trick or treating with a two year old

Does it get any better?

(One highlight, in case your two year old friends have all grown up …)

[October 31, 6:30pm]
Door Bell rings, resident answers.
Mom & Dad (to child): “What do you say?”
Child: “Thank you.”
[Candy dispersed.]
Mom & Dad (to child): “What do you say?”
Child: “Trick or Treat”

Kind chuckles … next bell.

i’m going here tomorrow

Weston Red Barn Farm

Pirtle Winery

(Can’t wait.)

contributing to the common good

(Samuel David Majernik.)

big brother ethan’s giddy about this too …

m-i-a no mo’

Yes, it’s been awhile.

No, I wasn’t kidnapped.  No, I didn’t elope.  No, I haven’t fled the country to escape political rhetoric.  (Even if — I confess — I’ve been indulging in a bit of levity while wrestling with “the issues” and assessing this political campaign.)

Short-story long?

I moved (sort of) the last weekend of July, only to pack up again and travel for 10 days during the first part of August upon which, returning to KC (buried alive under a pile of work & correspondence) I proceeded to host out-of-town family for a long weekend of fun up until we joined together for travel to Des Moines (where I reunited with long-lost cousins), then returned back to KC (buried alive under a pile of work & correspondence) in order to launch (kind of) the start of (yet another) ministry year which meant working long hours and returning late in the evening to my (quasi) new home until a week ago when I hired two (very mediocre) men and a truck to (try to) help me move-in and damage personal belongings & valuables such that I was free to spend the next few days holed up in my (newly established) home organizing all my stuff in order to justify an entire “girls day out” with my (very pregnant) sis so we could have some fun together before (lo and behold) my beautiful (perfectly healthy, seemingly perfect) new nephew — Samuel David — arrived (nearly three weeks early!) onto the scene of this wide world such that all I could do was to dote and feel my heart swell until I remembered and (then) was forced to begin (again) the more menial (and, yes, necessary) task of arranging things in my home and life so as to create some semblance of order (in no particular order).  Order like knives in the kitchen.  Toilet paper in the bathroom.  Wireless on the router.  At which point, having all such matters utterly & totally resolved (yesterday evening), I decided it might be okay to start blogging again.

For those who may have found my long short-story less than compelling (or for those who just couldn’t stomach the whole thing): I conclude (in terrible literary-style) with (once again) the most important point …

Samuel David Majernik.  6 lbs.  1 oz.  Just after noon on September 2, 2008.

I’m back to “heart swelling” …

then sometimes, we just like to sit down together for a piece of chocolate cake

the blueberries were just a start

(Eat your heart out Martha Stewart.)  I haven’t had a weekend this domestic in a long while.

In addition to trying my hand at a brand new recipe (i.e. Double-Berry Butter Cake with Vanilla Rum Custard or [the second option] Lemon Whip), I finally made a start at commemorating last summer’s beach trip (via photo-album).

I’ve only completed a fourth of the book, but I’m loving the album already!  Here are a few of my favorite pics:

memorial day weekend, cont’d …

 

… with two of my favs.  (even if one of ’em is, at times, a fussy-fav.)

little ethan’s been sick …

That’s right.  My nephew even had a small tumble (that prevented him from walking for a couple of days and traveling with me to visit “the Grandmas” for Mother’s Day).  I made the trip to Wichita and back by myself.  It was sad for both of us — more sad for me.

Today, I paid sick little Ethan a visit.  (Though back to walking about, he’s still pretty congested with whatever else he’s fighting.)  Ethan, Bj, & I celebrated “mamma” (my sis) with dinner out.  After two minutes in a hot-commodity high chair … we were told that Ethan would have to give it up to another table.  (Apparently, that waitress had “first dibs” — though we’d been seated for 20 minutes, Ethan on our laps.)  Anyhow, it was another hard break.  (Ethan cried.)   It was frustrating for both of us — more frustrating for me.

Toward the end of dinner, after pretty poor service throughout (I guess the highchair hiccup was kind of symbolic) … Mom, Dad, and “Aunt Na-Na” (Nettie’s harder to say) were pulling out all the stops.  There were bits of cheese & snack-puffs for dinner on the plate; animated & choreographed numbers with Elmo & Ernie on the side; colorful books and (yes, even sharp) dining utensils in hand.  We were rounding out the second verse of “where is thumbkin?” (all three adults, hand-motions fully-engaged) when a waitress interrupted the moment with a question that, come to think of it, seemed more for us than for her …

“Is everything okay here?”

All three of the grown-ups sort of looked around the table (thumbs-still-dancing) and assured her: we’re just fine, thank you.  I looked at Ethan.  It was a little embarrassing for both of us–more embarrassing for me.

It’s funny to me how kids — even with their brutal honesty — are somehow more resiliant to life’s changing circumstances.  So often, I refuse to face reality head-on, yet seem to be “harder-hit” when called to flex.  Maybe it has something to do with my own delusions of control?

Ah, the gift of these little ones.  (I love ’em even when their smelly & sick; something only a mom or dad … or insanely smitten Aunt Na-Na could say.)

Happy Mother’s Day to me.

cheers to the compassionate among us …

(And that darn sweet 16-month-old nephew of mine.)