our little corner of the world

That baby in my belly?
It's a BOY.





Aside from the exciting news about our little one, I've been hit with a sinus infection and an ear infection. I've spent the day as a sick parent, and Morgan's watched more television than I care to admit. Hope the meds help me heal quickly.

Dear Morgan,

Happy birthday, my lovely lady. Today you are two years old! No longer will I respond to questions about your age in months, but rather in whole years. I am amazed at what we've learned about your personality in the last 12 months, and all of the physical milestones that have accompanied those discoveries.

You've gone from a toddling, toothless wonder to a running, jumping girl. From cutting four teeth to a set just shy of two-year molars. From 30 inches to exceeding three feet. From short hair to long and back again. From sign language to sentences. From being fed to feeding yourself. From diapers underneath your pants to big girl underpants! From compliant to sometimes defiant.

In the last year, you quickly replaced the "a" in my name, and I went from Momma to Mommy. And your independence starting showing more and more as the months went on. Not only were you adamant about particular toys, but also the shoes that adorned your feet. Each day you insist on making more choices by yourself.

Amidst that self-determination, though, there is a part of your personality that I think will always shape you. In a word, Morgan, you are cautious. I've learned since your first birthday that new situations for you require extra time for adjustment and acceptance. I realize now that the smiles in our photos were mostly by request. Daddy and I quickly caught on that you need time to warm up before you'll become your rambunctious self.

Learning this about you has made me proceed with caution. I knew that putting you in a pool would probably not be fun at first. The crunchy leaves of autumn weren't an ideal setting for a fall photo. And your first Halloween costume was worn many times before the big night, knowing you would have issues touching the tulle. In each situation, though, you became accepting after taking time to learn and forging ahead on your own terms... bathtub toys and warm water in the pool; crunching the leaves with your shoes; playing soccer in your skirt.

We are still, however, trying to help you overcome your fear of the doctor. At your 18-month appointment, we only had to set foot in the lobby before your alarm turned on. You recognized our venue and suddenly were panicked. Not until we were finished with our appointment and buckled back in your car seat did you calm down.

I pray that change will become easier for you to handle (little do you know what this summer holds, my dear). And I'm hopeful, knowing how much you have flourished on Wednesdays in the church nursery when I attend MOPS. You were once uneasy about leaving me; now you ask the caregivers to help you with your coat and immediately hunt for the play vacuum.

Pretending to cook and clean is your latest pastime, but you'd much rather help Mommy with the real thing. While you aren't able to accomplish these tasks independently, you love to assist in watering the plants, vacuuming, cleaning the toilet, collecting the garbage cans, setting the table, washing the dishes, and making dinner.

Almost every afternoon you ask, "what Mommy doing?" and then proceed to push the dining chair over to the counter so you can help me measure, pour and stir. Spices are your favorite and the rack is now in reach. There are certain meals lately that have a little more zing in each bite, but you are proud to tell Daddy that you helped with dinner.

And you are always anxious for Daddy to come home after work. A huge smile adorns your face through the living room window when you recognize Daddy's car coming down the street. And as he walks in the door, you're always there to greet him with a hug and a kiss. He is your favorite playmate, always inventing games and songs to make you laugh, always doing the tickling, running, wrestling, giggling.

Music continues to be a constant theme with you. Together we have learned many fun songs from Story Time at the library, although you only actually sing them in the privacy of our home. The requests for music in the car start coming as soon my hand touches the keys from the hook at the back door. And most recently, you've remembered and labeled the songs that Daddy and I improvise, making it challenging for us to recall what exactly the words to "The Daddy Song" are.

While I think music will always be a part of your future, I'm starting to wonder about sports. In particular, soccer. You have managed to acquire quite a collection of balls in various textures and sizes. And your favorites are the ones you can kick. Even though the grass is still off-limits, you love to boot your new ball down the sidewalk, and have recently added quite the power jump to your punt.

In the last year, you've become very accustomed to the routines in our household. As soon as I place our meal on the table you announce "pray first", knowing we bow our heads before we eat. And as Daddy and I hold your hands at bedtime, you complete the sentences of Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep with the words "sleep, keep, wake, and take" always ending us with an "amen".

Most times you are obedient to Daddy and I, although there are moments when you look us straight in the eye and decide to test the waters. I know that it's only your quest to learn the limits, your desire to feel comforted by the boundaries, not truly a means of rattling our cages. Sometimes, in those flashes of your boldness, I find myself turning away so you won't be able to see the smile across my face. Because even when you're wild side comes out, you bring me so much joy inside.

You and I have shared some special moments together, just the two of us. With each passing year, and with each change that comes into our lives, I know those moments will be less and less. So I want you to know that I'm savoring these times with you. Each and every day.

I love being your Mommy, the one who can kiss away any hurt, the one who can make you feel special and secure. And I love you, Morgan Grace, so dearly. Daddy and I think the world of you. Happy birthday, my sweets.

Love,
Mommy

After this didn't sell last spring at our garage sale, I posted it on Craig's List all summer long. One buyer wanted me to reduce the price by $100, but I held firm and didn't hear another word.

My ad expired long ago, and I hadn't bothered re-posting, figuring it was a lost cause. We continued using the two dressers in our bedroom (and continued pushing around the headboard and footboard between the garage and the basement).

Out of the blue last weekend, I received an email from someone interested in the same antique bedroom set. How did she know it was for sale? Turns out, the inquiry came from the sister of the interested buyer mentioned above.

The sister walked in our house on Tuesday night and five minutes later threw down some large cash. The muscles came back last night to pick it up, and now it's gone. Just like that.

For some reason I have a tiny feeling of guilt about the sale. It wasn't a family heirloom. I have no special attachment to that furniture. And it certainly wasn't in pristine condition. Still... I have an odd twinge of sadness about the whole thing.

Why do we get attached to certain "stuff"? Usually I'm one to organize and purge everything in site. This time it just didn't feel the same. Maybe because there's not something perfect lined up to go in it's place? Maybe because I know we'll be temporarily using some 1980s oak, brass-handled, colonial-style dressers that I thought for SURE would never see the light of day from our basement. Not my first choice.

But on the bright side, there's possibilities in the future. And new money to make it happen.

"Baby Luke! Aunt Sarah! Jesus!"



Allow me to clarify... Morgan's favorite thing to do is look at pictures of her very special Baby Luke on the computer. After coming across the above photo, she annouced very adamantly who was in the picture. While the pastor certainly does have a beard and white robe (a typical portrayal of Jesus), he's not quite the man himself. Close!