I have something BIG to show you. But...

Ohhh, you guys.

I'm holding out on you.  Because I am now in possession of something so totally cool, your jaw is going to drop.  But I'm not going to show it to you yet.

Why yes, I do believe I have been accused of being a tease.

Our weekend is a bit kooky; we have family in town, a wedding to go to, and of course, a sweet one's first birthday to celebrate.  One day soon, though...  I'm soooooo excited to show you what we've been up to!!!  For, like, months.   We are FINALLY!FINISHED!

And, y'all - it was so worth the wait.

So drop back by in the next few days to see the transformation.  It's BIG.

P.S. - don't you hate it when people get you all hyped and then hold out on you?  Yeah, I hate that too.  {I'm looking at you, Great Gatsby.  DiCaprio - I want my six bucks back.}

Beware the yellow wallpaper {and pink paint}

There is a short story by Charlotte Perkins Gillman called The Yellow Wallpaper. 

When I was in college, it was kind of a BFD to many of my English professors.  Of course, there are reasons for this... many of them slightly pretentious and all of them having to do with the fact that college courses are not regulated across the department, meaning that any professor can pick any work that he or she feels is significant and ultimately resulting in my having read it like four times in different classes.  Sidenote: I also had to write four essays on it.  Another {smarter} student might have recycled the same essay four times... no-ho, not this girl.  One night in my junior year, up late and hyped up on my fifth dose of caffeine as the dummy overachiever who had not one but two completed essays sitting in her file drawer and still trying to find a fresh take, I'm pretty sure I actually became the main character of the story for a while. 

In it's most basic form, short of all feminist-commentary, it is the tale of a woman who is locked in a room with yellow wallpaper.  The longer she is in there, the more the wallpaper starts to take on a life of its own.  And, with nothing else to do but stare at it all day, she eventually looses her marbles and goes completely crazy. 

Friends, we have our own version of this story. Except in our house, the room is pink.

Crazy, maddeningly pink.  Edgar Allen Poe pink.  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and pink.  The kind of pink that pushes sane people to do insane things and breeds serial killers P-I-N-K.

It has long been my least favorite room in the house, and it had to go. 

The trouble has been this: It will eventually be Logan's room, once he's big enough to move out of the nursery.  I didn't want to paint it to match my guest room furniture and bedding (which is green) and then have to redo it in a handful of months for a little boy. 

So it has remained insanely pink since we moved in.

Fortunately, my husband is brilliant (but let's just keep that information to ourselves, kay?) and an outside-the-box thinker.  His suggestion?  Just paint it the color it will be when Logan's ready for it and we'll make the furniture work. 

Um, duh.  Seems like an overly-logical solution - no wonder I didn't think of it. 

So here is the official unveiling of the formerly sociopathic-pink room:

TADA!!!

I am absolutely in love.  It's bright, sunny, and quickly becoming my favorite room in the house.

Since it's only temporary, we shopped our house and used existing pieces, which means that not everything matches perfectly.  The only thing that's new in this entire room are those pillows, which I purchased on clearance.  Since it will ultimately become a little boy's room, I'm not too fussed about it; it's kinda workin' for me regardless.

Oh, and yes, the inside of the closet is blue.  No, we didn't do that, we just have too many projects already in the works to worry about the color of the inside of the closet right now.  {Have you connected the dots yet?  Bright pink room + bright blue closets.  Lovely.}
 

Yes, the walls are yellow, shut up I'm familiar with the term irony.  Hopefully it won't drive anyone to madness. 

So, even though it will only stay this way for the next six months to a year...

...I'm finding it to be a pretty and comfortable space in the mean time.

A letter to my son

My darling boy,

There are so many words waiting and wanting to pour out of me on this, your first and most important birthday.  You see, it may not actually be your most important birthday, but in this moment, the moment you inch that much further away from being a baby - from being my baby - it feels like the only birthday I'll ever care about.  A year ago, one little year ago, I still held you in my tummy instead of my arms.  You didn't especially care to leave, truth be told, and as you know we had a bit of a rough go on the whole getting you out deal.

Twenty four hours was exhausting, but really, it was nothing when Daddy and I had been waiting so long for you.  Hoping and praying you would join our family and fill the space that was waiting for you.  How desperately I wanted you.  How my breath caught when I saw your face for the first time.  How easily you held my heart in those tiny fingers and healed the cracks in my soul as they placed you on my chest.

