Move over Adam Samberg

Yo, this is Richmond.

Thank you, Tracy.

Not on a train! Not in a tree! Not in a car! Sam! Let me be!

Every night Henry requests three books. Hop Pop (Hop on Pop), Go, Dog! Go., and Ham (as in Green Eggs and). These three books have been the nightly routine for months, so Henry "reads" them along with me, complete with flipping his finger on his lips when everyone goes underwater and the Who shouts "I do not like them Sam-I-am!"

What sticks out to me from these books is Sam-I-am. He is one diligent breakfast food pusher. Seriously. He arranges these ridiculous scenarios to entice the Who. (I mean, who hangs on a box from a tree and where did he get that fox?) He chases the Who. Hunts him down even, knowing that if only the Who will try his Green Eggs and Ham, the Who will have a better life.

And people, as of late, I have been that Who. And God has been chasing me.

The other night, as I was putting Henry to sleep, I knelt next to him at the foot of his bed and said the Lord's Prayer and it gave me pause. Specifically when I prayed "On earth as it is in Heaven." Countless times I have prayed this and yet I wonder if I really mean it? And if I really mean it, then why are we only willing to show our adoption profile to Caucasian women? I've said time and time again that I think if you are called to adopt across racial lines you'll know. Beyond a doubt. What I didn't consider was the fact that I'd know I was called to be willing to do it and yet I would pretend otherwise. That I'd hear the call but let it go to voicemail.

And during that little Lord's Prayer, with Henry's chubby right hand clasped around his cast and my fingers, I was suddenly convicted of my own hard heartedness, racism, and lack of trusting in the Cross of Christ to be the foundation of my identity. When we get to Heaven, our family will include every tongue, nation, and tribe and will be vastly more diverse than our Christmas cards show. And what a unique position our family would be in to reflect the grace, mercy, and truth of the Gospel were it to be abundantly clear that it was God who knit our family together!

And yet, we continued to hem and haw--do we want to be poster children for adoption? How would our child be accepted in the capital of the Confederacy? How many fights am I going to get in at the bus stop with children? If we have a little girl, is someone going to teach me how to do her hair? Does this mean I have to like Obama? Thankfully, like Sam-I-am, God was not content with our protests or first answers. Over and over again, He has brought us into contact with more African Americans--that family on the beach, a couple in our Sunday School class, women in my Bible Study, people at Henry's preschool. And like the Who, I've ended up treading water amidst a goat driving a train, thinking, fine, Lord, I'll consider it if you'll just get off my case.

So.....

We have decided to open up our profile to include all races. And much like that stingy old Who in Henry's favorite book whose heart is changed, we are eager to parent whatever baby God has for us be it in a box, with a fox, in a house, and yes, even with a mouse.

As Christians, we are told to let the Truth guide our decisions. And Scripture is quite clear that there is only one blood that matters--Jesus' poured out for us. There is neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ's, then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to the promise. (Gal. 3:28-29)

It is very exciting to follow God's leading. It is said that God works in mysterious ways. But what I've found is not so much that God is mysterious, but that I spend so much time navel gazing that I miss out on the very obvious things God is screaming at me, be it in Scripture or through the way He orders my day. Now that we've made the decision, I'm really at a loss for as to why we didn't make this decision sooner. We talked about it, and half-heartedly prayed about it, but really never said out loud, "Yes. It will be hard. We will be talked about. But it is the correct thing to do. It is what is right. And we will choose to do what is right even though it is not what is easy." Instead, I thought to myself, "It'd be hard, and yeah, it's certainly the right thing to do, but I'm really not up to being obedient if it means I have to put myself out there."

But the truth is, every family has to decide what rules they will follow. Every family has to come to grips with what the world says is the way to be and what God says the way to be is. This isn't unique to families who adopt, or who even adopt transracially. And what we want for our children is to know that first and foremost, before they are Phillips, before they are white or black, before they are Americans, and yes, even before they are Tarheels or Gamecocks, they are His. That this is always our starting point. Belonging to Jesus is always the only true thing about our identity that lasts. The big work of bringing God and people together has been done. The rest, is just food coloring in your eggs.

This is only a test...

My shirt is soaked. To be more specific, I am covered in drool. And nothing could be better.

Can you tell that Henry is saying "CHEEEEEESE"?

Today we had the pleasure of watching my friend's baby, Grayson. "G$" is his street name--Henry is "Big H". G$ is a 6 or 7 month old chunk of sweetness. Very chill. He arrived this morning while Henry and I were watching Henry's BFF, Nathan, so spent his morning with Sloan. He napped and when I arrived home around 10:30, Gray and Sloan were sitting on the floor in the family room playing with trains. (Ok, Sloan was playing, Gray was gumming.)

