there’s a song that will linger

Oh man, you guys, this has been one for the books.

It’s been a week that just.won’t.quit from long days of being over scheduled, shivering in cold weather, and dealing with a Boo who spent last night cuddled up between his parents instead of in his bed where he is meant to spend his sleeping hours.

It’s been long commutes and frustrating meetings and zero exercising and the beginning of a cold and a hole in my favorite pants.

But chickens, we’re not here to talk about that.

And thank God, because really, enough already.

Last night, I was in a seat on the bus (something to be thankful for, definitely), and I was listening to a James Taylor song (standard, as we know), and I was suddenly trying to remember the song my mom and aunt sang at my Uncle Tom’s funeral, and I couldn’t remember it.

This seemed strange, since I listen to it fairly often, and it reminds me so much of the day we said goodbye (but not really, it’s never really goodbye) to my uncle, so I panicked, and I racked my mind, and finally, finally, after several bus stops and many thoughts that I had, indeed, lost it this time, I remembered it.

And then I listened to it, and immediately started crying, because that’s the kind of week it is (but again, enough about that), and I realized only then that it had been very nearly three years since my sweet, smiling, awesome uncle left us.

Every year around this time, I write about how sad I was when my uncle died, and how happy I am that I had the privilege of being his niece, and none of that has changed one bit, no matter how many years stand between now and the moment it happened. I think of him every time I’m wrapped up in things that aren’t really important and snap right out of it (and there are so many of them), and now I think of him almost every time I look at Boo, because I named him Theo Thomas after one of the best men I’ve ever known, and because I know with certainty that even though they won’t meet, they are certainly connected.

And that, chickens, is a good place to come to rest on the heels of this week.

The importance of tradition

After a very mild summer, which I am not complaining about at all, we have finally hit the harvest portion of September, which has always been my very favorite part of any season.

The market is booming with delicious produce of all kinds, it’s not too hot to get after it in the kitchen (honestly, it’s been a grilled meat and salad kind of summer, so I’m a little rusty around my own stove), and this year, it’s the month that Boo really gets to try out eating solids.

Which means my fruit budget is sky high and I’m finally getting some use out of my immersion blender.

We started Boo on oatmeal, with first parent intentions of only giving him one food for three days in a row to assess allergies before moving onto the next perfectly pureed food selection.

Then, on the second day of solid food eating, I turned my back for one second, and when I turned back, my son was gnawing on a pork chop bone.

Yes, that’s correct.

This was one of my husband’s first foods, and apparently, he decided it was a family tradition.

I was horrified for an instant, but then mentally gave up the whole process and timeline, and laughed while JW fed T tiny pieces of pork and my sweet baby giggled his head off.

Laughing his head off was nowhere near his reaction to eating plain oatmeal.

Not that I can blame him.

Since that time, we’ve fed the little guy zucchini, nectarines, yogurt, apricots, avocados, cheese grits (don’t even ask), and sourdough bread. I’m on a mission to get him up and over 13 lbs, because he has decided he’s only interested in being peanut-sized, and so I figure carbs and cheese in excess won’t hurt him the way it hurts me.

How I wish I was in his shoes.

Or bare feet, as it was.

Yet another example of my parenting at its finest, but you guys, we all turned out okay, despite the pork chops, formula, questionable food choices,belly sleeping, crib bumpers, and other now-forbidden practices of our times.

Keep it easy, chickadees, it’s the only way to do it.

Passe Habits and Doing Better

Morning, chickadees.

And yes, I know it’s been an extended absence over here in Second City lands.

My apologies, but only sort of.

It turns out that despite my very best intentions, it’s harder than I imagined to keep with all of your favorite things when a beautiful, squirrely little boy becomes a very important third of your family.

I get the sense that he feels blogging is passe. He’s more into my Theo-themed Instagram stream.

However, in my sometimes-off-track-but-always-well-intentioned quest to do better, I’d like to share a couple of things I’ve missed discussing due to my inability to craft a timely post.

1. Boo is no longer immobile. Which is amazing and all kinds of fun when it comes to playing, but not so much fun when it comes to things like, where do I leave him while I blow dry my hair? and why has it gone so quiet all of a sudden, oh there he is in a planter. It’s all part of the adventure, is what I keep telling myself.
2. Aside from skipping out on blog posting, I’ve also been remiss in getting to yoga class lately. These two things combined, in addition to a particularly challenging month at work have meant that I’m walking around in one big, frenzied ball of pent up energy and (sometimes) aggression. This is an ailment that can only be solved with deep breaths and forward folds, and I have plans to get back with it.
3. Despite the fact that I’ve been skipping the zen business, I did recently decide that it was time to get back into running. I took myself to the park by our condo, threw on some Pandora, and got after it, albeit only for two minutes at a time. My legs are still sore three days later, but you guys, you have to start somewhere. I know I’m old, out of practice, and arthritic, but I can’t help thinking I’ve still got something left in the tank here, even if it’s not half marathons or triathlons.
4. My baby sister is getting married this month, which is super exciting and will be the perfect and most fun ending to another long September. This is also means our first little family trip in an airplane. I’ve secured Boo his own seat, and both JW and my brother are in tow, which means lots of helping hands and potential for sitcom-like antics. I’ll likely be the one chomping down anti-anxiety meds in the corner while the three amigos enjoy themselves.
5. Speaking of flying, since we last spoke, I have returned to the world of work travel. This means that because I’m still nursing, I’ve learned to do things like scout out family bathrooms, lug around battery chargers and ice packs, and sit cross-legged on airport floors with no shirt on, all in the name of nourishing my shrimpy infant. So far I haven’t been stopped by the TSA to explain my bags of milk, but just you wait, it will happen, and I am sure I will inadvertently make it as awkward as possible (for instance: I get the urge to bust through security declaring “Human milk! Human milk coming through!” I know there’s something wrong with me, I’m very self -aware, if nothing else).

And with that, I’m off to spend a day working from the homestead. Enjoy this one chickens, and look for me to make more appearances. I’ve missed our chats.