Underage groupies

Rebecca and I decided, on somewhat of a whim this morning, to skip out on all the things we needed to get done around our respective houses and take the Abbys to Jammin' Java for some Tot Rock. (Actually, Rebecca reports that in the hour between the time I called her and the time she left the house, she did manage to clean her bathroom. Kudos for being productive!)

We arrived to find the usually calm atmosphere of the little coffee shop seriously disrupted by a bunch of toddler-aged groupies sporting Rocknocerous t-shirts and Bono sunglasses (indoors, 'cause they're that cool).

It was quite a show, and I honestly couldn't tell you who enjoyed it more: the moms or the kids. It was a rock concert all right, scaled down and rated G for the five and under crowd, complete with screaming fans, electric guitar, and shout outs to the audience.

Afterward, we stood in line so the Abbys could take their picture with Williebob, the guitarist who looks kinda like an Ewok. Abby Jean was fascinated by his hair. Abby Mae was too distracted by her psychedelic puppy to notice. Neither was as excited as they should have been to be that close to a real live rock star.

The grass is greener on this side

With spring in full swing, I'm on a mission to acquaint my daughter with the great outdoors. To this end, we are dedicating some time each day to stroller rides, swinging at the park, or exploring the greenery popping up everywhere around Goose Poop Pond.

The results are such that at the ripe old age of 26, I'm being reintroduced to our fascinating world through the eyes of an eight month old.

Yesterday I learned that long skinny sticks are more manageable than long fat sticks, but short fat sticks are easier to hold and better for poking the ground.

Spiky grasses hurt to sit on, and aren't much fun for anything. But long soft ryegrass (like the kind growing around the pond) is just right for rubbing your hands through.

Weeds are wonderful...without them, flowers would be contained to flower beds, and the grass is much more fun to play in when there's an occasional dandelion to grab at.

I'm also becoming aware of just how noisy our world is. Birds chirping, planes flying overhead, cars whirring by, bugs buzzing around, geese honking, lawnmowers mowing, doors opening, runners running, leaves rustling...Abby doesn't miss a thing. Every little noise catches her ear and she has to turn to find it. I guess I've learned to tune out all these nature sounds over the years. It's nice to hang out with someone who isn't so adept at that yet.

Teach them to your children

It's important to have career goals in any job, and parenting is no exception. I'm realizing this more and more as Abby is getting older and arguably more human-like. (That's not to say she was un-human before. But before the sitting up, eating real food and imitating of adults, she was similar to a pet in many ways. Now I can see this whole little person starting to show itself in our little girl, and it's easier to imagine that she'll be walking and talking before we know it.)

My goals up to this point have been overwhelmingly simplistic and short term. Each day, I must accomplish at least the following

• keep Abby alive
• make sure she's fed and watered
• spend quality time with her

While my short term goals are beginning to get a little more complex now that she's starting to interact more and becoming more mobile, I'm seeing more clearly the need for that one big goal. It is this goal, that one big long term goal, that must govern everything I say and do with my daughter, for it is this goal that defines my role as a parent and sums up everything I hope to accomplish for the 18 or so years that this little person will live under my roof. If I fail to accomplish this goal, it matters not how well-mannered, well-fed or well-adjusted my daughter is. I will have failed her, and myself, if I do not aim toward this one goal in everything I do.

"You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise."

-- Deuteronomy 6:5-7

It's right there in black and white: the first and greatest commandment, with an addendum just for parents, leaving no margin for error. I am to teach my child the ways of the Lord, raise her up to love and serve and worship Him, and I am to do it with diligence. That's a pretty lofty goal, in my opinion, and I'm thankful that this God of ours is the one who will equip me to accomplish it. "My God, I would not know how to do that if You did not enable me to do it" (Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God).

This is not a goal that will happen to be accomplished by accident. No, that part about "teaching them diligently" rules out that option. This goal of raising up a child to love the Lord must be a deliberate effort. In discipline, in play, in my interactions with her dad and others, I must model Christ's love, mercy, grace and forgiveness. My heart is heavy at such a daunting task, for I know how often I have failed and will continue to fail to live this way. Paul's mental anguish strikes at the core of my fears when he writes in Romans, "I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway."