Henry was very excited to come home to a baby. "Baby! Baby!" which would then lead to him singing the "Babies on the bus say waa waa waa" of course followed by the shushing Mommies. He also just had to teach Gray about all the toys on the exersaucer. "BEE says Buh. Buh" "Um, Henry, that Bee actually says 'Buzz Buzz." "No no. A ah. B buh. C cuh. BEEE BUH! BEEE BUH!" "Fine. The B says Buh. You're right." (You're just also kind of wrong. And shouldn't you be able to speak in sentences and use verbs properly before you can correctly identify all your letters and know their phonetic sounds. Isn't that the way it normally goes?)

I learned through this experience that I will be able to handle 2. It won't be easy, but I won't fall apart completely. Note the word completely. It took me awhile to regain my baby food feeding skills. This wasn't helped by the fact that Gray is teething and I had to dodge snot as I spooned food off his face. And it was lovely to feed a child a bottle again. Henry would come count Gray's toes while I fed him his bottle. Henry also shared his toys rather well. Gray would be chewing on one train and when Henry wanted to play with that train, he made sure to bring Gray another one to drool on. At one point, Henry tried to bottle feed Gray with his doll's bottle. Gray obliged him by gumming it for awhile too.

Hey, Henry. Let's start a band with the Reppard boys. I'll play drums.

First of all, Gray, in the immortal words of Montel Jordan--This is how you do it.

If you want to start a band, fine. But I'm playing the drums. And oh yeah, did I mention that since I'm oldest, I'll also be the band leader? Think Genesis--but cooler.

Mom is going to have to shred this pic when we really get the band going good. 'Cause I'm only being in a band for the ladies: this might send the wrong message.

It only got harried at Gray's nap time. In the morning, Gray napped in the pack and play in Henry's room, which is relatively dark. In the afternoon, I had to move the bed to my room, which is not as dark. (Note to self--get black out curtains for ALL bedrooms.) We tried everything and Gray was not about to go to sleep. Perhaps it was the teething. Perhaps it was that he knew his buddy Henry was still awake and playing. Perhaps I'd pressed "rain" sounds on the sound machine his Mommy packed him when he usually listens to babbling brook. Perhaps it was that I've lost my ability to let a child 'cry it out'.

Henry was upset by Gray's crying. "No no, baby. No ky-ing. Shhh. Shh. Night Night, baby. I here. I here." And then he began to go into his room and bring Gray all of his stuffed animals that he sleeps with. He began with the peripheral pillows and such. First up, his decorative pillow that looks like a steering wheel. "Here, baby, wheel. Vroom Vroom." Then, a giant Thomas pillow. "Choo! Choo! Baby, choo choo." A giraffe. "Raff, baby. Wook, raffe." At this point, I am touched by my son's compassion, am laughing, and Gray is crying even louder. He is being crowded out of the pack and play. And then, I knew that my son either was really sick of the crying or really loved Gray--he brought in Hop Hop and Dog Dog. "Here, baby. Hop Hop. Baby, Dog Dog. Woof Woof, (followed by heavy panting). Night night, baby."

I let my son believe that Gray settled down because of all the toys. I shushed Henry out of the room and set to de-Henryizing the bed, thinking I'd just put the toys back in Henry's room once Gray was asleep. But I had to rock Gray to sleep in Henry's room. Needless to say, Henry got to watch a little more TV today than usual. Probably why he loves Gray so much.

But after about 20 minutes of sleep, Gray was up again. Poor guy. Basically, he just needed to be near me. His mom tells me she told him how I needed baby cuddles and for him to be needy. What bliss! Every time I settled him down, I'd try to give him a bottle or play with some toys for him. But no, he needed to be near me. So I ended up just strapping him on and wearing him around for the rest of my day. Hence, the soaked shirt. He even accompanied me to put Henry down to his nap time.

About thirty minutes before his mom arrived, he finally gave in and fell asleep--which is good, because I'd hate it my friends thought I broke their baby. I did wreck his schedule, but oh well, that's life.

When Henry woke up from his nap, he immediately began asking for "baby". We told him that Gray went home. Henry's face fell. "Oh no, bye bye baby." At dinner, he couldn't sit in his high chair (which we're using simply as a booster seat now b/c it is sans tray), because that was for the baby.

All in all, I think it was a good baby training day in the Phillips household. Henry was sweet and gentle and only mildly jealous. Only trouble is, I'm too well rested and seeing as it is now back to just the three of us, I'm not having to have endurance. But I don't think you can train for that. I think you just walk around like a zombie for a couple of months, bathe when you can, pray you don't break your leg on the scattered toys, and trust that God can redeem anything.