In so many ways, this year has been difficult on me.  From day one, I felt like I was already a step behind because my body couldn't keep up.  You nursed every two hours for, like, ever.  It may only have been eight months, but I tell you: those were the longest eight months.  You are a pretty rough customer on the ears, what with all the screaming.  And you've certainly decided that I'm your mom, and by heaven I'd better do exactly what you want when you want it.  Or else.

And you know what?  You are completely worth it.  Every second.  Every moment.  I wouldn't trade it for anything in this world or the next.

As much as I want time to slow down, I absolutely adore the little person you are turning into.  Your humor, your vocal insistence on getting your way, your tenacious resolve to conquer every hill that you encounter.  Your fearlessness - even when you're too brave for your (my) own good.  The way you adore your big sister with everything in you.  Watching you stand alone.  The show you put on pushing dining room chairs from one end of the kitchen to the other. Listening to your laugh.  The way you chime in when everyone else is laughing, as if you totally get the joke.

You are such a boy in so many ways, but it is your sweetness, your tenderness that define you.  And you know what?  Boys who are tough and tender rock.  Even better if you can figure out a way to make the girls laugh.  I mean, don't grow up too fast, but remember mommy's advice when you do.

My beautiful boy, I know so little about the path that is in front of us.  But I tell you this with all my heart: I will cheer you on.  Today, tomorrow.  When you throw the ball and break a window.  Oh, for sure you'll be grounded, but I will secretly be applauding your awesome fastball as I make you mow lawns to pay for the replacement.

I love you.  I love you, I love you.  I can't write it enough to make it as big as I feel. I can't wait to watch you grow.  You amaze and inspire me, my wonderful son, and challenge me to be better and love bigger.  I am so, so lucky to be your mommy.

With love and gratitude,

Mommy
xoxo  

On roots and harvest

The sermon was about roots.  About keeping our feet firmly grounded in the Lord and building a relationship securely rooted in Him.  When our roots grow, strong and deep, only then can the harvest be bountiful.

And the message, which started out being about God, spoke to me in an entirely different way.  As a mother, this is my job: to give them roots.

To ensure that they are wrapped in soft and nourishing soil.
To carefully weigh and measure the water so that they are neither deprived of nor smothered by it.
To mindfully tend so that weeds and bugs will not overpower them.
To trim and nurture so that their roots grow strong and deep enough to withstand the storm.

This is the phase of life we are in.  The harvest lies ahead of us, unwritten at this juncture.

If you know me, you know I how seriously I take this job of turning tiny humans into good, God-fearing men and women who are strong of character, slow to anger and full of heart.  How very precious and sacred is this time, when the background knowledge of their whole lives is being formed and the information which they will use to someday shape their perspectives, words and actions is still being gathered.

Roots.  This is what I want to give them.

Awareness of choices, and how to make good ones.  What to do to mend it when you've made poor ones.  How to know the difference to begin with.  Integrity and how to be someone who has it.  Selflessness and respect.  Empathy.  Honor.  Leadership.  Kindness.  Joy.  To nurture their strengths and forgive their weaknesses.  To become the best version of themselves.

So often in this world we are distracted by things that are temporary or feel good, and yet these are all too often things that will soon wilt and wither.  A rose may smell good and look good and feel good to give, but in a few days it droops, turns brown and all that was beautiful about it is lost.  How much better is the rose bush, which survives rain and snow and hail, and year after year yields many beautiful blossoms?

Roots.  They're kind of a big deal.

They are sewn and planted by the tender loving kindness of a mother's hands.  They are strengthened by the sweat of her brow and the arch of her back in the sweltering sun.  They are enriched by her tears - of joy, sadness, frustration, exhaustion - until those roots run deep.

Until they are ready to take on the world.

This is no small task we do here, friends.

How significant, how great a return on our investment, is our contribution to the world when we take time to give them roots.

...they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He might be glorified.  Isaiah 61:3

In the midst of the spilled cereal and the laundry and flushing the toilet someone forgot to flush and the seventh diaper change and searching your closet hopelessly for a single article of clothing that doesn't have a stain and the midnight feedings and the floors that never remain clean longer than five minutes and thawing tonight's dinner only to be heckled by tiny terrorists while making it.... in the midst of all that, you are building greatness.  You are an anchor from which tiny trees will grow, mighty and wondrous.  Bigger and more majestic than you imagine right now. And if we do it right, all this planting and sewing and tending, the world will marvel at the greatness and beauty which grows above the surface.  It will not remember the hands that lovingly toiled and  tenderly sacrificed to grow the roots. But we will.  And the harvest will be bountiful.          Have an inspired day.  Keep toiling and tending and sacrificing for the greatness you are growing when no one sees.

