Thursday, November 3, 2011

Runny noses and growling gremlins

Back from a long break at writing. I feel that coercing myself to write would be pointless, so I don't. I am sorry to those of you in far and away parts of the world who like to be updated on our ever so exciting life. To be honest, the reason I don't write anymore is just for that reason. Our life IS ever so exciting, and to find time for writing about it, would mean I would have to sacrifice those exciting moments. Some exciting moments of the week were.

1. An early start:
Elliott has recently decided that if his dad is going to be waking up at six to get ready for work, he is darn well going to spend some time with him before he leaves for a ten hour day. At first I was a little sad that sleeping in (until 7) was becoming less and less habitual, but later I realized how amazing it is to spend an hour together before we go our separate ways.
This past week Elliott and I have been sick, first started by daddy, who likes to bring home the germs from the outside world. This is the first time I have been sick while having a baby. It's hard. I can't imagine what it would be if you had multiple children, and everyone was sick. I consider myself lucky right now.
11pm-I awake to Elliott crying, and by crying I mean screaming. I rush to get him, not wanting his little throat to get more irritated than it already is. This is the 3rd time already he has awoken from his 7pm bedtime.
12pm- He awakens, and I feed him to calm him down
4pm- There was no more putting him down again. He was ready to be up and play. My darling husband joined the gang, as we had an early morning cup of tea. Honestly, I was on the verge of a breakdown at this point.
5pm- I rock Elliott to sleep, hoping his medicine will let him sleep a little longer.
6pm- Elliott is up and ready to play again. I was crying at this point, worried for my little guy and in dire need of sleep. Christoph so wonderfully called into work and said he would be late. I was able to get a bit more rest.

I am so blessed with such a wonderful husband who takes care of us, even when he works so hard each day. It took me of guard to be up so much in the night, and brought me back to when Elliott used to wake every couple hours in need of food when he was little. I am so proud of all of the wonderful mothers who sometimes have the hardest, yet most rewarding job in the world.
I would also like to thank God for creating coffee beans. I wouldn't be alive today, if it weren't for coffee beans.

In these moments, it is hard, and you ask yourself if you are really cut out to be doing what you are doing. The reality is, if life weren't sometimes hard, we wouldn't appreciate anything. I am so thankful for this life that God has given me, and every single moment I have with my family.

2. Elliott's little noises
As time goes on, Elliott is beginning to discover the ability to make sounds. The first sounds of his life including crying, and farting, but i am glad to say he discovers new one's everyday. Recently he has found his natural ability to growl. I believe he picked that up from a very naughty little girl we met, while waiting to get my last name changed at the social security office. Elliott was so excited to meet someone new, especially someone his size. They were eying each other for awhile before us mothers brought them together. This little girl was a bit older, by a few months, and had starting walking. Elliott just stood there, waiting to softly touch her face as she approached. Then, BAM! This little girl attacked Elliott like a football player tackling his opponent, growling like an evil gremlin, squeezing his sides, as he helplessly let out a little shriek. His face looked as though he was wondering, just what kind of creature was this. I quickly took Elliott in my arms, faking a smile and said, "Wow, she is excited."
I never know quite how to react in these situations, as I have never been in a situation such as this.
Goes to say, Elliott has picked up his own little growl, but the difference between his growl and hers, his sounds more like a cute puppy growl while hers was something not of this world.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Common Wedgie

Wedgies, have been a particularly special part of my life. When I was young, it was my older brothers more pestilent choice in provoking my sister and I to never want to wear underwear for fear of our daily wedgie.
We three were on most occasions a team, but when it came to showing our love, we were always experimenting on how annoying we had to be to make the other siblings go nuts. I remembered a few occasions walking down memory lane, feeling a bit nostalgic as my in-laws and I were discussing what the German word for "wedgie" was.

