Fall

My favorite time of the year is Fall. I can always tell the moment its near, and it makes me downright giddy.

Its the moments the winds suddenly shift, bringing with it the wafting scent of crumbling red leaves, rain and pumpkin bread. Chimneys cough out their black smoke after a 9+ month reprieve and churn out the smell of wood burning above the houses. My hot chocolate and apple cider make their ways from the back of my cupboards to the front, and slippers are a morning must to fight off the chill.

Ah fall. How I love thee.

If I was a season, I'd be you. If I was a flavor, I would be pumpkin. If I scent, I would be burning wood. If I was a hobby, I would be couch bound with a fuzzy blanket and good book. I would be frosty mornings and falling leaves. I would be homemade soups and big over-sized sweaters.

And despite the fact that you only peaked your head momentarily last week, the 3 days and nights of your torrential downpours outside my windows is enough to keep me going and wait out the rest of summer rearing its ugly 90 degree weathered head.

I don't blame you my lovely season. He obviously hasn't got the memo.

Dude, summer, go home already.

So in the meantime, while I wait for you to poke your head back around, and hopefully stay for good next time, I have these pictures from last week of me and my favorite little guy enjoying your glimpse of hopefully what is to come.

Don't keep me waiting too long. I have a closet full of sweaters and a box of cider waiting to go.

Choices

Sometimes the right choices aren't always the easy ones to make.

They can leave us with a heavy heart,
A little bit of a hole.
Maybe a tinge of regret -
Not for what has been done,
Or for what can't be taken back,
But because they had to be made to begin with.

Tough choices indeed.

Fourteen years and some months -
That's a good life indeed for this 'ol pup.
And rather than choose to let a good life
Come to a painful end,
We made the choice for her.

And in my heart, I know it was the right one.

I found a picture, tucked away
From the very last time I took her to the beach -
Before that hill made a sharp downward slope.
One that she simply couldn't come back up from.

And while weak, and sick
as I said goodbye
This is the image I had in my head.
This is how her life should be.
And this is how I picture what her doggy heaven must look like.
Chasing waves.
Free -
Where she belongs.

With all the french fries
And tennis balls
Her little heart desires.
And it makes me smile.
Go get em' girl.

Mouse Paint

Its one of my favorite children's books by Ellen Stoll Walsh; Three little mice who find some mischievous fun in jars of paint.

We had a "Mouse Paint" afternoon last week.
We laughed.
We got messy.
We jumped into the jars and mixed and danced as our very own colors poured out onto the giant 6 foot piece of butcher paper we stretched across the patio.

I love watching as the surroundings of a toddler begin to make sense.
Begin to open. As it begins to unfold.
As they explore.
And the world slowly starts to come together for them like pieces of a giant puzzle, turning and turning them until they finally fall into place.

Its a beautiful, messy dance unto its own self. Its a fine art, this thing they call figuring out the world.

Oh, my little mischievous mouse -

How I love to watch you play in the jars that hold your world

Discovering your path,

Marking a previous blank canvas

With the wonder only a child finding their way can know,

Leaving your little painted footprints as you go.

And the fact that you can do this, makes my smile all the wider. My little mouse has many talents hidden up that little sleeve. (Yes, he really does pop-n-lock when he dances!)

Sully and J.

J. is my sister's, best-friend's son. Ya follow? Danielle and I were pregnant at the same time. We use to laugh and joke about how they would raise hell together when they were born and older and how they would be each others "first babies". J. was born just shy of three months before Sully. And while I was in the operating room, having doctors expel a 10 pound behemoth from my uterus, Danielle and J. were there right along side our families in the hospital waiting room. And just hours later, they become each others first babies.

They've had tons of play dates throughout their lives, but we don't get to see them nearly as much as I think we would like to (we're both working Mama's). Its been fun to watch them grow up together though. And every time we see them, its like the boys pick right back up where they left off.

J. was the first kid Sully ever tried to dropkick (toys were involved).

But they play good together.

They're funny together.

They kicked and cooed together. They crawled and drooled together. They pulled up and pushed on toys together. And now they talk and dance and run and play together.

They came by a few weeks ago and the boys had a impromptu play date which ended up lasting well after dinner time and nearing bed times.

They ate bananas.

There was some high fiving involved.

A whole lot of giggles.

Only a couple throw downs over coveted train pieces.

And dancing.

They BROUGHT IT to the Yo Gabba Gabba soundtrack.

Dude, did they ever dance.

I hope that they're friends for a long time together. Raising all kinds of hell and mischief DJ Lance Style.

A new kind of cool

Tonight we watched some concert footage of one of our favorite bands, Flogging Molly, when they performed at the Greek. Its been far too long since we've been to any concert, and we use to go ALL the time.

Shaun: "Its been forever since we've been to a good concert."

Me: "I'm too old to be down in the pit anymore."

Shaun: "I think the last concert was when we followed FM to Arizona for St. Patrick's Day."

Me: "Yeh, and now we go and see Yo Gabba Gabba Live!"

Shaun: "And we spend weekends traveling to the zoo and Target now instead."

Me: "And we never drink."

Shaun: "And we're in bed by 9."