Just Write

Things always come easier when there is sleep involved.

My world involves sleep {today}. 

As I was cleaning out my computer, I ran across the video we took three and a half years ago of Leah's birth. 

A whole world of blood and horror and clinking of metal and stitches was happening on the other side of that curtain, but on the good end, I smelled the smell of new, wrinkly baby and wrapped my hand awkwardly around her tiny body and felt those little fingers caress my cheek and it was the most perfect moment of my life, even as my own body lay still open on the operating table. 

I kissed those tiny fingers and told her, over and over, "I've been waiting for you my whole life." 

Motherhood.

When you sleep and when you wake and when you breathe, you're different.  It's knowing without a single second's pause that you are no longer your own.  That you live to kiss that head and put Cars bandaids on the mosquito bites so she won't be tempted to scratch them.

The window of nap time has grown from one hour to nearly three - long enough to collect my thoughts.  Long enough to take my own nap if I need or want it, even when there are long to-do lists and dinners to plan.  Long enough for all of us to rest and regroup so that the afternoons aren't so long and exhausting, and less often result in melting and rejoicing when bedtime comes.

In the quiet, I often miss the noise, even as much as I need the pause before the crescendo.  He will wake first and call me to open his door.  I will find him standing in his crib, red faced and heavy eyed, bouncing on the side in anticipation of my arrival.  Teddies and blankets on the floor after he joyfully chucks them over the rail, he will stretch on his tippy toes so that he can point to show me his handiwork and proclaim: "THIS!" with a wide, almost-toothless grin as I too appreciate his cleverness. 

Together, we will claim his big sister from sleep.  Her sweaty hair will cling to her neck as she slowly opens her eyes.  She insists on wearing winter pajamas and burrowing into her blankets even though it is 92 degrees outside and I've got two fans and the AC running.  She will hug and kiss her brother first thing, and he will open his mouth wide to kiss her back.  When he drools down her cheek, she'll cry, "Gross!" but she'll go back for another one seconds later.

These two. 

They are my heart.

My sweethearts, I will be there to rejoice with you at your accomplishments, big and small.  I will wipe away the sticky hair that is plastered to your face.  I will pray that you always love each other fiercely.  I will smile at you when you wake.  I will hold your hand and help you say your prayers.  I will put on the Cars bandaids and scoop you up when you fall and and let you make mistakes and help make sure that you are ready to venture forward without me when the time comes into your own happily ever after. 

I will love you.  Just as you are.  Just as you need to be.  For every single milisecond of my life. 

A smashing first year

Our beautiful baby boy.  In one week, he hits the big 0-1.

Obviously we had to celebrate. 

Something out of the ordinary was the only way to go. 

At first, it seemed too good to be true. 

In fact, I think he was down right intimidated.

 

But he came back.  Because, well... it's cake.  Who could resist?

 

 

 

And once he got a little taste...

 

 

...oh, it was on!

 

 

Ain't nobody got time to use their hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someday, my sweet Logan, we will tell you just how loved you've been, even since before you were born, and what an amazing first year this has been

 

 

For now,

Happy Birthday.

My babies love babies and three in twenty four

Tuesday afternoon, as we were in the process of buying a matress (because our lives are glamorous and we live like rock stars), we got a call from our dear friends who were in the hospital and in labor.  With twins. 

Wednesday afternoon, (after 25 hours of labor, which went almost pace for pace like mine a year ago, except for the fact that there were two.  Poor thing.) we went to visit those tiny little cuties.  Leah was dying to hold them, but because they were so small - 4.13 and 4.04 - and still a little delicate, I wasn't sure that was such a good idea.  Fortunately, she had her buddy and the world's best big brother Marc to distract her, so it didn't turn out to be a tragedy.  Logan couldn't stop pointing.  "BABY!"  "BABY!" he exclaimed over and over again, not sure where to look at first.

As we were eating dinner on the way home from the hospital, we got a call from my mom.  My sister went into labor and was on her way to the hospital. 

Thursday morning we trekked down to visit our new baby cousin.

