P2

It seems like just yesterday when I was writing my first blog entry for "Baby P." I began that blog just after we got through our Week 12 appointment. And so, to keep with tradition, I am comitting to do the same for P2, whoever he/she may be. We had our 12 week appointment this morning and all is great with me and P2, who has a heartbeat of 165...the same as Emerson. I do not have a "feeling" about the gender, and we do not plan to find out until God is ready to show us P2, so again, lots to look forward to! I also don't believe in the trickeries people use to guess the gender, but I do so love to taunt Jason with them. Since the heartbeat is the same, I couldn't help but tease Jason a bit about having another girl. I truly do not care what gender this child is. I would like a girl b/c I have one, and I think it would be fun to have sisters in our home. On the other hand, I would love a boy b/c I don't have a son, and because from personal experience, there is nothing better than a brother. Either way, I am grateful that Emerson will have a sibling, as she needs someone to give her a run for her money. We'll see.

So, my first sweet experience with my two children happened a couple of weeks ago. Emerson adores watching "The Sound of Music." I recorded the movie when it ran on TV during the holidays, and she just loves watching the singing parts over and over...she is so smart...when the "do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti-do'"song ends, she runs for the remote control so she can play it again. Anyway, she loves to twirl, dance, and giggle to this song, and she loves it when I pick her up, and we dance and twirl together. One night a couple of weeks ago, she and I were singing and dancing, and I realized that it wasn't just she and me. I was dancing with both of my babies, and the most wonderful feeling came over me, and tears welled up in my eyes. I wonder if P2 will like to dance...maybe he or she will like making the music rather than singing and dancing to it. We'll see.

Two Wolves

TWO WOLVES

An elder Cherokee Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me... it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too."

They thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee simply replied... "The one you feed."

Dining Table

I love that each room of my house claims a special purpose.

Often, I will pour a glass of wine and go into the sitting room to take in the quiet and the perspective that I find there. Other rooms are more functional, like the guest bedroom, which is used when my sweet Jason snores. Or, the office to conduct my family business, write this blog, print pictures, etc. Then, there is the dining room. For years, the dining room and its table and chairs have been used, well, for dining or "buffeting"(no, it's not a word, but it should be).

I have hosted intimate dinners for two and parties for 40+ using that room as a usual suspect. But, lately, it has been transformed into something much different by my little Emerson's imagination and her constant drive to laugh and play.

We were all taking it easy last Saturday, and I think Emerson was a bit restless. At one point, I couldn't see where she was, and I couldn't hear her either, which always means one of two things: one, she is hiding and knows to be still and quiet until I find her; or two, she is doing something she knows she shouldn't and is being still and quiet until I find her. In this case she was hiding, under the dining table.

She loves this "game", and I adore it as well because, once found, she becomes a twinkly-eyed, toddler full of smiles and giggles. Most importantly, she becomes the master of her "fort" in which I am a mere pawn.

Where Emerson can squeeze between chairs and table legs, I can not, so I start by making the game more fair by pulling the chairs back from the table. Then the chase around, under, and between the chairs and table begin, lasting for 15 or 20 minutes and always ending with my laying under the table with her on top of me, both of us in a state of panting and laughter. She is always the first to get up, running away to find her next adventure, and I usually follow her.

This day was different. This day, she left while I remained on the floor under the dining room table, looking up at the construction of it. I began to recall the many times I have detached and replaced the table's leaves. I remembered the food and conversations that this table has held. I smiled thinking of all of the celebrations, and even the many moves this table has made with me. It has certainly served its purpose.

But I couldn't help but think that after nearly ten years of sturdy and predictable work, the best purpose it had served was providing my daughter and me a fort under which we could simply play. No table clothes, or centerpieces, no buffets, or china. Just Emerson and me, still in our pjs at 1:00 in the afternoon, giggling together in our fort like the entire world was ours. And it was.

