Cover girl

Yes, I'm a cover girl . . . kinda. My face isn't on the cover of this magazine, but my likeness is! It's the quilt I've written about here and here and here. And now it's THERE, on the cover of the new issue of Quilt It for Kids, put out by Quilter's Newsletter Magazine. It never entered my mind that this quilt would be considered for the cover. So I just about peed my pants when I heard that's exactly where it was going. How about that?

Complete instructions for making the "Fuzz Ball" quilt are inside the magazine . . .

As well as instructions for making my "Lift Off!" quilt. Love this set-up shot!

Now that the magazine is out and the quilts are back home, I'm wondering which one I should save for this little guy:

Is he a fuzz-ball kind of kid, or does he like big balloons better? Not sure just yet. But if I do say so myself . . . he's melt-your-heart cute, ain't he?

Welcome to life, Charlie! (a.k.a. Tie-Dye)

Our little boy decided he was done with the womb on Friday. Friday, his due date. Friday, the day our doctor had convinced us to force Charlie out by breaking my water. We had planned to arrive at the hospital at 9 a.m. for an induction. Instead, we arrived at 8:40 a.m. because of some holy-strong contractions. Charlie was born at 9:16 a.m.

Waterslide. Race car. Jet plane. Rocket ship. So fast, so fast. No time to think, no time to settle in, no time for medication. Just push.

Charlie, I was so broken up about getting induced--although there were good medical reasons, I hated that WE were choosing your birthday. But YOU. You went ahead and chose that day for yourself after all, didn't you? Thank you. You rock. We are so very happy that you are here.

And, arriving at the hospital a mere 36 minutes before giving birth "naturally" (um, ouch!), I have this to say about myself:

I AM SUPERWOMAN.

That's how I felt on Friday, anyway. Today, I'm a little achy.

Lots of close-up shots of tiny things to come soon.

ALERT: Jackspeak

Now at ready-to-pop pregnancy status, I've been eating wintergreen-flavored Tums antacids like Smarties for the past two months. (I've downed so many that I now affectionately call them "tons.") I keep them on top of our headboard. Jack likes to fetch them out of the bottle for me. Before naptime, I asked Jack if he could help me by getting me two Tums before I let my head hit the pillow. The following conversation ensued:

Jack: "Mommy, what do Tums taste like?"

Me: "Well, they taste okay. But they are medicine, and only for grown-ups."

"But why can't I eat the Tums?"

"Well, you don't need them. And your body is too little. You might get sick if you eat them."

"Okay. But maybe one day when I have a baby in my tummy, I can eat lots of Tums like you."

"You bet, baby. When you have a baby in your tummy, I'll buy you your very own bottle."

"Cool."

Dream child

Okay, there are the unbelievable messes on an almost daily basis. Unexplainable outbursts here and there. And the occasional horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day. But all in all, we've got a funny, happy, creative kid in Jack. The kind of kid that gets a sloppy smooch and a monster of a hug after a viewing of Supernanny. Sometimes, I feel like we're doing some things right.

Before Jack came along we decided to create a family bed, so he's slept with us since the day he was born. About a month ago, however--with a new baby soon to be vying for his own spot in the family bed--we figured we'd try to move Jack to his own big-boy bed to save some squishing. During the first week, he came back into the family bed twice. Since then, he's slept all night in his own bed. Isn't it great when you expect the worst and then experience the best?

The view from the head of Jack's new bed.

What we didn't know is that the whole experience would get even better over the coming weeks. Cut to our new nightly conversation . . .

Jack: "I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed."

The Parents: "Jack, it's too early for bed. Stay up for a bit, come snuggle on the couch. You want a cookie or something?"

"No. Good night."

Jack hops on the potty, turns on the bathroom nightlight, and retires to his bedroom after turning on his star lights at the foot of his bed, above. Shortly thereafter, a loud, demanding voice rings out to The Parents from said bedroom:

Jack: "Somebody tuck me in!"

The Parents: "Jacky, it's really too early for bed. Come in the living room, stay up a little longer."

"But I'm SOOOOO SLEEPY. COME TUCK ME IN!"

"Okay, OKAY! Coming."

After a proper tuck in, The Parents convene in the living room.

Parent #1: "Did you hear him begging to go to bed? How did we DO that?"

Parent #2: "I have no idea."

Parent #1: "We are the envy of all the parents of the world. Let us sit on our couch, watch a rerun of Dexter, and allow our chests to swell with pride over our boy."

Parent #2: "Yes. Let's."

No "time for bed!" fights. No "I need a drink of water I need another story I need a song I need I need I need . . ." You know, the kind of stuff you hear about that could easily take up the last waking moments (or more) of your day.

Bedtime bliss. I know, I know--while it lasts. But bedtime bliss nonetheless.

I'm sure the restful nights will soon end with little Tie-Dye on the way ANY. DAY. NOW. (I'm now nine months and three days pregnant. I am done counting.) But with this post, I have documented that this sleep pattern DID exist. When we are deep in the throes of sleepless nights with two young boys, I hope I remember to read this post as a reminder. To help me believe this scenario could repeat itself someday.

Just a dream, perhaps . . . but I'm not letting this dream die. It could happen again. Couldn't it?