Carson is almost six months old now...and he runs our household. When he laughs, so do all of us. It's absolutely contagious.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Season of Giving
Ella has a new pink coat and a matching, fur-lined purse. She carries the purse with her everywhere she goes, toting at least a pound of pennies from her piggy bank. We decided to do some last-minute Christmas shopping at The Greene, so it was only natural that Ella wanted to drag along the purse. "You'll lose it," I said, and rolled my eyes as we attempted to buckle her into her carseat. She had her doll Ava stuffed into her coat and her pink purse clutched tightly to her chest. She persisted and I gave in.
We got to The Greene: I didn't have change for the parking meter, and neither did Derek. Ella produced three shiny quarters, which bought us the exact amount of time we needed to shop. We shopped and bought and moved in and out of stores, and Ella never lost sight of that purse.
On our way back to the car we saw a beautiful live nativity scene. We took it in for a moment and talked about the true meaning of Christmas. They had a sign up: "Donations are warmly appreciated." I suggested to Ella that I was going to give, and she dug her tiny purse from the bottom of Carson's stroller. Derek lifted her high, and we watched as she dumped the majority of her precious coins into the metal container.
That was my Christmas gift — that no matter how much we have screwed up our youth, our cars, and almost every new year's resolution, there is one area where Derek and I are doing something right. That little something just gave of herself for the benefit of others, who were there to tell an important story on a cold winter's evening. And that, my sweet daughter, is something I want you to read about when you are feeling down on yourself someday. I'll hold this memory forever.
Friday, December 11, 2009
In Stitches
The story begins with an excited 4 year old. She stands at the end of a long, carpeted hallway in a pair of rubber-soled mary janes. She builds speed toward the drinking fountain, rubber catches carpet, and she goes flying. Her skull hits the corner of a concrete-block wall.
The next chapter includes a hysterical grandma, a blood-spattered Aunt Andrea, and a Daddy who scooped everyone up and got us to the ER in minutes. I had time to pack a few blankets and stuffed animals, and off we went.
We learned that the cut was through the skin and muscle. We held out for a plastic surgeon...she's a girly-girl, and it's her face, after all.
Dr. Hicks arrived around 11pm, not thrilled to be called in from his slumber. He silently worked on her for almost an hour with Derek close by to hold Ella's hand. (I was pacing the halls and wiping tears.) At the point Derek saw her cranium, he broke into a sweat and asked for a chair. Ella was tearful but more brave than either of us expected.
The story ends with Dr. Hicks finishing the outer layer of stitches around midnight. Ella's sweetness had completely won him over. As he wiped away the iodine, the ER nurses and I heard a tiny sound. It was Ella, whistling a Christmas carol from under the surgical barrier blanket.
The next chapter includes a hysterical grandma, a blood-spattered Aunt Andrea, and a Daddy who scooped everyone up and got us to the ER in minutes. I had time to pack a few blankets and stuffed animals, and off we went.
We learned that the cut was through the skin and muscle. We held out for a plastic surgeon...she's a girly-girl, and it's her face, after all.
Dr. Hicks arrived around 11pm, not thrilled to be called in from his slumber. He silently worked on her for almost an hour with Derek close by to hold Ella's hand. (I was pacing the halls and wiping tears.) At the point Derek saw her cranium, he broke into a sweat and asked for a chair. Ella was tearful but more brave than either of us expected.
The story ends with Dr. Hicks finishing the outer layer of stitches around midnight. Ella's sweetness had completely won him over. As he wiped away the iodine, the ER nurses and I heard a tiny sound. It was Ella, whistling a Christmas carol from under the surgical barrier blanket.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Four Days Away
Once per quarter, I leave the boundaries of what's offered in Dayton Ohio (!) to seek out the latest-and-greatest trends and color forecasts. The Art Directors go, and we shop and scout and have meetings to determine what's the right direction for our product lines. While our destination is usually New York, this time we opted for Los Angeles.