 

And he's a cutie!

At 6.13, I felt a little better about my baby holding him. 

 

She was absolutely thrilled. 

 

Can you tell?

 

Logan couldn't miss out on the action, and reprised his role.  "BABY!"pointyfinger! "BABY!"

 

After visiting the twins, Leah was a bit confused as to why Greyson didn't have a sister.  She's told me a couple of times that we need to go visit Greyson's sister (since obviously she just must not have been born yet).  She has also informed me - especially after baby Lauren was born - that she is very disappointed that she does not have a sister.  She'd like me to work on that for her.  And another brother, while we're at it.   

 

These sweet ones of mine sure do love babies.   Good thing, too, given the rate those around us are popping them out.  The best days are always when babies come, and we were pretty blessed to have three within only hours of each other. 

The Brits know how to write 'em and other randoms

My favorite thing about blogging is that it connects you with people that either a) you haven't seen in years and don't actually have real-life access to or b) with fabulous strangers you've never met.  For the price of admission - exactly one click of the mouse (or for those of you who are all fancy and living in the 21st century, a swipe of the finger) - you get to live inside the voice/mind/world of what feels like a dear friend.  When, in reality, you might not even know them.  And hopefully, they're not completely nuts... otherwise the price of admission is one intensive therapy session.

So today, let's sit on the front porch and have a little tete a tete as if we really were good friends.

This porch, because it's to die and we're already in fantasy land:

Up first: Downton Abbey.  Because, for reals, I heart this show and if they don't stop messing with my characters I'm going to seriously lose my crap on them.  They will be getting a very strongly worded e-mail and I will not being adhering to proper Downton decorum; the kind for which Cousin Violet would give me her most stern and disapproving look.  Season 3 was not kind to me in my fragile postpartum mental state. 

 

 

And also... when does season 4 start???

In other news, my sweet baby has decided to fall asleep on me every night as I put him to bed.  I know you're all, yeah so?  He's a baby, it's what they do but it's not what my baby has done - like ever except the Fourth of July - since he was about three months old.  He gets all snuggly and cute and when I ask him if he wants to go to bed he melts into me and coos.  I'm quite sure he thinks he's playing me to make me avoid putting him down, but in reality it's totally me who's playing him.  I love, love, love the snuggles. 

I haven't yet been able to park in my garage.  Well, maybe like 12 times in almost a year.  First it was because we were storing stuff in there after the move.  Ever since, we've had projects running so frequently that it has just never happened.  Casey promised me that I can park in the garage, so long as I stop coming up with projects for the house.  Hah, fat chance.  Much more likely that I'll be scraping ice off my windshield.

Speaking of projects, how awesome is this wreath?

You'll be seeing a similar design in my house, as I'm currently super inspired by it and fully intend to steal it.  And, it doesn't get any easier in the wreath making department.  Here's how she did it.  Drool.

We're smack-dab in the middle of remodeling our guest bath.  Actually, we're almost done, which will bring our total of projects completed to a whopping one.  We're really great at starting projects - in fact, we've started nearly all the projects I was hoping to do this year.  ....Of course, we're like 60% finished with most of them, but who's keeping score?  {I'm gonna go ahead and blame the kids.  Mostly because they can't defend themselves.}

Here's how it looked when we moved in:

I know.  Score, right?  If you were going to come over to my house, I'd close this door and be super creepy about trying to distract you from the room, which of course would make you be all, what's behind this door? and then I'd body check you to keep you from discovering our nasty mess.  And then, if you're anything like me, you'd begin to suspect a way more dramatic secret than the one I was actually concealing, like maybe a hole where I keep people and ask them to put lotion on their skin. 

So, to recap, that's why we had to remodel: because I don't want to get a silence of the lambs reputation. 

I'd close by asking if you've read any good books recently.  I'm in dire need of a really really deliciously good book, particularly for the days Casey's working.  {To distract me from my night terrors.} 

So that's that.  I hope you enjoyed our little chat!  Feel free to continue the conversation in the comments section.  I'm a really good listener, too...

Things you asked, episode III

Hello friends!  How was your weekend?  One of the neat/challenging things I'm discovering about being a stay at home mom: Every night is Friday night, and every morning is Monday.  And round and round we go.

