1.

You know how I know it's been a seriously long time since I've blogged? I don't even want to look to see when I posted my last entry. For those readers who have taken copious notes from postings past, you already know that my goal was to write about once a week about our journey. "That was such a cute idea, Heidi. Awe. *patting my own head* You had no idea what raising a toddler was going to be like." I'm gonna throw in a self-hug, too, that was so adorably ignorant of me.

But I finally have found a space of time in which my son is deep into a stellar REM cycle, all the clothes are clean, and to my knowledge, there are no bodily functions hanging off anything in the house. And I can finally focus on providing one helluvua posting, because let's face it, I've got a lot of catching up to do. If you order a steak and it's an hour late getting to your table....that better be the juiciest effing fillet you've ever had. I realize the challenge set before me, and fear not: you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll nod your head knowingly and maybe even start a solo slow clap.

But enough waiting around - let's dig in:

My bouncing baby boy - the one with the locks of golden hair at birth, the one who smiled up at me four weeks into his life on this earth - is now one year old. He's a full-on child, a fact that amazes me and drives home how the passage of time is one sneaky paradox. It seemingly just strolls along with you by your side, at a nice little pace, maybe commenting on the weather or asking if you're up for a smoothie... and then, BAM!, your son is smiling up at you in the playroom, skinny neck, defined face, rolling a ball back and forth from one hand to the other saying "ball!". And your old pal "time" is shrugging innocently, like hey - whaddyagunnado! Now how 'bout that smoothie?

So his very first bithday came on Thursday, August 2nd. A couple months ago, I bought him a onesie that said "Birthday Boy!" in colorful lettering right across the front. I gleefully hung it up in his closet with the anticipation of him finally getting to wear it, and the obvious implication that he would be an entire year old. Every time I went into the closet to grab Max an outift, I spotted the birthday onesie and smiled. And finally, after weeks of waiting,  the day finally arrived! I picked Max up out of his crib and gave him a hundred smooches all over his face and neck, as though he would pick up on this subtle cue of affection and think, "whoa, Mom, slow down there.......wait a minute.......it's my birthday, isnt' it! You may continue."

And finally, I was able to put him into The Outfit. His navy blue onesie, with the huge proclamation across the front, fit him to a T. I held him outstretched in front of me to admire. So totally adorbs! He cocked his head to the side and I could feel his body start to wriggle out of my hold to go hobble around the house and find small objects. It was after I put him down and watched his little butt swing back and forth as he shuff out of the room that it dawned on me:

Now what?

It's a Thursday. Josh is working. There are no play dates on the books. Our schedule is completely empty and open. So we did what any mother-toddler duo would do on his birthday and with the world at their fingertips: we walked around Safeway. Strolling the aisles, we nodded appreciatively to the passerby who noticed his onesie and wished him a happy day, and I of course got a Starbucks. Then we decided to pick out a "smash cake" for later in the evening when the grandparents and Bubbie were to come over to celebrate. Our version of a "smash cake", for the sake of that evening's festivities, was simply an oversized slice of chocolate brownie (if you just gasped, you should probably stop reading my blog altogether).

Considering his options for a "smash cake". Notice onesie.

That night, after Josh got home from work, the grandparents and Max's great grandmother came to the house to gift Max with a Radio Flyer wagon! It is the classic version with the wooden sides, and mommy's favorite part - a canopy! Max's Grammie had already been over the day before to play and give him his sweet "European" (aka: fancy!) toy car and board books of all the Disney Classics, which we can all openly acknowledge we moms enjoy just as much as the babes (if you still don't wish, on some minute level, that you could be Ariel for a day, then you're on glue).


Max's birthday party was Sunday, August 5th at The Little Gym of Paradise Valley. I highly recommend this place to hold a birthday party  - the staff is super nice, they help you set up decorations (and provide them, too, if you so choose), run the party at a nice pace, serve the food and cake, and clean up everything afterward while consolodating all of the kid's loot into bags and helping you bring it all out to your car. If they did laundry, I may have never left.

Max had an awesome time playing with all his little friends! They sang, played with balls, bubbles, and parachutes, ran around, and ate snacks and cake. And as this all took place, I looked around at everyone. So many people came to celebrate Max, half of whom I didn't even know a year ago. It proved to be quite an emotional moment for me, filled with gratitude for all my friends and family, old and new. If it weren't for a rubber ball inadvertently thrown at my head, I may have even teared up a little.

