptive and intuitive and intelligent as you are, there are still a lot of things you simply cannot grasp yet. So I try to correct my own mistakes, to shift my attitude so that instead of letting a single tantrum or the lack of an afternoon nap completely ruin my day, I can treat it as an opportunity to learn more about my son, my relationship to you, and even myself.

I’m having a great time helping you learn all sorts of new things. Thanks for teaching me some stuff along the way, too.

Love,
Mommy

I started up my monthly reflections about my son. I began my usual raves about how fun and fabulous he is. How amazed I am. How awed. How enamored. But then nap time was over and I had to pause, intending to complete the post after he was asleep for the night.

But then he went and took an hour and a half to fall asleep. He screamed. He seemed to know I had things to do. Like eat my own dinner. And write nice things about him. There wasn’t anything wrong. He was just being a little jerk. Or a toddler. Take your pick.

So I’m pausing for the rest of the night. Sorry, Mom, the 20-month blog will have to wait.

But to tide you over, there are some new pictures up at Flickr:

It’s always nice when wrongs are made right again. Without going into too much detail, we are looking forward to the easing of a small portion of our financial burdens. This was a work-related issue of my husband’s that has caused quite a bit of stress over the last few months. That may be an understatement.

But! Good has triumphed over evil, and once again, balance has been restored to the universe!

The money wasn’t an extremely large chunk of change, but it was definitely not helping us not to have it. And now we will have it again. Plus that same amount from the several paychecks from which it had been missing.

What does this mean? Well, at best, it will mean that we can start chipping away at our debt again. At worst? We will still be going in the red every month, but not as much. At medium, and probably most likely, we’ll be breaking even. Surviving.

For my part, I’ve been looking for ways to increase my financial contribution to the household. I stumbled across a sign calling for school bus drivers awhile back, and I had been looking into that opportunity because the benefits included being able to bring your young child with you on the bus route. However, the benefit only applies to full-time permanent drivers, which current circumstances won’t allow me to work.

So I’ve been talking to my manager at the baby store, and she’s going to try to help me work some more hours. This will help the bank account, at least a little, although it also means I will be seeing even less of my husband than I do now. But we have to do something. Make changes, sacrifices. We have done our best, and continue to attempt to cut our spending, but we can only cut so much and still provide for everyone’s needs. And to increase income, we need to spend whatever time we have as productively as possible.

I’m trying to pick up some freelance work, but again, my schedule is pretty limited. So I’m still open to whever other opportinities may be out there. I’d wait tables if it weren’t for my husband’s weekend schedule. I’m considering the possibility of finding a night shift somewhere, but that raises the question of when to sleep.

Still, the little bit of “extra” that we have coming back to his check and tacking onto mine may be enough to get us by until something better comes along. So today, I’m actually breathing just a little bit easier, while still keeping my belt tight and my fingers crossed that other related prayers will soon be answered.

On Saturday afternoon, I went to the community pool with M. He was having fun splashing in the kiddie pool, when another mom and her 11-month-old son came over near us to avoid some of the bigger kids hurling their bodies around all willy-nilly.

We chatted a bit, and she went on about how insane it was that the HOA told her she couldn’t use the floaty thing to keep her non-walking baby safe in the shallow water. From what she discribed, the situation was handled poorly by the authority figure, and it was subsequently addressed to her satisfaction afterward.

She asked, of course, how old M was. When I told his age, 19 months, she asked where he was enrolled in preschool.

Um. Excuse me? He’s not even two. I thought I had a couple more years before I had to worry about school.

According to her, it’s super important for little ones to be socialized, especially if they have a stay-at-home parent. And the two-day preschool program for two-year-olds not only teaches them to be social with kids their own age, but also provides that stay-at-home parent with a break.

She told me that she intended to get her boy on the lists for the prime preschools soon because the spots are in high demand and fill up fast. So of course, for the rest of our playtime at the pool, after she went to doze in the shade with her babe and husband, all I could do was worry if I should really be worrying about this stuff now.

I came to the conclusion that remarks like these are well-intentioned, but not set-in-stone rules of parenthood. Some people home school. Others do preschool. Others start like I did, with kindergarten at age 4. Every child needs something different, and there is no such thing as “by-the-book” parenting.

I stay at home because I love spending time with my kid. We have a routine that works well enough, and even the bad days contain more than a few beautiful moments. Why should I be in a hurry to give that up and send him off to school? Why should I pay for a glorified daycare (which is all preschool would be at his age, anyway) when I can teach him ABCs, 123s, colors and all that crap myself. Why should I stress my own days with on-time drop-offs and pick-ups? We have play dates, and I’m not worried about his ability to socialize.