I have to take a second to say a great big thank you for all the e-mails and facebook messages.  Thanks to you, I now have a happy little file of inspiration in my inbox with things you'd like me to talk about or questions you'd like addressed.  I wish I'd started asking back in July when my brain was all tuckered out and too hopped up on sunscreen fumes to write very much.  If you want to add to my pretty pretty writting folder (yes, that's really what I titled it.  Go ahead, gather your chuckin' stones), feel free to e-mail me at melissa.strassner@gmail.com. 

Episode III:
What's the backstory on you and your husband?  Any regrets in your relationship?  Any advice?

The simple answer here is that Casey and I met in college.

2003

And, frankly, it's a good thing we did.  That whole thing about God's timing being perfect?  I'm a believer, because if we had met in high school there is no way we would ever have become a couple.  We were about as dramatically different as it was possible to be, what with me being all captain of everything and valedictorian; Casey wasn't quite so inside the box.  16 year old Melissa would for sure have put on her best Clueless voice and been all, AS IF!  (Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, because I was never that girl, but we definitely didn't run in the same circles in high school.)

2004

Not to mention, he was a California-Boulder transplant with hippie-liberal parents while I grew up in conservative Littleton with a mom who would have liked nothing more than to find room to the right of Rush Limbaugh.  We're West Side Story with a little less lip synching. 

2006

 

About the only thing we had in common was that we were both music nerds.  I was studying to be a music teacher (until I remembered that I like music, and in order to continue liking it I had to study something else) and he was just a nerd.  Our eyes met across the plumed hats and brass section of the CU marching band.  There's a cheesey simile about our hearts beating in synch like drumbeats here somewhere, but I can't quite get there.  

2006

It wasn't love at first sight.  We were super different, and if we'd met at any other time I'm not sure either of us would have given the other a second glance. 

2007

But that's not how things played out.  And somehow, it has been the absolute best move either of us ever made.  Because, despite all our percieved differences, we're actually remarkably similar.  At the risk of being a bit over the top, we're two sides of the same coin. 

The best part about our differences is how darn compatible they are.  Instead of creating problems, the ways in which we are different compliment each other perfectly and make us an incredibly in-synch, united whole.   He's the cream to my coffee, for sure.

2008

Regrets?  I don't think either of us has very many. 

Here's a weird one for you, though: we both regret our wedding.  Maybe regret is too strong a word, but if we had it to do over again, we'd do things much differently.  The great big hoopla and hefty chunk of cash.  The nearly two years we saved for the hoopla.  As it turns out, we so didn't need it.  We were just ready to be married and really begin our lives together. 

10.3.08

10.3.09

If we could do it again, I think we'd find a happy medium between the elopment (which I loved, by the way) and the big to-do.  Maybe one of those surprise weddings where the guests are all, oh no, not another boring random event and then suddenly the bride rides in on a Harley in flames of wedding epicness and everybody's minds are blown with unexpected awesome.  Okay... so we might not be those people either. But really, we needed something much more simple and speedy.  Hashtag firstworldproblems, right?

On a serious note, I love the question about advice.  While we're nowhere near a place where we'd pretend to have it all figured out, the best advice we can give is to fall in love over and over again.  To choose each other anew every single day, and to realize that your partner has the option of chosing you.  Even if you followed Beyonce's advice and put a ring on it, that doesn't make it a sure thing.  We each have the responsibility of living every day in a way that makes the other person want to choose us again and again.

2010

A husband or wife isn't a parent; it's not a relationship that we are born with, but one we seek out.  One we select - out of all the other relationships that could have been - because it makes both parties the best version of themselves.  That's what you owe to your partner: the best version of yourself.  When it's easy and when it's hard; when you want to and when you don't.  When you're happy and when you're not.  The very best of what you have to give, even when what you have to give isn't very much.

And don't ever take life so seriously that you forget to laugh.  Because everything in life is just easier when you laugh.  Especially if it involves poop of the literal or metaphoric variety.

Fish: Short people approved.

There are a few foods I'm pretty passionate about.  Watermelon is one.  Anything involving bread and cheese is another (I mean really, how can you go wrong with bread and cheese?!)

Fish is another.  I am a fish-o-phile.  I love it every which way from Sunday, and there are very few types of fish I don't care for.  I know that everyone doesn't fall into this category, but I can't get enough.

My favorite way to find Nemo.  That's right - I went there.

Luckily for me, fish is good for you besides being totally delish.  And I happen to have the world's best and most nutritious recipe.  One that everyone in the family enjoys, including the 3.5 and one year olds.  You can thank me later.