I believe that God made us all special and unique in our own way. Although, it is quite possible that God made my brother a little bit more unique than the rest of us. He always came up with, what he though were brilliant ideas, of how to antagonize his sisters, leaving us both baffled at the fact he so cleverly convinced us he was in the right.
My dog Abby, was at the time my best friend during my awkward and lonely days of being a home schooled elementary student. She could do me no wrong, and as far as I was concerned, she held my heart in her paws. My brother knew my loving affection for my dog Abby, and of coarse used it against me in any which way he could. I remember numerous times being pinned up against the wall, starring into the hands of my brother holding a wet and tightly wrung kitchen towel, after the dishes were wiped dry, and put away. I would try to escape, but his craftiness proved otherwise. There I was, holding my precious Abby in my arms, while my brother awaited his opportunity. Thoughtfully, he would first ask who it was that wanted the actual whipping. "Do you want Abby to get it tonight, or is it gonna be you, sister? Make a wise decision." Looking back I am amazed at the pure satisfaction I would get upon pleasing my brother. If he was happy, then everyone was. I didn't hesitate to answer in a whimpering frown, "I'll get the whipping brother." He would never hurt me past a dull welt, and all of his fun was kept within bordered realms of normal brotherly love. In fact, I am grateful for those fond memories. It certainly gives me something to talk about when a story is needed. One other noteworthy event involved me holding a thick magazine against a wall with my head, until my mother came home from the grocery store. It usually lasted a good hour, and if I let fall, that meant me having to tell my mother what I did wrong that day. Throwing something heavy, like a paper weight, at my brothers head would normally be what I had to admit to.

Just to let you know my brother is a wonderful person, and only teased us because we were his sisters. He is in fact one of the most amazing people I have ever met. I love you brother.

My in-laws and I continued laughing at what had just happened, vacationing in the beautiful Colorado mountain range. They are all German of coarse, and it often makes for extremely funny conversations, especially when a translation is lost. It was one of my many strange questions of what a certain word meant that had caused this hysterical event. My curiosity had come upon the word wedgie. "What does that mean in German?" I has asked my brother in-law, Dave. He replied "Ars frisst hosen, which means, ass eats pants."

Now, as this is both hilarious and important information, what made it so funny was the way he said it. In his matter of fact German accent he couldn't understand what was so funny that caused the entire table, my family, to roar with laughter. I thought my dad was going to end up on the ground. Ass eats pants, not only gives you an amazing visual of the meaning of the word wedgie, it also sounds amazing and makes you want to tell the whole world what the literal translation of the word wedgie is in German.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

"Me want bread"

We have been living in the U.S. for about 8 months now, and as I reminisce on the past couple years I can now look at it objectively and see it for what it really was. Among many different experiences I had in Germany, I would consider my language schooling to be the most noteworthy when it comes to giving you a little picture of what my days consisted of. Irritated, would be a word to describe just how I felt when I could not, on a day to day basis have the ability to express exactly what is was that I wanted. I found it difficult to say how much, and what type of bread I would like, or trying to explain that I wanted flat water with ice was as though I was trying to convince the waitress that I was indeed a hippopotumus. Even telling the clerk how much I liked here hair took considerate preparation, and any chance of spontaneous conversation was ended with a nervous laugh and a feeling of incompetence. I found myself settling for much less than what I actually wanted, afraid of revealing my inadequate German vocabulary. I would often resign with a nod yes to the chicken liver, instead of the actual breast meat, later throwing it out because the American recipes for chicken liver pleasantly disguised its taste with deep fat frying. A nod yes, or no had become my first language, and before I knew it my audacity for speaking without fear of sounding stupid had later turned me into an insecure head nodder. Otherwise I sounded like this. "Yes, I want these bread." or "I want milk in me." It was months later when my frustration required me to have Christoph make the phone call I was persistently avoiding. Not only could I not order the right chicken meat, I was certainly incapable of calling a German school and retaining necessary information for starting a course.
My first day of German class brought me back to my first day of high school, after being home schooled for most of my life. I remember walking in my biology class as the "new" student, and as it was a particularly small school in the first place I felt even more singled out. I was at first known as the shy ice skater, as ice skating had been my sport of choice for the past 5 years, but later got demoted to just the shy girl, after I quit my vigorous sport. I then tried a series of other sports, later settling with soccer. Cheer leading always looked attractive to me, but the year I envied the popular senior girls, was not the year I joined the cheer leading team. The following year I tried out and made the team. But, since all of the previous years squad consisted of seniors, our team then consisted of four girls, a teacher who had a peculiar admiration for the song, "Eye of the Tiger," and an embarrassing light show we performed to that exact song. I've never hated myself more than the moment our teacher had us swinging our light sticks to the beat, and still expected us to be accepted among our fellow students after that shindig. It was awful to say the least. Not that we were bad cheerleaders, but only that the choice of dances and songs were a bit outdated.

