3 month old baby boy

Max,

Today you are three months old.

Now before you were even a twinkle i n my eye I started this blog about life and homes and hopes. And now you are here. And have been here for 3 entire months (or 12 weeks and 5 days if you're counting week-style and not just by the month).

You, my beautiful baby boy, are amazing. You eat and sleep and smile and cry and I can't find a thing in the world more interesting to watch than you and I can't imagine a day I ever spent without you. When you're not fascinating in your awake state you are precious in sleep.

These past three months have gone by so quickly it's hard to recount everything that's gone into them — so I won't try. But I will say that my days have been filled with the most amazing details of the beginning of your life.

For the first 8 weeks I religiously (almost obsessively) tracked every single thing you did: every time you ate, every diaper, every nap. The minutia of your days seemed like a magical code, a secret recipe for your happiness and health. In the past few weeks I've taken a slightly more relaxed approach to your daily care — partially because you are such a strong, healthy baby and partially because we have grown already into a comfortable pattern of daily life.

Now we take your days with much more ease and less scrutiny. Despite not being closely documented your hours pass as blissfully as when I was monitoring and logging every single item.

You are already getting so big. (I find myself repeating that familiar refrain of parents everywhere.) You laugh and you coo, and recently you've started to shout a few small shrieks — fabulous and surprising as you discover all the things your voice and lungs can do.

Today we took your 3 month photo and you found it very amusing as we tried to take your picture with the neatly lined up blocks spelling out "3 months". You were greatly amused by shaking them from your belly and watching us re-stack them.

You hold onto toys and the things around you (like the burp cloth that captivated all your interest for over an hour today). You listen to us and talk to us in your baby way. Mostly you watch the world very closely. I have a feeling that you, in your own way are logging all the details of your own days.

I know soon you will be crawling and walking and talking and these first days of babyhood will seem a distant memory. But for now they fill up all the hours and each day that ends I'm sad it's gone and happy for the next to come. The magic of these months is a beautiful thing.

You are already in bed tonight and as I write this I feel I'm missing out on the chance to watch you sweetly sleep. There are a million things that I want to capture about this moment in time, but for now it will have to suffice to say that you make me supremely happy and I love you immensely. I can't wait to see what amazing feat of growth you accomplish tomorrow!

I love you,

Mom

Wishing and Hoping

It's Christmastime and all around people are scurrying to get ready for the holidays. And people are taking their kids to see Santa. I heard a really charming interview on NPR the other day of a Santa who often gets wishes not just from kids, but from moms and dads. Adults who ask Santa for help finding a job, or keeping their marriage together. Giving over their dearest hopes to this mystical man in a fake red suit in the hope that it will help.

It didn't strike me as odd at all to hear these people asking for help from Santa. Call it the power of positive thinking or prayer or just putting it out there, but any way you look at it there is a real power in just simply "saying" what you want.

We have so many traditions and tricks set up for how our wishes can come true. Whether it's blowing out birthday candles, or speaking what you really want to a kind old man dressed up in red velvet and a white beard.

And I for one believe in it. Not that the magic of blowing out the candles on your cake makes what you want come true, but that once you set an intention and are brave enough to form the words of what you want — you've made that wish come that much closer to being a reality.

Several years ago I was on a yoga retreat in St. John Virgin Islands. One morning my tent-mates and I embarked on a sunrise hike to a cliff nearby promising a spectacular view of the sun coming up over the ocean. And the gorgeous view wasn't the only appeal to the hike. Local legend had it that if you stood on the edge of the cliff and threw a rock as hard as you could into the sea while shouting out your wish — if your rock made it to the water without crashing back against the cliff — your wish would come true.

My hiking companions and I found it somewhat difficult to not only come up with our wish, but also shout it out loud (so many of our wish making rituals involve a whisper or a silent wish), but we all did it. I've long felt that that moment was a truly powerful one in my life.

Maybe there was some magic in that cliff and particular patch of sea. In fact there was probably magic in the whole trip. But I think the real power of the moment was in what it forced me to do. Choose the thing I wanted most, put it into words, and put it out into the world.

That day I wished for a family of my own — a bold intention coming from a career focused single girl living in New York City. But that wish feels like the turning point for me. When I stopped closing off options to find a partner and start a family.