And yet, this other mom totally got to me. I know my kid, and I know he’s fine. I know he’ll be fine for another couple years until it’s time to find a school for him, but I still got so paranoid about the whole issue. It was like my gut was having to justify itself to my brain. Because my brain was all, “maybe you should look into this.” And my gut replied by slapping my brain across the face. Gut wins. I know what’s right for us, and I want my kid to be ready for school, because if he’s not ready, he might hate it and not want to learn stuff anymore. And he loves to learn so much that I’d hate to see that enthusiasm fade too soon.

There’s so much pressure on kids these days. To me, I don’t think earlier schooling is the answer. He’s got plenty of time for all that later. Which I’m sure will still feel like too soon for me.

The boy and I had a great time in Wisconsin with the extended family. The flight in was pretty uneventful, with a bit of crankiness during take-off and landing. The flight was nowhere near full, so we had almost the whole back end of the plane to ourselves. One or two other passengers were near, but they enjoyed the flirtatious toddler in their midst, and the flight attendant thankfully distracted M during our final descent with a rousing game of peek-a-boo.

After I almost missed my parents at the airport, I managed to get my cell phone to work long enough to call and find them. We had breakfast and spent the rest of the day at their house. We took a walk to the park, ate hamburgers for dinner with the in-laws, and all four grandparents thoroughly enjoyed the presence of their very charismatic grandson.

Friday afternoon we had a little shopping to do for a certain sibling of mine who’s getting married in three months. We picked up the wrong color sheets, but at least they were on sale and totally exchangeable. My sister and her fiance along with her future mother-in-law, sister-in-law and two-year-old nephew arrived at our parents’ house later that evening. My brother and his brood, though traveling from a closer location, arrived a bit later.

We had a house full that night, but it sure was fun. We ate a lot, drank a bit, and laughed like crazy. Because that other little one had a later bedtime than mine, and he’s also a bit more… enthusiastic. He discovered that jumping up and down with his head in an empty popcorn tin (one of those big holiday ones that has the three flavors of popcorn inside) not only makes a totally awesome sound, but also results in a whole room full of adults gasping for breath between giggles.

On Saturday afternoon, my sister had her bridal shower. M explored my aunt’s house with his best friend of the weekend, found Mommy when he needed a quick bite to eat here and there, and he finally fell asleep on my back in the Ergo, which many of the guests found completely adorable. It wasn’t as huge a turnout as some other family gatherings have been, but I got the chance to catch up with a few of my favorite relatives and old friends.

That night, I ran around in the cool, wet outside area with my sister’s fiance’s sister’s boy because mine didn’t want to come out with us. He laughed and tired me out. We had some dinner and heard stories about my sister’s future in-laws. It was a pretty quiet and relaxing evening compared to the one before.

In the morning on Sunday, the Minnesota crew prepared to head home after breakfast. We said our goodbyes, and M practiced the new names he had learned– “Anee,” “Ook” and “Nick” –as he waved out the window.

Later in the afternoon, I got together with a friend and we got gelato and stopped by Half Price Books. By the time we were done with that, M’s four grandparents were having such a blast that they made us go back out for dinner. We had sushi and continued to chat about life and stuff. And even though I would have liked seeing a few of my other friends this trip, it was really great to have that one-on-one time.

On Monday, Mom and I went to the mall in search of the perfect dresses for the mother and sister of the bride. Neither of us are very enthusiastic shoppers, so when our couple hours of searching sale racks and trying on arm-fulls of dresses ended in success, we had to celebrate with a cocktail and appetizer at Houlihan’s. We talked some girl talk and headed home to Grandpa and my boy.

The two of them had a great week together. Every morning when he woke up, the first thing M said was “Papa.” He’d point to the door as though asking where Papa was and when would he get to go play with him. He was very much a grandpa’s boy this trip. And Papa couldn’t have been happier. Of course, this made my mom all the more determined to find him a word for “grandma,” since the “gr” and “nd” sounds haven’t quite taken hold of his little tongue yet.

On Monday night, we had dinner with my in-laws again, this time out. We went to the place where my sister’s rehearsal dinner will be, and the food was delicious. After we ate, we said our sad goodbyes in the parking lot, since my flight home was the next afternoon. M gave hugs and kisses generously, and for good measure blew a few more in my in-laws’ direction as he waved bye.

