blythe
almost four weeks later.
Blythe woke me up the other night at some point between Olive’s 10pm and 2am feeding asking if I could put on her pink cowboy boots (the same ones she’s pictured in below). She then proceeded to
little words
Sometimes parenting (or cleaning/organizing a house with) young children feels Sisyphean: that I, just like this mythological man, am striving to push this boulder up a hill, only to watch it crush my toes and roll to the
vignettes
If Blythe has ever heard Shakespeare’s infamous metaphor about the world being a stage, she has no doubt taken it literally, of course delegating herself to the leading role. I took this picture at the zoo
A new mantra.
The last few weeks I’ve watched Blythe remove herself from varied activities to go sit down against a wall or in a random corner, only to declare, “I in time-out.” I’ve laughed to myself each time wondering
happy 2nd birthday, blythe.
This past summer, while in Florida, the whole group ventured out to dinner at a restaurant that we had been told was “kid-friendly.” Aside from actually having highchairs, this place was nothing of the sort
“oh, blythe!”
I’ve recently been thinking quite a bit about this series of toddler books surrounding a boy named David entitled, “Oh, David!” “No, David!” “David gets in Trouble.” “Ooops.” — you get the idea. Maybe I simply forget about the
a preemptive defense
“ also drove my sisters and myself crazy by folding the most personal moments of our childhood lives into her talks as further illustrations of God’s hand on us, or to make points about how
it’s a cruel, cruel summer
I’m going to reengage and confess that I’ve been a b*tch this last week. We all have — well, carried some form of the attitude anyway. Or at least it’s felt that way. I want to blame (what’s
we’re not gonna take it
Today the boys decided to have their “boy’s club” again and locked Blythe out of their room: “she’s always jacking with stuff.” Normally, I don’t allow it, but today they were playing “climbing up and