How then will I model for my child a life that I myself cannot live? By admitting just that. I am a sinner, saved by grace, and in daily need of Christ's forgiveness. I will show her love by pointing her to the One who knew her before she was born, who made a way for her salvation before the foundation of the world. I will show her mercy by teaching her of the One who withholds the judgment we deserve and offers us grace by giving us life abundant when we do nothing to earn it. And I will show her forgiveness by seeking hers when I wrong her, by admitting where I fail and when I fall, and by showing her how to seek God's forgiveness when I sin.

And when I come up short on these goals, I will go again to the foot of the cross, to the Father who calls me daughter, to find strength and mercy and grace to run with endurance this race He has set before me called parenthood.

Just another Monday in Boston

Let's see...on Monday afternoon:

• Abby was napping
• I was eating lunch
• Justin was at his desk at work
• and Matt was finishing his second Boston Marathon

If there's an award for productivity, Matt wins for this Monday.

Congrats Matt!

For details on just how much slower you are than Abby's uncle Matt, see the chart below:

Bib	Name	Age	M/F	City	State	Country	Ctz	*
3153	Fisher, Matthew	29	M	Kennesaw	GA	USA
Checkpoints 5k 10k 15k 20k Half 25k 30k 35k 40k 0:21:36 0:42:54 1:04:14 1:25:42 1:30:15 1:47:05 2:09:00 2:31:20 2:56:52 Finish Pace Projected Time Official Time Overall Gender Division 0:07:10 3:07:47 2079 1949 1348

Nobody puts baby in a corner

The work that goes into getting a new house ready to move into seems to be lost on Abby. While Justin ripped up 14-year-old carpet and I cleaned the kitchen and floors, Abby played contentedly with her toys until she pooped out in the middle of the (now clean) family room floor. I think she's getting pretty fed up with all the car rides back and forth to the new house. That's ok...moving day is only two weeks away!

Strollin' in an Abby Wonderland

colorful flowers + inquisitive baby = one slow stroller ride

Some sun on her cheeks

I'm going to love having a backyard.

Abby and I have spent a lot of time at the new house this week. My intentions each morning when I set out are to get some cleaning done in preparation for moving in, but Abby's cuteness is getting in the way, and I find myself playing with her instead.

She loves the way her voice echoes in this big empty house because of all the hardwood floors. She's considerably noisier at our new home than she is at the one we currently reside in. Also, the complete lack of furniture means she has unlimited rolling around space, which she has been taking full advantage of.

The backyard gets a healthy amount of afternoon sun so we've spent a good deal of time on the back deck sans shoes (mom) and diapers (daughter). Abby's working on her base tan since swimsuit season is just around the corner. Any advice for applying sunscreen to a 7 month old?

Checking for monsters

At seven and a half months old, Abby is beginning to bid farewell to many of her close friends in the infant nursery and is now forced to hang out with kids that are half her age. Micah, only 11 days older than her, moved one door down in the children's wing of the church a couple weeks ago, having proved himself capable of propelling his body toward people and things through the advanced baby skill of crawling. Abby has yet to offer us hope of impending forward motion, and prefers to attain her goals by rolling--quite artfully--back and forth until she reaches her destination. She can cover a lot of ground this way, which is how she wound up under the bed yesterday morning while I was getting ready. Thankfully, all she found under there was a big warm purple blanket--the one we lovingly refer to as "Big P."

Decisions, decisions

I spent the morning at our new house meeting some flooring guys, scrubbing some bathrooms and wandering around our really cool backyard trying to identify flowers that have yet to bloom. (This is when having my yard-savvy friend Sarah around would have come in handy. I have no idea what's going on in this backyard, but I have a hunch that she could glance at a leaf and know instinctively what plant she's dealing with. Guess I'll have to wait until they bloom to hone my landscaping skills.)