It was one thing for me to travel on business when we had Ella...and quite another with a second baby. I packed 6 different bags. I made calendars for Derek's mom and my mom since they would be helping, and typed up a schedule to help them decipher Carson's coos and howls. I bought gel packs, ice, a nursing shawl, small coolers, aluminum foil, bubble wrap and fedex supplies to ship Carson's frozen milk back to him from the sunny west coast before it melted. Let me tell you, it's hard to be a good mom from thousands of miles away.
After all that preparation (and once I had made it through security with what certainly looked like the makings of a meth lab in my suitcase) I finally took my seat on the plane headed west. The agenda was packed and the days were long, but the payoff was huge. Mollee, Renee and I left with a very good idea of what our 2010/2011 lines could offer.
But if I'm being honest, I think the biggest payoff of my first time away is this: I got to step away for awhile and be the girl in the big city. I got to be creatively inspired and surrounded by beauty. I got to stretch out on a big fluffy bed in a beautiful hotel, and wake up with a great cup of coffee on the penthouse sundeck.
Then I got to come home to a family who tripped over each other with stories to share, who snuggled close to tell me they love me, who mentioned again and again how much I was missed. I am thankful that we have such wonderful mothers who made my departure easier on Derek...and I am grateful for a short respite from spit-up and diapers, to remind me of how good and sweet this time is after all. Sometimes the beauty of what we have is more clearly revealed upon stepping away from it for a moment. What a view.
It was one thing for me to travel on business when we had Ella...and quite another with a second baby. I packed 6 different bags. I made calendars for Derek's mom and my mom since they would be helping, and typed up a schedule to help them decipher Carson's coos and howls. I bought gel packs, ice, a nursing shawl, small coolers, aluminum foil, bubble wrap and fedex supplies to ship Carson's frozen milk back to him from the sunny west coast before it melted. Let me tell you, it's hard to be a good mom from thousands of miles away.
After all that preparation (and once I had made it through security with what certainly looked like the makings of a meth lab in my suitcase) I finally took my seat on the plane headed west. The agenda was packed and the days were long, but the payoff was huge. Mollee, Renee and I left with a very good idea of what our 2010/2011 lines could offer.
But if I'm being honest, I think the biggest payoff of my first time away is this: I got to step away for awhile and be the girl in the big city. I got to be creatively inspired and surrounded by beauty. I got to stretch out on a big fluffy bed in a beautiful hotel, and wake up with a great cup of coffee on the penthouse sundeck.
Then I got to come home to a family who tripped over each other with stories to share, who snuggled close to tell me they love me, who mentioned again and again how much I was missed. I am thankful that we have such wonderful mothers who made my departure easier on Derek...and I am grateful for a short respite from spit-up and diapers, to remind me of how good and sweet this time is after all. Sometimes the beauty of what we have is more clearly revealed upon stepping away from it for a moment. What a view.
Trick or Treat
I've never been a fan of Halloween, maybe because I've never had a love for masks or for candy. Show me a neighborhood where people give out Coldstone Creamery door-to-door and everyone promises NOT to wear strange plastic faces, and you'd have a deal. However...since our little crumb-crunchers entered the scene, the holiday is a whole lot more fun.
Ella decided on a butterfly fairy costume this year, and what a lovely little pink lady she was.We joined the Painters for a celebration at their place, with Willa and Zoe in tow.
Carson didn't object to the pumpkin suit that his sister wore a few years before. He was a pretty good sport about the whole thing and found Pam completely hilarious!
Ella decided on a butterfly fairy costume this year, and what a lovely little pink lady she was.We joined the Painters for a celebration at their place, with Willa and Zoe in tow.
Carson didn't object to the pumpkin suit that his sister wore a few years before. He was a pretty good sport about the whole thing and found Pam completely hilarious!