Tuesday morning, I packed our bags, and while M napped, I went to lunch with my dad. It was the kind of afternoon that makes it tough to leave, though I was looking forward to seeing James and getting back into our routine and on with our lives. I dozed on the way to the airport, Mom and Dad both in the car to see us off. Dad dropped Mom off to walk us as far as the security checkpoint. She ran around with M for a little while, putting off the inevitable parting as long as possible. Finally, we said goodbye. As we turned the corner, M waved and said, “Oma.” It wasn’t the first time, but it was a little bit heartbreaking knowing how much she was going to miss him, and how much he wouldn’t even realize he was going to miss her.

At the Milwaukee airport, there is a small play area for kids. As I let him play for awhile, he started saying “honey.” I had no idea what he was asking for or trying to tell me. It almost sounded like, “heiny.” But we don’t use that terminology in our home, so I was pretty sure he didn’t mean butt.

Our flight was delayed. M wasn’t happy. Or he was just tired and klutzy. He tripped near one of the low tables that connects the airport chairs to each other and banged his upper lip pretty good. There was some blood and a bit of screaming. But I got him some water, and he got distracted, calmed, and went back to play. He then proceeded to fall on his head three times. Each time, it was tougher to soothe him. The last time, the flight had already been delayed two hours due to weather in the DC area, and I very rudely woke him after he had just fallen asleep in my arms to get up and change our flight to the next day. We had no idea when the weather would clear, and the idea of spending any more time in the airport with a cranky toddler was far less appealing to me than missing my Wednesday shift at work.

So Mom and Dad picked us up again, and we stopped by the in-laws’ house on our way home. As it happened, they were about to pick up some fried chicken for dinner, and generously offered to include us. So we stayed there for some time. M ate a lot of french fries, veggies and pickles. He was still pretty obviously wiped out from the day, but so happy to spend another night with his grandparents. James was sad, but since he was witnessing the disastrous weather first hand, he understood.

The Wednesday flight home was even less eventful than the one out. M dozed a little during take-off and after that, he was pretty content strapped into the Ergo on my lap. He got to eat some strawberries, some “baked on board” cookies, and he chugged a juice box. He found the turbulence hilarious and was mildly interested in looking out the window as we got closer to the ground. His ears never seemed to bother him once, and he seemed to understand that we were going home and on our way to see Daddy.

My parents call each other “honey” fairly often. So do my husband’s parents. James and I occasionally use the term of endearment with each other, too. M picked up on it while we were staying with mine. Now he repeats it when he hears it. And I guess he probably didn’t know why he was saying it on Tuesday at the airport, after all. He now refers to both grandmas as “Oma,” and it is intentional and almost sounds different from “oatmeal” now, too.

It’s been pretty busy around here lately. Good busy. Working on the money situation as best we can.

I’m heading back to Wisconsin on Thursday for the weekend in order to attend my little sister’s bridal shower. And see some family and hopefully a few friends. I’m not bringing my laptop because I’m trying to keep the luggage to a minimum because my pack mule…er, husband, isn’t coming along this time.

I have things on my mind. Things to discuss and things to note so before I forget. Like M’s new favorite book and the irksome fact that he’s been waking up about twice a night again.

I’m sure there’s other stuff I’ve been dying to say, but I’ll have to do that when I have more time to spend deep in thought.

I would like to get my Henry VIII book finished before I take my trip so I don’t have to spend a week away from it (it’s too heavy to haul only to finish it while there and have no reason to haul it back except for the fact that it’s a loaner). But instead of reading right now, I’m off to play some Lego Star Wars with my main squeeze while we wait for the diapers to finish washing.

Dear Michael,

Yesterday you went and turned nineteen months old. Your second year of life is more than halfway through, and I find that completely impossible to believe. Every so often, I find myself asking where my baby went. Sometimes daily, often even out loud. Your daddy makes fun of me for this, rolling his eyes and telling me that I’m “such a mom.”

You’re in a testing phase now, where you need rules and orders as much as you need to flagrantly disregard all rules and order. I try to pick my battles, but it’s easier said than done when every single molehill becomes a mountain in your eyes. You are dramatic and stubborn, and I have been doing some testing of my own in terms of diffusion techniques. You seem to do better with unkind circumstances when I talk you through them and prepare you a few minutes ahead of time. For example, we take almost daily walks now with you in your stroller and me huffing and puffing behind. You love your stroller with a fiery passion that seeks to destroy any who may come between you two. Unfortunately, when we come to the end of our walk, eventually the stroller must be folded in half and carried back inside the house. If I don’t warn you that this will happen, the screaming, crying and kicking can last a half an hour or more. But with a few words of warning, I’ve managed to trim the fury to a scant five minutes or less. I’ll take that as a win.

