1 Year

 I'm hardly sure where to start. 1 year ago, after 7 'short' hours of labor, my sweet precious baby ClaraWren Hope was placed in my arms. She peered up at me with her quizzical eyes and all I could do was inspect her face the way she was mine. She came into this world much in the way she has taken on this past year, fast, on-purpose, without a skirmidgeoun of dilly-dally. She is loud, passionate, adventurous, loving, sensitive, energetic and playful. She wakes every morning without hesitation and belts out her rescue call, eats in a rush and quickly signs all done (arching her back if we delay too long), plays hard and finally sits on her bottom and cries mercilessly until she is put to bed. She doesn't shrink from any item blocking her path, but rather scales the mountain of legs or toys, and giggles when she crashes face first into the other side. When she is really, really hurt (not just upset hurt, or lonely hurt, or bored hurt, or any other reason she finds to hit her vocal high notes), she doesn't make a peep; crying so painfully hard she can't make a sound until she sucks in a gulp of air and we hear the not-so-little voice. We can gauge how badly the injury is by how long the pause lasts before the wail. Wren grins ear to ear with a crinkled nose whenever she is granted the slightest bit of attention. She loves an audience. I often spend a lot of time talking to strangers with the combo of Lillian, who is busy asking them their name, telling them hers and putting her number into their cell-phone so they can call her later, and Wren who charms by tossing her head back and laughing or coyly tilting her head into her shoulder and grinning widely. Wren will babble in an ultra-serious tone, and respond to my inquiries with a grim-lipped nod. She will say 'No!', Shake her head, and giggle at her Independence. She follows Mercy around the house, calling her by name and barking. She has discovered the wild joys of feeding unwanted food to household pets, and Mercy is wise to her game. She waits expectantly near the high chair until I step out of the room for a moment. I often return to Wren's outstretched hand and Mercy hurriedly gulping various finger foods. Wren turns and giggles at me. She has days when she will use every sign and word in her repertoire and others where the extent of language communication is pointing at desired objects; little tease. She loves to do whatever Lillian is doing and is most content when the girls play side by side. The other day they spent a good 30 minutes playing 'soup' and Lillian graciously provided pots, pans, spoons, and vegetables for both girls to play with. They took turns stirring their soup and giving each other bites. Who knew the depths of blessing these children would grant me?

Dearest Wren-Darling,

You are exquisite. I treasure and delight in the personality God has given you. You charm, cajole, sweet-talk and demand the world. Your smile turns the most stoic into mushy baby-lovers and you glory in every second you are afforded their time. You giggle and protest at the ready with the passion any stage production could use. I am so thankful for our time together. You bless and challenge my heart and I thank God daily for you and your sister. I pray that you would grow in wisdom and understanding and your passion would be for the things of God. You are fearfully and wonderfully made from your mo-hawk-poof hair, your sweet squeezable baby belly, down to your tickly little toes. I love to watch you enjoy your new adventures, study your sister ~ then mimic her, and see giant crocodile tears drip down your face at half a moments notice. You are my dear, sweet, sweetie-pie-fussy-Gus and I look forward to watching you grow.

You are a Treasure! Love, Mama

I've Done Something Foolish

     Today I ran a mountain.  As of this moment, sitting with my still cramping legs propped on a pile of pillows, I have no real idea why I felt so motivated to attempt such an atrocious lack of respect for the Rocky Mountains.  BUT, I survived and excusing the last of the 9 uphill miles, it wasn't 'that' bad.  There was discomfort, to be sure, but it wasn't until my foot cramped beyond an ability to move it, that I felt I had undertaken a rather foolhardy race up our dear Albuquerque mountain.  Let me give you an idea...

 We started here.

 Ran 9 miles to here.

With this in between.

     With the trail behind me I have been able to recount the event within the safety of my home, and although I felt it was overall run very well, by competent, generous and encouraging volunteers, there was one thing I could find to improve upon.  The mile markers were far to few and far-between for my road-weary taste and I have the following suggestions to mark each mile on the La Luz Trail Run.

Mile 1: Dear Runner,

     Congratulations!  You have completed the first mile, only 8 more to go!  Uphill.  With Rocks.  And Switch-backs.  And stairs at the top.  Congratulations!

Mile 2: Dear Runner,

     Terrific!  You have finally reached the Trail Head.  Now all you need to do is run up the 7.8 mile Mountain, and you're done!

Mile 3: Dear Runner,

     I must admit that it might have been rather foolish to embark on such a quest.  But, you might as well keep running, you are very nearly 1/2 way there, sort of.      

Mile 4: Dear Idiot,

       What were you thinking?!  What sort of life crisis made you so miserable that you thought running UP A MOUNTAIN would bring meaning to your life?

Mile 5:  Dear Idiot,

     While you spend the next hour switching back and forth up this mountainside, you can faintly listen for cheering at the finish line where the REAL runners are completing this course in under 1 1/2 hours.  