One of my yoga instructors on that trip gives a particularly helpful set of instructions for getting into difficult poses. It starts with your feet. With your pinky toes. She guides you through the process of getting ready for the pose by having you set your feet with strong grounding in the earth. And then set the intention for the entire pose in your pinky toes.

With that small action of understanding in your toes where you want to go, you lay the groundwork for everything else.

When you find the courage and the words to tell Santa what you really want, you set your intention. And from that moment on your wish has started its journey on the road to reality.

Blueberry Buckle

I just baked a very tasty breakfast treat for my blueberry loving boyfriend: Blueberry Buckle.

It's not the same as the original from Missoula where I went to college and frequented the Shack for this unbelievable breakfast selection. But I think that's only because I didn't go the extra mile and serve it with warm cream. A mistake I won't repeat next time! (photo courtesy of Alex & Becca on their cross country drive a few years ago).

My version this morning was from an Alton Brown recipe and, while I had some serious doubts during the process (the dough looked totally wrong....like a cookie not a cake batter), Phillip assures me that the results are quite delicious.

Hooray!

the constant comparison game

(This is a delayed post from Friday 10/30...after I wrote this post I sat in the Denver airport reading an excellent book for about 2 hours and missed my flight home to Wyoming for the Halloween weekend. At least I updated my blog though!)

I just saw a man, walking off a plane in front of me. and he was a friendly, unremarkable

short older gentleman. Walking behind him I thought to myself, what a short little man. And as we proceeded slowly up the jetway and into the airport , this being Denver, I could easily read the label on the back of his Levis. 550 33 30. The little, old man getting off the same flight as

me has the same inseam and waist as me (ok mostly 30 or 32, but there are days when I need those extra inches and go 33!).

I play this game often with other women on the street. Especially when I’m in New York. The constant comparison game. I’m just as tall as her, she’s just as blond as me, I’m not nearly as fat as she is, I’m so much fatter than she is. It’s a comforting game on balance. I like the active simile in my mind connecting me to all the other women I see. It can be a harsh exercise, especially in a city like L.A. where there seem to be an infinitely larger number of young women looking particularly fabulous. But most times, the game makes me feel good. It puts me solidly in the continuum of people in my world. Not too far outside the bounds, remarkable in some ways and unremarkable in others.

But the little, old many with my jeans size is different. The same things are there insofar as I can enjoy our shared experiences—both flying this particular route, both sharing these numbers of dressing. Feeling apart from this little, old man also make me feel good. I suddenly appreciate with a calmness the lovely things about being a young women. A young woman in love looking both forward and back on my life to a great stretch of time and people and events that are full of joy.

I’m sitting in the Denver airport now, waiting for a flight that will take me home for a quick weekend visit to my childhood home. I’m drinking a Budweiser with tomato juice, just like my father taught me, and I’m looking out across the bright blue Rocky Mountain sky. Staring out at the view makes my eyes spot in the brightness of the sun and the feeling of being in the vicinity of home makes me smile.

I am comfortable with my place in the continuum of people: beautiful and not, rushed and relaxed, young and old. I take my place in line and smile.

still putting it off

For the record, I haven't sent that email yet. But I am feeling good that I've updated my blog two days in row now!

putting it off

Do you ever have those things that loom over you. You need to do them, but you never do. Not necessarily even big scary things like finishing your dissertation. Just little things like sending an email. I've got one that I should have sent 6 months ago and I'm still sitting here writing this blog post not writing the email.

Why do we put things off? Why not just pull off the band-aid and get it done.

Ok, I'm going to go and get this particular little monkey off my back.

run run runaround

I went for my first run this morning (not first ever in life, first in Vegas). There is a lovely park near our house called The Puebla. It's so close and convenient that it's almost criminal not to spend some time there. It's a desert arroyo—which means a dry desert gully. But that definition doesn't really do it justice. It's a gorgeous little strip of wildlife tucked in the middle of my neighborhood. Lots of trees and desert plants and little critters running all over the place. It was great. So entertaining that I ran two miles straight without stopping...then walked those two miles back home!

If you ever want to go running in the desert here there are two things I can recommend. First go when it's not blazing hot. When I left the house at 6:30 it was a lovely 85 degrees. And second run west. This way the rising sun will cast a long, lean shadow of yourself in front of you. There's no better morning motivation than a taller, skinnier version of yourself pounding the pavement with you!

Now I'm off to do a little yoga and bake some banana-chocolate chip muffins. Happy Saturday!