Blue Nee-Nee

This is Duc’s nee-nee, or as he calls it, “The Blue Nee-Nee”. I purchased a package of mutlcolored nee-nees at the beginning of the year and swore to myself that I wouldn’t buy another. Not for this child at least.

As this year marched forward I began to feel pressure from other mommies, family, the internet, parenting magazines to wean him from the nee-nee. At times he shows readiness. We stopped using it during the day. Daycare doesn’t give it to him during naptime so he is used to napping without it (although I always gave it to him at home since I just realized recently that the nee-nee in his cubby at daycare is dust covered {yes, I am that kind of observant parent}). He began forgetting it for car trips where I often held it ‘just in case’. Yesterday he was so excited about all the great gifts he got he forgot to eat, forgot to nap and even forgot about nee-nee. He fell asleep in the first mile after I left my parent’s house and nee-nee fell from his grasp. When I carried him into bed from the car last night he quietly cried out for nee-nee, but quickly rolled over and forgot about it.

This was my chance. I hid it. I even placed his nee-nee someplace hard for me to remember and difficult for me reach.

As I crawling into bed last night I realized one thing.

I’m not ready.

I’m not ready for Duc to be a big boy. I’m not ready to take away his off switch—the one thing that quiets him down when we are in the grocery store and he starts wailing half way through our shopping. I’m not ready to take away the one thing that puts him into sleepyland within minutes. When I see his nee-nee I think of our first days together. I offered him his first nee-nee on the short trip from the orphanage to the location of his G&R. It was love at first sight.

Within the next few weeks Duc will be sleeping in a big boy bed. His very own twin size bed. Potty training is surely not far behind. I’m just not ready for him to be a big boy. But he is. I’ve watched him grow—first in photos and then every day with my own eyes. He is no longer my baby. He is a big boy that doesn’t need to rely on a nee-nee.

So long, nee-nee, and thanks for the memories. We will both miss you.

Christmas 2010

Four years ago I sat across from my mother at a restaurant and as she caught a glimpse of me looking at the menu with my bangs pinned away with a barrette she said, “Wow, you look so much like my mother right now.”

I’m not sure I can adequately express how that comment made me feel. In one sense I was happy to know that I resembled my beloved grandmother and that something of her lives on, but the prevailing thought I had is “I will never look at my children and be able to say that.”. It was such a sad, bittersweet moment for me and I realized at that time I had to grieve that loss. I told myself that my child(ren) would have other other traits. Perhaps s/he would be musical like my mother and sister. Maybe s/he would would be able to draw like my mother or command a room’s attention like my father. I let go of ever thinking my children would look like my family.

Today my mom was flipping through the photo calendar that I made for my dad. She came to the photo below (taken nearly a year ago) and said, “Wow, he looks so much like my mother in this photo.” And there is was—the memory of that meal my mother and I shared four years ago. And she was right—he certainly looked like her. The way he is holding his mouth, the impish little smile—my much loved grandma.

Long before Duc entered my life I let go of hoping my children would resemble me. In the two years since he entered my life people have commented how much he looked like me (and most times I think it is crap that non-APs tell APs to help legitimize adoption in their eyes). But along the way there have been little things that made me sit back and laugh at God’s sense of humor. But for this day I was just happy to know that something of my grandma lived on.

December 16, 2008

This time of year is always special for me since it is the time I met and adopted Duc. I know it was difficult for my mother to be away from family for the Holidays, but I have to admit, I wouldn’t have it any other way. For me, I finally had a family and it didn’t matter to me where I was as long as we were together.

My maternity leave started on Monday, December 15th and like this December 15th a winter storm moved in. Michael picked me up and drove me to my sister’s house since she lived closest to the airport. The roads were slick and I wasn’t sure what I was more nervous about—the drive, the massive change that was occurring in my life, or worrying that the weather would keep us from leaving for Vietnam.

I slept on my sister’s couch that night. Well, I attempted to sleep. I was checking my watch every 30 minutes waiting to get up and finally gave up around 3:30 am. The photo above was taken while we waited to board our flight. I cried as I hugged my sister which mirrored our return as well. I had no sleep, but I was downright giddy.

Two years ago at this time I was somewhere over the ocean en route to S. Korea. I still remember the excitement as we landed in Seoul knowing we were that much closer. I remember the most minute detail. I remember how well I slept—nearly the entire trip between home and Vietnam. For the first time in two years I slept soundly. The end of the wait was almost over.

