Saturday Somethings

As a child, I remember Saturdays as a mixture of things...

Sometimes my family went shopping or swimming, other times we had lots of yard-work to accomplish.

Regardless of what we did, most Saturdays were spent together, as a family. 

Today reminded me of those old days. . .

Lately life passes too quickly. It seems like every weekend is booked full of plans and engagements. I forget to spend time with people I love. These days to simply spend Saturday at home is a treat.

Today feels like a treat.

Today we slept past nine a.m.

We enjoyed our breakfast of milk and cereal and yogurt.

Just the three of us. 

Oliver played peek-a-boo between spoonfuls of yogurt & baby cereal.

Nicholas worked on the yard, we bathed Oliver together, dressed in comfy sweats and cooked lunch together while Oliver pulled plastic lids and containers from his cupboard. I chopped potatoes and yams for french fries while Nick grilled burgers and made a heart out of ketchup on my hamburger bun when I wasn't looking. We sat and talked and smiled and loved each other's company.

Today it didn't matter what we did or how much time we wasted doing nothing.

Because time spent together is never wasted.

Oliver is 10.

Look out, world

I am 10 months old.

& I strongly dislike to wear shoes.

 My little shadow, full of wonder,

toddling unsteadily behind me, the mother.

One chubby hand clings to my stable knee

The other outstretched toward danger, joy, 

unknown objects waiting to be discovered.

He gazes up at my faces, little back arched and head tilted back

to look upon my towering frame.

He cries, "ba-ba, da-da, ma-ma-ma!"

Loudly he shouts these sounds, simple linguistics

True language he has not yet learned

But he understands when we say, "No."

His little personality bursts from behind 

his laugh, his copper curls, 

his twinkling eyes the color of the seas.

He wreaks havoc, yet longs for attention, affection, approval,

a simple smile from "ma-ma" and "da-da"

And his tears, laughter and curiosity

his gleeful squeals as he kicks his little legs

his frustrated tears and exhausted wails

All these emotions and characteristics

 are wrapped in a tiny little individual

wobbling on two chubby legs,

arms reaching for my love.

He is my sun.

I am simple a moon in his orbit

reflecting his joy.

~Bethany

These Mommy Days…

I haven’t blogged in a while…

Lately Oliver & I have spent a lot more time playing, and less time being productive. So far, neither of us mind a bit that we get very little done on the days we spend together. I am preserving memories of him, these days.

Oliver is now eight months old, but I think he believes that he is much older. I am terrified that any day he will let go of the couch and walk without holding on to anything. Sometimes our house gets very quiet and when I find Oliver, he is standing on tip-toe against the television stand or the fireplace or the couch reaching for something dangerous or off-limits to him. When I say to him, “Oliver, what do you think you are doing??” He shoots me a silly grin, displaying his two teeth or waves at me.

Hand-waving is a recent discovery. Oliver recently learned how to wave and now he waves constantly: when he is happy, when he is trying to get my attention, when he is looking at his own reflection, when he is trying to get daddy’s attention, but of course not when he ask him to wave. When he does wave, though, it is heart-melting.

Oliver reminds me of my own carefree childhood. We play together and I sing songs to him, and sometimes we dance. And Oliver laughs.

These days, a two-and-a-half-foot little boy with chestnut curls and blue-green eyes fills our world with life and so much love.

~Beth

Grammie-Day

Last year on Nicholas's mother's birthday, we surprised her with the exciting news that we were expecting a little one. One year later, Oliver celebrated with his Grammie on her birthday.

We shared dinner, conversation & laughter, a game of marbles, and yummy cake.

Happy Birthday Grammie-MOM-Diana Sellai :)

& in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years. 

-Abraham Lincoln

my growing boy

My precious little boy turned 4 months yesterday.

I say this every month, but it is always true. I can't believe how quickly he is growing and changing and becoming his own little person. He screams and wails and laughs and babbles to me, his toys, his daddy, anyone and anything that will listen to him. He has an obsession with ceiling fans and light fixtures. He is constantly distracted by them when I am trying to feed him. He sometimes drives me crazy when he cries for no real reason at all except that he wants my undivided attention, usually when I am trying to do housework. But when I stop what I am doing pull him into my arms, he rewards me with one of his radiant joyful smiles, one hand in his mouth and the other clutching tightly to my shirt or arm or hair. Oliver helps me remember that joy can be found in little things: rocking a sleeping baby in my arms; singing and dancing around the kitchen looking completely foolish just to hear Oliver's laughter; watching Oliver play with his cousins on the floor at Grammy's house. 

My heart swells with gratitude for this precious little boy I have been blessed with.