I walked in to the emotionless classroom, where the name for our teacher was written on the white board. Mr. Andreas was only one of our three teachers we had in the three months I was there. I have described him in a previous blog, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. You can read that blog if you would like a visual. You could tell he was a narscisist, pleasured by the fact that he probably knew more than all of us combined. At least he thought so. It is quite possible the only thing he knew more than us was the German language. I heard him talking in a low voice to his mother one day, when my German had exceedingly progressed, and it seemed as though he wanted schnitzel for dinner instead of soup. I assumed from that conversation he was living with his mother, after a heartbreaking divorce that left him sad and alone. He implied this occurrence one day in class while on one of his hour long discussions about himself. I could not help feel for him, as people like that usually attempt disguise their insecurities with a facade of egotism. I was most likely the only person in our class to find him amusing. Amir, seated next to me seemed to hate his guts, and rolled his eyes every time Andreas went on another tangent of how knowledgeable he was. This usually occurred every ten minutes, and by the end of class we had accomplished barely any worksheets and were sent home with two hours worth of homework. I didn't mind though. He was better than the two other teachers, one of which voice was comparable to Ben Stein, the "Dry Eyes" commercial guy. He left me feeling depressed and in need of a nap. Andreas, spoke with such passion that it left you wanting to better learn German, just so you could know what it was he was saying in such a life or death manner. It later turned out that he mostly spoke of politics, or how the German culture is far greater than any other culture in the world. I thought it funny how comfortable he felt saying this as our classroom consisted of possibly twenty different cultures.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Hold on to your coasters

If I were still a baby, I think Elliott could be my best friend. What am I saying? He is my BFF in a totally normal and healthy way. His father is also my best friend as well as my best friend Jesie Steffes. They all have different roles as best friends of coarse. Elliott is first and foremost my son which is how it should be. What I'm trying to say is that he is the most chill human I have ever encountered. He watches me do my hair and put on my makeup, staring at me with such perplexity in his eyes. He is perhaps thinking, "Wow, woman are categorically fraudulent." He is pretty smart, so I'm sure those would be his exact words. Watching me work out is another adventure all in itself. I can do a pretty mean roundhouse kick to the jugular, if there ever was a jugular to kick. He silently gawks at me as if an eagle was watching her prey, but instead of the prey being food the prey is the best shindig you have ever seen. I can feel his perfectly round eyes on the back of my head. When I look at him, demonstrating my newly improved pilates move, he sends a smile my way and then immediately returns to his perplexed and concentrated look. It's as though he is trying to make his limbs move the same way in his head, but the physical aspect just doesn't work yet.

Today he was laying on the ground beside me as I was cutting paper with my legs, metaphorically speaking of coarse, and as I looked over, he imitated my exact moves. I think his daddy should take him to do more manly things like squishing worms or eating dirt. Our daily routine is usually consistent, as schedules are the best thing for baby's. It's important for him to know just when to expect me to break out in song and music while stares dreamily up at his home made mobile I fashioned for him out origami cranes. I couldn't have asked for a better audience to my daily life routines. I'm sorry other best friends, but I don't think you could bare sitting through my 45 minute kick boxing routine, and be absolutely amazed by it as he is. I always wonder what is going through his head, and am eagerly awaiting the day he can tell me.

Elliott has many toys that people have so generously donated, or mommy has impulsively bought thinking. "If I were a baby I would love this." It turns out Elliott is more so a dedicated fan of household appliances. His apparatus of choice, coasters. As a wedding gift Christoph and I received MoMa coasters from a friend. They are totally hip, and of coarse they would be if my son were to admire them. They come in all different colors, and as I am partly responsible for Elliott's developmental progress I find it my responsibility as I hand him a coaster to tell him what color it is. In my opinion he favors red, which could very well be the case knowing that children see red as their first color. His second household entertainment choice would probably be the carpet. He would fondle our ugly burber carpet all day long if it meant not having to listen to me do another horrible rendition of "Falling Slowly."