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The New Normal
We're all doing our best to get used to life on the Merry-Go-Round. Ella is back at Montessori, Derek's classes have begun, and I have been back at work for three weeks, where I've cashed in all my "I dunno, that must have happened while I was out" chips. Now I'm in the thick of it. Balance is not something that comes easily to me; I spend a great deal of time, especially now, doing one thing and thinking of another in a feeble attempt to cover all my bases. Derek and I ask each other daily: before we had kids, what did we do all day? It's crazy, and hectic, but filled with belly laughs and fairy dust. I wouldn't trade a thing.
Carson has had an insatiable appetite, and now we know why; three weeks ago, he weighed 12.5 pounds and now—SIXTEEN! He is a tiny cherub with a contagious giggle that I'll try to post as soon as I can catch it on video.
Ella has had a little anxiety about being knocked down the totem pole. It has manifested itself in her adoption of two alter egos; the first is Baby Kelly, who crawls around, climbs on the boppy pillow and wants to sleep in Mommy's bed. We had some family visit last weekend and they brought her a pair of pink footie pajamas, which threw Ella into a total state of nirvana. She has not taken them off since. The grocery, the pharmacy, where ever. We make her wear normal clothes for school, but otherwise I maintain that a kid has only a few years where silly reigns. She could add a feather boa and a collander as a hat, and that would be fine with me.
The second of her new personas is the one who practices independence. She stands at the door with her backpack, staring through the glass with a dreamy look in her eye, plotting an elaborate trip to New York to see The Lion King on Broadway. She sings all the songs and talks to us about showtimes. Her newest trick is to capture the perfect vibrato by pounding her chest at the end of every long note. We do our best not to laugh, since this aspiration is a very serious matter. Maybe someday we'll be giving her a standing ovation.
Carson has had an insatiable appetite, and now we know why; three weeks ago, he weighed 12.5 pounds and now—SIXTEEN! He is a tiny cherub with a contagious giggle that I'll try to post as soon as I can catch it on video.
Ella has had a little anxiety about being knocked down the totem pole. It has manifested itself in her adoption of two alter egos; the first is Baby Kelly, who crawls around, climbs on the boppy pillow and wants to sleep in Mommy's bed. We had some family visit last weekend and they brought her a pair of pink footie pajamas, which threw Ella into a total state of nirvana. She has not taken them off since. The grocery, the pharmacy, where ever. We make her wear normal clothes for school, but otherwise I maintain that a kid has only a few years where silly reigns. She could add a feather boa and a collander as a hat, and that would be fine with me.
The second of her new personas is the one who practices independence. She stands at the door with her backpack, staring through the glass with a dreamy look in her eye, plotting an elaborate trip to New York to see The Lion King on Broadway. She sings all the songs and talks to us about showtimes. Her newest trick is to capture the perfect vibrato by pounding her chest at the end of every long note. We do our best not to laugh, since this aspiration is a very serious matter. Maybe someday we'll be giving her a standing ovation.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Huddle
This magical 10 weeks has come to an end. Tomorrow marks the day that I put on clothes without spit-up stains or drawstrings to rejoin the ranks of the Corporate Mom. Derek and Ella will follow shortly behind, returning to their daily obligations at school.
Derek and I, who have spent the last decade working full-time with the obligatory two weeks of vacation per year, were both allowed a reprieve from the daily grind for an entire summer as we welcomed our tiny boy into the world. What a gift to be afforded this time together to batten down the hatches and focus on what’s most important. It’s a scary proposition to some couples, I’m sure. Truth be told, I had some anxiety about an entire summer with no agenda and the three of us cooped up at home with our newborn. At the end of it, we know each other—I mean REALLY know each other—and we are stronger for it. I can pre-empt an Ella meltdown, use analogy to explain a loose concept in her language, or place a pillow behind Derek's head just before he sinks back in exhaustion. The signs had been there all along, but I was too preoccupied to see them. The bond is deeper now as Derek and I finish each other’s sentences. When Carson cries for visitors, we share a knowing glance. We know a hungry cry from the one that means he needs to be held a different way. We went from being splintered housemates with our cellphones and schedules and daycare pickups, to an inward-faced circle called Family. And the beauty of it all? When this huddle formed, we opened our eyes to really look at each other for the first time in months. Imagine my relief as I found myself staring at my three favorite people on earth. I knew that as Carson got to know this crazy family he was born into, he would soon feel the same way.
