We pierced your ears last weekend, a gift and milestone for your eighth year. You sat straight and still, without so much as a flinch, a picture of your unwavering personality.  Blythe, you have an
“a weekly portrait of my children in 2014” liam //Although you’re intuitive, articulate, and well-read, you love to play. I love this mixture in you and am convinced you’re going to be one fun adult
a {little} spa party
(photo credit: Kristen | Fidelis Studio) Every other year after age 5, we give each of our kiddos the option of a birthday gift or party. Blythe, who turned seven this weekend, had the choice
turning six | a gift of experience
Blythe, this last year as I watched you shoot out of your lingering baby chubs and try to bite apples with missing front teeth, I realized too soon you’ll be learning to drive and talking
a colorful commendation
Dear Blythe and Olive: As your crayons, markers, and paints, we wanted to commend you for the passionate and endless ways you have used us. Most art supplies are created, packaged, and fated to be
moths, rust, and three year olds
Parenthood is so consuming. We scour books, searching for some sort of direction and instruction; we probe friends and family, discussing disappointments and achievements alike, gleaning any sort of feedback possible; but most of all, we
“don’t call it a comeback.”
As some of you already know, Blythe took a tire swing (carrying Liam) to the face LL Cool J style last week. Convinced her tooth was lodged somewhere in her bleeding, oversized lip, we made
little words
This one is for the lot of you who so patiently keep returning here to our poor, neglected blog. Yes, you, who regularly request by email, by phone, or in passing conversation for more, more,
happy 3rd birthday, blythe.
This last year I often told people, “someone should write a book paralleling toddlers and teenagers.” Both stages, somehow awkardly trapped in the continuum of maturity, force all of us (at some point) to reconcile