As I sit back and look at my life, it's hard not to think to myself, 'How do I deserve this?' How do I deserve to see my husband holding our son, making him laugh, getting spit up or pooped on? It's so amazing to see who Christoph becomes while holding a miniature version of himself. It makes my heart turn into a thousand butterflies and float away. He is an AMAZING dad, and better yet an amazing husband. I am so blessed to have him. Sometimes you forget how good you really have it. Then you put your little one to bed, hand him his red coaster after a long day of carpet frisking, and couldn't picture life any more perfect.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Charlottes web

In our new neighborhood it is not uncommon to see elderly women doing things you would normally not see elderly women doing. Why, just today I saw quite an eyeful previous to pulling into our driveway. Upon first glance, I was almost certain that when this particular car conveying two people drove past I would see a pair of long haired hippies who were imaginably married on 4/20, listening to toker tunes like Bob Marley or Tom Petty, using words like "far out" or "uhhh?" They continued to drive by in their half painted maroon 1980's Subaru, with two much less than expensive mountain bikes tied to the rear and I was pleasantly surprised to find that they were indeed not hippies. Two elderly woman, most likely breaching their 80's with pink visers, suncheaters that were big enough to shade their entire face, fluffy white hair, cigarettes in hand, and husbands perhaps napping in their graves. Such is our neighborhood when finding an older woman with no partner. The sad thing is you never see it the other way around. Men are always the first to go. My explanation for seeing these diamonds in the rough, usually in pairs, riding motorcycles, scooters, or anything that could shorten their lifespan, is simply that they have lived their lives and are now free to do whatever they want while they can. How else would you explain such a thing? I think it's great. It brightens my day and I'm sure the rush of wind struggling to make its way through their teased cotton white hair, mounting a Harley, brightens theirs as well. I pulled into my driveway pondering what I just saw and continued to imagine what they had come from doing. My strange awareness envisioned them dodging trees on a treacherous biking path, drinking from a camelbak filled with mountain dew, an ipod headphone in one ear, the other left naked to hear if Mildred is still following close. I love my neighborhood.

The other day...well it really wasn't the other day more like a couple of weeks ago, but the other day sound much less complicated. The other day we were stopped at a gas station before headed up to the mountains to meet up with Christoph's family. Like usual, Christoph was filling up the gas tank and recording how good our mileage was this time around. It has never really changed from time to time, but he still insists upon checking and telling me every time. "19.8 miles to the gallon! Much better than last time!" I had recalled that last time was 19.1 mpg. In the back seat slept our precious little Elliott, exhausted from the hardships of eating, pooping, and laughing. I looked back at him to see if Christoph's leaving and shutting the door had awakened him. Placed ever so spidery above his head was a perfect little spider, spinning her web and was centimeters away from landing her spidery appendages on my sweet sleeping child. My face turned from a satisfied smile to a horrifying scowl. How dare this spider. If I wouldn't have though Elliott was in Immediate danger, I would have snapped a picture because it was absolutely perfect. A sleeping child with a nasty looking spider about to land on their head. Unfortunately though, I crushed that spider in between my fingers as fast as I could, dismissing all my spidery fears. Poor Charlotte.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Poor little sausage links

If you could think of the most uncomfortable situation you could be in I'm sure this would be one of them. Think of your self doused in Vaseline or some kind of sticky ointment to relieve a persistent itch, then forced to wear cotton clothing firmly mushing against your moist skin, repeated three times a day just so you can stop from scratching yourself inside out. My poor unfortunate little Elliott has to go through this ritual, fighting it to all ends. The culprit, eczema. From the time he was two weeks old I have not only been struggling to fit the puzzle pieces of an extremely arduous puzzle together, but also came to the conclusion that doctors are indeed idiots especially those with inordinately large fingers. It turns out nurses are in fact the smarter and more nurturing species. Traditionally not being one to generalize I would normally follow this sentence with "Not all doctors of coarse," but I just don't feel like it. I have reason for my doubts in the higher spectrum of the medical world, clearly pertaining to my own personal experiences. I am sorry if you are reading this and are either a doctor or know someone who is, but I'm sure whomever you are or whomever you know are quite splendid and are not in any way what I am about to describe.
I will tell you the facts and you can take from it what you will, but it's almost certain that many mothers in my situation would feel or have felt the exact same way.