'Home' Is The Nicest Word There Is

There are two known truths about me. Well, maybe more, but there are two about which I feel inclined to write. One, I love the show Little House on the Prairie. And two, I love the holidays. It was just recently that I thought about why these two seemingly unrelated things seem to strike the same chord in my heart.

The main character on LHP, Laura, who is affectionately referred to as "Half-Pint" by her Pa, is a small but tough-minded little girl, who narrates the earlier shows by reading from her journal, her "remembrance book" she started when the family moved from their home in the "big woods." I was always fascinated with how warm and loving the family members were to one another. At the end of the day, no matter what journey or hardship was endured, everyone was home in that little house, around the fire or the kitchen table, sharing a meal and a story of the day's events. Call me old-fashioned, but that just sounds nice to me.

Of course, any episode surrounding the holidays, tugged at my heart even more. I think I have seen the original Christmas episode, well, I literally couldn't count and there is no use trying. Every time though, I cry at the same points in the show. I know they're coming; I tell myself not to; but I just can't keep the tears tucked away when Laura smiles her toothy grin as Mr. Edwards gives her Ma a half dozen sweet potatoes for Christmas. "What a treat," Ma gushes while she chokes back a cry. Call me crazy, but wouldn't it be nice if we could all get excited about someone giving us something as simple as sweet potatoes?

Seriously, the things we take for granted. And that is why I love the holidays. For a few months out of the year, everyone has her priorities straight. Every one's heart is in the right place. We all go home, whether that be with family or friends who we consider family, and we cherish each other, our traditions, our homes.

My holiday traditions start on Labor Day weekend with all of the Fall decorations adorning the doors, tables, mantel and other corners of my house. You won't come over to my home without feeling invited in by the scent of simmering mulling spices.

This year has already been a fantastic Fall because Emerson is old enough to know what is happening and to communicate with me. She loves pumpkins, and boy, do we have enough around the house to make her day. Ask her, "where is the pumpkin," and she will point to every pumpkin in the house; needless to say, it takes a while. Last week, when she was walking around the house showing me the pumpkins, I just had to smile, and well, maybe a little tear came to my eye too. I realized that my love for the holidays and bringing the warmth of them into our home was rubbing off on her in its own little way, and I heard Half-Pint's voice say, "home is the nicest word there is."

Amen.

H-O-T

Being a Mom is so many things.
Two nights ago, it was rewarding.
Emerson has said a dozen or so words now.
I may hear a word like, "apple" a few times and then not hear her say it for weeks.
That's OK by me; apparently, this is a normal learning pattern.
The other night though, Jason got to hear her say a new word.
I was cooking dinner, and like most nights, Emerson got very curious about what I was doing in the kitchen. She walked to me and threw her arms up in the air. I obliged.
While I was holding her with one one arm and stirring the dish with another, I thought to myself that this was a great opportunity to teach her someting new. So, I pointed to the stove and said, "hot." I repeated it several times and said, "Emerson, when Mommy is cooking on the stove it is hot." She looked at me and said...you guessed it, "hot."
Jason looked up from watching the game on TV and smiled at me.
Hot was the word of the night from then on!

It is a quiet day.
Jason is on his way home from hunting.
Emerson is with my parents so that Jason and I can go to a going-away party this evening.

It's just me today.
I ran some errands and then decided to use my alone time to see the movie, Nanny Diaries. I read the book years ago and the movie was as cute as the book.

Alone time is rare time now-a-days, and while I often think about having more of it, I am thankful that I don't.
Have you ever been putting a puzzle together and found that you are missing a few of its pieces? Looking at it, you can see what the whole is like, but it's still impossible to appreciate because those few pieces are missing? That is what alone time is like now. The first few hours are great, but slowly, I realize that there are valuable pieces missing and that everything is not quite whole. It is a good thing to realize that your heart is dependant on someone else.

Love this quote

"With every deed you are sowing a seed, though the harvest you may not see."
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox