little boy blue

At this time of year, the earth begins to warm, the skies open with gentle rains, wildflowers turn highways into pointillist masterpieces, and across Texas--families pull off onto the shoulder of the road and hall their kids into the grass for photographs. Who am I to mess with tradition?

Worse, I woke Jack from a nap for this adventure into the weeds. He was dazed and confused at first and then a little bit incredulous. There were a few smiles, but he was very uncertain about the hat. I, on the other had, felt sure that it was adorable. Richard said he looked like an aging Englishman with questionable taste and pasty skin who decided to vacation on the Riviera this year. I told him that Jack looked nothing of the sort. Socks and sandals were NOT a part of this carefully crafted bluebonnet outfit.

Still, we were only out in the unremitting sunshine for about fifteen minutes before we started to worry that our English rose was getting to, well, rosy.

We'll be back next year to try again, though I am already wondering where to go so that he can't wander onto the road. By that time, I doubt only the flowers will be wild.

move over, chas tenenbaum...

We had an unexpected cold snap this weekend. So it was time to break out the matching puma tracksuits. (Jack's was a gift from my friend Katie. She said it reminded her of Richard for some reason. I couldn't figure it out but when I brought it home from the shower and mentioned it to Rich, he immediately said, "oh it's so cool. like The Royal Tenenbaums." Richard got his matching tracksuit for Valentine's Day.)

We were the ONLY people on the Hike and Bike Trail. It seemed pretty nippy, but Jack fell asleep right away and so we persevered so that he could have a full nap. Turns out that the windchill was in the 20s. Oops.

Jack: "i didn't think things would get all matchy-matchy until i had a sibling!"

bumbling along

sitting up is overrated.

up to the highest height

Austin Kite Festival 2010

My grandfather learned to fly kites when he was a kid. He used to write his address on little parachutes made of tissue paper. He expertly sent them up the kite's line and then shook it until they dropped and were caught by the wind and carried to far-flung places. Sometimes a stranger would write to him and tell him that his parachute had been found.

Maybe these early experiences with kites contributed to his lifelong passion for flight and an unquenchable wanderlust that made him curious about all of those far-flung places and the people to be found there.

This year, we wandered past the Austin Kite festival. I hope next year we'll be back with our own kite. I want Jack to learn how to fly. I want to hold anchor for all of those connections that might just float away. I want us all to remember our own wanderlust, to remember our wonder.

hurry bibi, many thanks sincerely...

we're so looking forward to your return to Austin! We promise we won't spill kool-aid on your new carpets or anything. just get back here fast!

three's a treat!

Dear Jack--

I checked the calendar today and realized that the 11th has rolled around (and quickly) again. You are three wonderful, chubby, cheerful months old and, though there is not much left of the newborn left in you--even your feet look smaller as your legs have gotten fatter and longer around them--it is hard to be sad when it clear that you are a boy with lots of joy.

Your smiles break in waves and I know several people who compete to see how long they can keep you grinning. If you could talk, I think you would say that your poor cheeks hurt sometimes. Bibi and Grandaddy told me that I didn't even start to smile until I was your age and now Daddy says about once a day, "man, it must have been tough to have a serious baby." It's true. Your gummy grins reassure us that you kind of like living with us. Good thing, huh? I mean, you're growing up fast, but not that fast.

Other people have commented that you seem to have more hair. I'm not so sure. Maybe you lost a little and gained a little, but I think you've come out about even in the end. It does seem to be decidedly auburn at the moment. Daddy can't believe it and wonders where that comes from. Silly Daddy.

We really don't know who you look most like. You've got my hair and Daddy's lips and Aunt Lizzie's eyes and Uncle Theo's whole--what's the word--visage. But really you are your own little man and I suspect that someday when we look back at pictures of you, we'll wonder less about who you look like and think that you look most like...you.