Abby came with me and napped in her pack-n-play in her new room, and I had a flashback. It was almost 13 months ago that I stood in an unused room in our old house with visions of pink and green walls and colorful curtains and cheery baby furniture dancing in my head. The minute we found out we were having a girl, that pesky pregnancy nesting instinct kicked into full gear, and I fought hard to stifle it since I knew we'd be moving. Somehow I convinced my very rational husband to do the most irrational thing he could think of, and with our house about to go on the market, he painted a room that would serve as Abby's nursery for less than three weeks Fairy Dust Pink and Apple Slice Green. Not exactly what our realtor meant when he told us to neutralize all our paint colors to get ready to sell, but it did wonders in satisfying my nesting instinct, at least for a little while.

Now I get to start over. I finally get to create the nursery I've been dreaming of for over a year. This opens up whole new possibilities. Maybe I'll go with Pink Odyssey or Magic Wand Pink this time. Perhaps Grassy Field Green is a better choice than Apple Slice. Lowe's wall of paint chips, here I come!

Up to our ears

Family of Fish is moving. We took the plunge and bought a house. It has a nice yard, a great office, some nice bedrooms, and a big kitchen. We're looking forward to hosting our friends, family and foreign dignitaries.

Things I love about being a mom

The daily duties of parenthood don't typically result in badges of honor, but today I'm wearing pears with pride, evidence to the fact that I outlasted my distracted daughter and succeeded in coaxing her into eating all of her breakfast. There's never a dull moment at this job, and I love small victories!

Eyes in the back of my head? Check.

Ability to complete normal household tasks one-handed while balancing a baby on my hip? Check.

Diaper changes in under 20 seconds? Check.

Preventing catastrophic collisions with painful furniture? Check.

With all the books out there on parenting, you'd think someone would have tackled this problem already. I discovered this morning another skill I'll need to hone in order to successfully parent this child: sneeze prediction. I'm going to need to find some way to look into the future and intuitively know when Abby is about to sneeze. Armed with that knowledge, I'll be able to prevent incidents like this morning's pear shower. Since you weren't there, I'll fill you in.

Having just swallowed a bite of delicious pear (freshly mashed through a mesh strainer for maximum messiness) Abby lunged forward in her high chair and opened her mouth for another bite like a baby bird anticipating a delicious red wriggler. I scooped the perfect amount of pear mush onto the pink spoon, wiped the bottom along the rim of the bowl to prevent unnecessary dripping, and had the spoon poised at her lips, when suddenly:

aaaaaaacccchoooooo!

Knowing Abby's sneezes always come in pairs, I quickly removed the spoon, and the little remaining pear, from the line of fire just in time for another...

aaaaaaacccchooooooo!

(Here I have to pause to fill you in on a little background. Abby never got to meet my grandpa, but I believe his sneezes have been reincarnated in our little one. These are show-stopping sneezes that start in her toes and rattle her entire body. It's powerful stuff, these little nose episodes of hers, and they take me back to dinners with my grandparents that were often interrupted by grandpa's equally mighty sneezes. Adding ammo to these sneezes is not a good thing.)

So there I was, waiting for the dust...er, pear...to settle so that I could survey the damage. Freshly mashed pear apparently travels well. My shirt, the wall behind me, the table, the floor, the tray on her high chair and the front of Abby's pajamas were covered in pear. It seemed nothing in the vicinity was spared from the force of the sneeze. I knew it would be fruitless to attempt a clean up this early in the game. There was, after all, still more than half a bowl of pear left to eat. So I dove back in, prepared another spoonful of pear, and offered it to my daughter.

But now, new obstacles presented themselves. The shower of food that settled on Abby's tray and pajamas had created fascinating patterns of pear that were just within her reach. And the excitement at finding she could not only touch these exciting new particles in front of her, but could spread them to her hands, her hair, her face, and all sides of the high chair, proved to be too much. It seemed my window of opportunity was gone. Hunger was no longer the prevailing need. I could see in her eyes that Abby was determined to discover just how far she could spread this gooey mess.

