7:00 a.m. Somewhere

It's 7:00 (am) somewhere, right?  Sort of like, it's 5:00 somewhere when one feels the need to justify a very early start to Happy Hour.  Which, now that the subject has been broached, I could really go for one of Aunt Kris' Bloody Marys.  One of these days, we will get back to the cabin again and there can be a post dedicated to AK's Bloody Marys.  They're good.  That good.


Anyway.  Back to 7:00 am.  Somewhere.  Which would justify the fact that it is nearly 5:00 pm, and I have yet to get out of my PJs.  Nope.  I'm not feeling ill either.  It just didn't happen today.  In fact, nothing happened today.  I sort of liked it.  Not the sludge in my veins sort of feeling that's the direct result of planting my behind on the couch and very rarely moving it.

Have I mentioned yet that we're making an attempt at moving.  I shouldn't say it that way.  We are moving.  The purchase agreement for the new house has actually been signed so it will happen.  Eventually.  We're building.  Once the proverbial ducks are in a row, construction will begin.


Last fall, the PODS arrived.  Boy was Channing excited.  There he was in his PJs on the deck, watching every second of the delivery.  Fascinating.  You could just see the wheels turning in his little head.  Mom and Dad just spent a week with us, Dad wrangling Channing and snuggling Sophie while Mom and I cleaned out cupboards, packing away all but the necessities.  The boxes are stacked in the corner of the garage awaiting the arrival of yet another PODS when the time comes to actually move out.  (Know anyone who'd like to rent our lovely townhome in Savage?)


The momentum was building, propelling us forward.  Progress made her presence known.  Then Sophie decided she'd had enough of being ignored for the likes of boxes, packing tape and cleaning supplies.  She wanted attention.  Undivided attention.  Her resulting roar came in the form of another UTI that landed her in the hospital from Sunday through Thursday.

Today, we simply savored the feeling of being at home, coming back to the place where we belong.  We read Hoopdink Not (Hooper Humperdink by Dr. Seuss).  We made roasted apple chicken salad, Channing carefully stirring in each ingredient one by one.  Sophie got back on track with her therapy working on tummy time, rolling on the exercise ball and having plenty of time with her books and eye patch.  Since we were still in our jammies, WM made breakfast for dinner.  Why not?

This post will now make an abrupt left turn as I intended to share these photos last week, and well, you now know why that didn't happen.  This little guy amazes me with his love and compassion and caring.  He wanted to carry Sophie.  

We compromised with the Grinch. 

Baby Bling

I plunked Sophie into the glider in Channing's room in order to help him out of his PJs and into his play clothes.  Don't you just love how she rocks her baby bling?  I know no other nearly six-month-old that can pull off this look so well-vibrant colors, stripes and polka dots all at once.  This little girl has got some style, baby!

Hey Ava!  Sophie loves her new pants!!

These pictures totally crack me up.  Channing's the doting and ever helpful big brother until Sophie invades his space.  He was loving her up and contentedly helping her touch her tactile balls until she got just a little too close.  

A big, brotherly choke hold...er...hug.  

See the spit bubble on Sophie's lips?  He was totally grossed out.  I'm still cracking up.  

The look on his face says it all, doesn't it?

When Joy Overflows

Great magic happens when joy overflows.  Laughter effervesces out of little bellies.  It seeps into the empty places amid tangled arms and legs and is flung wildly about as dresses twirl.  

Kendra and Libby visited Monday much to our delight.   Channing borrowed a dress from Libby.  Libby borrowed a hat from Sophie.  

Dress-up resulted in a quick Green Chair photo shoot, jumping on the bed, a wrestling match, a pretend nap and laughter.  

Peels of laughter.  The kind that makes your cheeks ache and takes your breath away.  Even after their mid-afternoon departure, when the house fell silent and both babes were sleeping, it lingered, that crackle of magic sparked by wee ones at play.  

Daddy Shirt

Channing is head over heals in love with his daddy.  Head over heals.  It melts my heart to watch him emulate the man I fell in love with long ago and the man he so adores.  He is also starting to exert his independence when it comes to many, many things-getting dressed, walking down the stairs, cutting his food and the like.  'Myself' has become one of his favorite words.  

Channing demanded his picture be taken in his Daddy Shirt.
He was insistent that a photo also be taken of his beloved paci.

In the mad rush to get organized yesterday morning, Sophie & I heading to OT at the Courage Center, WC readying himself for a play date with Grandma Kathy, I gave Channing a friendly push in the direction of his room with instructions to pick out a shirt.  

He opened the drawer and pulled out the button down he wore on Christmas Eve.  'Daddy shirt,' he announced.  His little face beamed with pride once said shirt was buttoned and a pair of jeans slipped on.  He knew he was looking good.  Passing on the offer of socks, he scampered downstairs to watch out the window for Grandma.  

As I was tucking the appropriate extras for Sophie into the diaper bag-diapers, an outfit, burp clothes, etc., Channing announced he was going back upstairs.  He returned looking quite dapper and much like his daddy.  The red, silk tie he'd received for Christmas haphazardly slung around his neck.  That's not to say WM would ever look haphazard in his shirt and tie.  He's dashing in every way.  However, one could easily and honesty say his sensibility for mixing plaids, stripes and patterns is his own.  Well, was his own.  Apparently, Channing is following very closely in his footsteps.

Don't you love that the tie is backwards?  It was off and on several times throughout the day.
Each time it was put back on, it was still right-side-in.  

Culinary Magic & Morning Light

A quiet goodbye was said to 2010.  We gathered at Flynn's for a feast like no other.  If you were there, your taste buds were satisfied and happy.  Kathy, with a wee bit of help from a butter knife wielding Channing, chopped and steamed and sauteed her way through the better part of the day.  Her culinary magic wand was waved, resulting in Tandoori inspired Cornish game hens for Walt, a perfectly grilled steak with mushrooms and onions for myself, a whole, steamed lobster for WM and a lobster tail for herself.  Channing had little interest in the good stuff, choosing instead to eat finger jell-o and all of three cooked carrots.  Sophie?  Well, she had her usual.  Milk.  During the majority of the meal, she was snuggled between a blanket and a burp cloth in her baby barcalounger.  If I had a set up like this, even the lure of Kathy's good cookin' may not have been enough to get me to the table.  One word.  COZY.

The arrival of 2011 came without fanfare.  Day 1 was spent in a fog of leftovers, football games, jammied wee ones and naps for nearly all of us.  It came.  It went.  No doubt, I should say something profound here about our hopes for the new year, for all that is to come, and reflect upon the events of 2010.  I simply don't feel like it.  Enough said.  

Yesterday, I reveled in the morning light as it crept into our house, leaving its dappled marks on bedroom walls and casting about dramatic shadows.  With the boys still sleeping, Sophie and I found our way into the nursery, settling into the familiar contour of the green chair, mommy, babe and bottle.  Her wide, trusting eyes never left mine as I coached and encouraged her through an ounce of a bottle, an experience feeling at once familiar and very new.  In Channing's early months, it was rare to nurse him anywhere but the green chair or change his diaper anywhere but on the dresser in his room.  Sophie, with her pump, usually eats with one of us holding her on the couch and has been dressed and changed more often on the living room chair than not.  The nursery I worked so hard to make into her perfect little haven seldom used.  In our shared moment, I wished for WM to sneak in and take our picture.

Alas, Sophie & I did the sneaking, tip toeing into Channing's room once bottle-time was over.  We found one happy brother dancing around in the old pack-n-play and one sleepy WM half awake in the toddler bed.  That's one small bed for a daddy sized body.