Loving This...

I wish I knew how to post this directly onto my blog, but I don't. (If anyone does, comment and let me know!)

Anyhoo, I'm absolutely loving this little musical mix: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0v3d6SFcDys

Growing Greta

At some point, I've blinked, and my little baby has started turning into a little girl. With a personality. And a big heart. And blue eyes that just make you forget everything bad in the world.

I'm still so in love.

Greta's First Cardinals Game

I suppose I'm a little late in posting this, but oh well.

Greta attended her first Major League Baseball game last week. The Cards played the Cubs, and I have no clue who won. Not because I was tending to the baby during the entire game, but because I never know who's winning or losing when I go to the game. I'm there for the people-watching and the hot dogs. Oh, and the nachos.

Greta was there for the ice cream, as evidenced in the photographs. She lasted until the eighth inning. She was quite the trooper.

Memorial Day

I'm embarassed to admit that I always viewed Memorial Day as nothing but the official kick-off for the summer. Beer. BBQ. Catching some rays while lounging by the pool. A day off from work.

One of my favorite bloggers has a husband who has been at war, and she so eloquently writes about how Memorial Day now means so much more to her, especially after her husband lost multiple men from his company in the past year. Check out the photos she links to in her most recent post.

http://www.digitaljournalist.org/issue0604/finalsalute01.html

Definitely sheds new light on the holiday, don't you think?

If Only I Had a Picture

Payton HATES wearing clothes. Our neighbor once bought her a doggie outfit from Old Navy, and Payton refused to look at us until we took it off her. I'm not kidding.

So, I should have known something was up this morning when she sat on the landing and refused to come downstairs. She just peered at me through the stair ballisters with her big, brown sad puppy dog eyes. I knew something was wrong and even commented to Eric that she was acting strangely.

About half an hour later, Eric takes Payton outside to potty. Eric hollers to me, "What's that black thing on Payton?"

I'm confused by this inquiry. His question is vague, given that Payton is black.

I go to the window to see to which he is referring, and there's Payton with my bra looped around her front legs and neck.

I'm sure you're wondering, how did THAT happen? (I'd be wondering, too.) So, last night, I'm sitting at the computer e-mailing, and I was uncomfortable so I took my bra off and threw it on the floor. Evidently, I threw the bra on top of the dog who was sleeping soundly at my feet, and somehow she wrangled herself into it.

How to Charm Me

Thank you, Old Man at Costco, who after seeing I had a 18-lb. baby strapped to my front and a shopping cart full of produce, didn't hesitate for a moment to insist on picking up my two cases of bottled water and loading them onto the bottom of my cart. Sometimes, the sweetness of strangers just amazes me.

It's people like this 75+ year-old man who make up for the other assholes in the world, namely the dude at the post office who stared blankly at me as I carried a baby-loaded pumpkin seat in one hand and a laundry basket full of packed manila envelopes in the other. As I tried to hold the pumpkin seat, balance the laundry basket on my hip and open the door to the post office, he looked at me and said, "Wow, you have your hands full." Thank you, sir. Why, yes, I do.

And then, while walking out of the post office, a woman and her 7 or 8 year-old daughter were entering the building. Again, I had a pumpkin seat in one arm, a laundry basket in the other. Having just mailed all my packages, the laundry basket was empty. None the less, my hands were still full, and it was obvious, as I struggled to open the door to leave the post office. The mother and her daughter just watched as I wrangled to exit the post office lobby. It's not like they did not see me; I heard the little girl say, "Mommy, look at the little baby!"

It's not like I expect people to just cater to me since I have a baby. But, please. Please let me raise Greta to not just say "please" and "thank you" when expected but to go out of her way to do the little things, like holding the door open for strangers -- whether their hands are full or not. I want her to treat others how she would like to be treated. Common courtesy seems like common sense to me.

Today

The sky was so beautifully blue today. Greta and I ran our barefoot feet through the thick green grass in our front yard. It wasn't too chilly or too hot. It was the kind of day that usually would make you desperately yearn to sit outside all day long, just soaking up the sun's warm rays and attempting to master the the art of doing nothing.

I want to forget today. Because all the blue skies in the world can't make me forget the most sobering experience of my life. Today I saw a baby in a casket.

She was dressed in a pristine white baptism gown and matching bonnet. Tucked in the casket with her were her Glo-Worm and a small pewter cross. The things that once comforted her were now useless.

Our friends, Doug and Gena, lost their precious daughter, Kendall on Thursday last week, just four days short of her five-month birthday. Kendall's older sister, Ryann, is sure to be wondering where she is in the upcoming days. Kendall's twin sister, Quinn, has always been a part of a pair and now she is just one. I cannot imagine feeling so empty and incomplete.

Those are my thoughts and feelings. Shattered, in bits and parts. I can pick up the pieces. I only wish for the same for Kendall's sweet broken family. I'm afraid it's impossible.

Oh, my heart aches for them.

I told Doug she looked pretty. I told Gena I didn't know what to say.

Kendall.
She looked so beautiful.
So perfect.
Like an angel.
That's what she is.

Checking In

It's official.
I'm the world's worst blogger.
I promise to write something soon.
For the record, we're all doing well.
Enjoying motherhood, the little things,
the big things. Loving life.