Joy to Spare

Okay, so I stole the title from another mommy blog. But for me these days, this little phrase says it all. Daddy bought me a French Press for my birthday, and although I had heard using those can be bad for you because some of the coffee evil is not filtered out, I am hooked. (Apparently, the extra cholesterol left in your mug is usually not too significant.) I've always enjoyed coffee occasionally - when my mom's visiting, there is a huge pot every morning... I help myself at church events... at a coffee shop with a friend (again, usually mom!). But it's never been a regular thing for me. After I had kids - and could have really used the caffeine - I was pregnant or breastfeeding and didn't want to shoot the little guys up all the time. Whenever I did, my oh my, how wired they would get and couldn't sleep, and my cute furry little gizmos turned into gremlins after noon. But for the first time in almost four years, my body is my own again, and I can load it with as ...

Big Bro turned three today. I used to record all his memorable moments in a journal, but my hand starts to cramp just thinking about writing down all of today's joy. But I can type. I was towelling off when I heard him wake up over the monitor, his munchkin voice singing "Ring around the Rosy." That's how he began his big day. When I went down to get him, I told him Happy Birthday, and he said Happy Birthday right back to me. That's how it went most of the day. Like Merry Christmas or Happy Easter. The sentiments are reciprocal. Why should a birthday be any different? He came upstairs to find balloons, always exciting. Under the balloons were a new roundhouse and turntable for his trains. He was excited and played until we dragged him (not quite kicking and screaming) away for banana pancakes. He savored his breakfast until he almost popped. By the benevolence of the cheap birthday fun gods, Big Bro's birthday was also First-Tuesday-Free-Museum-Day at Balboa P...