BamamaPancakes

Some people live for the infamous Thanksgiving meal. My oldest brother will devour it (and boy, does his BMI show it), but I seem to be missing that craving. Sure, the turkey is not bad -especially with ketsup - and the mashed potatoes can be tolerated as long as pools of butter accompany them. But the cranberry jiggly stuff, the peas, the casseroles and pumpkin-y desserts. Lord, get me to my Christmas night spaghetti and meatballs (I’m sure that’s what most people have on Christmas Day, right?). However, there are several Thanksgiving traditions I do love, some timeless, and some new.  The actual preparing of the turkey. Football. Sheaff’s inevitable nap during football. Flannel shirts. That apple craft with toothpicks, marshmallows and raisins. Sheaff’s side of baked beans. Family. Friends who are really family. The bonfire at Cacophony Farm.  Gathering. Squeezing our child into a broiler pan to pretend she’s a turkey (yes, see pictures below).  The anticipation of...

October 8, 2014 Dear Adalyn, One day I hope you read this. In the story that is your life, these are but the first paragraphs, the beginning of who you’ll be. But to your dad and me, this chapter will be worn with re-reading, dog-eared with pages of favorite memories and lessons learned and moments that etch new lines into our fingerprints, our identity, with the knowledge of what it means to have a child.  One day I hope you’ll wonder what you were like at two. I will tell you.  You are curious, edged with caution and watchfulness. You are spunky, hilarious, and quirky, and quite difficult to translate these days, although we have a list of your “words” that gets added to each day. You are busy; you are always running, the cloth diapers giving you a distinct side-to-side waddle that makes it impossible not to smile watching you.  You are absolutely exhausting some days, and yet you somehow reserve copious amounts of energy for bedtime.  You read. You pl...

Carly Jean Where sunrises meant home and freedom slid off a boat turned upside-down, fishing lines and bare toes interrupted waters called the Sound; I wonder what the sound of their voices were as children, sisters in gowns of ribbons, satin colors pulled from wreaths of remembrance. That is what they wore, while folded cotton sat in crooks of trees, while children were children, sisters were sisters. The comfort of flat land, sandy meshed soil and pine trees, the smell of salt and summertime, and stories of when 4H was $14 and steep. Oh if I were the Sound, I would put the jewels of orange 6 am’s in a jar like fireflies; I would weave the color of those cemetery ribbons through these notebook lines, onto these pages so I can tell folks who ask for my name that I heir’d it honest.  Happy birthday Jean. <3 

One of the most consistent things about parenthood so far (besides all of my clothes being covered in some glaze of peanut butter, snot and chalk dust) is that no matter what phase we’re in, change is inevitably around the corner. Fine motor, gross motor, speech, interests… as soon as Adalyn’s got one thing down, she’s adding something else, or changing another piece. As she shifts and moves and grows, so our routine moves in little clicks forward, from pointing and grunting to stringing words together, from just turning pages of Dr. Seuss to understanding. We were just measuring out rice cereal that amounted to three spoonfuls, and now she is sitting on a stool swinging her legs and drinking from a big girl cup while eating a sandwich. Interestingly enough, I’ve [mostly] always been a fan of change. For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved the renewal that comes with even small change, whether it was haircuts, furniture, wall colors, boyfriends (oops), or hobbies. I have lived ...

No. It happens often. Lately, conversations with Adalyn tend to go a little like this: Parent: Addie-Boo, want some grapes with lunch? Adalyn: No. Parent: Adalyn, let’s get ready for the market. Adalyn: No. Parent: Adalyn, tell Wallie it’s time for a walk. Adalyn: No [while retrieving leash and high-tailing it to the door]. Whether or not she actually means it, no must be the first response.  It’s a bit funny given that she is only pronouncing bits and pieces of other words, but this… this word is whole, distinct, and undeviating (all two letters of it).  Of course, there are numerous ways and tones in which she gives this answer, variations that suggest a specification on what exactly she means by the word no. For example: “Nope” – said quickly and dismissively when parents offer something about which they should know better (i.e. peas, spinach, and other things that would be Really Good for her). “No-ooo” – pronounced as though we live in W...

Well I tried to wait to write this next blog until we were less busy, or I had fewer papers to grade, or had a profound series of deeply meaningful thoughts to write about.  Yes, yes, this is where we all laugh uproariously and remind Carly that parenthood is kind of the opposite of that adorable little list of goals. So for those of you who actually read this (and I thank you) for Adalyn updates, here’s the latest and greatest in the Land of Toddlerdom.  Everyone asks about talking. Is she talking? What is she saying? So far, our munchkin has been a bit of a late-talker – not to be confused with Seinfeld’s low-talker, for her volume is in fact stellar (take a bow, Carly Genes). However, while other toddlers seem to be delivering Obama-level rhetoric, complete with pauses, hand gestures, and perfect annunciation, Adalyn’s speeches tend to go more along these lines… “ Ah! Nana! Nana! Ta, deese.  Pop? …Bye! [waves] ”  This translates roughly to “Oh hey Granny!...