Even now it seems unfathomable that two years have passed. I remember so acutely the stress of waiting. The anguish as I learned we were delayed. How worried I was for Duc. And here I am. A mom for two years. Where did the time go?

One of these is not like the others

Duc helped Oma redecorate the Nativity. I didn’t bother correcting it because I kind of like it. What do you think?

Resilient

Definition of RESILIENT

: characterized or marked by resilience: as a : capable of withstanding shock without permanent deformation or rupture b : tending to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change

Last week a licensed, trained and paid-to-know-better person told me “children are resilient. Your son will adjust to any decisions you make for your life”.

To be honest, that statement angered and hurt me. I quickly told her, “you don’t understand. You don’t know what he has experienced. You didn’t see him in May when our time was limited to 15 minutes a day. You didn’t see how he pushed me away at bedtime and continued to push me away until just two weeks ago. You didn’t hear him as he cried and howled in anger and pain for hours after going to bed. It has been six months since I heard my son say ‘I love you, Mommy’.” At this point I cried and I told her, “every day for six months when I have told my son I loved him he shook his head vehemently and said ‘no, Mommy, I don’t want it’”.

Over the weekend I watched my son chase, and catch, a ginormous chicken. I watched with a mix of amazement and fear as he turned to me and yelled “Mommy, I caught it!”. After he safely put it down and walked back towards me I couldn’t help but think of how tough he is.

I started thinking about what it means to be tough or resilient. If Duc had gotten scratched and pecked would I still have thought he was tough for catching that chicken? No. Chances are I would have forgotten the fact that he caught the chicken, I would only remember the visit to the Emergency Room. I would have remembered his cries of fear and pain and not the momentary awe of doing the unthinkable.

And what of resiliency? Isn’t being resilient just another way of saying survivor? And isn’t that just another way of saying something didn’t kill you? I have to be honest, I want more for my son. I want him to be able to say he did more than live through something.

Chance

I don’t believe in the fortunes found in Chinese cookies, but you will still find them all over my house. Inspiration, at times, in a slip of paper. This one is wedged in the medicine cabinet in my master bathroom. I see it every morning when I wash my face and brush my teeth and it is the last thing I see before I go to bed. Sometimes in my rush I gloss over it. And over time it has a way of slipping into the background the way wallpaper does. But I notice when it is missing.

This reminds me to live in this moment. That every moment I have a choice. Turn left or right. Maybe even go back. Stillness is as much a choice as motion.

it is a reminder that my life is not yet set. I am still living and my circumstances don’t cage the desires of my heart and the choices it makes.

It is a reminder that amazing and beautiful things come from choices—and chances—sometimes I see exactly what I want and other times I see exactly what I need to see.

It is a reminder that every once in a while I need to have faith, take a step, however small, and take a chance.

My Favorite Boys

My two favorite boys. I love to see the way they interact with each other. The way they look at each other. The devilish grins they exchange. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked over and caught my dad teaching D something he shouldn’t know. I love the expression on my dad’s face when I catch him. I’m glad that I have had the opportunity to see my dad like this.

One of my favorite photos of my dad and grandfather was taken when my dad was about 10 years-old. The boys are looking at each other from the corner of their eyes. I found out later that Grandpa was actually tickling or scratching at the back of the head hence the sideways expression. I’ve caught Duc doing the same sideways look a number of times over the last month. And one of these days I will capture that image as my grandma caught it with her “boys”.

‘I will always come back for you’

Over the last two years I have found myself re-writing my son’s birth and relinquishment story.  There was a part of me, I am ashamed to admit, that hoped that I was one of the families that had doctored papers.  I wanted to believe that my son’s mother walked into the orphanage, kissed his forehead and signed the appropriate paperwork relinquishing her parental duties.  I wanted to believe that she was strong enough and loved him enough to make sure that he was never alone—that he went from her arms to the arms of the orphanage staff.  I wanted to believe that he felt safe and never felt alone.  That he never felt abandoned.

  

The more time that passes the more I realize that his paperwork was most likely very accurate.  The truth is, at some point he felt alone and he felt abandoned.  He felt scared and he wailed a panicked cry.  Perhaps it was that cry that drew the orphanage staff to his location.  I can only hope that his mother waited outside the gates in the dark until someone saw him and carried him inside.  If so, I can only imagine how she handled the anguished cry of her newborn.   Perhaps it wasn’t her that brought him to the orphanage.  Maybe it was a relative or a friend.  Either way, my son carries the scars from that time. 