There are days that I’m sure he was ready to turn around and go back from whence he came...most likely the times that my hormones and sleep deprivation left me crying alongside him until the cadence of our midnight whimpers began to align. Then there are days we introduced him to uncontrollable laughter...tenderness...love. From his swing, he watched his dad and sister act as Baloo and Mowgli, crooning the entire duet of "The Bear Necessities," complete with swinging arms and booty-wiggles. He heard Van Morrison pour through the house as my exhausted embrace from Derek evolved into a slow dance in the moonlight of our art studio. He listened as Ella learned to read. He watched me mix paint for her while explaining how to paint a summer sky.
Indeed, he’s seen us at our worst and best. He felt his sister’s hand—the one that looked so small to us a few months ago—turn his head so she could whisper nightly secrets to him, most involving a tiny sales pitch: “Daddy will make you breakfast shaped like hearts, and Mommy will rub your feet and give you backies when you get bigger,” she'd whisper under the covers. He'd stare quietly back at her, his blue eyes wide open. She'd continue, “and it will make you feel so good you’ll want to kiss them all day.”
We did it. I think he’s decided to stick around.
Derek and I, who have spent the last decade working full-time with the obligatory two weeks of vacation per year, were both allowed a reprieve from the daily grind for an entire summer as we welcomed our tiny boy into the world. What a gift to be afforded this time together to batten down the hatches and focus on what’s most important. It’s a scary proposition to some couples, I’m sure. Truth be told, I had some anxiety about an entire summer with no agenda and the three of us cooped up at home with our newborn. At the end of it, we know each other—I mean REALLY know each other—and we are stronger for it. I can pre-empt an Ella meltdown, use analogy to explain a loose concept in her language, or place a pillow behind Derek's head just before he sinks back in exhaustion. The signs had been there all along, but I was too preoccupied to see them. The bond is deeper now as Derek and I finish each other’s sentences. When Carson cries for visitors, we share a knowing glance. We know a hungry cry from the one that means he needs to be held a different way. We went from being splintered housemates with our cellphones and schedules and daycare pickups, to an inward-faced circle called Family. And the beauty of it all? When this huddle formed, we opened our eyes to really look at each other for the first time in months. Imagine my relief as I found myself staring at my three favorite people on earth. I knew that as Carson got to know this crazy family he was born into, he would soon feel the same way.
There are days that I’m sure he was ready to turn around and go back from whence he came...most likely the times that my hormones and sleep deprivation left me crying alongside him until the cadence of our midnight whimpers began to align. Then there are days we introduced him to uncontrollable laughter...tenderness...love. From his swing, he watched his dad and sister act as Baloo and Mowgli, crooning the entire duet of "The Bear Necessities," complete with swinging arms and booty-wiggles. He heard Van Morrison pour through the house as my exhausted embrace from Derek evolved into a slow dance in the moonlight of our art studio. He listened as Ella learned to read. He watched me mix paint for her while explaining how to paint a summer sky.
Indeed, he’s seen us at our worst and best. He felt his sister’s hand—the one that looked so small to us a few months ago—turn his head so she could whisper nightly secrets to him, most involving a tiny sales pitch: “Daddy will make you breakfast shaped like hearts, and Mommy will rub your feet and give you backies when you get bigger,” she'd whisper under the covers. He'd stare quietly back at her, his blue eyes wide open. She'd continue, “and it will make you feel so good you’ll want to kiss them all day.”
We did it. I think he’s decided to stick around.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sand and Sun: Gulf Shores 2009
We had 2 weeks left before my return to work, Ella's return to Montessori, and Derek's fall classes. It was definitely time to join the Sands clan and head south for our annual trip to the beach. In the matter of 10 days, we were able to experience:
A first exposure to beach life...
a few good laughs...
and I realized that this family can laugh through a hurricane...