Mile 6:  Hey Dummy,

     There are rocks ahead.  Big Rocks, silly rocks, rocks that climb on rocks.  Rocks with gaping holes that disappear into black nothingness as you step over them.  But don't worry, you will be so consumed with tripping your way over the Rock Slide that you won't notice the 100 foot drop off over the side.

Mile 7:  Dear Sweet Brainless Adventurer,

     Yes, slow and steady did work for the Turtle when he raced the Hare, but at your pace, you might as well be moving backward.

Mile 8:  Dear Zombie,

       Your options: 1.) Turn Man V. Wild and set up camp using your sweat-wick top and compression shorts to make a tent...a very small tent.  2.) Burst into tears and cry for help, all the while lamenting your pride and insufficiency as a wife, mother, and woman...if the latter three labels apply. 3.) Continue walking yourself up the last mile, using your hands to pump your legs, crawling up the stairs, and praying for the ability to keep your energy bloks where you placed them in mile 3, your very nauseous belly.  Note: feel free to combine any of the above.

Mile 9:  Dear La Luz Finisher,

     Please adhere to the following suggestions as you complete such an awful, terribly, no-good, very bad race: 

*please refrain from holding cups of water within 15 minutes of completing your race.  You cannot hold it.  You will drop the cup and be unable to bend to pick it up. 

*also refrain from crouching to stretch your aching gludeals.  You will most likely get stuck in that position.
*please allow the paparazzi the luxury of taking pictures of you despite the fact you most likely look like salt-sprinkled death.  They did, after all, drive an hour to the top of the mountain you just ran in their comfortable, air-conditioned vehicle.  You will appreciate them in 5 minutes.  

*Feel free to take your fill of whole-grain breads, bananas, orange juice, burritos and green chile soup.  Because THAT's what you want to be shoving in your mouth while simultaneously trying to keep your boiled egg and oatmeal breakfast from spewing all over the lovely, fresh looking volunteers.

Mile 10: Dear Persons of Diminished Capacity,

      The race ended at mile 9.  If you were so certain that this race would never end that your mind has you believing you are still running, please see the local psychologist.  You may have need of her anyway, since you are already talking about your PR for next year.

Can It Be?

     You are 11 months old!  When did this happen? These precious blue eyes were the same that stared up at me quizzically only moments after you were born.  The same eyes that twinkle with delighted mischief when Mercy jingles into the room, the blue eyes that pour tears when you feel left out, or gaze intently when you're really trying to connect words with actions.  I love the crinkled nose that shows your silly sense of humor, the little pixie ears that give your smile it's elfin appearance, and the hair.  Oh, The hair! Scientists could study it's anti-gravity properties and school NASA on a few things. You are still measuring in the 90% in height and are already forced to wear 18 mo. old clothes to prevent diaper wedgies and plunging scoop necks; 'basketball' is next on our word list.
     You love soft things.  You readily nuzzle your blanket to your face before bedtime.  It is not unusual for me to find you covered in blankets, head to waist, with your precious baby toes hanging out of the bedding pile.  You test out the quality of any soft toy by rubbing it against your face, the softest being honored with a short conversation with you.
     You still make the most wonderful sounds I have ever heard.  The well known bleat makes headlines wherever we go but the newest is a meld of wolf and lamb as you throw your head back and howl with a vibrato.  Your vocal range amazes me.  Shrieks are often thrown into regular conversation, of which we have no short supply.  You have something to say about everything, to everyone, and about anything.  You love to entertain and it is rare that a person willing to glance your way is left without a laughing smile and a crinkled nose. 
     You crawl.  Several weeks ago you decided that rolling just wasn't the thing anymore and you began crawling.  It was only a few short days of baby-step crawling about before you launched yourself into a full home invasion of diapered cuteness. No room is safe, particularly the bathroom, where Lillian's puzzle stool holds a particular draw for you.  When we hold your fingers and walk you often leave us giggling as you announce 'go, go, go', just like your sister did.  I don't know where you picked this up, as Paul and I are both quite certain that neither of us encouraged it.  But you love to crawl and are wonderfully pleased with your own self-sufficiency and mobility. You giggle and crawl, giggle and crawl, giggle and, you guessed it, crawl. No longer do you have to wait for us to come rescue you, all you have to do is crawl over and up a pant leg to get your deserved attention. All is right with the world.
     Precious, 11 month old Wren, I love you so very dearly.  You delight me with your maturing ways and I chuckle throughout my days at your antics and darling personality.  My little giggling performer, who loves to play with her sister, with Mercy and with Daddy.  My prayer is that you will grow in your sweet disposition and your passion will be ignited for our Lord.  May He preserve you for Himself; May you be His.  I pray you will continue to love on the people around you as you so sweetly do now.  Darling Sugar Dumpling Sweet Sweets, you have brought light to my heart and my life and I praise and thank the Lord daily for such a gift.  Thank you for who you are, here's to the next mile-stone!

Nothing but Stamps

We have entered a phase.  A phase.  It's only a phase.  I'm seeing stamps.  Stamps high, stamps low, stamps here, stamps there, stamps on our underwear.  My favorite spot selection is this one...