Tuesday, August 31, 2010

It skips a gender

When I was a wee lass (side note - when I was younger I had SEVERAL people ask me my name and think I said Lassie instead of Lacy. They also thought it was funny that my name was Lassie. People can be really lame.) I was what you may call a Tom Boy. I generally played better with boys in a social setting rather than girls. Girls are mean. They really, really are.

Naturally on the playground there was always roughhousing and running around and playing "war" and "cowboys and Indians" and "cops and robbers" etc. My role in these games always shifted, as they generally do for all the kids involved. Sometimes your the bad guy, sometimes your the good guy but there is almost ALWAYS guns and weapons of mass destruction involved.

While I was EXCELLENT at running around and hiding and strategy (lets hide under the tires!) I did have one VERY pronounced shortcoming that made me a semi-outcast in these games.

I can't make the noises.

I can't make the sound of a gun or fighter engine or tank or motorboat or speeding race car or ANYTHING of the sort. At least not convincingly.

Where the boys would make noises that sound exactly like what they are portraying and typed out look like "PSHHHHHBEERRRRRBAM" my noises were sad little "pow pow" and "bang bang" and in the case of all motorized vehicles "vroom vroom".

My male friends attempted occasionally to teach me the cool noises. When I asked HOW they made them they would normally shrug and just say "I dunno" and go on making their fighter planes drop massive nuclear weapons on my little ponies or Bar*bies or whatever.

Thankfully during the outside games they normally allowed me to play along despite my obvious handicap and instead gave me silent roles. I OFTEN played "spy".

The other night Micah and I were sitting on the couch when suddenly I heard a VERY familiar sound coming from the play pen. I looked around and saw Will crawling out of his corner making, I kid you not, race car noises. VERRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM is what it would look like.

I looked at Micah and asked "How does he know how to make that sound?"

Micah's response was a shoulder shrug and "I dunno".

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Still can't dance

These last 2 weeks have been moving and shaking weeks for us here at Che Gonzales.

First, at back to school night Kylie performed with her dance class to Shakira's Waka Waka (the theme song for this years World Cup, in case you didn't know). You will need to click on the movie once it starts playing to see Kylie in the frame. I have no idea how to fix that.

And then Will decided to entertain Micah and I at dinner last night. Yes, this is dancing. I was shaking my shoulders and dancing to the music while we waited for our meal. Will watched for very intently for about a minute and then, well, watch.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair

On August 28, 1963 Martin Luther King Jr delivered a 10 minute speech that ranks as one of the most memorable, most admired, most wept at speeches of all time.

It's referred to as the "I Have a Dream Speech".

My post is the text of that 10 minute speech.

While I believe there have been leaps and bounds made in regards to racism in this country I still believe there is more to be done. More hearts that need to be softened. Most fears that need to be addressed.

As a side note, about a year after my parents were divorced when people would ask my mom how she felt about it she would say "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I am free at last."

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. [Applause]

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Of girls and boys and toothbrushes

First- funny story about Lizzie. A couple of weeks ago we received the reminder from Ky's orthodontist that it was time for a visit. Whoo hoo! Ky saw it and threw it into the back of my car. A day later Lizzie saw it and in her excitement of seeing the postcard with a tooth and cartoon dentist on it lost her ability to read. Practically shaking she asked, nay, demanded to know if it was time for her to visit the dentist. Sadly I had to tell her the postcard was Kylie's. I might have well just told her that Santa wasn't real and she was never going to get a present ever again. Devastated. Over the lack of dental appointments.

That kid is not right.

This short story DOES have a happy ending however. 2 days later her reminder came in the mail. I haven't told her about the appointment yet because I just can't deal with daily questions "Is TODAY the day I see the dentist?".

Second - Last week Micah and I were sitting in the living room watching a show that I can't remember now. I heard a strange noise and so did Micah so he paused the television. All our children were supposed to be asleep and in bed after all.

