Half-full....

If you were to ask me how my weekend went, I would say it was dreamy.  And I would mean it.  Friday Mr. One took the family to a cute little pizza place on the other side of town. I spent Saturday at a lovely baby shower for a dear old friend.  Mr. One not only babysat BOTH children, he took them to a street festival and dressed the Princess in adorable ethnic garb.  Church on Sunday was particularly nice, and we snuck out a bit early to go to a beautiful garden party with a bunch of old colleagues.  Dreamy, right?

...And then I might remember that our family pizza date ended with a looooong Metro ride home, (since I lost my car keys, which are still -- and probably will remain forever -- missing).  And that all the tourists were giving us the stinkeye for having our kids out that late.  And then, on Sunday afternoon, Princess H found, and ate, a mother lode of laxitives. Which necessitated a trip to the ER, a big dose of activated charcoal, several hours of "observation" and more landry than I want to see for the rest of my life.  (I know you're wondering, She's totally fine, though I may need counseling to get over a) my guilt that the kid ate something so awful while ostensibly under my/our supervision, and, b) witnessing (and cleaning up) the combined fallout from that much Dulcolax and that much charcoal.  Not pretty.  Not pretty at all. 

But, even with my memory jogged, and with a full awareness of the lingering messes (new key/fob for the Volvo? $250.  Normalized toddler GI tract?  Not yet....), I'm still calling this one a net positive.  I'm so grateful that all my important stories have happy endings.  And I'll pick a full life over a tidy life any day of the week. 

One and Her Amazing Technicolor Shoe Makeover!

This is what happens when I get bored. 

+

=

I'd do a tutorial, but there's nothing to say.

Maybe I should get a coloring book?

Also

Everyone here thinks Z looks like is Justin Bieber. 
Bad news: I think he's starting to believe the rumors.

My Voice

I have a  confession

My blog name is Three, and I didn't want to write my post today.

Actually, that's not quite accurate, I wanted to, but it just wasn't coming to me.  I started several entries on a variety of topics, but by the third or fourth sentence I would hit a brick wall.  In truth, I've felt this way about a number of writing projects recently, and it's extremely disheartening.  Writing is something I usually take solace in.  I love the catharsis of the process and the clarity that comes from my "written Voice."  But my Voice and that clarity have been hard to find for a while.

I'm hoping there's some quick fix, that I've lost my Voice to boredom, or sloth, or too many sweets (I blame the sweets on the fact that the giant heath cookies are the only edible thing sold in our cafeteria at work).   I might just need to tweak something minor, and I'll find it again, waiting for me with a new trove of stories like the ones we used to tell together, my voice and I.

I'm scared it won't be that easy though.  That my Voice is like a neglected friend, who is tired of carrying the weight of our relationship, and has decided it's not worth the effort.  I'm willing to change though, and I'll do whatever it takes to coax my voice back into my bosom where it belongs.  I'll write it fairytales and sonnets, I'll sing it lullabies and hymns, I'll use it.  I will put my Voice to work, if it will only come back to me.

So please little Voice, come back.  We have so much work to do. 

Come rain or come shine...

It was supposed to rain, 

so he gave me an umbrella I've wanted 

for a few years.

Then he asked me a question 

and gave me something else.

 I gave him a kiss and said "Yes!"

Here's to beautiful sunshine

and rainbows.

Introducing, the future Mr. Two.

The first time The Future Mr. Two came to visit, I just had (a relatively small) surgery.  I could move and walk around, but I was supposed to stay home for a few days.  So he sent flowers ahead, brought groceries and an ipod full of old jazz.  We danced all weekend long (except at night time, when he slept at my brother's house).

We've weathered a fair number of torrential downpours and grown accustomed to the sicker and poorer part.  Here's to richer, health and the rest of our lives.

While I have heard he was introduced to this by his older sister's first beau, it's become our unofficial song.  The future Mr. Two has certainly lived up to the promise.  Here's the version that he first played for me.  I hope you enjoy it.

Ode to a One-Year-Old

Tiny, oh, Tiny,
Irresistible boy,
Large-headed small man,
Bouncing bundle of joy,

One year you have graced us
Here, smiling on earth --
You've shared your bright spirit;
I've schlepped your sweet girth.

I love your nine teeth
And your ten lanky toes,
Your 20-odd words
And the snot from your nose.

Every aspect of you
Is just terribly charming:
The scant hair is handsome!
Your bites are disarming! (sort of)

Sometimes I wonder,
(Lost in searching brown eyes),
How can someone so little
Be so deep, and so wise?

Perhaps Heaven made you
This flawlessly great,
So that I could screw up
But you'd still be First Rate!

Welcome to the Second Year, little man!  We love you terribly much!