But not only do you often assert yourself over matters that deeply distress you (like our refusal to allow you to walk around on the kitchen table), you are also becoming more and more adept at communicating your desires for activities or objects that require our participation or preparation. When we mention dinner, you run into the kitchen and climb up onto a chair saying, “eat, eat, eat.” When you want to go outside, you bring us some shoes (occasionally, they’re even the right ones). Once, you even half woke in the night calling out, “Daddy,” because you hadn’t seen him before you went to sleep and missed him. You say, “up,” when you want to be picked up; you tell us, “off,” if we’ve forgotten to flip the light switch on our way out of a room; you point and say, “please,” when you want a drink of water or a bite of food; you say, “help,” or “hand,” when you’ve climbed a little too high to get down on your own.

You read a lot. I wonder where you get that from? Whenever you notice a book or glance at your bookshelf as you walk by, you pause to page through it. You will walk backwards across a whole room to plop your little butt in Mommy or Daddy’s lap so that one of us can read to you. Some of my favorite moments with you involve that studious look on your face as you consider Mr. Tickle’s long arms or BooBoo’s bubble burps. You are able to identify so many objects and animals, now, that I can hardly keep track. And your animal sounds are improving by the day. Your dad’s favorite is when you meow like the cat. And if I had to pick a favorite, it would be a tie between the monkey, owl, and moo.

You are becoming such a bright and energetic little kid. You are still fascinated by buckles, and every time you encounter a buckle of any sort, your only object is to make it work under the operation of fingers that have yet to reach their peak dexterity and strength. You often get frustrated, but instead of throwing a fit, you have learned that if you ask someone, “please,” we will show you how it’s done. We’ll buckle you, and unbuckle you when you need to see it again. Buckle, unbuckle, and repeat for as long as we can stand it, which is never long enough for your liking. Where do you get such an attention span? Maybe we should watch more television, get that shortened up for you.

You are coming to prefer certain toys. As much as I would have it another way, it’s the ones that require batteries that hold you the longest, that keep you coming back to them. Your learning piano is a favorite, as well as your camera and the telephone. The record feature is the best thing ever with that phone, too, because now I can hear my own tinny voice repeating that same phrase over and over and over again until you decide it’s time to move on. I wake up some mornings with the songs from that piano in my head. At least the camera doesn’t sing. Just runs out of batteries five minutes after you figure out how to make the flash go. You like other toys, too, though. Some days we can build blocks forever. I build, you knock over. It’s a perfect distribution of duties. And every once in awhile, lately, you’ve even tried to stack up a block or two on your own. I don’t knock yours over, though, because you like the demolition duty too much to give it up entirely.

Maybe it’s the impending calm and quiet. Maybe it’s how you know what’s coming, how our routine comforts you. Maybe it’s more than that, but your bedtime is still one of my favorite parts of every day. I think it has something to do with me, too. During the day, I can often become distracted with all the adult things that I’m supposed to worry about. I get caught up in my own cares, sometimes, or even in general housework and routine maintenance. I don’t always focus as much of my undivided attention on you as we both might like. But at bedtime, there is nothing else I need to do for that hour but be with you. We pick up your toys, I get you, you get me, we jump and dance and tickle and genuinely enjoy each other’s company throughout the whole process of getting ready for bed. Sometimes I feel like maybe Dad and I should take turns doing bedtime with you, but I don’t think I’m ready to give any of it up. And as long as he doesn’t know what he’s missing, I’m not going to tell him if you don’t.

There’s one more thing about your bedtime that gets me right where it counts. You still fall asleep in my arms almost every night, and maybe that’s a bad habit for us, especially as you get longer and heavier and my muscles are having trouble keeping up, but it’s still sweet. When your eyes finally close, the features on your face soften, and I see my baby there. You are still my baby, still there, the same, but so much more. You’ll always be my baby, and sometimes when you’re awake, I rock you and call you, “baby.” It’s almost like a game. You smile up at me and repeat, “baby,” as though you know exactly what I mean.

Love,
Mommy

I never mean to leave my woes prominently displayed here at the top of my pages for all eternity. But sometimes, when the stuff you want to happen starts happening, it’s hard to find the time. Or words.

It doesn’t look like I thought. In fact, even though I find myself very excited about the motivation level in our household, the details are a little bit intimidating.