I listened and finally the source of the noise dawned on me. Kylie was in the bathroom. Brushing her teeth. For over 8.6 seconds. WITHOUT BEING TOLD. I thought Micah was going to faint when we then heard her rinse with mouthwash.

He looked at me and said "She has a boyfriend. I'd bet money."

The next day was Back to School Night. I met the boyfriend. Micah was right. Good thing I didn't take that bet.

Here's the skinny on this boyfriend who is real and doesn't live on the Internet (where the large majority of her boyfriends have lived in the past).

His name is Tyler. (I call them Ky and Ty. I bet she hates that)

He is a senior. (More on this momentarily)

He shook my hand and looked me in the eye. I like that. A lot.

When quizzed about college plans he has solid plans and goals AND knows the reasoning why he making these decisions.

His mom attended back to school night which tells me they are involved in his life. I like that.

He has siblings that he is close to.

He is respectful.

This is the two of them together obviously hamming it up for my iPhone camera.

I have two concerns. The first is that he is a senior and she is a freshman. When I was a freshman I dated a junior. I know how that turned out so my concern is strong. When I told my co-workers about the age difference they all responded with not so helpful thoughts on why a senior would date a freshman. THANKS GUYS.

Looking at it another way though, Kylie will be 15 in about a month. She missed the deadline to enroll in Kindergarten in Tucson by weeks so she is almost always the oldest in her class. Tyler is 17 currently although he'll turn 18 in November. That's a not quite 3 year age gap. I'm comfortable with that, especially since I've met him and so has Brian.

My other concern though is totally selfish. I think we all know how high school romance can turn out. Rarely do people stay together in high school and Tyler will be graduating and attending college next year. While he will remain in Colorado he may not be hip into sticking it out with a high school sophomore and Kylie may want to see other high school boys when Tyler isn't around. This is normal and not weird.

But I REALLY like him! (Imagine me throwing myself across the bed sobbing with acne cream all over my face and curlers in my hair.) I think he's a nice boy and good and I don't WANT him to go away when chances are likely that he will. DAMMIT.

Yes, I know. I have teenage angst over my daughters boyfriend.

Obviously, I'm weird.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Conversations with Micah

Lacy: *gets off the couch and knees creak*

Micah: My old lady

Lacy: I know, I'm already 31. Can you believe it?

Micah: I know! I'm 36.

Lacy: Actually, you're 35.

Micah: Well they say you're as old as you feel.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010


There was a moment in my pregnancy with Lizzie where my heart broke into about 100 pieces. It was that moment where as a mother you realize you had forgotten to address something that was really important. Except you didn't forget. You didn't realize which is almost 100 times worse than forgetting.

Kylie, as you may know, is my blond child. Well, she was at 8 which is when this happened. Right now she's kinda black with blond/red highlights but in the last year has had green, purple, red and blue hair. But for this story she's blond. And 8. And had been an only child for those entire 8 years.

I am not blond. I have pretty dark brown hair. Sometimes it naturally has a copper tint to it (and sometimes I just go all out and dye it red for a year). My ex-husband also had brown hair, although slightly lighter than my own.

When I was about 6 months pregnant Kylie looked at me one night and asked, innocently, "What color hair will the baby have?"

I didn't even think about it. It was an innocent question after all. I told her probably brown.

Kylie thought about it for a minute and then said, "I wont match."

I asked what she meant but the statement already resonated with me.

She explained that I had brown hair, Daddy had brown hair and the baby would have brown hair but she had blond hair. She didn't look like anyone else.

I didn't know what to say. She was right of course. She was blond and neither my husband at the time nor myself could have ever passed for blond. In the past when people had mentioned her blond hair compared to two brunette parents we had usually said something along the lines of "Her dad was blond as a baby." Which was true. Except my husband wasn't her dad. Not in the biological sense anyways.

I tried to explain to Kylie that she and the baby would look plenty alike and they both would look at LEAST like me somewhat. (Which is odd because neither of my girls look like me. My boy on the other hand.....)