When Henry grows up

I want him to love God. I want him to be kind. I want him to help others without having to be asked. I want him to learn that God has equipped him to do great things. I want him to set BIG goals and take the small steps necessary to achieve them. I want him to be willing to make sacrifices for the sake of others. Simply put, I want him to be a lot like his 13 year old cousin, my nephew and Godson, William.

This weekend, my nephew, along with my brother and sister-in-law, will be biking 150k to raise money and awareness for MS. My brother was diagnosed with MS when he was 17. Fortunately, through the grace of God, good meds, and great doctors, my brother Bill is healthy. Vibrant, even. In fact, I sometimes forget that Bill has MS. But all are not so fortunate.

William has been training for this event since the Spring. That means waking up at 5am three times a week to spin at the gym and going on long bike rides on the weekends. He's been volunteering at MS training events. He's been giving up sleep and time with friends to make this happen. And oh yeah, his goal is to raise $5000.

He only had to raise $200 to participate. He is 91% of the way to meeting his $5,000 goal. If everyone who reads this blog donated just $2, he would make his goal.

When my brother was diagnosed with MS, my parents were told that there would never be a cure nor would there probably be momentum to find a cure because not enough people had it for it to be a national concern. Thank you Annette Funicello, Terry Garr, Joan Didion, Squiggy, and Richard Pryor for pushing MS to the forefront of America's attention. Most of you know someone who has MS. And money raised for the MS society has and will continue to make a difference.

Please visit my nephew's site and donate.

Field Day of the Past

We went to Field Day of the Past this weekend. For those of you who don't know, it's a bit 4H club, with a dash of State Fair, and a heavy helping of tractors. It comes every year to Goochland County and usually attracts 30,000+ people. We discovered that the trick is to arrive early. We got there around 8:30 and were one of the first few cars in the parking lot and had NO wait for the tractor ride to take us into the 50 acre old time farm extravaganza. As opposed to when we left, around noon, and there were at least 300 people in line for the tram ride in. Apparently, we were the worm catchers.

There was one pit that was simply an excavator, a couple of back hoes, some front end loaders and even an old Steam Shovel and all they did all weekend long was move dirt around. We sat and watched them for about 20 minutes as Sloan regaled anyone within earshot or his vast knowledge of Mike Mulligan, Marianne, and the inhabitants of Popperville. We also watched a couple of tractor pulls. And had to explain to Henry that lots of other engines made the "Choo Choo" noise and not every steam operating machine was a train.

Little Red Caboose. They had several Pullman cars and a caboose. Despite touring the train cars four times, there was still weeping and gnashing of teeth when we left the trains.

Until Henry got to ride a train of his own.

That's him in the blue hat. Being pulled by a trac-a-tor.

The corn box. Which leaving also left us in tears. But we didn't drive all that way for him to essentially play in a sandbox.

EEEY-OOON.

Henry got to sit on both a donkey and a mule. When you ask him what a donkey says, half of the time he sounds like a donkey, the other half, a police car in Europe.

Apparently this cowboy says "Hooray", "Yee-aw", "Get me up!"

Love Hurts

Tonight, for the very first time, Henry decided to take my face into his hands for my night-night kiss. Sweet, right?

Until you consider this basically means he gave me a left hook, jabbing my cheek with his 5 lb cast. My jaw is now sore.

First Day of School, First Cast

The Lortab made Henry high. I kept hearing him chatting over the monitor and then he'd bust out laughing. Eventually he went to sleep and only woke up once around 4am. I let him eat breakfast in front of the TV because his arm kept getting stuck in his high chair. I am very afraid I'm setting myself up for some BAD BAD mojo once things get settled down. I had to explain that school had lots of toys just when I turned off Superwhy to avoid a meltdown.

All ready for school in his new Sperry Topsider shoes and the tote bag Mommy sewed.

Henry discovers he can stow away trains in his sling.

Or as he calls it, "Hiding choo choo!" "Henry, stand up and look at Mommy.

Smile because you are exited to go to school!"

"Whatevs, Mom."

When we get to school, I inform Henry that he cannot take in his choo choo, James. We compromise. I let him put James in his school bag. And please don't try to correct him--he calls it his backpack and gets pretty pissed if you say it is just a bag.

"Henry, come back. That's not the way to your class!"

We made it to preschool orientation and were happily surprised to see many familiar faces from our gym's childcare. He did very well. When his teacher asked him if he liked school and would like to come back, he said "Yeah!" and then went up to her and hugged her.
Notice that the sling is pretty much useless and in no way constricts his movements.

