My mom and dad have six grandchildren, and today we found out for sure: it's all tied up between the sexes. Judah Eliot Spruill was born to my sister Jacque and her husband Asher this morning. That makes it 3 to 3, with Meg, Aylenne and Esme on the girls' side, and Ari, Matthew and Judah on the boys'.
I have no details at all about little Judah yet--no stats, no birth story... just one picture on my cell phone. (And of course, I have no idea how to get it to my computer.) I'm told that Asher says Judah looks just like Ari--which means he looks just like his Great Uncle Eddie--and from what I can see, I must agree.
Sweet Baby Judah, we can't wait to see you! Welcome to the family! You are already a very loved little boy.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Life and Other Huge Messes
I haven't updated my blog in a month, but that's nothing.
The laundry baskets in my house are overflowing--some with dirty laundry, some with the clean-but-unfolded kind. The unmatched socks drawer is undoubtedly crammed full of pairs... if I could only find the time to match them up.
The powder room floor is swamped with de-rolled toilet paper, courtesy of Esme Rose.
The entry landing is strewn with Craisins and tiny bits of rice cake, courtesy of I-don't-know-who.
The basement looks like a second-hand shoe store exploded in it, from when I started sorting all of our accumulated, hand-me-down, girls' shoes into "too-small for Esme," "too big for Esme," and "not on any child of mine" piles.
The toy room looks like a refresher-course in "obeying means all-the-way" just waiting to happen. Somehow, when I asked the kids to "Put the princess dresses away" earlier today, it seems they must have heard, "Toss them into a big, gauzy heap somewhere sort of near the dress-up box."
The kitchen linoleum is flecked with all kinds of stickiness and grime.
Our master-bath is grody, our bedroom is strewn with items from the still half-packed duffle bag I took to a women's retreat this weekend, our new crop of library books is scattered widely over the living room...
And, outside, the sun is shining. And the weather is gorgeous. And I put it to you: when the stern winter winds finally give way to playful breezes gently wooing us outside, how am I supposed to accomplish anything inside? And why does it always seem that just as I finally have our winter routine down pat, summer arrives to shake me all up and turn me inside-out and upside-down?
Being a little short on answers to life's great mysteries today, I will not attempt to solve my own riddles. Instead, in keeping with the messy appearance of my home, I'll let this be a good, messy post with a bunch of unrelated pictures that have been sitting on my camera for the last month randomly strewn about where a conclusion should be.
Matthew, wearing on his head the bowl that Meg carried around "just in case" during her tummy bug. (Don't worry; it was clean.)
"La, di, da..."
"Oh, hi, Mommy. Um, yes, I know I'm not supposed to stand on chairs, but I, ah... I..."
"Being the baby of the family and all, I just assumed I could get away with it."
Smoochin' my littlest.
When Esme dumped the entire container of foam shapes from Grandma, it made a lovely confetti.
1, 2, 3 little stooges.
Meg's head adorned with the "hair tattoos" Aunt Dacia gave her for Christmas. This was our second go-round with these, and they looked MUCH better this time than the first.
Esme, just awakened from a nap, with some serious sun flare behind her.
Esme, five or eight shots later, just awakened from a nap, with some serious sun flare behind her, telling me, "Enough already with the camera, Mama!"
Mrs. Gruner's meat sauce was a hit!
The Parisian Princess...
...and Popeye.
The laundry baskets in my house are overflowing--some with dirty laundry, some with the clean-but-unfolded kind. The unmatched socks drawer is undoubtedly crammed full of pairs... if I could only find the time to match them up.
The powder room floor is swamped with de-rolled toilet paper, courtesy of Esme Rose.
The entry landing is strewn with Craisins and tiny bits of rice cake, courtesy of I-don't-know-who.
The basement looks like a second-hand shoe store exploded in it, from when I started sorting all of our accumulated, hand-me-down, girls' shoes into "too-small for Esme," "too big for Esme," and "not on any child of mine" piles.
The toy room looks like a refresher-course in "obeying means all-the-way" just waiting to happen. Somehow, when I asked the kids to "Put the princess dresses away" earlier today, it seems they must have heard, "Toss them into a big, gauzy heap somewhere sort of near the dress-up box."
The kitchen linoleum is flecked with all kinds of stickiness and grime.
Our master-bath is grody, our bedroom is strewn with items from the still half-packed duffle bag I took to a women's retreat this weekend, our new crop of library books is scattered widely over the living room...
And, outside, the sun is shining. And the weather is gorgeous. And I put it to you: when the stern winter winds finally give way to playful breezes gently wooing us outside, how am I supposed to accomplish anything inside? And why does it always seem that just as I finally have our winter routine down pat, summer arrives to shake me all up and turn me inside-out and upside-down?
Being a little short on answers to life's great mysteries today, I will not attempt to solve my own riddles. Instead, in keeping with the messy appearance of my home, I'll let this be a good, messy post with a bunch of unrelated pictures that have been sitting on my camera for the last month randomly strewn about where a conclusion should be.
Matthew, wearing on his head the bowl that Meg carried around "just in case" during her tummy bug. (Don't worry; it was clean.)
"La, di, da..."
"Oh, hi, Mommy. Um, yes, I know I'm not supposed to stand on chairs, but I, ah... I..."
"Being the baby of the family and all, I just assumed I could get away with it."
Smoochin' my littlest.
When Esme dumped the entire container of foam shapes from Grandma, it made a lovely confetti.
1, 2, 3 little stooges.
Meg's head adorned with the "hair tattoos" Aunt Dacia gave her for Christmas. This was our second go-round with these, and they looked MUCH better this time than the first.
Esme, just awakened from a nap, with some serious sun flare behind her.
Esme, five or eight shots later, just awakened from a nap, with some serious sun flare behind her, telling me, "Enough already with the camera, Mama!"
Mrs. Gruner's meat sauce was a hit!
The Parisian Princess...
...and Popeye.
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