It was his six week birthday and Elliott's morbid looking umbilical cord had finally fallen off after much anticipation, and catching Christoph pulling a tad bit too strong on the unyielding piece of mom that just did not want to come off. Christoph enjoys pulling scabs off, and this was I'm sure the biggest one he had ever encountered. Given the okay to give him his first fully emerged bath and use soap, I reached for my Johnson and Johnson baby hair and body wash. On most children this is of coarse would have been fine, but Elliott is allergic to everything. As I was not yet aware of this information I generously and joyously lathered his little sausage links making sure I cleaned every tiny fold of his perfect skin. Shortly following his bath I observed swollen red bumps covering his entire body and I was forced to make an appointment with his pediatrician. Our original pediatrician was not available for such a short notice visit, which I was happy about. I did not trust her for reasons I will not say, but I was excited to see what our other options were. To my dismay it seems as though there are no other options other than an array of dismal doctors who would rather be eating. When he walked through the door he did not even look at us before he said, "It's blah blah blah blah blah," as if I new the rash he was referring to in his complicated doctors choice of words. Apparently he had talked to the nurse beforehand and knew just from talking to her exactly what he was dealing with. Annoyed with his know it all dominating tone and fat fingers I of coarse had questions, but found myself forgetting them as fast as he disproved them. I could have used the restroom, left without washing my hands and still would have taken a considerably longer time than our doctors visit that day. Left with no answers and a tube of trimilicone, a potent steroid I was left to believe that the rash would eventually just "go away." So I hoped for just that, trusting he knew what he was talking about. Wanting to relieve my poor son of such an uncomfortable situation and being naive of what exactly steroids can do, I later found out from none other than google, and not our pediatrician, that for such a little baby this can be harmful. Not lethal of coarse, but only that his skin could resemble a cow hide, permanently, among other strange things. You can understand my frustration at this point, I'm sure.

Following this event, and noticing that nothing helped his skin during the two weeks off of steroid cream, I sought out to find another pediatrician. I had by this point on my own persistent research, while also asking friends with similar situations, revealed that he indeed had eczema and that it is very likely the cause of an allergic reaction to food, detergents, soap, etc. I guess that out ruled our first pediatricians suggestion that this rash was normal and it was just a coincidence that it had appeared first after his soapy bath. I changed everything. Detergents, soaps, watched what I ate, did not wear perfume. I was dedicated. Still I was at a loss. Getting a recommendation for yet another pediatrician, I felt as though this would be it. Thinking he would at least listen to my suggestions as a mother, I was yet again utterly disappointed. He told me that eczema is nothing more than a cause and effect of the weather here in Colorado. I almost punched him in the face. Not only did I know more on the subject than this doctor, but I found it exceedingly rude how sure he was about his facts, and bypassed my knowledge as a mother. He was a nice person, but you could also be the worst hairstylist in the world and still be a nice person. That wouldn't get you a nice haircut.

Five months later I have finally found some things that keep Elliott's eczema at bay. Unfortunately these findings did not come from our list of pediatricians, but from other mothers, nurses and google. So, thank you for that. I am dreading our next pediatrician visit, knowing that the duration of the stay I will not take one word as truth. Regrettably it is that way.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Even though we ain't got money

Thank goodness for tortilla chips. I think if I had to be on a gluten free diet without having the pleasure of indulging in a bag of tortilla chips every week, then I would probably...well, I would just be mad. The food I most missed while living oversees.

Our wonderful family from Germany visited a couple of weeks ago. During their stay I realized how utterly awful it is to have to choose where you live when one side of your family is from a different part of the world. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. If you can, don't fall in love with a charming, good-looking German. It's dangerous, yet totally worth it.
That being said their stay here was of coarse bitter sweet with activities arranging anywhere from fishing, playing card games, and being with one another trying not to think of the fact that they would indeed have to leave again. It's a sticky situation, and there is quite frankly nothing good about it. Thankfully God knows what's best in our lives and inquiring as to how it could be different is just downright irrational. That still doesn't stop one in times of the blues.

Blue is just how I've been feeling lately. Feeling blue was different when I didn't have a child at my side at all times. I was previously able to wallow in self pity while shoving two pints of ice cream down my gutter. I just simply can't behave like that anymore. Not only because I am leading by example as a parent, and if little Elliott saw his mother doing such things it could later produce some serious ice cream phobia's. But also because, I dunno. You want to be and do the best for you child at all times, even if that means putting your emotions to the back burner once in awhile. I wouldn't call it faking it, but rather wearing a beautiful mask while attempting to withhold a giant pimple on your forehead. One thing I know for certain is that Elliott has this amazing ability to cheer you up by just being himself. That smile will light up your heart in an instant.