(or maybe just blessed.)
Lastly, we made time for a few afternoon naps
and some important family huddles.
We got home last night and I am already thinking ahead to what next Tuesday brings. This magical summer will come to an end and we'll all get back on the hamster wheel. I am trying not to think about it, but it looms ahead like an approaching storm cloud.
But I'll save my thoughts on that for another post. For now I'm basking in the golden afterglow of a week at the shore.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Month by Month
Today you are one month old, baby Carson. Someday you'll love seeing how you grew...even before you entered this big bright world.
one month pregnant (above)...
three months...
five months...
seven months...
nine (and a half) months...
ONE priceless month...of YOU.
one month pregnant (above)...
three months...
five months...
seven months...
nine (and a half) months...
ONE priceless month...of YOU.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Instructions for the Return to Normalcy after having a baby:
Get out of the house every day for an hour, doing something
you used to do...even if it means answering the sweet siren song
of your local Target store.
Find your BFF's and let them spoil you with laughter.
Keep taking pictures. (The camera will never know the explosive sounds from under this lovely blue blanket.)
Graciously greet and thank your food fairies. We were lucky enough to have three this week!
Get outside for some fresh air and sunlight.
Keeping speaking softly to the baby, so eventually he will stop staring at you like he's been abducted by a family of aliens.
Get out of the house every day for an hour, doing something
you used to do...even if it means answering the sweet siren song
of your local Target store.
Find your BFF's and let them spoil you with laughter.
Keep taking pictures. (The camera will never know the explosive sounds from under this lovely blue blanket.)
Graciously greet and thank your food fairies. We were lucky enough to have three this week!
Get outside for some fresh air and sunlight.
Keeping speaking softly to the baby, so eventually he will stop staring at you like he's been abducted by a family of aliens.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Circle Game
From the time we started this blog, our chief objective has been to capture thoughts and memories. I am not exactly the scrapbooking type, so our plan is to keep the blog to record the highs and lows of life as we know it. Whether 100 people see it or 10, the idea is that reality prevails, and we remember things the way they really happened, even if that means the story is not wrapped in a satin bow.
Which brings me to the second week of Carson's presence in our home. While I absolutely adore him and spend a considerable amount of time wiping tears of joy regarding the miracle of this new life, I can also admit that there's a certain amount of frustration in our household right now. Who knew that an eight pound milk mongrel could turn the lives of three perfectly happy people upside down?
I am awake all night. There is no stretch of sleep longer than three hours. And let me tell you, things get pretty surreal around 4am. I watch the clock, waiting for him to finish nursing so I can maybe—just maybe—swaddle him tightly and get some rest. To pass the time I sit in the dark and sing to Carson, wondering every time why I don't keep my iPod on the nightstand next to me. This morning it was "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles, after which I silently congratulated myself for discovering the triple entendre as I nursed my tiny boy. I closed my eyes and imagined a field of flowers on a sunny day, which then became a vision of picnics, which then took me back to food. If God gave out tickets that you could use to have a hot meal appear before you, I'm quite certain that all the nursing mothers of the world would snatch them up before the poor fly-ridden children in Africa could blink an eye.
By 7am (yes, still awake) my thoughts drifted to the fact that our life is now a series of circles; For Derek, it's the clink of the spoon swirling Miralax into Ella's apple juice, since her slight disdain for this situation has resulted in her absolute resolve not to poo. For me, it's the hands of the clock which open their fingers and pin me down at the end of every hour. It's the pattern I rub on his fuzzy head and tiny feet, waking this sweet squeaking squealer who falls asleep at the breast. It's the rise and descent of the sun and moon, which mean nothing to us now. We eat breakfast sometimes at noon, and lunch at 4pm. It all depends on the baby. The dryer hums in an endless clockwise rhythm of Dreft-scented sleepers and burp cloths. For Ella, it's the cycle of visitors who have come through the house, bringing food and gifts for Carson.
