The Miracle of Those First Steps.

Those first steps are pretty amazing, aren't they?

One minute, they're standing, wobbling precariously. The next they're putting that first tentative foot forward, frowning with the difficulty of it all. And then, suddenly?

They thrust their arms up in the air and smile crazily as they take off, racing forward toward toddlerhood.

Have you ever wondered what happens to give them that push? How they get brave enough to put their feet in motion and give up their horizontal status forever?

After all, it is a tremendous leap of faith.

 I like to think they have help. That they're not taking those first steps alone.

When they thrust those chubby arms up in the air?  I like to believe it's because a spirit is taking their hands.

Maybe our loved ones, the ones who have already passed, are gathered around our little fledglings, urging them on with ghostly coos and besotted smiles.

Maybe Tori's great grandmother laughed with her as she took her first two-legged jaunt across the family room floor.

Maybe her great grandfather cheered her on from the corner.

Maybe she has a whole host of guardian angels protecting her as she trots clumsily across the yard, tripping over her pretty white shoes.

Maybe.

Tori Walks!

Tori took her first steps almost two weeks ago. And ever since, I've been trying to capture them on film.

Well, I am lots of things, but a master cinematographer is not one of them. So it took me a while to get anything. This was my first sort of successful attempt:



But I wasn't satisfied with the amount of walking shown. So, after numerous attempts, I got this:



Forgive the shaky camera work, and the lack of editing (I can't figure out how the dang program works). But we have walking...and now there's proof.

And yes I know, I'll never sit again. The thing is, I wasn't aware that I ever got to sit before!

Wordful Wednesday: The Promise I Made.

It was day two of Tori’s short life. We were alone in our hospital room, listening to the rain pounding on the window as we memorized the lines of each other’s faces. Ever so gently, I pulled her arm from the swaddling that engulfed her and counted her impossibly tiny fingers.

She seemed so small. So delicate. So ridiculously breakable.

As I stared down into her blue, blue eyes, I made her a promise.

I promised to keep her safe from the big bad world.

To protect her from the bad, the evil and the merely indifferent.

To surround her with goodness, with happiness and with light.

To help her to grow up to be strong, and confident, and sure.

To be there to share in her triumphs and take the sting out of her defeats.

To surround her with people who share my fierce devotion to her well-being.

To love her unconditionally with every beat of my heart.

I made her a promise.

And that’s why this search for a new daycare is breaking my heart.

How can I tell this face that she’ll have to spend her days in a space smaller than our family room at home?

How can I tell her that her time will be strictly regimented, that she can only sleep between 12 and 2, and only play outside for thirty minutes each day?

How can I tell her that her caregiver might let her sleep slumped over in her high chair, or step on her while passing through the room, or ignore her cries because five other children need her more?

How can I tell her that I chose a daycare that was simply “good enough?”

How?

Wordful Wednesday: For the Love of a Car.

As a third-generation Motor City gal, I can't help but love cars. After all, the automotive industry is literally what keeps that city moving (or sends it screeching to a halt). But I never really loved my own cars. They were just the things that got me from Point A to Point B (when they weren't busy breaking down by the side of the road).

Until this beautiful little girl entered my life:

That, my friends, is the Bluebird—a Honda del sol. She was fast (I routinely broke 100 mph, no sweat),  sexy, and best of all...

...convertible.

The Bluebird was the first car I ever bought myself. I had my first full-time job at a publishing house down in the city, and the '83 Thunderbird I was driving just wasn't cutting it. So I asked my Dad to help me find a new one.

I was pretty sure he'd locate a bunch of safe, snore-worthy sedans.

So when we pulled up to the seller's house and he pointed her out to me, my jaw hit the floor. A sports car? For me? No frigging way.

But he was serious, and before I knew it, I was in the driver's seat, putting her through her paces. By the time I got to third gear, I was head over heels in love. I bought that car just as fast as my bank would let me and never looked back.

We had many an adventure, the Bluebird and I.

We risked death on a daily basis, weaving in and out through the rage-fueled rush hour traffic that clogs Detroit's highways.

We plowed through snowdrifts, fighting our way through blizzards that stranded all but the toughest vehicles.

We raced thunder storms, speeding ahead of the raindrops that threatened to ruin our topless fun.

But best of all were the laid-back days when the sun shone brightly down and the wind whipped through my hair, my joyous laughs mixing with the happy purr of her engine. 

She saw me get married.

Watched as I moved into my first home.

She put up with 2 by 4s being threaded through her back window and flats of flowers getting piled six deep in the passenger seat.

She was a trooper.

But eventually it was time to say good bye. It was the age of Monster SUVS and 50-mile commutes. I no longer felt safe in her diminutive interior—and she was getting old. After one too many ridiculously expensive repair bills, I put her up for sale.

A buyer was quickly found (old or not, she was still sexy, yo). 

