Some time ago we attended a wedding of good friends where they gave their guests small beautifully labeled jars of homemade jam and preserves as a token of their day. Each jar was emblazoned with what it contained (strawberry kiwi jam, apricot orange marmalade), the names of the bride and groom, and on top was the beautifully appointed font, spelling out the clear and clever logo: "spread the love". (Curt and Rae - you know who you are. l.o.v.e.)
And today. Or I guess yesterday, now. (It's late.)
Valentine's Day.
A day of love. Sort of. You know?
There are those of us that want any excuse or any reason to shower and be showered with love and affection and gifts and physical manifestations of your-affection-for-me-and-my-affection-for-you. Time together. A lunch date with my honey. A reason to be put at the top of someone's to-do list. To be important and shown how much you are loved by another human on this earth.
And adversely -
There are those of us that fight it - say its just a marketing ploy by those big box stores and companies to make another fast buck. And those same us that recognize it can induce a whole lot of expectations and guilt over what this one day supposedly holds above all others. My dear friend talks about this here. And I totally agree with her about loving just as much the other 364 days of the year.
My heart and my mind lean somewhere between these two every year. This year was not much different, but then again - it was. I was thinking about love in a whole new way. In a new light, today and every day. The light from how my heart has changed since falling in love - Head Over Heels - with my wee Amos. But it is fun to love with a little more loudness on this special day, regardless.
The past few days have been a little exhausting with Joel having been gone until late Saturday, sick kids again and again and again - the switch to cloth diapering two children full time (until the diarrhea attacks and after the 7th poopy diaper by 11:30 a.m. - 6 of which were from one child... ugh - so I made the wise decision that it was okay to use disposables again... for a bit).
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our stash of fuzzibunz diapers... and two sweet fuzzi-bummed boys
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I was starting to say how in being a wee bit tired, I get a little bit cranky. And in the kinda gray weather, I get a little bit more cranky. Not cranky cranky, but just have a little less tolerance for long days and long fevered wakeful nights and such. I keep on keeping on, and my skin gets a little more thin, I get a little lonely, and my heart and mind get a little sensitive with the lack of sleep and sunshine. Maybe a little oversensitive, but I get soft and defensive and overprotective and Liable To Break Down At Any Moment.
With that in mind, I just want to get this off my chest and move on to bigger and better things.
Well meaning people ask about Amos. Frequently. And frankly, and to be honest, I'm getting a little tired of it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for It Takes A Village and living in community and people loving on my boy and caring for our family - but these two questions that keep popping up in our day to day lives as the parents and family of this little man with a little something extra - and if you are reading this - now you can know to not ask them of anyone, unless they actually have a child who is ill or is in hospital.
1) "How is he doing?"
(this question if a lovely question - except for when it comes with a look of sympathy for what they are viewing as his condition ... spoken with some sense of 'awwww, you poor people, with your little one who has *gasp* Down Syndrome - without actually taking into consideration he's gazing at you from right here in my arms or up at us from in his carseat or smiling at me from across the room...)
Okay. Here is my answer. He is perfect. He was released from hospital eight months ago. He is just fine. He is my baby. He is our baby. He eats. He sleeps. He cries (but hardly ever). He poops and pees. He smiles and laughs. He plays with his little toys, at his own rate of development. Just like any other baby. He rolls all the way across the floor. He is a delight. He is the easiest baby ever. He is amazingly cute. That's how he's doing. If someone has a baby in the hospital, you'd ask. If someone has had a baby at home for eight months do you still ask? Once they're well and at home, do you keep asking months and months and months later? No. This is not a condition, Amos is not a victim and neither are we. Please don't feel the need to feel sorry for or feel sympathetic towards us. He is our child. Just like your child is your child. That is all.
Do you know how high-functioning or how intelligent your child will be? standard set of chromosomes or not? Is the doctor (who sees my child a minutely, microscopically small percentage of the time in comparison to me, as his mother) really going to be the one to tell me this, nevermind when the child is yet an infant? How on earth would any parent of any child answer this question? Should I saunter over to your house and ask "do you know how smart your child will be?"
People may feel these questions are fair and well-intentioned. I'm taking this time to tell you they are NOT. They are anything but, the exact opposite. Unless you want me to grill you about how unintelligent, whiny, ugly, or boring I think your child looks, please refrain from commenting on mine.
*end rant*
So the lesson of the day, folks? Make like the Frank's Red Hot Lady and spread the love. Just love. Jam style. Put that sh*t on everything.
And on to better and brighter things.
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jacob running, dancing, happy - then he says "now, rest".
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now. rest.
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And on Valentine's Day? Yup. We do love up fancy style at our house.
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heart shaped waffles and eggs for breakfast.
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and a cupcake making bee.
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photo credits: Isaac |
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photo credits: Isaac
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and lastly, just a few photos from around the house of images that make me happy: in no particular order, and including my Valentine, my children, making cupcakes and 'now. rest.'
my color coordinated shelf of books.
jacob peeking out the window to see what's out there.
his tippy-toes.
my orchids.
my big kids. growing up.
toilet paper towers.
aaah. life with a two year old. never gets boring when you have a whole world to discover.
and poke holes in.
their faces. I am so blessed every day.
and have I ever mentioned how much I adore us going for breakfast? I do.

and the new lease on life that is inherent with wee ones. owners of little feet.
and with that, I bid you goodnight.
Spread the love.
Put that sh*t on everything.
my color coordinated shelf of books.
jacob peeking out the window to see what's out there.
his tippy-toes.
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yes, he is wearing Amos's pants. he chose them. all by himself.
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my orchids.
my big kids. growing up.
toilet paper towers.
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mysterious holes in rolls of toilet paper.
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aaah. life with a two year old. never gets boring when you have a whole world to discover.
and poke holes in.
their faces. I am so blessed every day.
and have I ever mentioned how much I adore us going for breakfast? I do.
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and towers built from breakfast table condiments.
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and the new lease on life that is inherent with wee ones. owners of little feet.
and with that, I bid you goodnight.
Spread the love.
Put that sh*t on everything.