Every day is like groundhog day, save for the pattern on my forehead that changes daily, based on what I was leaning against when I dozed off for a few precious moments of sleep. Yesterday it was newsprint; today it was the texture from the wall next to our toilet. My hair is actually curly from the hormonal let down of night sweats, and my makeup drawer has not been opened in weeks now. I have dozens of messages to return and need to get out thank you notes. For now, it will all have to wait until we can step off the rotating carnival ride called Baby Planet.
Which brings me to the second week of Carson's presence in our home. While I absolutely adore him and spend a considerable amount of time wiping tears of joy regarding the miracle of this new life, I can also admit that there's a certain amount of frustration in our household right now. Who knew that an eight pound milk mongrel could turn the lives of three perfectly happy people upside down?
I am awake all night. There is no stretch of sleep longer than three hours. And let me tell you, things get pretty surreal around 4am. I watch the clock, waiting for him to finish nursing so I can maybe—just maybe—swaddle him tightly and get some rest. To pass the time I sit in the dark and sing to Carson, wondering every time why I don't keep my iPod on the nightstand next to me. This morning it was "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles, after which I silently congratulated myself for discovering the triple entendre as I nursed my tiny boy. I closed my eyes and imagined a field of flowers on a sunny day, which then became a vision of picnics, which then took me back to food. If God gave out tickets that you could use to have a hot meal appear before you, I'm quite certain that all the nursing mothers of the world would snatch them up before the poor fly-ridden children in Africa could blink an eye.
By 7am (yes, still awake) my thoughts drifted to the fact that our life is now a series of circles; For Derek, it's the clink of the spoon swirling Miralax into Ella's apple juice, since her slight disdain for this situation has resulted in her absolute resolve not to poo. For me, it's the hands of the clock which open their fingers and pin me down at the end of every hour. It's the pattern I rub on his fuzzy head and tiny feet, waking this sweet squeaking squealer who falls asleep at the breast. It's the rise and descent of the sun and moon, which mean nothing to us now. We eat breakfast sometimes at noon, and lunch at 4pm. It all depends on the baby. The dryer hums in an endless clockwise rhythm of Dreft-scented sleepers and burp cloths. For Ella, it's the cycle of visitors who have come through the house, bringing food and gifts for Carson.
Every day is like groundhog day, save for the pattern on my forehead that changes daily, based on what I was leaning against when I dozed off for a few precious moments of sleep. Yesterday it was newsprint; today it was the texture from the wall next to our toilet. My hair is actually curly from the hormonal let down of night sweats, and my makeup drawer has not been opened in weeks now. I have dozens of messages to return and need to get out thank you notes. For now, it will all have to wait until we can step off the rotating carnival ride called Baby Planet.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Carson's First Week Home
After a long stay at the hospital, we were finally released on Friday night. The comforts of home were calling. I was done being poked and prodded, and Derek's neck was evidence that a hospital guest recliner is no good place for a new Daddy to sleep. Ella was thrilled to bring "her new baby" into the house and start filling his tiny ears with motherly advice.
We are blessed to have such a great little guy...he rarely cries and loves a good snuggle. His only offense so far involves hitting each of us with impressive streams of pee during those 3am diaper changes.
Weeks ago, we noticed a mother wren dive-bombing us as we walked into the house. Turns out she had built a nest in the middle of the fern on our front porch. Day by day, she filled the nest with tiny eggs. We checked it frequently, wondering if her babies would be born by the time ours was. We got home from the hospital and Derek yelled the good news from our porch; she did it.The eggs hatched while we were gone.
I went out today to take this shot and saw their tiny open mouths, waiting for something from mama. I know the feeling well these days (and nights.) I looked up toward the trees—where I'm sure she was anxiously perched—and smiled.
Well done, my fellow mama. Well done.
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