I explained that the baby would have blue eyes and so did she and that people would know. They would see them as sisters.

Eventually that anxiety passed and moved onto other things. Other things like, "You and dad did it! GROSSSSSS!"

It's funny now. It's funny because last week my mother in law looked at my son and said, "He looks like his hair is turning red." And she's right. Not like TV-commercial-for-Ireland red but it's a much lighter brown than mine and certainly my black haired husband. And it's got a LOT more copper in it than mine.

Frankly we look like a hair product ad. Well, we would.

If Kylie still had blond hair.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Technically ketchup is made from tomatoes....

Dear Lord,

Is ketchup a vegetable? Or a fruit? (Tomatoes are fruit I was just informed). If it isn't could it be just for tonight? Please? Because Lord, if you would grant me that ketchup counts as a vegetable (OR FRUIT!) then I can rest easier knowing that I served my children a well balanced meal with a protein (chicken nuggets), a starch (steak fries), and a vegetable/fruit (ketchup).

Lord, it's not that I don't WANT to serve my children a healthier meal where the status of the vegetable/fruit is not up for debate. It's just that, well Lord, I'm busy. You see I struggle. I want to be really PRESENT for my children. I want to be a good mother. I want to be a mother who listens to her daughters tell her about volleyball and the playground and discuss boys and friends and birthday parties. And I can't always do that when I'm rushing around the kitchen trying to make dinner.

My time is limited Lord, but then, you know that. Often my choice is to make a healthier meal which will take longer in the kitchen or throw something together fast so we can get on with our night. Yes, I know, Once a Month Cooking and Kitchen Prep can be lifesavers. I KNOW this. But sometimes, some weeks, I forget. Or I get lazy. Okay, it's probably more lazy than forgetful.

But Lord, I don't get home until 6pm. Then it's another hour in the kitchen. Then we eat dinner. By the time that's all over it's 7:30pm and there is still homework and bath time and baby cuddles and story time and dancing princesses and, well, sometimes I just don't wanna give all of that up for dinner prep.

I'm striving to be a better mother. A more in-tune mother. I want to know my children better Lord. I want to know their hearts. I want them to feel as though they are being heard and that their mother is not distracted with food preparation after work.

And this ketchup gift would go a long way in helping that. So please Lord, just for tonight. Or this week. Can ketchup please be a vegetable (or fruit)?

Monday, August 16, 2010

Cat & Mouse

Dear Jason-the-cat,

You are an excellent cat. One of the best I've ever had. Of course you are only the second cat I've ever had and I've only had you for about a year. Plus the other cat had urinary tract issues that cost several thousand dollars to correct. So far you haven't cost nearly that much so you're in my top 2 for sure.

You are loving and affectionate and I dare say I am one of your favorite humans in the house. I think it's because I so gently open your cat food every morning after your have meowed at me beginning at 5:30am. Just ignore the things I grumble under my breath, they aren't for such young ear anyways.

You are also very patient with all the small hands in the house and despite a death grip on your tail you have never once scratched or even hissed at the Baby. Or Lizzie. And only a little bit at Kylie.

You are obviously grateful for such a nice, comfortable home with couch to live on and a variety of delicious food to eat. I can tell by the gifts you bring in at least once a week.

While I appreciate IMMENSELY that you have begun bringing them in more often dead than alive I must ask that you refrain from the gift giving. The mouse on the kitchen floor Saturday was disturbing and it's becoming a habit. I realize that you are simply bringing me gifts which are in your nature but I have now had to bury and give funeral for 1 Edgar The Mouse and have had to quietly hide 2 more bodies when small little girls have not been looking.

Not to mention my mother in law freaks out when you bring them in and my husband steps over them as if he doesn't see them.

Please Jason, if you love me, stop bringing me mice, dead or alive.

How about you just don't pee on anything in the house and we'll call it good?


