But my don't like dogs

In honor of Sam's birth nearly four years ago, my parents purchased and planted a beautiful little tree in our front yard. It's a lovely dogwood that comes into bloom each year right before his birthday, and Sam proudly refers to it as his "Dog Tree".

As if we didn't need enough reminders that this little guy's birthday is coming upon us shortly, the dogwood began blooming this week. It's gorgeous and delicate and abundant with fiery color. Sam loves to come out and look at it and point at the opening blossoms.

In addition to the wonders of a bloom that coincides with one's birth EVERY year, Sam also is quick to recognize the irony. Without any measure of irritation, Sam easily explains to us all that the tree is his, "but...my don't like dogs."

At least he appreciates the tree. We'll work on dogs later.

Happy Earth Day

My blogging has been dormant for the Winter, but with Spring in full swing, I intend to get some more posts of my little seedlings sprouting.

The boys are growing, blossoming, digging in roots and stretching their boundaries. Spring will always remind me of the beautiful season of their births, and how much richer my life is with their presence.

Bursting from the slow, dark days of Winter, we are a flurry of activity around here. Everything seems to get crammed into this time of year - sports, birthdays, school plays, science fairs, bike-a-thons and other endless requests for our limited free time. This morning we enjoyed acknowledging Spring and Earth Day with the simple act of planting seeds together.

Jack Be Little pumpkins, Marigolds, Sunflowers, green gourds, and summer squash made a new perch behind our kitchen sink. I'm also pretty sure that Sam planted a few errant globules of oatmeal left on the table from his breakfast. He's hoping for a bumper crop this summer.

Beach Boys

We celebrated the 4th at a friend's beach house and enjoyed an amazing afternoon that transformed into a mystical full moon evening. The boys played in the sand, moved water from buckets, built sand castles, snuck cookies and paddled in the frigid waters of Puget Sound.

Sam demonstrates his patience and determination by delivering water via net. Once again - despite my suggestions to use a bucket - I learn from Sammy that the joy is in the process and not the finished product. This little guy has so much to teach me.


Sam practices sand dives while his Daddy and Max paddle out to the water slide.

Later, as the hot blazes of a glaring mid-Summer sun began to set, we took a magic boat ride. This gave me ample opportunity to cuddle and nuzzle with pudgy arms and thighs that were slippery with SPF and smelled of salt and sun and sandy goodness.




Sam's cheers of "Faster! Faster!" were surprising and delightful to all of us.

Summer...I adore you!

Independence Day

Operation Queen Car Underwear is officially underway at the Monkey Ranch.

While at the park with a friend yesterday, Sam decided that he was done with this messy diaper business and snuck into the woods, removed his diaper from beneath his pants, and handed me his diaper while proclaiming that he wants to wear underwear. Always.

Fire up the washing machine, load up on poopy prizes, and here we go! Here's to independence!

Real Live Nephew of Uncle Sam

Happy Fourth of July!

Max, age 3 months
What a firecracker!

Finally

Really? Has it been THAT long? I guess it has been a while since I've updated on the getsitement around here. Forgive me, peeps.

Summer is in full swing, the sprinkler giggles with nearly naked tots, and I am soaking up sun, dirt, and fresh summer fruit like it might go out of season. The garden beckons at all hours and I find myself resenting the staccato of constant interruption that is the soundtrack of life with two small boys.

We wound up the school year two weeks ago with a mad bonanza of sewing projects, good-bye events, thank you gifts, play dates, and then...Wham-Bam! Right into some out-of-state air travel -- standby style.

We actually did relax a bit while visiting my folks and the rest of my family on a slow, unexpected and relaxed pace. In addition to all of our relaxing, we also managed to squeeze in some swimming with the cousins, a Solstice Water Soaker Fest, Father's Day, multiple Farmer's Markets, a round of antibiotics (Sam), a triathalon (Mr. Wonderful) and a raging bout of GI distress (party of four).

Sure feels good to be back home again...

Mine?

The boys worked very hard this week to show the Valentine love to their friends at preschool.


Max carefully cut out nearly 35 hearts for both his class and his brother's class.


What Sam lacks in fine motor skills, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm for his brother's mad skizzor skillz.



"Give me a 'V'!"



It would not surprise me in the least if I were to discover 34 new gray hairs this week. The fact that 34 happens to be exactly the same number of Valentine's cards that needed to leave the house this week may or may not be coincidental.

Happy Golden Days of Yore

I've been searching in my ornament boxes for something to put on our tree that doesn't have wheels, treads, propellers, a sword, or a corn cob pipe. Even my favorite glass icicles, dangling all shimmery and oh-so-breakably, add a rather phallic tone to the Man Tree in our living room. The Man Tree is complete with a star on the top of it that Max made in preschool out of an empty roll of toilet paper covered in aluminum foil. If an empty roll of toilet paper doesn't scream male to me, then I don't know what does.

While plucking through these boxes of Christmases-past in search of something that represents the feminine in our family, I came across a picture.

A family photo taken ten Christmases ago, when my brother and I both had hands without gold bands and not even a glimmer of the little monkey boys who would one day change the holiday season forever for us. We look well-rested, unfrazzled, and well, calm.

It was the Christmas in which Mr. Wonderful asked me to do him the honor of becoming his bride, and my grandparents had come out to visit. Grandma has on a festive vest and I'm sure she told Grandpa to wear The Red Shirt. Or maybe she didn't say a word, but after fifty Christmases together, he knew.

We went to visit my mom's cousin and his family and shared our last Christmas with my Great Aunt Valerie, who had a tradition of sewing matching night gowns and night shirts for me and my brother every year. We joked about sleepwear while drinking martinis and eating cannelloni by candlelight. My little cousin, who now towers over me and knows all the songs being played in the Brass Plum section of Nordstrom, was five and she BELIEVED. Her mom believed, too. We all believed that year.

The next year, for the first time in my life, I didn't come home for Christmas. Mr. Wonderful and I shared our first Christmas tree and started our own family traditions that continue now and will continue for our boys in the Christmases to come. Hopefully some of these traditions and memories will even remain well after I'm no longer in the picture.

The holidays, while certainly merry and bright, also bring out the ghosts of Christmas Past, sometimes at the most unexpected moments. The ache can be overwhelming, especially at a time of year when we're supposed to be happy and bombarded with imagery of family and sentiment and mournful versions of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas".

Today I send out hugs to all who are missing dear ones. Whether that footprint is fresh or old, it still leaves a mark. Polaroids don't replace the hugs and laughter shared over a glass of eggnog. But I'll offer a toast to those no longer decorating the tree, and to those who still make it merry and bright while feeling the pull of the past.

*Clink*

It's not just my tree that needs more angels.