 

Even after seeing how he gets upset when I leave him, I still can’t find it myself to feel anger towards his mother.  She made the best decision she could for her and her family at the time.  It frustrates me that I will likely never learn her identity because of the choices she made, but I also realize that if she had done things differently I would have never known him. 

This week a gentleman shared that he and his wife were planning on adopting once her body was no longer able to handle repeated pregnancies and c-sections.  They were interested in international adoption.  I told him what I knew.  That adopted children are NOT the same as bio children and they react to the same situations differently.  People view my son as a poster child for adoption since he is so well adjusted, friendly, loving, and happy.  But no child gets through their childhood unscathed—adopted or not.  And for my son the panicked cry every time I leave him, even if only for a few minutes, is not a ‘stage’ as most parents try to reassure me.  This is him.  Dealing with feeling abandoned.  It is me feeling frustrated and scared that I can’t make it better. 

 

Family

I am not naive and I doubt anyone would say I am obtund.

At the beginning of each day my son is my son. He is not my flesh nor my blood, but my feelings for him are not directed by blood or biology. He is my son. I live every day aware, painfully aware at times, that he was born of another woman’s body. I wish I could have given birth to him, taken credit for his beauty, his brains and his wit. I wish I could have made it easier, but then we wouldn’t be the people we have become. It seems strange to me at times when I remember that I never watched him slip out of my body, never saw my body grow and change. My heart has changed though. My love and my intensity has changed.

My son doesn’t yet understand adoption. I talk about Vietnam and the beautiful woman who carried him below her heart for nine months.

For now my son is blissfully ignorant that “mommy” in our family has more than one meaning. For now he doesn’t have to question what “mommy” means to him. At the end of today and the beginning of tomorrow we are simply mommy and babe. Some days I wish people saw the same thing I see—a family. Not an adoptive family. Not a single mom. Not an adopted child. A family. No more questions. No more nosy looks. Just us. A mother and her son. Family.

‘night night

A few weeks ago Duc had the stomach flu. The first night he vomited in his sleep and never cried out. It freaked me out so bad that the next night I insisted that I needed to see him all night. Since I don’t go to bed at 8 pm I put him on the couch so I could watch him. I really enjoyed having him so close. I enjoyed watching him sleep and I discovered he talks in his sleep. The most frequent word? Mommy. The rest were nee-nee (the name he gave his pacifier), Saige and Si (his cousins).

God, how I love this boy.

Enigma

Two years ago today I saw my son’s face for the first time. I remember everything about that day. I remember the dragonfly socks—part of a matching pair for us—that I wore in memory of my grandma. I remember working in the “command center” while supporting a new application implementation at work. I remember the call. And the tears. I remember calling my mother and the sound of the gravel gritting under her feet as she sprinted for the car. I remember feeling absolutely enamored and completely confused.

My son is, in some ways, as much as an enigma today as he was the first time I saw him. I was expecting a scrawny, sickly, pale, unhappy child. What I saw was a chubby baby with the most beautiful golden brown skin that I had ever laid my eyes on. In one of his first photos I saw a happy giggling baby, but in subsequent photos I saw something else. A child that looked somewhat desperate, his eyes searching for something he couldn’t verbalize. At the time I looked past all that not seeing what I didn’t yet understand. Three and a half months later I walked into his orphanage, picked him up and both of our lives changed. Instead of crying he held my face with both of his hands, smiled and held my stare as I cried. As the days turned to months I realized that he was looking for a family. The before and after photos on the mantle paint a different picture of his life in an orphanage.

I know my son better than anyone else alive. I know his favorite color (yellow), I know that nothing in life makes him as happy as Opa & Oma, race cars, helicopters and ambulances. I know the expression he makes when he feels unsure about someone that approaches us. I know how ornery he is and what words will make him laugh until he throws his head back and giggles a high pitch little giggle that only little children can do.

Yet I find myself looking at him and aching for all the things I don’t know. For the questions I have and the questions that he will someday have. We often get comments on how similar we are—same evil giggle, same infectious belly laugh. We are both ornery. We have the same horrific cowlicks and the same strange hereditary ear birth defect (until the international doctor told me it was a birth defect I just always thought of it as a family trait—and don’t bother comparing our ears in this picture because you can’t see it). People can say all those things and more, but I know those things belong to the faces of two people I have never met.

