In awe.

There are a million anxiety-provoking things that accompany pregnancy. And a million anxiety-provoking people who do not really help that situation. Each of these women has to face this monstrous, multifarious list of things-to-be-understood. What TYPE of delivery? Is my doctor one I trust? Where to buy clothes, and what will really be useful? What classes to take? How do I measure up to averages and charts?...And the list goes on and on. But then it stops, and amazingly each of these women goes from grasping and a bit wobbly, to finally finding her sea legs.

Saturday I spent the day hopping from one shower to the next, and I noticed this. And also remembered it in myself. The great shift from doubt and frustration and a million questions, to confidence. A confidence that I love watching my expecting-mother-friends attain.


And, as always, a few pictures of the boy:

Keep Blowin' That Whistle

Try telling the children of Houston to "stop running" when they encounter this chilly fountain of life: their reprieve from the soul-sucking Houston summer. Yes, authoritative-man-in-the-red-shirt, keep blowing that whistle.

Fortunately, this little one is incapable of running, making us the proud parents of a rule abiding citizen kid (However, yesterday he was empowered with mobilization by performing his first SCOOT. Yes, a scoot. A backwards scoot.)




More water fun to follow:

First time swimming.


Bath.




And I just think this one is cute. I made that little monster muscle tank (printed it, at least). Suits him well, right?

Counting Time

I have a funny way of measuring time. I always count it to my benefit. For example: if I were really excited about something, say, the end of teaching this year, two months before it's over I might observe, "It's been 11 weeks since I've returned, and I only have 9 more to go. That's more than half. And that counts the Monday holiday, and finals, which practically takes off two weeks, which means: I'm almost done."

That stream of thinking helped me do it. It's not that I didn't like teaching. On the contrary: I loved it. But I love Booker more, and I didn't see him enough. These days that I have with this little man are blissful, and sweet. And rich. And I don't have to count time like that anymore.

MUSTACHE*QUERADE

Last night I threw a belated birthday party for Josh. He's 30. It was a Mustache-querade.

This is the invitation.

This Downs family is very adept at growing very impressive facial hair.

A little game we like to call "Match That 'Stache." The objective: to correctly draw the mustaches of these famous-for-their-facial-hair individuals.

DIY Party Favors.

The Guests:

Our house is a bit compact, but, one way or another, we were able to fit all our mustache-wielding friends inside. All in all, it was a lovely evening.