Apologetic

I'm sorry this will be such a short post, but the Composer is hungry again.

I'm sorry I haven't written much lately, though there are many things I want to write about.

I'm sorry to be leaving newfound friends. I apologetically explain that it's not them that has made us leave.

I'm sorry to be leaving our few old friends in the area, even if they think we're crazy.

I apologize to the neighbors when I tell them that this is still a nice neighborhood, even if we don't choose it.

Although I haven't done it yet in person, I have, in my mind, a hundred times apologetically told my boss I won't be returning from leave. I'm sorry about the short notice, but you weren't expecting me back for a month anyway, were you? I'm sorry you'll have to find someone else to take over my tasks. I'm sorry I don't think this work is as worthwhile as you do.

I'm sorry I'll have to give back this computer.

I'm good at guilt. Now it is time for a new practice.
I don't need to apologize for being me.

Today's Small Celebrations

The Composer had a nice long nap.

The Inventor had a nap for the first time in a week.

The Painter has taken an interest in folding and creatively folded all of his own laundry. (Should really include some pictures here, but let's just say, each item was folded in a different way from the others.)

Our two boy-cats made it safely to grandma & grandpa's house, on their way to our new home.

I packed a box today. Many left, but I'll take them box by box.

Dinner with friends to thank them for their role in the Composer's arrival.

Check-up today. I am apparently healthy and back to my pre-pregnancy weight! A side benefit of feeding baby all hours of the day and night.

Orange Blossoms

I drink in the night air laden with fragrance;
Next year I will miss them.

Baby Love

In response to the prompt from Shawn at Between the Lines, I am reaching beyond the daily trials of being mom, again, to remember the joys of babyhood.

My beautiful little one,

I love the fuzzy down covering your body, like a duckling;
your tiny toes, and your soft, smooth baby skin.

I love your milky, sweaty, scent;
part baby, part mama.

I love your already expressive face,
your mouth forming a little round 'o', as if in surprise,
and your as-yet fleeting smiles.

I love too your vocal expression,
your own language of coos and grunts,
and your contented hums while you fall asleep.

I love the way you snuggle in to my chest when you are tired,
and wiggle your way down to my breast when you are hungry.

I love the way you intently gaze at the toys above your bed,
trying to make sense of the world;
and the way you look at me with your soulful grey eyes,
trusting me completely.

I love the way your little hands reach out to grasp mine
and the way, through all the other changes, you hold me tight.

Leaping

I still worry, but that doesn't mean I need to change my mind. Worry, too, is part of me.

We have made our decision. We are making our arrangements. Two adults, three boys, three cats, two vehicles, and a truckload of stuff will be moving soon to Wisconsin, an hour from my parents, and hour from my brother, an hour from my grandmother, aunts and uncles, two hours from the other grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins, to the land of much snow this winter and affordable housing, to a community we don't know, but will become a part of, and a place we will call home for several years.

In the end, it is a practical decision. We find two things in our new home that we can't get here: affordable housing and proximity to family. There is one thing here that we can't get there: my job. I can always get another job.

We bring our hearts and our love with us.