And then, like any other day, the sun began to set, Max got cranky for a much-needed nap, and it was time to wind down. Only now, we go forward with a one year old son. A child who, in the past 365 days, has managed to turn my world into the most vibrant life force of love and happiness I could ever hope to reflect back to him. Max, your Daddy and I love you beyond measure, we love who you are and who you are becoming. Thank you so much for choosing us.

Listening to the birthday guests pick "toppings" for the imaginary cake. Clearly, Max has a more refined pallete than his parents.

Monthly pictures of Max since birth

Tell me if this needs more sugar.

Playing with my new car from Grammie!

Opening gifts from Grammie

Birthday morning! I'm one, and I have no idea!

My new wagon from Nonie, Grandpa, and Bubbie!

All business

A little nostalgia

I was YouTube-ing cute things to show Max on my iphone today, and came across this clip from Sesame Street. It's something I remember watching and adoring from my childhood... It's very simple and beautiful. I also sing this to Max at bedtime. Thought I would share :0).

"Don't Want to Live On the Moon"

Biting the hand that feeds you

This is the first (but certainly, not last) time I have ever started a blog post having absolutely zero idea what I'm going to write about. And although I feel the creative juices dancing around, a few things are working against me in churning out a goodie: first, I am sitting in the playroom with Max clamoring up at me. I am in a chair, legs tucked up like I'm mid- cannon-ball and my laptop resting up on my collarbone so that my son can't get  his oatmeal fingers on the keys. I could probably lick the screen right now, true story.

I also made the mistake of playing one round of "peekaboo" with him by pulling down the back of my laptop at random intervals. If you are a mother (or someone who has ever babysat), you see the mistake in that sentence. There is no such thing as one round of anything with a toddler.

The thought crossed my mind to wait until Max takes his first nap to sit down and blog. But that's when Mommy gets to shower - though ironically, my clothing choices for the day will parallel exactly what one might wear when nixing a shower. Sigh. "Cotton tees and shorts really do take errand comfort to the next level."

So, please bear with me, and read my entry with the knowledge that between every few sentences, I am turning to a grabby Max, gasping like I just discovered the land of free chocolate and pointing to a toy he's seen a thousand times.

Diving right in (ahem), can I just say that 10 month-olds are bomb. They are toothy (well mine is), cherub-cheeked little rugrats who stand and clap for the smallest things because they're the biggest things to them. They laugh and repeat words and are really loving the whole cause-and-effect thing. And the cuteness factor is baby-specific, too - just as the library singalong is really kicking it into high gear, you can find one of my friend's 11 month-olds contently breathing in life in downward facing dog. But along with all the good stuff that comes with this age, we are now starting the battle against one very hallmark issue: biting.

What a tricky business. We encourage our young children to "teeth" on practically everything of the non-led variety. This is how they explore the world around them, self-soothe, or just busy themselves. We don't flinch when we notice our child gnawing on Elmo's eyeballs or the cover of "Where is My Belly Button?", yet when they apply the habit to, say, our shoulder, it's a big, fat no-no.

To that end, I ask myself daily what the best approach is to squelch the act of biting people, yet as far as toys, have at it. Admittedly, I've tried lots of techniques that I have heard do the trick over time (except the ever-popular advice of, "bit 'em back. Then they'll learn!" If this has worked for you, ok, but it's just not my jam). I can tell you now that after trying out various methods, we are still finding our groove. My favorite attempt was on the advice to "sob like they hurt you real bad!". Max bit my knee. I stopped what I was doing, turned to him and said, "Ouch, Max, that hurt Mommy!", then proceeded to bury my head in my hands and 'cry' with the feigned authenticity of a gold-digging widow. I boo-hoo'd in the palms of my hands, then looked up only to find Max grinning from ear to ear and going for round two in a fit of euphoria. If I had been the neurotic "me" of 8 or so months ago, I would have been convinced we were raising a sociopath. I would lie awake in bed at night, clutching to my husband and a flashlight and staring at the door in anticipation of it slowly opening to reveal a salivating toddler with a deviant twinkle in his eye. I'd have nightmares about shark teeth. And bear teeth. And molars and the dentist and then maybe that little basket of  dum-dums up at the front desk for after you survived your appointment, those were cute. But then more shark teeth. I might have searched Max's crib mattress for a shank.