I was wandering around in Safeway the other day, like I usually do tired, dazed, confused on whether I want to continue this couponing spree I have been on. It seems as though I am saving money on things I don't need. Just as I arrived to the apple sauce isle I realized I did not even have the coupon in which I could have saved one whole dollar on something I actually needed. Frustrated I sort of tuned out while a very familiar song provoked my attention. The song was by Kenny Loggins and Jim Messina, Danny's Song. If you haven't heard the song, it goes like this.

People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one,
And we've only just begun.
Think I'm gonna have a son.
He will be like she and me, as free as a dove,
Conceived in love.
Sun is gonna shine above.
And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.
Seems as though, a month ago, I was Beta-Chi,
Never got high.
Oh, I was a sorry guy.
And now, I smile and face the girl that shares my name.
Now I'm through with the game.
This boy will never be the same.
And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.
Pisces, Virgo rising is a very good sign,
Strong and kind,
And the little boy is mine.
Now I see a family where the once was none.
Now we've just begun.
Yeah, we're gonna fly to the sun.
And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.
Love the girl who holds the world in a paper cup.
Drink it up.
Love her and she'll bring you luck.
And if you find she helps your mind, better take her home.
Don't you live alone.
Try to earn what lovers own.
And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with you, honey,
And everything will bring a chain of love.
And in the morning, when I rise,
You bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything is gonna be alright.

Yeah it made me cry a little bit. It also made me like Safeway a little bit more.

Friday, June 24, 2011


The junctures in my erratic life have caused me to think cognitive in regards to time both meaningful and steadfast. In a positive sense I have come to terms with my current state as a mother in that God has so intentionally placed me and my husband where we are for particular reasons. I am recently enlightened to a whole new landscape of beauty in most cases looking into the eyes of what I can only describe as the most astounding being on this earth. My son. It feels so deep to say it, as it is the only way I can describe it. Deep. I cannot take credit for this miraculous event, but only look to the One who created me as the One who created him. How am I so fortunate?
Feelings of familiarity or recurrence in regards to raising a child come and go faster than the days. I find myself continuously surprised and amazed at each new phase of Elliott's life, considering myself the luckiest mother in world. I wont say its always comfy including sleeping on the edge of sleep, but I always come back to the certainty that I am exactly where God wants me.
Being a mother not only grows someone as a person, but ignites an entire new perspective on what is valid in life and what is not.
Before being a mother I would hate myself for having a bowl of ice cream. Now I am happy to say that I enjoy a bowl of ice cream almost every night. Before being a mother I would change my clothes ten times just to make sure I looked exactly how I wanted. Now I throw whatever isn't dirty, or extremely dirty on, glance in the mirror and head on my way. Before I was a mother I aspired to be someone great, someone who made an impact in this world. Now I wake up knowing I have made an impact in the world. Before I was a mother the thought of a child getting hurt by someone would upset me to a nascious degree. Now the thought of anyone hurting my child or anyone else's causes me to so intently picture myself holding a shotgun to their heads and pulling the trigger. Before I was a mother I took time for granted. Now I cherish every second I get to spend with my precious little bugger. I love being mommy, holding Elliott's tiny hand in mine as I kiss him goodnight and look forward to seeing him again in the morning. What a blessed life I live, always wondering how I deserve such a special family to go through life with. To live everyday as it's the last.
Today Elliott, Grandma and I went to the pool for the first time in his infant life. I can't read his mind but I would conclude that he enjoyed it to the degree of tolerated in again. Being in the water made him a little nervous and he gave me insight into more of his personality as we bounced around and I may have dunked him a time or two. If I am reading him right I can tell he is going to be an avid people watcher, observing and thinking about the world around him. I love how he takes everything in, and it reminds me to look at life as thought I have never experienced it. Appreciating every new adventure and circumstance.
After swimming and tolerating mommy putting sunscreen on every inch of his body it was time for a nap. After rocking him to sleep I carefully layed him down on a towel in the grass at my side. Fifteen minutes into his solid sleep from a tiring day, I was admiring how deep he slept even with screaming kids just feet away. As I was looking at him I noticed something crawling on his face. An ant! Better get it! No! A spider! Shreaking in disgust I flicked it from his face before it could crawl up his tiny nostrils. Poor Elliott was left dismayed and awake from his mother flicking away at his face. It was a short nap. WHat a great day for his 5 month birthday.