Side by Side

So, it's funny when your child turns 1; suddenly, there's a buzz. Suddenly you can tell that people are just awaiting the announcement of a second child. The question, "So how are you today?" is loaded with implications and hopes that you'll respond to those implications. So it's not with a little snarky satisfaction when people come into my home, look around, and see this on the refrigerator:

"Oh my gosh! What is that?!" they exclaim.

"Oh no," I say sweetly, laughing, "That's Will's."

I have never gotten over having his ultrasound pics hung up for all to see. Even though pregnancy is an experience best left forgotten, I remember the day of that ultrasound as the day that I found out I was going to have a son. It was the day, for me, which began the transformation from being merely a pregnant woman to becoming a mother. This wasn't just a baby; it was a boy. A man-cub, a man-child. Something about knowing the gender made my role as a mother a little more clear.

Right now, Will is in the best stage. I've been saying that for about 6 months, but it's true. This phase is so rewarding. I love that he is talking and carrying on conversations. I love that when I'm not understanding what he wants me to go see, he will simply slip his perfect hand in mine and lead me there. I love that he is nice to other kids. I love that he has personality and silliness just spilling out of him every waking moment. I love that he believes he is capable of anything. I love his infectious belly laugh, his kisses, and his random need to strip down to his diaper. I guess it's short-sighted, but I can't imagine motherhood being more rewarding than it is right now. Even when I am tired and frustrated, there is a sweetness that pervades my relationship with this little guy. Loving him has never been an option; it simply is.

Therefore, it is with even more satisfaction that when people come into the house from now on, they will see this:

Can't wait to meet Tinglet #2. Coming July 2011. Woot!

Spaghetti

Why I Am Not a Painter

BY FRANK O'HARA

"I am not a painter, I am a poet.

Why? I think I would rather be

a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg

is starting a painting. I drop in.

“Sit down and have a drink” he

says. I drink; we drink. I look

up. “You have SARDINES in it.”

“Yes, it needed something there.”

“Oh.” I go and the days go by

and I drop in again. The painting

is going on, and I go, and the days

go by. I drop in. The painting is

finished. “Where’s SARDINES?”

All that’s left is just

letters, “It was too much,” Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of

a color: orange. I write a line

about orange. Pretty soon it is a

whole page of words, not lines.

Then another page. There should be

so much more, not of orange, of

words, of how terrible orange is

and life. Days go by. It is even in

prose, I am a real poet. My poem

is finished and I haven’t mentioned

orange yet. It’s twelve poems, I call

it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery

I see Mike’s painting, called SARDINES."

Today has been one of those days when it's difficult to remember the importance of what I am doing. I'm tired, and for the first time ever, I got tired of hearing, "Mama!" for the umpteenth time. I want a break with no responsibility more than hearing a massage therapist tell me it's time to turn over. But, as I keep reminding myself, all the tedious little parts of being a mom are important. All of them. It bothers me to ear the older sisters in Relief Society talk about how, looking back, they wish they had spent less time worrying about keeping the house clean, etc. The truth is, it's as important as any part of it. Kids respond to the atmosphere they live in. We can love them and teach them what is right, but if we don't have a home that is comfortable and inviting, our children won't feel comfortable there. And if they don't feel comfortable at home, chances are they're going to seek out wisdom from sources other than their parents.

I remembered this poem that I studied for one of my literature classes at the U. I loved it then, and it's taken on new meaning for me tonight. Something about how the seemingly insignificant and mundane things we do everyday still matter. In the end, there were no sardines in the painting and no oranges in the poems. If the titles of the respective artworks hadn't been "Sardines" and "Oranges," no one would have ever known those concepts had anything to do with the finished product, when, really, the original concept of them was instrumental in how the finished piece turned out. What brush strokes existed before the ones you see in front of you? Do they matter, or don't they? I'm inclined to think that they do, even if the ultimate, finished piece IS more important.

Sometimes I wish someone was here to bear witness of all the strokes, from the blank canvas to the finished product. I wish someone could see the living room for the first 10 minutes after I've picked up all the toys, or the kitchen floor before it gets re-muddled. It seems everything a mother and homemaker does can be undone again oh so easily. It takes some serious inspiration to have the motivation to keep going and to keep believing, every day, that all these little things make a difference. Some days, I admit, I don't think they do.

And then, just now, Will comes and wraps his arms around my neck and whispers, "Mama," so sweetly. A far cry from the demanding tone of the same word just an hour ago. And somehow I know, with just that one expression, that it DOES matter, that I AM making a difference, that somehow, somewhere in his tiny little body, all of these boring, mindless tasks are registering. Somehow they actually are communicating to him that he is a loved, respected, and valued member of this family.

He knows he's being taken care of. Somehow, it translates. Somehow, it's all worth it.

The Giants won the World Series. There was MUCH rejoicing in our home.

Will was a skeleton for Halloween, but as he is in constant motion, this was the best I got.

He has started a new phase; I'm not really sure what to call it, but is entails him stripping off all the clothes he knows how. This is was he looks like some days when the mood strikes him right:

And lastly, for more than a month now, at least one person in this household has been ill. I THINK we're starting to come out of it. But for a while, we all felt like this:

It's Autumn Time!

I love autumn time. The ONLY thing I dislike about it is the fact that winter is right around the corner. As we speak, it's snowing outside. Yuck and yuck. I love autumn-type things, though: roasting vegetables, apple cider, changing leaf colors, sweaters/jackets/long-sleeved t's, the crisp air. Most invigorating.

This year we spent fall break up in Washington with my parents. We (me and Chris) celebrated our birthdays there, and got to take Will to a farm/pumpkin patch. I haven't been to a place like this since I was little. Heaps of fun. Will loved it, and his favorite new word is pumpkin, pronounced "punkin."

On the flight home, I peeked out the window as we were landing, and found that sections of the Great Salt Lake had turned a vibrant pink. Wild, huh?

Cutest. Kid. Ever.

Well, two things are pretty much certain these days: 1.) my baby is no longer a baby, but a LITTLE BOY, doing and saying little boy things, and 2.) he's pretty much the cutest things you've ever seen. This little boy is such a joy to be mom to. I sincerely can't imagine a better kid. He's so very sweet and good natured that it even makes up for the fact that this last Sunday he took off running just as the sacrament was being passed, and Chris and I actually had to run up to the front of the chapel to surround and corral him. Mort-if-y-ing.

Here are some recent pics from my phone:

Some bits about this little guy:

*Loves to spit, thanks to Madagascar, which he calls "way, way" (Move It, Move It)

*"Punkin, punkin!" (It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown) is probably his favorite show ever. Half the day he wanders around talking about "Punkin, punkin." We're trying to get a good video; it cracks us up every time.

*Loves to clean up. If he finds a wipe or a dish towel, he begins wiping down whatever surface is nearest.

*Has an extensive vocabulary for his age, though half of what he says only Chris and I can understand.

*Loves to sing from the primary children's songbook.

*Has loved seeing Grandma Tingey, Grandma Higgs, and Pop-Pop all within the last few weeks.

We spent Chris's fall break in WA with my parents; I've got some great pics but want to edit them first. It was a great trip. Chris and I are so lucky to have come from such amazing families.