But before I gave her up, I insisted on taking one last drive. We wandered aimlessly through the streets of my hometown, alternately speeding down expressways and moseying over country roads. And all the while, I cried. Oh, how I cried.

The Bluebird, she was the automotive love of my life. And on days like this? When the sun beats down and summer beckons?

I still miss her terribly.

Now, go visit our hostess:

Wordful Wednesday: A Day at the Park.

The universe, it throws a whole lot of super duper craptastic crap at me. But every once in a while? It tosses a perfect day my way.

A day where Tori wakes up grinning and puts a smile in my heart that lasts until sunset.

A day where the sun chases the memories of cold from our bones and transforms the brown, blah world around us into a kaleidoscope of vibrant greens and blues.

A day where there are no deadlines to worry about. No dishes to wash, no laundry to do, no toilets to scrub.

A day where I can scoop up my baby, link hands with my husband and head out to explore.

A day where we can relax and enjoy moments like this one:



I know. The camera work isn't the best and it could probably use some editing, but I really don't care. The memory it captures is perfect just the way it is. Oh, and did you notice? At about 34 seconds in, you can hear Tori say "whoa." Seriously. You can.

That cracks me the hell up.

Now, go visit Seven Clown Circus for some more Wordful Wednesday fun.

Wordful Wednesday: Twelve Months.

Well, Internet, we made it. On Saturday, Tori will be one whole year old. I thought this achievement deserved official portraits, but haven't had much luck with our local portrait studio. Here's proof.

So instead, we headed out to a particularly picturesque garden nursery in town and had our own impromptu photo shoot. The results were pretty awesome, if I don't say so myself.

First we spent some time checking out the nursery's fish pond. It took a while to draw her attention away from the brightly colored koi, but the results were worth it, don't you think?

Then we plunked her inside this handy pot. She drew quite the audience while taking this picture, thus the big smile (she loves to be the center of attention).

Then we set her loose in the lawn and did our best to keep up with her. She crawled around, giggling like a maniac...

But when she found an interesting looking stick, she actually sat still for a minute.

And this one? Well, I don't know when we took this one, but it's pretty cool, isn't it?

Take that, Sears Portrait Studio. You are dead to us.

There is more Tori goodness, but I won't bore you with the rest. Instead, head over to Seven Clown Circus for more Wordful Wednesday fun!

Wordful Wednesday: The Body Image Edition.

When this picture was taken, I thought I was fat.

I was a size 6.

And now? Well, I'm quite certain that right now I am, in fact, what if you were being very polite, you would call "curvy." So when I look back at this picture? I want to slap that girl and tell her to enjoy that body while she has it.

But I know she would just roll her eyes at me.

Truth is, I've always struggled with my body image. I've always felt just a little bit awkward in my own skin. I was all of ten when I put myself on my first diet. Ten.

Since then, my weight has yo-yoed dramatically, sending me into sizes as big as 18 and as small as the aforementioned 6. And while I'm generally at my happiest and healthiest at an 8 or a 10, I've never actually been "happy" with what I see in the mirror.

Why do I bring that up now? Well, because I have a daughter. A daughter who's starting to understand what's going on in the world around her. And I? Can't stop putting myself down. Can't stop using the words "fat" and "ugly" in reference to my reflection.

And Internet? It won't be long before she starts to pick up on what I'm saying. It won't be long before she starts modeling her behavior after mine. And I do not want her to go through life with baggage like mine.

But I can't seem to stop. I keep telling myself that after I lose the next ten pounds, I'll feel better about myself. When I can finally run a 5K again, I'll feel sexy. When I can fit into my pre-preggo jeans again, I'll be proud of the woman I see in the mirror.

I'm not sure I believe me, though. Do you?

See the other Wordful Wednesday entries at Seven Clown Circus.

Wordful Wednesday: Eleven Months.

While it seems like just yesterday that I was holding Tori in my arms for the first time, in reality it's been almost a year. And that little baby I fell in love with? Is fast becoming a toddler.

She can brush her own hair (at least she likes to think she can).

She can stand on her own two feet.

She can even climb up into a chair.

But when I see her smiling face...

And look into her big blue eyes...

I know no matter how big she gets, she'll always be my baby girl.

Wordful Wednesday: How Does Your Garden Grow?

Oh, February. For gardeners like me, it's probably the most agonizing month of the year. Why? Well, because it's been ages since we've been able to get our hands dirty.

Months since we've seen anything green growing in our gardens.

And far too long since we've been able to dig down deep and savagely rip those pesky little weeds out by their roots (which we may or may not be pretending are the throats of the people who make us mad).

But it's not quite time to start hoping for spring and the pale green shoots that accompany it. Almost, but not quite. So what's a gardening fool supposed to do? Peruse gardening porn, errr, plant catalogs, of course.

That's just what I did last night. I had a big stack of glossy magazines, which I reverently opened one by one, reveling in the riot of color that greeted my flower-starved gaze on every page. By the time I was done, I had mentally spent about $567483902.

