Farm

Dear Darling Thiz,

We are in the midst of a crazy time. Last week was spent at the Farm with Great Grandma Judy, Grandma Gail, and Grandpa Michael. You were busy: picking strawberries, eating grass, shaking your arms in frenzied excitement at the barn cats, reorganizing Grandma Judy's lower shelves, eating copious amounts of oatmeal, dragging Great Aunt Lisa's beaded purse around the living room, standing unsupported for brief periods (while Mommy and Daddy anxiously held our breath), giggling with Gail and Michael, riding in Michael's old stroller around Norskadalen, and napping for shorter and shorter periods of time (sigh).

You and I left the Farm on Sunday so we could come to Minneapolis and see Auntie Martha and meet her wonderful new beau, Sam. By the time we got home yesterday, you were fried. You were a delightful baby all week: full of smiles and giggles, joyously plucking dead bugs from windowsills and lint from heating vents, pulling yourself up to standing against my body, your small hands using my thighs, my breasts, my shoulders, my chin for balance. But last night you hit the wall. You didn't want to eat, you didn't want to be held, you didn't want to crawl or play. I put you to bed at 6pm and you woke today--happy, smiling, well rested.

Today is humid. Storms are threatening the horizon and my head is filled with everything I have to do before we leave for Holden. I am trying to think of everything you might need--distractions on the plane, clothing for cold and heat, Benadryl, finger nail clippers, bulb syringe, sunscreen, bug repellent, sun hat, bathing suit, baby monitor, baby soap, Tylenol, Ergo carrier...blah, blah, blah. So my mind is in a whirring pragmatic, instead of reflective, mode. I promise better posts when we return.