Springtime is chasing the zigzag path of dandelions through the yard to find each one. It is digging in mulch. It is dirt under the toe nails and the awareness that white clothing has a remarkably low success rate.  Springtime is blonde hair bobbing underneath the hose’s spray, giggling hysterically through the mist, and hiding under the deck table with Wallie for some shade. It is sidewalk chalk and kisses on skinned knees. It is eating bubbles and occasionally blowing them.  Springtime is thunderstorms, and extra books at bedtime while the last of the light in the window dissolves into a quiet dark blue. It is our clothes smelling like the grill, and Wallie smelling like the yard, and Adalyn smelling like sunscreen and grass and the baby scent that never fails to soothe. Springtime is cloth diapers waving on the clothesline, little hands handing me the next one with the explanatory ‘deh!’ for diaper. It is the cool of the library for storytime, where fresh chubby ...

They say that laughter is one of the most important aspects of any marriage and parenthood, and I would agree.  Fortunately, I’m married to Sheaff.  Now, he is a man of many talents.  Some include cooking without measuring cups or recipes or concern for current time (i.e. 5am is sometimes a great time for grilled cheese). Some are enthusiastically reading Mr. Brown Can Moo, speed-diaper-changes, and chasing Adalyn down Kroger aisles.  Others include things like dunking, driving with his knees, purchase research, Adalyn-zorberts, and staying awake for football games (this is a lie).  However, one of his most infamous talents is what our People have dubbed “Sheaff-isms,” or the art of accidentally combining various phrases and sayings into one that makes very little, if any, sense. And frankly…. They work like a glove. As requested by many people, many times, here is a list of many of the [internet appropriate] recorded Sheaff-isms, and your lolz for the day....

When I was growing up, we had two screens in our house. One was the heavy tube television that sat in the corner of my parents’ room, and entering much later, was a computer on which we could play Reading Rabbit or occasionally Crayola Art for 30 minutes a day.  The most technical toy I can remember was a phaser – yes, super cool…. the sound could be set on Stun *or* Kill.  Hardcore.  As a little kid, I was allowed to watch Sesame Street and Reading Rainbow, and would occasionally sneak-watch Star Trek, standing just outside my parents’ doorway when I was supposed to be in bed. We had TGIF and walkmans later, with the big chunky buttons to fast-forward through any commercials accidentally recorded on a mix tape. There were no iPads, no laptops, no smart phones, no iPods, no xbox; Nickelodeon and Mario Cart were outlandish treats at our friends’ sleepovers. We had toys, crayons, books, outside, and each other. No, we did not walk uphill in the snow barefoot to get to ...

Activities with Adalyn have picked up.  Last winter this time, we were snuggled up on the couch, still nursing every couple of hours, holding twisty crunchy toys over her head while she wiggled and cooed and we diligently planned how we would introduce a tablespoon of rice cereal to her diet. Weren’t we cute. This winter, it’s been about 8 degrees outside or raining, and we have A Toddler on our hands.  One of the most common questions you get when you are at home with the kids is … What do you do all day? What an interesting question to answer.  What anyone with a toddler knows is that the speed of life becomes a bit of a paradox: it is that of an extremely busy snail (have you ever walked to the end of your sidewalk with a 1 ½ year old? It takes 98 minutes), and yet the days fly by in a whirlwind of Crazy.  And with Adalyn having copious amounts of energy, we’ve tried to get involved in a few things around Lynchburg. On many occasions, you can fin...

I’ve been mulling what to write next for this little blog.  In December, I thought I’d attempt to capture the magic of Christmas with a little one, what special moments we had on Christmas Eve night and how she reacted Christmas morning, etc. So I waited to write until the green and red dust settled.  However…Know thyself, Carly. December 26 th came, and Christmas was, like, so yesterday (ha, ha). Before December 25 th , everything is vivid, sharp and the moments of gratitude for family and friends are crisp and nearly tangible. But post-Christmas, I tend to be blurry, vaguely anti-social, and looking forward to quiet, boring days in which we fell back into routine. Thus, my window to write about Christmas flew by in the blink of a reindeer’s eye. Then came New Years. New Years is a time for resolutions. Time to get it together. According to much of America, it’s time to lose weight, get organized, and start the New Year with a plan. I tried to jump into this excitin...