My birthday was this week. My friends and family know the worst thing they can tell me is “I know what you are getting for your birthday!”. It makes me crazy, the unknowing. Even if it is a good thing it still makes me crazy. And every once in a while I feel that same crazy when I look at my son. I hate the not knowing.

And because I can’t leave you without something fun, check out this video. I almost blew lemonade out my nose when it came on the TV. This is so Duc.

Hello Beautiful

I’ve been wanting to get Duc outside for some photographs, but the weather has been icky.  Either it is 95* with 80% humidity or it is raining.  We finally an 85* day with NO rain so I grabbed it when I saw it.  Unfortunately it was late in the day and Duc was not in the mood.  He wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t follow any directions.  We were out there for 10 minutes and only got a few photographs I can use, but it was so good to get out.

It was so bright out and it was 7:30 pm.  Hard to believe in a few months it will be dark at this time of day. 

 

 

And from my front door last night…

Sunset

This is me keeping my promise

Potty time

Duc is obsessed with the toilet lately. His new daycare class potties several times a day and as the youngest in the class (2 to 3 years-old) he sees some that are potty trained.

Several times a day (and every time I race to the toilet after putting it off too long) he races to the big boy potty to use the bathroom. He runs down the hall taking his shorts off and peeling off his diaper as he goes. He has a toddler toilet, but refuses to use it. He insists on being a big boy and using my toilet even though I do not have a toddler seat.

After breakfast he asked to potty and by the time he reached the bathroom he was naked. He was so excited that he pottied that he stood up to look in the toilet and promptly pooped right on the rug. Yeah, he was 10 seconds too fast.

(He’s not actually asleep on the toilet. I caught him in mid-song, and yes, there is a little upper body dance routine)

I should have known

How can a place that never knew me leave such a longing in my soul? How can a city or a country leave such an indelible impression on me. My life. My home. My heart.

I supposed I should have guessed that it was coming. It has been 18 months since Vietnam. Eighteen months since the suffocating heat of Saigon, the spices in the market, the smell of pho broth first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. In many ways it feels like my life began right there in central Vietnam on a beach next to the sea. There are so many memories of that time. The smells, the people. the texture of the sand and surf against my feet. The smell of that horrible fruit that was forbidden in so many of the hotels. I laughed when I saw the signs until I smelled it for myself.

Last week my mom was teasing me. She told me that someday Duc is going to meet a nice girl and bring her home to meet mama. He’ll brag about my pho (it is seriously as good as what I had in Vietnam) and spring rolls. He’ll tell her about my dipping sauce or any number of recipes I may master between now and then. I wonder how much of a surprise she will have when she sees that Duc’s mama is a white woman that can cook like her mama?

Yeah, I miss Vietnam. I miss my son’s first home.

Sometimes adoption weighs heavily on my mind. It’s not something I typically talk to or share with friends and even family. I think my mother and the readers of this blog probably understand it best having either lived it or watched adoption unfold in our lives.

When I decided to adopt a few years I made a conscious decision to adopt a boy. I can’t say why exactly—it just felt right. We don’t have any boys in our family, my dad and the neutered dog were the sole males in our home growing up so I knew there were going to be struggles that I likely would not experience with a daughter. Perhaps it was because there were no boys in the family that I wished to add to ours, but I will admit, as the last person in my family bearing my family name, I really wanted to pass it on. It’s an unusual name and I think of the Irish that came before me and how after thousands of years walking the planet my line lead me here.

At some point I will die and it will fall to my son to tell our family stories. At some point it will be the job of my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren to carry the name (I hope) and to share the stories of our family. At some point years from now someone will do a genealogy study and wonder why a family with an Irish name has Asian heritage. I can’t help but laugh when I think of my father’s father. I wonder what he would think about the sole heir of his family name and how our family is permanently changed a result of this one action.

It makes me smile. I think he would throw his head back and laugh.

hello stranger

This is straight out of camera because I am trying to back up all my photographs to external drives, discs and an online back-up server also. Nervous much? Yeah. So I am giving Photoshop a rest to night.

I’ve written about this previously, but since Duc entered my life I have really let myself go. Actually I can’t blame it on him—once I started the process to adopt him I began to let myself go. Like every good PAP I was too busy obsessively checking email and internet to go to the gym regularly. And eating? Yeah, I stress ate from Spring until the day I traveled. And I continued to do that even after we returned home. I was complaining to a friend the other day telling her I didn’t feel girly anymore. So, subtle steps. I wore lipstick to work every day for a week. Even bright red. I painted my toenails for the first time since late 2007 (and, as you can see, I can’t color within the lines). I even grew my fingernails out since I am no longer playing the violin. I forgot how hard it was to take my contacts out with long nails or wash dishes. And how the heck does one text with long nails?