But I forged ahead. With a spoon in one hand and a damp paper towel in the other, I alternately scooped, fed, and wiped until I had declared myself the victor on both fronts: the breakfast was eaten, and the baby was clean again.

Having overcome my daughter's breakfast attention deficit disorder, I celebrated by wearing my pear-covered shirt with pride as I proceeded to clean the rest of the war zone.

Lessons learned:

1. Pear is very aerodynamic.
2. Wearing pajamas at breakfast is a good idea--for mom and baby.
3. Bibs only catch messes that adhere to the laws of gravity.

Spring has (finally) sprung

While flip-flop season is well underway down south, we're finally getting our first hints of warm weather up here. (Although our neighbor joked that we could still get some snow...I was not amused.)

I've been staring longingly at Abby's spring wardrobe since early March, and today's high of 74 was all the motivation I needed to take one of her cute little outfits off the hanger. Abby and I have had the chance to hit the swings and enjoy a stroll around Goose Poop Pond two days in a row now. And we've got the runny noses to prove it.

In the wee small hours of the morning

It went against my better judgment to wake Abby up from her morning nap, especially when she was looking so cute.

I realize now that my seven month old has the daily schedule that adults (and college students in particular) can only dream of: wake up...eat breakfast...get dressed...take a nap...wake up...eat lunch...play...take a nap...wake up...play...eat dinner...play...go to bed. More specifically, that amounts to almost three hours spent eating (dining with a spoon that small is not quick business), 15 hours sleeping, and the rest of the day playing and having someone else at your beck and call.

Not a bad life, really. Now if only she got to pick out her own clothes...

You probably think this song is about you

I intended to take a picture of Abby's friend Annabelle while she rocked out to the tunes of the talented Mr. Knick Knack at Jammin' Java, but Abby had other plans. As she lunged for the camera, she managed to grab it and press the little button on top, resulting in Abby's first self-portrait.

Suppertime hues

Clockwise, from top left: Yellow squash, sweet potatoes, green beans, and bananas

Abby has quite a colorful palate now! So far she hasn't rejected any of the foods we've offered her, although green beans do seem to go down a lot easier with a little sweet potato on the tip of the spoon. She also manages to stay fairly clean (as far as babies go) when she eats, so I think I'll tempt fate next week and offer her some beets.

The Wrong Stuff

I was seven years old when the boys in New Kids On the Block were hangin' tough as the new teen heartthrobs. I have a few not-so-fond memories of trying to skate backwards to the tune of "The Right Stuff" at Skate Country. By the time I hit middle school, the New Kids had faded into welcome and predictable boy-band obscurity.

I remember how sad my friends and I thought it was to watch our parents' generation gyrating to the tunes of the reunited Rolling Stones. I think we can all agree that there isn't anything nearly so depressing as a sixty-year-old man in shiny stretch pants with a mic. (Except maybe the sixty-year-old women singing along in the front row.) So it is with great dismay that I report some disturbing news. Click here at your own risk: http://www.nkotb.com/

That's right, folks: a countdown to the reunion concert for the now almost 40-year-old members of New Kids on the Block. The Stones at least had an excuse. To their credit, they had produced some pretty good music. But a New Kids On the Block reunion? As if kids today didn't have enough fodder for making fun of children of the eighties, with our hammer pants and side ponytails, now we give them this.

It's a sad day for my generation.

Good intentions

Some kind friends passed a toy down to Abby, and Justin and I fell in love with it instantly. This little plastic ball, filled with colorful beads, would be perfect for when Abby starts to crawl, we thought. It's brightly colored, makes lots of noise when it rolls, and might be just the motivation she needs to get moving as it rolls away from her with each little swat of her hand.

Noah, the previous owner of the ball, loved it, and by all accounts, never had any sort of negative confrontation with this simple toy.

So you can imagine our surprise, when, upon introducing Abby to her new plaything, she immediately broke out in tears. We've tried on and off for a few days to get her to play with it, but, much to our chagrin, she seems to be terrified of it.



So for now, I guess we'll put the ball away and let her play with less frightful objects like stuffed animals and rattles. We'll try again in a few days and see if she's toughened up any.