Mama needs coffee

I just had my personal best, most epic coffee spill.

I was sitting at the table, chair pulled in and everything. I should have been good, you know?

But then, my teething baby bit my leg.

He bit. my. leg.

I jerked, knocked over my cup, then watched a full (but luckily only warm) cup of coffee (I drink out of a REALLY BIG mug) cascade down my front, all over my jeans, and SHOWER over Benjamin's head. And as another example of how I shine in times of crisis, I sat there and watched, mentally gauging how hot the coffee was and what I should do if it burned him while I watched my precious coffee drip from the precious eyelashes of my precious baby.

One of my children (not sure which one, but someone who is obviously better at crisis management) brought me a towel before I was even out of my chair.

Benjamin was fine. Mad, but fine. He is particularly hostile right now about getting dressed and undressed, so I think that was his main complaint.

So. Benji has had a bath, we are both in fresh clothes, and I'm off to make another pot of coffee.

Benjamin's Quilt

Last week, as I was thinking about the kids' Christmas gifts, I needed to come up with something for Benjamin. As the poor fourth kid, there is absolutely nothing he needs, but obviously we want to mark his first Christmas with something special.

I decided to make him a small quilt, just as fast as I possibly could... And I busted this sucker out in just a few days:

Sunday, I bought the fabric,
Monday, I cut and began piecing it,
Tuesday, I finished piecing it and made the quilt sandwich,
Wednesday, I quilted it, cut the binding... AND.... My iron died. IRON FAIL.

We left for Brian's company meeting, and my sweet sister gave me my kids and her iron on the way home, so Sunday, I bound it.

The quilt is backed in a cozy flannel that I found on Joann.com on Black Friday for $1.98 per yard. Score!

Finished size is 38x48

It Works!

So.  I've taken a bit of a break from blogging. My excuse is that the keyboard on my computer stopped working sometime in February, and I have no idea why. But we backed everything up and reinstalled the stuff, and well, it works again, so YAY! So I can blog and budget and sort out my overwhelmingly unorganized Pictures folder.

(really, I can't explain how wonderful it is to have a working keyboard. Ever tried to use your computer without one? I was about to go mad selecting one letter at a time on the onscreen keyboard with my mouse.)

(also, we don't have to buy a new computer!)

Moving on...


It's summer in the chatty household, and we've been laying low. I started a new quilt, one for Brian and I, while I try to figure out how to transition a toddler sized quilt I was making for Isaac to twin size.










Brenna and Isaac started gymnastics this week, and that's going to be awesome, and all three kids will start survival swim lessons in July.

Brian is working in San Francisco, in a job that has been a real challenge for him. I'm pretty sure he'll look back on this time euphemistically as a time of growth.






Benjamin is grabby, slobbery, smiley, and otherwise wonderful. He's a mellow little man, for which I am deeply grateful (and optimistically hoping will continue!). He is beloved by his siblings, and his socks are beloved by the dog, who keeps stealing them and eating the toes out.

Benjamin

Because I want to remember

I'm not sure that anyone else would ever be interested in this list, except, perhaps women who may also wish they could remember. These are things I never want to forget, but know that I will:

The feel of my slimy baby as they put him on my belly after his birth, that moment when he squirms on the outside of me, all slippery, and I reach down to hold him, so that he won't slide right off. So tiny, skinny, warm.

The first time he eats, he knows just what to do, though actual skill is not there yet. And he calms. Exactly as he's been designed to do.

The way his feet are completely soft, no calluses, yet.

Probably my favorite thing about a newborn, the way he opens his mouth to catch me when I kiss his cheeks. He shakes his head back and forth like a baby bird. I always miss it when they grow out of that.

The way he stops, mid panicked-cry or frustrated grunt, when he latches on to eat. As though the angst never happened.

His body, curled tight, his feet pressed against his shins.  At two and a half weeks, he's already beginning to stretch out and relax.

When I lift him in his sleep, and he arches backward, with his tiny fists pressed against his cheeks and his lips pursed, knees pulled up high. The tiny grunts and groans at the unfairness of being moved.

We swaddle him, and he takes two ragged breaths, then calms.

The way, those first few days, he looked so much like his big brothers, I would forget who I was looking at.

The songs that play in my mind whenever i hold him, Beautiful Boy by John Lennon, Love You Up to the Moon by Kim Hill and the Christmas song, Sweet Little Jesus Boy.

A conversation with the big kids before he was born, as I waddled around the Yukon to our front door, about how Mary would have felt, sitting on a donkey for days, how long it took to travel, how she could not have walked, and the impatience at the end of a pregnancy.

His absolute assurance that my body exists to meet his needs, and my occasional sadness for babies whose needs are not met.

How his eyes sometimes cross when he tries to focus on things.

The peace and absolute contentment when he falls asleep curled against me. So tiny. And he knows he belongs there.


His breath. He has the most beautiful, sweet-smelling breath.

Every once in a while I catch glimpses of the expression that will become his smile. It's thrilling.