The other night when I rolled over I aggravated a groin injury I sustained when Duc suddenly jumped on my knee while I was sitting cross legged. I rolled around in pain and I realized how stupid it all was. It is time for me to improve my health again. Duc and I are finally at a good place again and it is time for mama to venture away and take care of herself. Say a prayer that he feels the same way!

Extra spicy, hold the drama

I’m not a fan of drama. I like watching dramas on the big screen, but I don’t want drama in my life. This week we have had a little of both—Duc drama and mama drama.

As a parent you get mad at your kids. Goodness knows I’ve been mad at Duc a number of times (hello broken nose, hitting said broken nose, giving me a black eye, scratching my car with rocks, you get the picture). I always feel bad when I get that mad. I’ve never hit Duc for something he has done, but we have both gone in our respective time out corners until we both cooled off. I don’t know if it is because I love him so much or because there is some sort of AP voice in the back of my head telling me “you waited this long to be parent; you can’t possibly be angry at your precious little angel”. Anyone else hear that crazy voice? Anger is normal. It’s even healthy and yet I feel bad that I get so upset. Most times I am also bruised or bleeding which probably aggravates the situation.

On Wednesday I got really mad at Duc. I got so mad I cursed in front of my child. Yep, I’m admitting it. I was pissed and I told him so. We left the house at 7:10 AM. I got the car loaded and I got Duc fastened in the car seat with his blankey, his nee-nee (pacifier) and some dry cereal. I slammed his car door shut as I do several times a day. It bounced back. Yep, the door bounced back. The stinker had messed with the latching mechanism yet again only this time it was jammed. I screwed around with that door for 20 minutes before I accepted I was screwed. I called and left a VM for my boss letting her know what had happened. It wasn’t just what he had done, I was feeling stressed over recent changes at work. I used to have a flexible schedule, but now I have to be clocked in no later than 8 am. Failure to do so earns the employee a demerit of some sort. Since I had to leave my shift early one day last week (had a really bad reaction to a new medication) I knew I had yet another mark against me. Two in less than a week—a few more and I get a verbal reprimand. And now I can’t get my son’s car door to close.

I knew I was screwed. After 20-30 minutes I started calling my dad repeatedly until my mom answered. God love her, she was trying to help but I was still pissed. I even flagged down a random stranger walking through the neighborhood with a leash in one hand and a bag of dog poop in the other. Even with using a flathead screwdriver neither of us good get it. I was incredibly stressed. Did I mention it was also really hot and steamy and I HATE hot and steamy?

None of us could fix the door and I ultimately had to take it to the repair shop. It was fixed (free of charge, hallelujah!) and the shop guys taught me how to fix it in the event it occurred again.

Today I added my own drama. thankfully Duc seems to like mama drama…and nothing was damaged in the process! Almost two weeks ago I decided to make a trip to THE camera store in Indiana. It was a last minute decision and I called Michael from the road. Canon was running a nice sale and Amazon was promising buyers 12 months to pay off any camera/lens purchases. I wasn’t planning on buying another lens this year, especially since I had just ordered the external flash, but a girl has to look, right?

We picked up Michael and discovered the store was in the process of moving when we arrived. Literally, there was nothing on the walls and most items were in boxes. I wasn’t too encouraged, but the salesman managed to locate the lens we were both lusting over. It was sweet. It was heavy, but the photographs created were S-W-E-E-T. Again, no intention of buying, but I turned the corner to find Michael to tell him I was ready to leave when I found the salesman handing him a bag. Say what? He bought the lens! He sweated the price, I drooled and begged for a chance to touch it.

Yeah, unfortunately neither of us can handle the other one having better gear so I waited for the price to drop a bit on Amazon and ordered the lens (just an FYI—the prices fluctuate a lot on many of their products. Prices tend to be lower on Tuesday and higher late in the week). I expected it to arrive in typical Amazon fashion….3-5 days later. WRONG! It took several days before it shipped and UPS took it’s sweet time delivering. They kept attempting to deliver while I was at work. I got home at 5:30 tonight. Got Duc started on some food, I changed into my jammies and I explored the UPS website where I learned I could request to pick it up by 6 pm. On the other side of town. During rush hour with road construction. I like a challenge and I don’t mind a little drama like this. We managed to get there 2 minutes before it closed and thank goodness we did!