Me: "We're totally still cool."

Ad libitum

Sometimes, I picture myself as the band conductor of my own personal orchestra. As I stand before the instruments of my life, front and center, the red velvet curtain begins to fold upon itself, slowly revealing all the different elements that will work together to create a harmonious sound - the beautiful song that I call my life. I effortlessly cue the percussion in, then the strings, and my wind ensemble - all keeping perfect time, perfect tempo.

At least, in my head that is how it looks and sounds.

In reality the baton went flying out of my hand and over my head taking out a clarinetist in the process when I tried to signal for the percussion to back off a bit because it came in too strong yet again - my flutes are flat, my horns can't find the right sheet music and the ribbon on my bows just all busted in my string section.

What remains is the screeching, dissonant sound that I'm almost certain rabbits make when they're being attacked.

Thats been my last couple of weeks.

Instead of sweet, beautiful music - I've got dead rabbits.
Screeching, dead, rabbits.
In my head.

I usually do a really good job of blending all the elements of my life, but the past couple of weeks everything just seems to be - well - falling flat I guess. I've spent majority of the past two weeks not sleeping. I've been surviving on catnaps and copious amounts of caffeine. My schedule has been all over the place this month with parent education workshops, school visits and meetings. Shaun's worked a couple nights of overtime and in between all of us have been sick on some varying level for the past three weeks. Did I also mention we're in the process of looking for a house and trying to survive a teething toddler?

I spent last night with a sick 17 month old watching the Wiggles and eating bananas and milk until 4:00 in the morning. If thats not living the life, then man, I simply don't know what is.

I finally took him to the doctor this morning where he had the worst freak out I have ever witnessed. He cried so hard, and so uncontrollably he actually passed out on my chest for 5-10 minutes while we waited for the doctor to come back with some of his test results. I mean, there was boogers and snot and tears coming out of places I wasn't aware was even possible. And the glares. It was enough to make me want to crawl into a hole. The way he looked at me as if to say, "This is YOUR fault" - I think I was just as traumatized as he was with the whole morning. I called Shaun crying and refused to take him to the doctor anymore by myself. I offered him a new train once we got to the car. He just looked at me sideways from beneath his red puffy slits of eyes and said "No", then looked straight ahead and wouldn't acknowledge me for most of the way back home.

Damn. Ouch.

Look, I'd like to clarify - I'm not a crybaby, nor am I typically oversensitive. I'm chalking my heightened emotional state to the lack of sleep as of lately.

And perhaps my crankiness.

I'm sure the belligerence has something to do with that too.

Okay maybe not the belligerence so much, I've been informed I'm usually that way sleep or not. But when you're denied by a toddler, let alone your own, I'm not really sure theres any step lower at that given moment. Especially when the very thing that has put you on his shit list is what you were hoping was going to help fix him.

Anyways after the doctor fiasco, Sully and I came to an agreement; that Lucky Charms are in fact the cereal's god answer to breakfast. I was willing to throw the whole box at him at that point if it garnished a smile. I gave him some rainbow's and my last clover's. We decided to be friends again. At nap he insisted one 1. Being given milk in a tiny miniature bottle and 2. bringing his giant monster truck into bed with him. Nobody will ever accuse him of not being a boy. I tried to trade the truck for a cuddle blanket or a stuffed animal.

My offer was refused.

I had to laugh mainly because watching anyone try to spoon and cuddle with a giant piece of metal is awkward at best, let alone an insistent toddler.

As he started to fall asleep, he crawled practically on top of me and wrapped his hands around my fingers. He rarely does this, so I knew the doctors visit really upset him (I still have a slight ball in the pit of my stomach thinking about it). It was one of the very few times I've felt guilty for having to work. I so badly wanted to be the one home with him today, ALL day, taking care of him. Its just been an off couple of weeks, with all of us simply playing to a slightly different tempo.

I sat there, watching him sleep, instead of doing a million other things I should have been doing at that moment. His sweaty head drenched my shirt as he tossed around little. And I watched him.

And I smiled.

And I thought about all the times I've watched him hammer out a tune on his Papa's piano, squealing with delight and hysterical laughter as he plays his song. He doesn't care that its flat. He's not phased by the fact he can't read the sheet music. He's not bothered with the fact that to anybody else, the sound is just noise. But to this Mama, it's music to my ears. And I applaud loudly.

And he smiles. He's proud.

Because he doesn't care what the song sounds like, he's just happy that its playing. He's happy that its his. And I know that he has it right.

My past couple of weeks have been noise. But I need to start finding the joy of hammering out a rhythm again. I need to find the music in the noise, and relish it, whatever the song is sounding like right now. I need to learn to improvise when the start, or the middle, or even the end isn't going or sounding quite how I planned in my head - that its okay to omit out the parts that aren't working and change them up from time to time at my liberty - ad libitum.

And I look down at this face. And there it is. The slow hum of all my various elements warming up once again - getting ready for a great performance. I suppose sometimes all we need is a little inspiration to kick us back onto the stage, front and center, to try again. I tap the podium and count off - And one, and two, and three ...



Screeching rabbits be damned.

Pant Head

I think the title explains itself.