What you'll need:
1 pound salmon fillet
1 TBSP olive oil
2 TBSP honey
2 TBSP minced garlic
3 TBSP soy sauce
2 cups spinach
1 cup quinoa (keen-wah), available at a natural grocer like Sprouts
1 1/2 cup water

1. Coat the bottom of a square glass baking dish with oil.  Lay the salmon in the pan. 
2. In small bowl, mix honey, garlic, and soy sauce.  Coat salmon in mixture.  Bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, boil 1 1/2 cup water for 1 cup quinoa (or 1.5:1 ratio water:quinoa).  Let it cook 12 minutes, then turn off the heat and leave covered for an additional 5 minutes.  Do not lift the lid until cooking time has elapsed.  Fluff with fork.
4.  Steam 2 cups of spinach (I usually do this in the same pan with the quinoa, after my quinoa has cooked because I'm lazy and hate doing dishes)

Plate and enjoy!

This is probably my favorite new recipe; maybe my favorite recipe period.  It's just a bonus that Logan pounds his little fists on his high chair table and cries if you can't get it to him fast enough everyone else enjoys it, too.

The school year started without me

Yesterday, I went to the zoo.  I pushed a stroller with an almost three and a half year old and an almost one year old.  And, alternately, a two year old who decided he didn't want to ride in his mommy's stroller and would much prefer Auntie's, because Auntie has the best snacks (aka something different than what his own mommy packed, because that is always infinitely superior no matter who you are or how awesome your own mommy's snacks are).

We marveled at the tigers and giraffes.  We rode on the carousel.  We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while watching the elephants perform tricks.

It's a pattern we've repeated umpteen times.  It's a pattern I absolutely adore.

The only thing that was different about yesterday was that it was the first day of school.  And I was at the zoo.

Parenthood.  It's a bittersweet trial of souls.  It's moments of absolute triumph and perfection, mixed in with a lot of heartache and struggle.  It's forever the hardest thing I will ever do, and it has altered my outlook for the rest of my life.

Because, truth?  There was a great big part of me that longed to go back to school.  My principal called to see if I could do a 6 week long term sub for another language arts teacher who is about to pop (by the way, six week maternity leave deserves a conversation of its own and a giant badge of shame on whoever masterminded that bunch of junk.  Congratulations!... you've just made a person and encountered the biggest change you'll ever know in this life.  You have six weeks to heal/adjust/enjoy, and then you must go back to work like everything's all normal again and behave exactly like you did before you had a tiny human to worry about.  Really?  That's the best we can do, and we call ourselves the greatest nation in the world???  Shame, shame, shame). 

Six weeks?  At the beginning of the school year?  With all lessons planned and ready to go?!  I can so totally do that!!

And then I looked at the faces of my tiny humans.  And recieved a much needed sucker punch to the gut. 

They're not hobbies.  They're not toys.  I can't pick them up when they're fun and cuddly and put them down again when they're a ton of work and make me sigh with exhaustion.  I have the miraculous opportunity to raise my kids - an opportunity that we have worked for and sacrificed for, an opportunity that fewer and fewer women are able to embrace - and my first instinct is to give it up.  Huh. 

Raising up people isn't optional.  Obviously, you do what you have to do.  Not everyone has the luxury of staying home, and there is no judgement or shame there.  But, after three years of working to get to this point, it was amazing to see how quickly my brain jumped back into "I can go to work" mode, instead of rejoicing in the fact that I'm already at work. 

I adore the conversations I have with three-and-a-half year old Leah.  She is inquisitive and hilarious and oh so loving.  I loved having a baby, but watching her grow into a person with opinions and ideas... wow.  It's so much better than even that amazing, snuggly baby.  And Mr. Logan is ready to take his first big steps into a much bigger world, like any minute, and I'll get to be here to see it. 

There will be tears, head-butting and struggles.  There will be moments that I could lay down and sleep for a week, if only they would let me.  There will be days they get out of line, and he screams at me for things I can't control.  And by the grace of God, I will be the one to help them learn to handle their frustrations and take deep breaths when they feel out of control and make the right choices when the right choices are hard and send them to the corner to think about how to be a little more kind and loving. 

To celebrate the tiny humans as they grow into those amazing people they are becoming.

To be present.  To love being present.  To be fearlessly, unabashedly present. 

That's my job.