All the photographs you see in this post were with my sweet new lens and a flash. Yep, I am addicted!

If any of you feel the need to feed your addiction Canon is running a sale on many of their items—I got my flash and the new lens with a nice discount. The sale continues through tomorrow and then you are out of luck. Amazon is also running the 12 month payment deal on many camera brands. If you have been looking for some new gear now might be a good time to check it out.

Don’t you just want to kiss those cheeks? This picture kills me. It was such an odd, but sweet, expression. I could (and sometimes do) stare at this face all day. I just can’t help myself.

Randomness in Photos

I have a lot to say, but no energy to say it. I’m trying to clean house and get rid of stuff, an endless story, ya know?

I love that some of the things I am teaching my son are actually sinking through. Like taking a few minutes everyday to sit and enjoy living in the moment. For us that usually means sitting on the stoop in front of the house for a few minutes each night no matter how hot (makes us appreciate the a/c more, eh?). Enjoying a glass of lemonade in a frosted glass. Watching the bunnies and listening to the birds and crickets.

And now for a random smattering of photos:

I recently purchased an external flash for my camera (after this picture was taken, obviously). I’ve been curious about external lighting and portrait lighting for a while. I just received it a few days ago so I haven’t had a chance to really play with it much, but I am hoping to get rid of facial shadows like you see in this picture. I still love the picture though:) It’s just so Duc. He LOVES his Oma and wallors all over her.

I love this photo. He’s so serious here (which isn’t like him), but I love the expression, the sun, the water dripping down his face. I can almost smell the sun on his skin in this photo. Ahhhhh…..summer.

A toddler bouquet. Not so bad from a 2 and almost 5 year-old.

And this is the impact my dad has on my son. This is the “Opa face” because this is how they BOTH look when they are around each other. The bad things they teach each other…

And with an external flash….

I just love how crisp the color is when using the external flash. You will definitely be seeing a few more “flash” photos in the coming posts. A girl has to practice, right?

Life is Good

It’s been a fun week. I had a little time off and I treated it like a summer vacation.

Here are the highlights:

My very first roller derby! Seriously, roller derby is alive and well and I finally saw a match (game???) and it totally rocked! Usually there are two matches, but this night there was only one so the additional team members were in the audience. One of them sat next to me and explained everything and now I can’t wait to see the next one!

There was a picnic at one of the local lakes with Michael:

The stinker ate a whole container of strawberries by himself. Michael taught him all about cutting up sausages. I’m not sure that was actually a good idea.

My garden:

Anyone know what to do with eaten up green beans? I notice the leaves have a number of holes in them. I didn’t notice it on any of my other plants.

I think many of you reading are probably friends with me on FB so you have heard that Duc has had all his wheeled toys taken away (and books, tractors, trains, blocks or anything he throws at me or hits me with). But he is still a boy at heart and all he wants are his cars and choo choo trains. This is how desperate he has become—he’s treating the buns as trains . I do have a heart though. I gave him back his favorite tractor today (a very small one). Within two minutes I took it back after he threw it at me. The reason I am so strict with this? On Monday he nailed me and gave me yet another black eye. Even though the bruise is fading it is extremely painful and I think he cracked the orbital bone around my eye.

I am super psyched about the next two things…

My dad and I built this bench together on Thursday evening. I was/am so excited! I still need to sand, paint, attach the wheels and place the baskets in the cubbies, but wow, so cool! We had so much fun working on this together and we are planning other projects. I emailed tonight was another suggestion and now I am FULL of ideas.

And last, but certainly not least I did a photo session with Kelli and Aiden and I am so excited about the images. I had a lot of fun with them but oh my goodness was it hot! Heat index was 105* and ya’ll know I don’t like heat. We were saved by a breeze and a towel. Thankfully kids never seem to feel the heat and Aiden & Kelli were true troopers. I plan on posting the photos in the next couple of days on my photography website, but here is a sneak peek for Kelli.

I am in love with this photo. Kelli had mentioned that this “is so Aiden” so I am glad I was able to capture it. Why, you ask is he squatting on a rock and looking at the water? Fish, people, HUGE fish. You can see them to the left of his arm. They had little brownish fish and huge koi.