I’ve always said that I’m willing to sacrifice now for a big-picture-payoff later. So it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. I thought that it was already happening, and partly, it was. But I need to step up my game.

Our money situation, like everyone else’s right now, is starting to look a little bleak. Even though we’ve cut some of what we thought was bleeding us dry, there’s more work that needs to be done. We are still spending more than we make. Significantly. And I’m not sure if I hadn’t actually seen it before, or if I willed myself blind.

So we’re really cutting back to basics. Spending for need and sacrificing the want. I’ll be eating my sandwiches on cheap bread instead of fancy bagels. Cereal instead of muffins. Learning to cook more from scratch. Using less meat per meal, more rice, pasta, vegetables. Maybe even letting the digital transition kill our broadcast TV altogether.

I’ve got to call the bank to see about a credit card consolidation loan. Because if I can cut our monthly payments down to something closer to half of what they are, with lower fixed interest and no prepayment penalties, it will free up a nice chunk of the current income for those pesky things like gas, doctor’s appointments or beans.

I worked five hours overnight at the store last night. And I’m going to do it again on Monday. Because as tired as I was today, at least I didn’t have to worry about childcare. But the overnight opportunity with my current employer is a temporary one, unfortunately.

Which brings me to the next dot on the map. A stop I was hoping not to have to make. And it might not work out, but I have to try. I’m looking into a second job. Because as much as we cut expenses, there’s only so much we can do with our mortgage and the rest of our bills needing to be paid every month like they do. So the other option? Increase income.

I’m exploring my options with a fine-toothed comb, because I won’t be able to raise the bottom line with any authority if I have to pay out for childcare. Which means my availability is limited due to my husband’s long days at his full time gig. Work at home work is pretty scarce (if it’s even legit), but there is at least one lead I’m gearing up to follow next week. We’ll see how it goes.

In the meantime, I’m also very proud of my husband and how he has started to step up his game right there with me. I still pray four our continued devotion to the bigger pictures, to each other, to ourselves. And though I’ve too often found myself the disappointed optimist, apparently I never learn, because I do think these current investments will pay off big time in the end.

Him: I love you.
Me: That’s why I don’t worry about money. Because you love me.
Him: Funny, that’s exactly why I do.

Every night at bedtime with my son, I say a prayer. I start with appreciation. It’s a nice quiet time to reflect on the day, to tell my boy how much I enjoyed spending time with him, how glad I am that he’s in my life and part of my family. If we had some tough moments, I might apologize for losing my cool or reiterate a lesson that might not have gotten through in the heat of a tantrum. But even if I have to make a Herculean effort to find the silver lining in a day, I make sure to emphasize the positive always.

Once I’m feeling good and grateful, I start with the petitions. But I’ve stopped asking for certain things. My mind has changed, and instead of asking for list items like a job or some extra money, I focus my energy on determining the qualities and attributes that will help me to lead a more fulfilling life in general.

I pray for patience and wisdom. I pray for strength of spirit to help me work through difficult emotions and tiresome frustrations. I pray for passion and drive. An open heart and an abundance of love with which to fill the hearts of my husband, my son and the rest of our family.

In a way, I think that my prayers for myself have helped me to become a better person over time. Not perfect. But better. By uttering these various requests out loud in the presence of God and my own son, they take up residence at the back of every daily action and interaction. I have become mindful. I have gained insight and perspective. I try to embrace the positive and release the negative, though this can be difficult.

And things have been good. Until I find myself reaching another breaking point, where even a whispered bedtime prayer doesn’t seem to do much.

And I realize that though I am still flawed, the direction that my life takes also depends upon people and circumstances that are beyond my control. I get to feeling like I’ve been driving for hours without a map. I hardly know where the next rest stop is, much less the next destination, and I think it’s long passed time for me to pull over and ask directions.

Every time I start to think that we’re on our way to someplace awesome, we seem to get a flat tire. Or hit a road block, construction, detours. And while I realize that life is more about the journey than the destination, I’m sick of sitting in traffic or being stuck in mud. Even if we don’t end up where we thought we would, it might be nice to feel the wind a little bit, to be on our way to anywhere.

Days like these I spend inside my head. Praying for something I cannot name.

One afternoon this week, I drew myself a map. The places had been in my head for awhile, but the map is words, color, distance–visible. It’s a picture of dreams turned to goals plotted on a time line with the necessary steps arranged in bulleted lists. It’s simple. It’s realistic. It’s become a reminder to inspire what I hope will be a lingering motivation for me. And I hope that when I finally find the right opportunity to show my co-pilot, maybe he’ll manage to find his own motivation in it somewhere, too. Because I’m sick of being the only one moving, even if it’s only going to be in circles for awhile.