Thursday, August 12, 2010

Colorado friends and family - look away

Okay you can read the first 6 paragraphs but then really, you have to stop reading. The safety of the world depends on it.

This Saturday my husband gave me the morning "off" and I went strawberry picking. I figured it would be like when I went in June which means they would be small and hard to find. I was SO wrong.

The berries were EVERYWHERE and they looked like this:

They were so plentiful that I hoped off the tractor that pulled myself and the other pickers our there that within 35 minutes or so I had an entire flat FULL of them. It looked like this:

I will say that it is considerably easier to pick berries that are large and everywhere without children than with. I was in the field a considerably small length of time than the groups with kids and had far more to show for it. Of course I didn't eat the product either and by the looks of some of the kids that's ALL they did.

I went back out into the field and picked another flat because I was certain one wouldn't be enough. In June when I made Jam I didn't have enough and had to buy strawberries at the farmers market for far too much money. I was determined to get enough. I got MORE than enough.

I also got a really bad sunburn. Turns out when I don't bring my children with me I get so excited that I forget to bring ANYTHING for myself and so didn't have any sunscreen with me. It's now Thursday (I picked on Saturday) and the back of my arms STILL are sore to the touch from the sunburn. Owwie.

Okay Colorado family and friends. Time to stop reading. Look away now.

Are you looking away? NO! You just read this line. For real now, I'm serious, look away.

Okay, are they gone?

So I'm making Strawberry Vanilla jam for Christmas gifts this year. From one FLAT of berries I produced 2 batches of jam. Really it's just a strawberry jam recipe with a vanilla bean cut in half, scraped and all stuff dumped into the pot to simmer. It tastes divine.

I made it in two sizes. 4 oz and 8 oz and Micah will be hopefully designing the labels for me soon.

Tell me that doesn't look yummy!

Two sizes. Also, if you look at the environment AROUND my jars you'll see a real microcosm of my life. Teething tables, dental checkup reminder and unopened mail on my counter.

This is the AMOUNT of jam I have so far. I still have the berries from another flat to process too.

I better hurry, raspberries are ready to be picked in 2 weeks at the farm and I'm looking forward to some raspberry jam as well!

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

August 10th

August 10th was yesterday and for the most part I kept myself incredibly busy all day. Well as busy as I could, what with working and PTO and driving and all.

But everytime I had a free moment, everytime my mind had a spare second to wander it went right back to playing the same game.

What if?

I personally HATE the What If game. I hate when people play it with me professionally (What if I got laid off and I was hit by a 800lb gorilla on the way to work the day before my last day?).

I hate when my children play the What If game with me also. (What if I smacked William in the head with a plate?)

I hate when friends play it. (What if I dated a married man, just for fun?)

I hate the What If game.

But yesterday my mind kept going back to it with every passing moment and I had to work really hard to keep it focused elsewhere.

You see, yesterday was supposed to be my mother's 58th birthday. She passed away at 52, 3 months before turning 53. Yesterday my mind wanted to play What If She had lived.

You probably can see why this game sucks. But in case you don't here's what my brain was doing.

What if she had never gotten sick? Where would she have traveled? Would she have remodeled something else in her house? Would she have bought a new car? Would she have gone to Russia? Paris? Italy? Would she have moved you to Alaska when you got divorced? Would you have gotten divorced? Would she have come for Christmas every year? Would you have married Micah? What would she have thought of a grandson? Would she have liked the name William? Would she still be working there? What would she have said when you got your job?, got your certification? grew your garden?

It was like that, the same questions, all day long when it was quiet.

And it all begins with the same question.

What if She had lived?

I hate the What If game.

Monday, August 9, 2010

First and Third

Today during a conversation with a co-worker it struck me how DIFFERENT my attitude toward parenting has become between the first child and the third child. Granted, my gap is pretty large, 14 years between first and third and surely there is some maturing involved. But I also think it has to do with just becoming aware of how people work, even little people.

