An Ode. Sort of.

Dear Mr. Paci,

You make the days so sweet

Dear Mr. Paci,

The soothing you complete

But Dear Mr. Paci,

You make me want to shout,

When in the wee hours

You leave his precious pout...

My Biltmore Birthday

This is a little late-in-coming, but I wanted to expound upon my most wonderful 25th birthday present from Jim.

Saturday morning, Jim's parents came up to keep James all day. Jim and I left without a worry, knowing that James would be thoroughly provided with kisses and songs and care. We drove up to the Biltmore Estate, about an hour and half away, me positively GIDDY. Seriously, I was singing and giggling most of the way up there. Not only was I excited to go to Biltmore (the last time was in 3rd grade, I think) but I was free to turn my Momma Brain on low for a while. You can never really completely turn it off, I've found...

We arrived, toured the home, and finished with perfect timing to enjoy BBQ and Bluegrass music over at the winery. I just loved being able to hold my husband's hand as we walked, talk to him while simultaneously having eye contact, and sharing a neat time together saying, "Oo, look at that" and, "whoooa, that's cool".

We topped off the day by listening to the Gamecocks on the radio baaarely take a win. We arrived home to a happy boy and a dinner with Nonna and Poppa.

The trip was wonderful, yes, but on my birthday this year, I realize more clearly why we actually celebrate. The day of your birth is certainly a miracle. Even though it happens thousands upon thousands of times a day around the world, every birth is incredible. It's incredible for the mom, for the dad, for the child, for everyone. It's a day of meeting, of falling in love, of grieving for some. I think we celebrate because it's not just the day you were born, but it's the day you began.

Lord of the Lullabies

Jim and I are currently in the throes of sleep training with James. He's actually sleeping pretty well, but still waking up 3 or 4 times a night. I love Dr. Wiessbluth's book, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. The content has been very practical and changed the way I watch James' sleep cues, etc.

Right now we're mainly focusing on getting some good solid naps during the day in order to fulfill the "sleep begets sleep" adage. We've also constructed a pretty happy sleepytime routine. Here's how it goes:

• No later than 7:30 pm (if we can help it), it commences.
• James receives a nice, full meal
• A bath, if needed
• Next, a clean nighttime diaper (i.e., the expensive brand)
• A baby lotion massage to the tune of Trust and Obey, which he LOVES
• A rock in the Royal Recliner as Daddy plays The Most Beautiful Lullaby I Have Ever Heard. Ever.

Seriously, within a few chords James' eyelids are already starting to drop. I especially love the way that we gauge where James is in the sleeping process. It goes, "eyes still open, rolling back in his head, cross-eyed, or completely closed". I try to get him in the crib around cross-eyed so he's not in a deep sleep. We also wait to hear a few good sighs.

That all sounds pretty intricate but tonight it only took about 15 minutes, not including bath time. It seems to be working pretty well, but tomorrow is always SUCH a different day...

James has got it good

While I take an educational therapy student twice a week, James gets to stay with one of the greatest women on earth. Barb Lehman.

If you're blessed to know her, you know how lucky James is to have her. Here his he livin' it up at her house:

And what mom wouldn't want to find her baby sleeping peacefully upon return? We love you, Barb. You're a blessing.

To be perfectly honest...

Sometimes I feel like James is happy and content for about 22 minutes, total, for the entire day. For the rest of the time it seems like he's cranky, eating, or sleeping. I feel like I'm the Constant Soother, Singer, and Subduer.

Is this normal or am I just a particularly sorry mom?

Death is Life

I don't mean to be morbid, but I think about death a lot.

I'm not frightened by it. Well... maybe a little frightened by the pain that might come, but really, I'm not scared. Every time I get on an airplane (mostly because of the sheer ridiculousness of flying) I think to myself, "Yep, I'm ready to go."

I've thought about it more recently because of this Life that happened named James. Jim and I have talked some about what would occur if one or both of us died. We've purchased life insurance, yada, yada, yada. More interestingly, though, we've decided how we want our bodies interred.

I want to be cremated. It's cheap, quick, and requires a lot less makeup. I'd like for my ashes to be put in an earthenware jar and buried in a plot next to Jim. On my headstone, I want part of Psalm 16:11 engraved,

"... In your presence there is fullness of joy ..."

Yesterday, I came home and told this to Jim and he cried. He really liked it, thought it was beautiful. Today, he came home and said, "Sweetie, I know what I want on my headstone..."

"... and at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

The rest of my verse.

Needless to say, we had an sweet, sweet moment clutching each other and crying in the driveway. Death has no sting at the Thompson house.

This IS why people have kids, right?

To take them for a walk because they look so stinkin' cute in their little hoodie and put a burp rag on their head so they look like a Flying Nun. Yea... that's what I thought.