Picture Perfect

This picture captures my Little O so perfectly - the mismatched clothes, a late afternoon nap, his sweet sleeping face, and his possessive love for this bright blue balloon.

Even as he slept he instinctively held on to the balloon, knowing that if he let it go someone else might claim it and he would wake up empty-handed.

There are all kinds of metaphors in there, but I'm just going to leave it at what you see - a picture of my little guy who is likely dreaming of an adventure involving a bright blue balloon.

Pure Hubba

I love this picture on so many levels.

It shows so much of what Hubba is all about.

First of all, this blanket tied between the posts of 2 beds doubles as a boat and a hanging-sleeping-thing depending on what sort of adventure he has in mind. Here it is obviously a hanging-sleeping-thing. I love this kid's imagination and creativity.

Second, check out the book he has his vice grip on. I am the sort of mom who can't help but giggle over potty humor and love that his current favorite book is all about the adventures of a farting dog. I tried to pry it out of his hands and he sort of moaned in his sleep and held on to it even tighter.

Last of all, he's wearing his favorite pajamas, the "Dark Vader" ones. The Star Wars pajamas that he'll wear for a month straight if I don't hide them long enough to wash them. I love hearing him creep into a room and start with his Darth Vader breathing which sounds like he is saying, "Who? Her. Who? Her."

Little boys are awesome.

When The Wind Blows

photo from middle-fork.org

My 3-year-old woke me up at 12:30 this morning in need of a drink.

Once she was settled back in, I could not sleep for another hour because the winds outside rattled our house and I was transported back to my childhood in Iowa and the tornadoes and warnings which often accompanied such strong winds.

The incessant barking of a dog somehow brought a sense of fear and foreboding that I could not shake as I lay there in bed, listening. I knew that the only way to dispel the feeling was to prove to myself that it was self-induced.

I rolled out of bed and walked to the window. Parting the blinds, I investigated the skies. No greenish-gray clouds, no swirling storm, no pelting hail. All was well.

I tiptoed to the rooms of my children, peeking in at their sleeping bodies for assurance that they were safe. They slept soundly, oblivious to the winds which kept me awake.

I peered out the front window, watching as trash cans toppled, leaves swirled past and trees bent with each gust of wind as it forcefully blew by. Powerful, yes. But nothing to be concerned about.

There was only one thing left to do. I climbed back into the warmth of my bed, positioned my pillows the way I like best and pulled the comforter up over my ears.

Eventually my heart stopped pounding and this muted version of the storm became my friend as it lulled me back to sleep.