it's a jungle out there

With each week that passes, Malcolm is becoming more and more difficult to photograph ... So, getting a good shot (let alone one that showcases his outfit!) for my Tuesday fashion feature is turning out to be quite the challenge! I'm certainly up for it, though, as I enjoy chasing my boy around.

It keeps me on my toes.

Since the weather flip-flopped from fall coolness to mid-summer HOT HOT HOT, Malcolm has gone back to spending his days in tee-shirts (or tank tops) and shorts ... This is fine with me because he's looking a tiny bit more like a baby, and fine with him because, as long as he has the freedom to move around and explore, he's happy.


It looks like Dad might need to get out there and cut the grass before our next photo shoot ...

Tank top: Carter's (thrifted for $0.50)
Shorts: Unknown brand (hand-me-down)

another year older

This is probably becoming a theme on here (please forgive me if you are sick of it already), but I can't believe how much things have changed over the course of a year. As a kid, a year seems to take forever, but as an adult, it is merely the blink of an eye. So, while pregnancy seems like a distant memory in my head, just last year at this time I was big and nearly ready to explode. If I didn't have a baby living in my house and/or the pregnant pictures to prove that I really went through the whole process, I don't think I'd believe it ...

But, getting to the point of this post:

My birthday usually falls on or around Labor Day.

"How funny!" I used to think. "Being in labor on Labor Day!"

Not so much anymore.

Now I think it is a cruel, cruel joke after having been through natural labor myself ... Who wants to be reminded of twenty-three hours (for me, at least ... I think my mom suffered longer) of huffing and puffing? I guess getting through it in one, albeit altered, piece is cause for some celebration ...

And getting to that point again:

Despite the blur that my life has been, a moment from Labor Day Weekend (last year) sticks out at the forefront of my mind and is directly related to my being pregnant. So, I thought I'd share ...

A couple blocks or so from our house is a small (and very delicious) ice-cream establishment. Since the family was together for a Labor Day cook-out, we decided that it would be fun to take a walk over and purchase a nice, cool treat to cap off the day. As we approached the only busy intersection on our route, the light was obviously ready to change. Apparently in a hurry to get their ice-cream, my husband and the rest of our group made a move to quickly cross the street. Lagging behind anyway (at this point, I was carrying about forty extra pounds of baby weight), and not wanting to be separated, I tried to increase my own pace and run after them.

Quick note to self: Next time you are nine months pregnant and have done little more than walk throughout the duration of said pregnancy, do NOT try to run! Seriously. Under any circumstance. Don't do it. You'll look incredibly stupid and nearly kill yourself as you try to stop. You were a science teacher, were you not? Ever hear of momentum?! How about inertia?!

I'm lucky I didn't set off my own labor and wind up in the hospital on Labor Day, too!

So, even though I'm far from being nine months pregnant this year (as in, I'm not), I'd like to think that the past year hasn't changed me too much. Obviously, I'm a mother now (which was a deeply profound and wonderful change), but in terms of everything else, I'm still the same old Emily I was last year.

Save for one thing ... I can run again.

So, happy birthday to me and happy Labor Day everyone!

the back to school blues

Schools everywhere are up and running again.

The high school I used to teach at is no exception.

As I go about my daily routines, I often think about what I'd be doing at school if I hadn't made the choice to stay at home with Malcolm. My mind is full of questions ...

Would I have the same classroom? How would it look this year?

Would I finally have a biology-only schedule?

Would I be teaching multiple honors classes?

Would I get to eat lunch at the same time as my teacher friends?

Would I have strategically placed free periods?

Would my study halls be full of students that actually prefer to study?

As much as I liked to complain about teaching to those that would listen, I have to admit that the high school holds some good memories for me, too. My coworkers were awesome (many of the students weren't half bad either) and I thoroughly enjoyed talking about science all day and passing my enthusiasm for it on to others ... Well, at least to those that were paying attention.

There wasn't a moment that passed that didn't challenge me on some level ... Whether it be intellectually, emotionally, creatively ...

I guess that's why my absence at a school this year is bringing on a host of bittersweet feelings. While I am elated that I have the opportunity to spend all of this time with my son (a decidedly exciting time during which he is constantly growing and changing), part of me misses the hustle and bustle of life at the high school ... The thrill of a new year and the ability to start fresh and make great things happen.

If only I could be in two places at once!

Still, when I stop to really think about it, I remind myself how the initial feeling of optimism as the school year begins gradually fades over time, leaving behind uncertainty and frustration by the end of the year ... So, what sounds like a good thing at the present moment, will eventually turn into a headache.

Something that certainly won't happen as I tend to my little guy.

In that respect, staying at home is the only occupation (during this stage in my life) that will continue to make me happy. No amount of whining or exploding diapers could squelch the positivity that fills the room whenever Malcolm is around ... And if this past year is any indication, things only get better and better!

way to go, mom

Someone can't get enough of his personal porch swing ...


It's a good thing I remembered it was buried in the basement!

midnight groundhog

Although I have been waiting to wake up from the dream I've been living in, Malcolm remains a great little sleeper.

He goes down in his crib with very little fuss (if any) and settles in to sleep within minutes. Then he continues sleeping for a good twelve hours straight ... Sometimes more if I'm really lucky!

It probably helps that the noises that come from outside of his room are nearly invisible to his sleeping ears. Police and/or ambulance sirens screaming down the street don't bother him. The clattering sound of pots and pans being put away in the kitchen (right below his bedroom) are of no consequence. The back screen door slamming shut (and shaking the house) when someone leaves or comes in doesn't startle him. His father yelling to his mother from downstairs (it seems that on more than one occasion, my husband forgets that we, indeed, have a baby) doesn't even phase him.

What can I say?

When he's down for the count, he's really down for the count.

However, drop a pin or let out the tiniest of whispers inside of his room and the kid literally springs to life from a dead sleep.

As mentioned in yesterday's fashion post, the weather in Cleveland was much more fall-like last week, dropping to become quite cool in the middle of the night. Malcolm typically sleeps with a fan going in the window (for the air flow and the noise) and, although he's been going to bed in little footy sleepers, I was concerned that he might get cold ... So I made the mistake of going in to turn his fan off.

It was about midnight, a good three hours since he had been put down (so, he was most definitely in a good, deep sleep) when I crept into the dark room and made my way toward the fan. As I passed the glider and ottoman in the corner, being very careful not to bump either of them, I stepped on a floorboard that let out a loud CRACK! Instantaneously, Malcolm shot up in his crib ... Not much unlike a groundhog does when it sees something larger approaching (or like this little guy, dramatic music included). His open, sleepy eyes were just barely visible in the glowing light of his baby monitor and they had spotted me. Continuing with my mission (even though I had obviously FAILED), I reached to turn off the fan.

The scream the kid let out in the meantime was deafening.

And all it took was a creaky little floorboard.

Luckily for me, he went back to sleep with little coaxing.

Maybe we need to invest in some bedtime earmuffs for his supersonic bedroom ears.