Your little personality is starting to develop. When you're at the office with me, you are pretty patient and able to entertain yourself for short periods of time. I can put you on the playmat in front of a window and you'll kick and grab at your toys for at least twenty minutes before you realize that I'm not standing over you. Once you figure it out though, nothing will solve your tears but a cuddle. You follow people around the room with your eyes and seem to recognize several voices, but you STILL HAVEN'T FIGURED OUT THAT YOU WON'T DIE JUST BECAUSE THE BOTTLE IS NOW EMPTY. You don't nap well at the office because you don't like to miss out on the action. During the weekend, you sometimes make up for it with marathon naps. I guess Daddy and I just aren't entertaining enough to keep you up.


Bathtime is less of struggle. So is mealtime for the most part. You still go down pretty easily at night. But you have started to HATE the car seat. We don't go anywhere that you don't cry for at least the first ten minutes. The guy who operates our local Starbuck's drive-thru thinks I am a terrible mother because he only sees you when you are in full meltdown mode. You are even beginning to stiffen your legs when I try to put you in the seat so that I can't get you in it very easily.

If you are stubborn at three months, I shudder to think what three years will look like.

Actually, you are also just very physical. You don't like to be held like a baby unless you are eating. Otherwise, you'd prefer to be "standing" on a lap or being held kind of like a football. You do this great thing when you are standing where you kind of paw the ground with one foot--like stomp, stomp. stomp, stomp. Such a cute little pony boy. But I think we're going to have to bolt down the furniture in a couple of months because you've got the strong legs of a climber and the will to do it.

When it comes down to it though, Daddy and I think you are about the sweetest, funniest, cuddliest, cutie-est, most gorgeous boy we could have ever hoped for and even though we used to go out to the movies and wear clothes without poop on them, we wouldn't trade anything for these last three months.

love you always and always,
mommy

as if one job weren't enough for a baby...

A photo essay to celebrate Jack's first visit to school:

Jack is operating on the assumption that good things also happen to
people who try to hide.

Is that a Jack in my cubby hole?

Daddy, I'm just a little bit emotional about your brilliance.

Jack remains in awe of the word wall.

all in all, the little mr. stafford looks forward to kindergarten even more now.

rub a dub dub.

one sad boy in the tub:

not the hair, daddy. don't touch the hair.

i think i'll make my escape now, amphibian-style.

sleepy sheepy.

work to live. live to work.

Dear Jack,

One of the first lies of your life was that you and I would have four months at home together. In my defense, I really did plan to have a nice long (by American standards) maternity leave with time to work on your routine, to cuddle and sing, to marvel at and celebrate you.

So much for that, kid.

Your Bibi works her bottom off now and did just the same when I was your age. Your Nanny finally "retired" sometime after she turned seventy and then started a new career just a few years later. Her mother went door to door with homemade candies when there was no work to be had in this country. What can I say? We Ruth girls are a working people. We do it to take care of our own mental health. We do it to take care of our families. Sometimes we do it because we have no choice.

On February 10, I returned to work--two months to the day after I left work for the last time, the night before you were born. Two days before, you and I went to San Antonio to meet with my boss and my boss's boss. They asked if I could be a part in planning a party to launch the Imagine No Malaria campaign to the rest of the United Methodist Church. I had already spent most of the fall working on this campaign in Austin. So had you for that matter. And it is a cause that I find so compelling, a dream for the whole world that might be made true before you start kindergarten, that I said I was in on one condition.

You. I came back to work with the understanding that you had to come with me.

We've spent nearly a month in the new routine of getting up and dressed, of getting outside our own home and outside our selves. This isn't easy. It requires you to have more patience than the average infant. It requires me to have more...I'm not sure. More of me. To be present to my work. To be present to you. All in the same space and time and without putting my head on my desk and crying.

We're lucky--you and I. We have the support of the office--even when we do cry. You are greeted by many smiling faces. My coworkers and all who visit the office want a little bit of Jack time and you oblige, like the benevolent little prince (of our hearts) that you are. You smile and coo and eat lots and require at least two wardrobe changes a day.

And most days I think I am going to survive. In fact, most days I think that we both will.

love you always and always,
mommy

the many faces of j.p. stafford.

it's true

boys really can "go" anywhere.