But anyway.

Then there was the time that I simply snapped, "NO biting Mommy!" and raised my finger to him. This was quickly followed by, "NO biting Mommy's finger!"

As with creating most new behaviors, Josh and I are now banking on the concept of patience. We consistently tell him "Ouch, no biting Mommy/Daddy/insert victim here", and "kiss instead, Max, like this!" He seems to bite when he is very happy or excited, which I hear is normal. It's just that Max is always happy and/or excited, which may be slightly less than normal. At any rate, I'll let you know how it turns out - or, perhaps you'll learn for yourselves, just keep tuning in to the 5 o'clock news.

can you hear the theme from Jaws? I can.

His Day.

As everyone in the free-speaking world knows- especially Hallmark - tomorrow is Father's Day. Since I know I will be too busy spending quality time with my family to write, I thought I'd jot down a few notes on this Father's Day Eve.

Tomorrow will mark my husband's very first Father's Day. This is significant. Two years ago on Father's Day, I surpised Josh with the news that we were pregnant. A few weeks later, I miscarried. The following Father's Day, I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Max, and we talked about the fact that Max will be almost a YEAR OLD by the time Josh celebrates his first official Father's Day for realsies. The thought of our unborn son turning one year old was enough to make our heads spin.

And in the blink of an eye, here we are. Our bubbly, bobbling little sweetheart talks, explores, and laughs up a storm each and every day, and each and every day we just watch him in amazement. So tomorrow we get to celebrate Daddy, without whom we would not have this little boy who amazes us so.

As Josh and I were dating and getting to know each other, I asked him what he had always wanted to be growing up. "A Dad", he stated. Yes, professional baseball player and I'm sure archeologist snuck their way onto many an elementary school homework sheet (really - I dare you to find someone who never, at some point as a child, wanted to be an archeologist). But as his abstract cognitive skills grew with age, and as soon as he could conceptualize what fatherhood actually entailed - bam. That was the pinnacle. That was the goal. Now although being a father comes with a ton of responsibility, it alone doesn't pay the bills. So Josh selflessly started moonlighting as an Abe Lincoln impersonator at political functions.

Just seeing if I've lost ya.

No. He goes to work authentically passionate about what he does, with a drive to succeed so that he can provide for his family. As devoted as he is to his work, he is such simply to support his devotion to Max and I.

Every day, Josh looks at our son with the pride and love of having achieved his greatest goal in life. Not by having a kid - not by having a son even - but by having Max. It is no surprise to me that every time we hear the garage door open at around 5:00, Max stops everything he is doing, crawls in a few circles out of sheer excitment, then bee-lines it for the door to greet Dada at his feet.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention one extrordinary man who we can only celebrate in spirit. My dad, who passed away 11 years ago, was one of the greatest fathers on the planet. I could write hundreds of posts on his character alone, but the point that is so important for me to make here, now, is that had they met, my dad would have so loved Josh, for my husband and for the father of our child. He would have seen in Josh the same qualities I noticed right away and held on to like the treasures that they are.

I so look forward to telling Max about all the special times he and his Dad spent together when he was just a little booger (and if he doesn't believe me, do you think I'll have enough pictures to prove it?). Bath time, shower time, dancing in the nursery, "the scissors leg shake" (I'm sure you can piece that one together), swimming, sitting on Daddy's shoulders. If the memories already being made are any indication of what is to come, I am left with nothing but overwhelming gratitude that this is the man I married, that this is Max's father.

Happy Father's Day, my love!

XOXOXOXO ADED

Vogue, y'all.

So this post is going to have to be short as I have limited time - Josh and I are leaving soon for dinner and a show at Gammage (Broadway Across America season tickets = money well spent, if not for the theatre than certainly the people watching!).

Last week, Josh, Max and I invested in a professional family photo shoot now that the little booger's expressions almost always surpass that of wide-eyes or gas. We'd been looking forward to this day for months, planning out our little outfits and conjuring up images fit for a Nordie's catalog. Max would be looking up at his Daddy, smiling from ear to ear as Daddy and Mommy struck perfect, I'm-not-even-trying-to-pose-and-yet-all-the-right-parts-are-skinny-at-this-angle positions.The photographer would snap some shots, then slowly lower the camera down from her face to look at us proudly because we were making her job so fun and rewarding. There are happy tears involved.