Hi. I finally uploaded a whole mess of pictures to my Flickr pages. Click the photo below to go check ‘em out.

Dear Michael,

I’m about a week late with your monthly letter. I’ve been trying to find some time to sit down and reflect on the last month of your life, and you know what I’ve discovered? The life of the mother of an 18-month-old doesn’t easily lend itself to quiet time for thorough reflection.

The thing is, your grandma and grandpa D came into town this week, and we’ve been very busy spoiling you with their love in the form of lots of food, fun, and yes, even toys and gifts. I foolishly thought that having the two of them around might allow for a few extra moments of mommy-alone time (maybe to write a letter to my boy), but that has not exactly been the case, which is not a bad thing at all in that we’ve had an awesome week so far: going out to dinner, into DC to see some museums that echo your voice, jumping in puddles, swimming at the hotel pool, shopping, and replacing some plumbing. Well, that last one was your dad and grandpa, mostly, though you do have some tools to practice with for next time. In any case, we’ve been busy, and busy having fun. I hope that you don’t miss these new late bedtimes and funny routines too much when they’re gone, though. But you’ve handled this week’s changes to your daily schedule with the same nonchalance and grace as you have any other disruption in your past, so I know I shouldn’t worry.

I’m not going to ramble on forever, because, go figure, I’m a little short on time. I just want to mention that you now know that the dog says, “woof,” the cat says, “meow,” the chicken says, “bok-bok,” the frog says, “ribbit,” the lion says, “rar,” and the cow says, “moo.” We’re still working on monkeys and ducks, but it’s pretty awesome how well you started to know your animal sounds, gaining this knowledge seemingly overnight.

One of the cutest things that you do lately is when you are puzzled or perplexed, you furrow your eyebrows, put your hand to your chin or out to your sides, you look around and say, “hmmm.” At first we wondered where you got that from, and then I started to notice how I sometimes respond to information that I hear in conversation. I say, “hmmm,” as in, “wow, that’s interesting/impressive/total suck.” I must also say it when I’m looking for something I’ve misplaced, or in other similar circumstances.

You still say, “hi” to everyone you see. They are all your friends, and you are not shy about including grown people in your games. I think you’re still a little suspicious of the ones your own size, though, and you tend to hoard toys and keep to yourself when we are in groups with other kids. You have learned that you can control the volume of your voice, and you alternate wildly from whispers to shouts and back again. You still say a lot of “no,” but you’re also learning that a “please” will get you more than a point and a whine, so that’s something.

I don’t know if I’ll find another moment to write more, but I’ll try to post some pictures of you here in the next couple of days. I am so proud that you’re my flesh and blood, and I love you at the age that you are right now, though I do occasionally wonder what happened to my baby. I can’t wait to see what amazing thing you discover tomorrow, and I hope that my example can always (or mostly) be a good one for imitation.

Sincerely,
Mommy

I decided to go to the grocery store last night after M was in bed because I didn’t want to have to try to fit that into my day today. I needed a few things for the dinner I’m preparing for my family and our guests this evening. I’m making spaghetti and meatballs. Mmmm.

It’s not often that I leave the house without a 23lb bundle of energy at my side, and every time I do, I am struck by how intensely different a simple errand can be once the boy-factor is taken out of the equation.

I love going grocery shopping with my kid. He’s adorable and curious. He likes to push the cart, and he even sometimes listens to me when I tell him to put things back onto the shelves from which he snatched them. He makes everyone smile, saying “hi” to each person we pass in the aisles. He is the reason for so many of my daily conversations.

So when he’s not with me, it’s almost spooky the amount of silence that surrounds me. Some people will make eye-contact and smile, especially the little ones, but mostly, everyone’s on their own mission. Without the force of nature that is a toddler coming at them, they remain focused. And silent.

Without M, there’s no small talk with strangers, neighbors. There seems to be an invisible buffer that separates me from the rest of the world. A valley or void. M fills the space, becomes a bridge and closes the distance between me and my community. His impulses give me permission to cross. To smile, say hello, goodbye, to sing.

This is something I never noticed or missed before he came into my life.

And now? Even though the silence can be kind of nice sometimes, especially after a long, wet, crabby day, it also makes me grateful for the noise, the whirlwind, the shouting, whispering son in my life.