When I had my first child I lived and died by the food chart of what she could eat and when. 6 months it's carrots for a straight week and watch her carefully for signs of food allergies. (She turned orange. Well her face did. From the staining of the carrots.)

Now, my third child gets 2 days with a single food if he's lucky. Oh look, he ate peas and lived. Let's try sweet potatoes tonight.

When I had my first child I knew the milestones she was supposed to hit by heart. If she didn't hit them EXACTLY when she was supposed to I was certain something was wrong with her. Alternatively if she was early in hitting her milestone I was smug and over-confident with my parenting abilities.

Will broke his first tooth last night. My co-workers mentioned that seemed late. I just shrugged, I'm not even sure "when" babies are supposed to cut their first teeth. Or sit up. Or crawl. The only milestone I care about is potty training. I assume he's supposed to have it down before he's 5. Or has that changed?

When my first child would stain her expensive clothing (because Grandma did not buy from Wal-M*rt) I would lament that I would never get it out.

If Will stains something I take the time to assess if it's salvageable. If it's not he's still going to wear it until he outgrows it. And then I'll toss it. I don't care if I did spend $20 on that shirt.

When I had my first child I was very concerned with pictures and documenting every 3 months of her life in overprice portrait studio film.

My third child has 2 professional portraits of himself and I *think* I have hung one of them up. I hope to get his pictures taken again for his first birthday but I'm not making any promises.

When I had my first child I constantly felt like I had to compete with the other kids or other babies. If their child had done X then mine had done either X but sooner or Y which was better.

When other parents boast about their babies now I let them shine because it is a big thing to be proud of your child and to show them off. I let them have it now. I think my child shines too but I don't have to make someone elses accomplishment lesser to make my child shine brighter.

When I had my first child I feel like I accepted the criticism from other people a lot more readily and took it into my heart. Every time someone questioned my parenting or my actions or something that my child was doing I took it personally and I figured I was doing it wrong.

I don't even hear other people now when they question my actions, motives or child. They don't know what's best for my child, I do. If my baby doesn't crawl at 6 months that's okay, I'm not doing anything wrong.

Life is so much easier now with 3 than 1. I know that sounds weird but it's true and I understand it better now. Sure, my life is more chaotic, there is never a quiet night around the house. But the level of stress about what other people think my children should be doing is gone.

Maybe it's the third child, maybe it's being over 30. I'm not sure. But I sure do like it.

First day of school

Last Wednesday was the first day of school in my school district. Yes, August 4th. I know. It's early.

The reasoning is that they want to get as MUCH study time in as possible before that standardized testing in the Spring. Which I think says a lot about the confidence our Superintendent has in our teachers and students. (None)

Here are the girls on their first days.

Lizzie picked this outfit out and might I add, she's looking adorable.

Kylie picked this outfit out as well. She's looking, well, like Kylie. And that's enough some days.

Both girls are enjoying school. Of course. Lizzie loves everyone, everything and was devastated that there was no homework on Friday for her to complete.

Kylie is uncharacteristically excited about her dance class and we had to purchase jazz and tap shoes over the weekend. I expect to see her tapping her heart out this spring at the recital.

I promise I'll get pictures because I KNOW no one would believe me.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Why so?

"Lacy is he always this serious?" they ask me. They say it in different ways, sure, but they are asking the same thing.

"He sure is serious looking."

"Is he shy?"

"He's just looking around at everything..."

What they mean is, why doesn't he smile. He isn't smiling at strangers, he's very serious looking. He's not crying but instead he just stares at them, at everything around. He studies things. He thinks. You can practically hear the gears in his head working.

Usually he's thinking "How can I get that?".

But people who don't know him, don't see him, they think something is wrong. That's he's a serious boy, not a happy baby.

That's because his little personality is becoming more and more apparent. His personality says that he does not like crowds and lots of people in his face and loud noise. His personality says that he saves his laugh, saves his smiles for the special people.

They don't see him like I do. They don't know my Bathtub Santa.