In actuality, of course, I didn't spend a thing. But here, for your viewing pleasure, are a few of my favorite theoretical acquisitions from White Flower Farm.

 

This is a Baja Lily. Isn't it scrumptious? 

 

These are Belladonna delphiniums. I've always had a soft spot for these beauties—even though they're ridiculously difficult to grow. 

Check out these Hot Papaya coneflowers. I must have them for the name alone.

  

I've never traveled down Route 66, but if it looks anything like these Route 66 coreopsis, I think I should.

 Banana Cream shasta daisies just sound delicious, don't they?

And that will conclude the flower porn edition of Wordful Wednesday. Be sure to head over to Seven Clown Circus to see what the other participants have to offer.

Wordful Wednesday: Ten Months.

My little Tori is ten months old today. Ten months. That means she's been out of my belly longer than she was baking inside it. In two more months, she'll be a whole year (look at me, I can do math!). It seems unbelievable...

She's not real big on posing for pictures anymore.

 

She'd rather stand and play with her toys.

In fact, you almost have to trap her to get her to sit still.

But every once in a while, you can still catch one that makes it worth the trouble.

Here's to ten months of adventure. Who knows what the next ten months will bring?

Wordful Wednesday: A Glimpse of Paradise.

At this time of year in the Midwest, it can be difficult to remember what it feels like to be warm. It's cloudy so often, it's easy to forget what the sun on your face feels like. As you pull on your winter boots and wrap your scarf around your neck, it's almost impossible to imagine wearing shorts and flip flops, or cute little sundresses and strappy little sandals.

So, to all you winter weary souls out there, I give you these:

 

 

 

Remember, the sun is still out there somewhere. And sooner or later, spring will return. I promise.

Wordful Wednesday: Four Generations Together.

My grandma, as it's well known, is not usually a very nice person. Her face is set in a frown so often, we've been known to warn her that it's in danger of getting stuck that way.

But for a few precious hours on Christmas Eve, she was transformed. She finally got to meet her  great granddaughter—and at the sight of her, she was so overcome with joy, she actually cried.


I'd never seen her be so patient. She didn't pick at my appearance (usually my weight is a prime topic), or badger my mother, or bad mouth the relatives who weren't present.

She just sat there and played with Tori, letting her grab her nose, her chin and even the glasses off her face. And the expression on her face?

I'll never forget the absolute love that shone from her eyes as Tori reached out to touch her cheek. I wasn't able to capture it on film (or on memory card), but that's the image that will stay with me as long as I live.

Now go visit the other participants at  Seven Clown Circus and see what they have to say for themselves!

Wordful Wednesday: The Christmas Tree Edition.

We have tons of ornaments for our Christmas tree. Tons. Brightly colored balls, snowflakes, bows...you name it, we probably own it. But there are a few special ones that always get a place of honor. The ones that have stories behind them, or mark a special time in my life.

This one was the first my husband and I ever bought together. We weren't married, or even engaged, but when he brought it up to the cash register, I knew we soon would be.

These two are part of a set we bought on our honeymoon. I agonized for days over whether or not to buy them - but finally decided I couldn't go home without them.

A friend gave this to us as a wedding present. It's just about my favorite ornament on the whole tree. We look so young...it really should be illegal for little kids to get married.

 

We got this the year we bought our first house. It was a shack, and we were broke beyond belief, but it was one of those rare moments in time when life seemed perfect.

 

Okay, so he's not an ornament. But I love him to death. I paid $17 for him, which I remember because I only had $23 left in the bank. That shopping trip was also the last time my mom and I managed to pull off a Serious Shopping Day - so you could say his purchase marked the end of an era.

 

This is the newest addition to our tree. I can just hear her, sometime in the future, saying "is that really me, Mom? Was I really that little?" I'm going to buy her her own ornament every year. Just a little tradition I'm starting...

 

I think she'll appreciate it. After she realizes that the ornaments are supposed to stay on the tree. I'm thinking it might be a few years.

And that brings us to the end of another Wordful Wednesday. Now head on over to Seven Clown Circus and get your fill of eye candy!
 

Wordful Wednesday: A Few of Her Favorite Things

Tori is surrounded by educational, developmentally correct toys. Things like stackers and blocks. Brightly colored things. Things that squeak and rattle and roll.

But you know what? Those are not her favorite things. These are.

That's a piece of paper she's got in her mouth. She loves paper - crunching it, shredding it...eating it.

That's a metal spoon. Plain old ordinary spoon.

 This is a cat toy. It's quite possibly her favorite thing in the whole world.

This, at least, is actually meant for babies. Teething babies. Like her.

Yep, another spoon. This one doubles as a drumstick. And a baton.

See, she does have real toys. Sometimes she even plays with them!

Now head over to Seven Clown Circus and see what other people have to say this week.