Happy Trails

In just a matter of hours, Baby A is taking her first trip out of town! She's quite excited about it too. Our little family is traveling to Michigan to visit with friends. Lucky for our dear girl, there will be playmates for her too. Even a dog that she can harass, much like our beloved pooch.

Her bags are packed, and she's ready to go!

Puppy Love

There was a time in my life when my ultimate companion was my dog. I picked him out at a pet store when he was only two months old in 1994 and he's been with me ever since. He's been a great pal too--in his younger days, we spent our time camping, hiking, walking through the many neighborhoods I've lived in 14 years, and running around the family clubhouse's lakes.

Surprisingly, after all of these years, my old pal is still with us, although not as frisky as in years past. What I find so endearing is that Baby A adores him. Wherever he goes, she goes. Since she's not yet crawling, she rolls after him, climbs on top of him, or does whatever it takes to be near him. She loses interest in whatever she's doing when the dog's around. And boy does he make her giggle. His mere presence sends her into fits of laughter. And the dog has to be near her play area during the day, as if he might miss out on all the fun. Besides being her playmate, or rather plaything, he's her great protector, and has been since we brought her home. It's really sweet to see how they interact with each other. They have become quite the dynamic duo.

In the name of love

My mother noted the other day that my husband seems to have aged since the birth of Baby A. And that got me thinking about the age-old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? You see, if our dear daughter has visibly aged him in only seven months (side note: God help him get through her puberty and high school years), I would certainly have had a hand in that at least nine months prior to that (if not sooner, knowing me and my oh-so-charming personality).

But my hubby is a real trooper. He never complains, is willing to pitch in around the house, can't wait to play with our Baby Girl every single day, and takes good care of me. So what if we give him a few gray hairs now and then? It's all in the name of love.

Could it be love?

Had a lovely lunch out with some dear friends the other day. I brought Baby A so she could meet my friend's son, who is about three months older than my little one. I was hoping the little bambinos would hit it off so that my friend and I could plan a playdate as I was feeling the need to get out of the house and have a little fun.

Little did we know, while the ladies lunched and munched and played ketchup, the kiddos were making googly eyes at each other from across the table. They were very subtle about it too, as Baby Girl was for once being shy and demure (it's all an act I tell ya) and her new little buddy was letting everyone in the restaurant know that it was one of the happiest days of his life, because finally, he'd met the one. And once they were face to face, it was as if the entire world stopped turning on its axis, and it was just the two of them, face to face, playing footsie with each other, and laughing all the while.

As you can see, it was love at first sight.

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Daddy's Girl

Before I got pregnant with Baby A, my husband and I had a discussion about what our expectations were for each other as parents. I wanted him to be a hands-on dad, and that did not include just changing diapers and preparing bottles, but getting involved in our child's life. In my mind I could see the two of them playing catch in the backyard, fishing on the lake at the family clubhouse, and playing tennis at the park, etc.; all of these, together.

Little did I know that was part of the plan all along. My husband surprised us all those first few days after our daughter was born. While I was in the hospital after giving birth via C-section my honey stepped up and took care not only of me, but of our baby girl too. And his role as caregiver hasn't changed one bit, except now there's a bit of fun added in. Nowadays he rocks her to sleep, swims in the pool with her, and introduces his favorite sports to her (she's a big fan of the Blues and the Cardinals, and has been exposed to the "Phelps Effect" much like the rest of the United States who've been itching for their Olympics fix).


Baby Girl loves to spend time with her daddy, and looks forward to his return home from work each day. She enjoys watching him come up the stairs from the garage, and then the greeting begins. It's really cute to watch, but at this point, I'm just a bystander. Once he arrives I become the proverbial piece of chopped liver, because she only has eyes for him. But honestly, I don't mind. Especially since I get her all to myself each weekday, and poor daddy has only a few hours each evening to play with her. Besides, as she and I have that unbreakable mother-daughter bond that just is, she and her daddy have a different, but equally unshakable relationship that has been beautiful to see flourish.

We are richly blessed, and extremely fortunate, by the addition of Baby A to our family. She has brought out the best in the both of us, as she has touched each of us in a special way that is indescribable. As our personalities shape hers, she in turn has been shaping ours. And all I know at this moment in time is that the best is yet to come.

The meaning of music

Everyone in my family has some kind of musical talent, it must be genetic. My mother sings, plays piano, guitar, and saxophone; my grandmother also sang and played piano and organ. I sing and play piano, and did a short stint as a sax player. My daddy and I would perform (in the comfort of our own living room) '70s-style karoake, singing duets of Loretta Lynn & Conway Twitty covers. And I have aunts, uncles, cousins, and half-brothers and -sisters who also have the "knack." The love of my mother's life, Willie Richardson, was the consummate blues musician, who never really got his due. But that's a story for another day. Willie was an axeman. And so is my husband, and some of my friends (even if it is RockBand, LOL!).

So my dear Baby A is growing up in a household that is filled with music. On any given day, depending on my mood, we'll listen to everything from U2 to Mozart to Coltrane to Cash. And already at seven months my Baby Girl wants to play, with something, anything, that makes noise. It's a joy to watch her play with "instruments," which originally included blocks and balls with tiny bells inside that she could shake up. Now she's moved up to the Baby Einstein blocks, which she absolutely adores.

Now I am convinced that she too may have the music gene. During a playdate the other day she instantly knew how to play a set of bongos, although she'd never seen them before. And then tonight, I pulled out an old little tykes xylophone (thanks to the CPH flea market), and she immediately put the wand in her mouth (as babies due), but with a little guidance, she began to play each bar.

Her technique wasn't quite in tune, and my husband thought it was a little pitchy, (he's been watching way too much Idol), but it was music to my ears. I enjoyed seeing her delight in a new toy, and a musical one at that. And yes, music is obviously an important part of my family. I am so blessed that I have had the opportunity to study instruments and chorus while in school, because when my daughter enters school those programs may not even be available. It's a shame really, because music means so much to so many people. It could be someones livelihood, a way to pass the time, a passion, an outlet, a way to educate, a way to express your love. So music to me is many things, but right now, it's an indelible connection between me and my daughter, who I love with all my heart, and I savor all those times that I can sing her to sleep, or sing her a morning greeting. That's what music means to me.