So that's the fantasy, right?

Last Sunday started out just how I'd planned, inasmuch as Max was put into the outfit I'd wanted him in. After that, everything's kind of a blur.

Max's molars decided to show face that day, equating to a mouth full of fingers for the better part of the shoot, a squinting look for reasons I'm still unsure of, and the most major flare-up of seperation anxiety to date. The photographer was incredible and tried so hard to entertain Max in looking toward the lense, but efforts were futile as he whined and squirmed in our arms, not really knowing what he wanted. I knew it was a less than stellar shoot when the photographer starting apologizing to us. Adding icing to the cake of misfortune, Josh and I then attempted explaining to this lovely girl how Max is "usually SO happy"; "he's never like this, it's so weird!"; "he's seriously laughing and clapping all the time - even this morning right before you came over!". Even though she smiled, nodded and blindly agreed, I could see the glazed over look that comes with the territory of listening to new parents explain their kid.

That being said, I was positive that no good shots would come out of this photo session (to no fault of the photographer - she was incredible and we plan to use her again!). So I was as suprised as anybody when the photographer posted a "sneak peek" photo from our session on her facebook page. And it wasn't half bad at all:

 

 

 



I am very excited to see how the rest came out and will be sure to share! In addition to photographer and pediatric nurse, this girl can add "miracle worker" to her resume as far as I'm concerned. If you are interested in a great photographer in the valley, look no further than Kristin Celestina.

Until next time,
Hk

Hilahhhrious.

My father in law emailed me this the other day and I got a real kick out of it, obviously because each scenario is so true! Enjoy:

Word.

Mine.

Almost every Thursday, a group of mommy friends gets together for a playdate so that the kiddos can play with each other and get their energy out while we moms get our energy back. Max and I attended this week's playdate at the Scottsdale Quarter's splash pad, an area of shallow "splash" water with scattered fountains that spew up every few minutes. It is literally the perfect place to take the wee ones as the temperatures crawl to a makeup-melting 104 degrees.
Before all the splashing fun commenced, we spread out our blankets and unpacked our increasingly stocked diaper bags. Toys, sippy cups, and snacks adorned our area like sprinkles on a cupcake (I am hungry). Now, I'm no parenting expert, but I'd venture to take an educated guess Google that the concept of "sharing" is totally lost on a 10 month old. How can they possibly yet know that taking an object straight out of a peer's hands and adopting it as their own plaything is socially frowned upon? That being said, after observing Max's interactions with the other sweet poopsies at the splash pad, I can tell you that this "sharing" thing is going to be a doozy. As Max swats away his own, brand new sippy cup in an attempt to maniacally crawl toward his unsuspecting friend to snatch THAT KID'S sippy, I can only wonder what is going through my son's head:

"Oh good, my sippy cup has arrived. Amazon is so swift. Thanks for delivering this to me."
"Let me show you what that looks like in my hands. You'll love it."
"If you're trying to win my affections, it worked. Hand it over."
"I will take this and I will call it my squishy and it shall be my squishy."
"I'm just gonna check if that water is mineralized."
"You found my sippy! Man, if my head wasn't attached to my body..."
"Funny story.... I'm about to take that from you. Hmm. Guess it's not that funny after all."

Which leads me to our next first: Max's first tantrum! Sound the trumpets.

Max saved his very first tantrum to be witnessed by dozens at our neighborhood library's singalong. It, too, was sparked by the taking of another baby's sippy cup. As he slowly drew the spout up to his mouth, I unclenched his fingers from the handle and pulled it out of his possession. And as I did so, I heard the ominous rumblings that can only be rivaled by the built up pressure of magma in a volcano. You know what's coming.

He wailed and wailed, engaging in the most textbook of tantrum behaviors: flailing his body backward and turning into dead weight. As I stifled a giggle deep into the pit of my stomach, I knew this one had to be documented as a real first. God bless the singalong teacher for sailing right into a rousing rendition of Where is Thumbkin.

I love you, my little stinkpot.