Getting his cast was a breeze. Should you have little ones, I highly recommend Dr. Kim at West End Orthopedics. I regret having given him more Lortab at lunch (thinking getting the cast would be painful). Henry was a monster, or rather, was just really fussy--one second wanting his Hop Hop and the next wanting nothing to do with his stuffed rabbit. I have no idea how Moms of fussy babies do it. I imagine there is lots of drinking involved?

He was very still and is now the proud wearer of a Carolina Blue cast. (GO HEELS!!!!) At first the doctor brought in dark blue and I said, "Umm. We can't wear Duke Blue. It's against our religion. If you don't have Carolina Blue, then we'll have to go with Gamecock Red or Tennessee Orange." The doctor laughed and obliged us. He also advised another day or so of rest (aka TV time) to let all the swelling go down and then he'll have no restrictions. We go back for a check up and hopefully to get the cast off in 5 weeks.

We went to Toys R Us after the Doctor's to get a train and he was so mad that I wouldn't let him out of the cart, the manager brought him a balloon and some woman offered him candy from her purse. (No thank you, crazy lady.) I did, however, open up a bag of Twix for him, which just made him the kid screaming "Up Up Up!" and then "Choo Choo Choo" with chocolate all over his face. I literally had to keep reminding myself, "He's two. Yelling at him won't calm him down. Pretend to be calm. Be thankful you are not having to go through this while pregnant and that it is just a broken arm." Oh, and did I mention that while he was screaming I noticed that his last 4 molars are coming in? Awesome. The end of a LONG day turns out well. Chillin' on the couch. Rockin' my Carolina Blue cast. Watchin' Bolt--a movie where a dog gets on a train. Could it get any better?

Sloan is expected home around 4:30. I expect to crack open a beer at 4:31. I hope Sloan has been thinking about what he is going to cook for dinner.

Boom Boom Pow

I think Henry is clairvoyant. He woke up this morning singing "Boom Boom Pow." For most of the morning, I thought that perhaps we had listened to the Black Eyed Peas too much. I was simply thankful that he is beginning to use his "P" sounds. (Because really, can you have too much of the Black Eyed Peas? No. You can't.)

But upon further reflection, he could've been saying "Boo Boo Ow." Which would DEFINITELY mean that the boy, not unlike Joseph (you know the one with the crazy coat), dreamt about his future. For today, on the first day of my church's Bible Study, no, not even the first day--but on the leader's training day--HENRY BROKE HIS ARM. He fell on the playground.

When they came to get me, I must confess that I thought, "I ain't raising no wienie. The boy will be fine." But he was still crying when I went to get him. He was inconsolable. And this is the kid who doesn't cry at shots or even when a skylight breaks on his head. So it was off to the Pediatric ER for us. We called his doctor on the way who got us in lickety split. He cried the entire way across town and during his admission. And even more when I had to take away his sippy cup of water and his goldfish per the nurse's instructions (it was lunch time, you know).

But thankfully, the ER was equipped with the Disney channel and we got to watch Handy Manny, which calmed him down. However, every 5 minutes or so, he'd clutch his left arm, say "Boo Boo" and then shudder. And when it came time to be Xrayed, he freaked out again. (Because we WERE contorting his arm around.) And yet, he still managed to say "Cheese" when the radiology tech told him he was going to take a picture of his arm and "Tank Ooo" to the nurse who wrapped his arm and gave him his teddy bear sling.

We get his hard cast from the Pediatric Orthopedist tomorrow at 1:30. (Because I still am thinking we'll be going to Henry's Preschool Orientation tomorrow morning at 10. Keep your fingers crossed we sleep tonight. Henry's got liquid Lortab.) And the Dr knows our family, because he's set my nephew's arm three times and even put a steel rod in it. Henry reminds me a lot of his cousin, Jonathan. Perhaps I should just ask for a prophylactic steel rod. And yes, we'll be getting the waterproof Gortex cast.

As it is now, Henry is happily plopped on the couch watching his beloved Lightning McQueen. I'd been trying to have a complete two weeks without watching the movie Cars, but alas, God is teaching me to not be such a legalist. I'd hoped to phase out TV all together because the Pickle gets REALLY sour when a show ends and I haven't wanted to deal with it. Thanks, God, for not letting me not love my son and reminding me that Henry is not a problem to be dealt with but a person to be related to.
It also sort of gives me a parenting bye. I have no guilt in letting my son watch TV all day for the next few days. On tap, some Phillips family faves--Cars, Space Chimps, Bolt, and the Leap Frog Letter Factory Video. It really is the only way he'll sit still. I mean, this is the kid who has been known to scale walls and sit on the top shelf in his closet during nap time. (How we've lasted this long without a broken arm is shocking, really.) He's not crazy about propping up his arm on a pillow, but has been fine with me sticking an ice pack in his sling every hour or so. Apparently, I was right--I'm not raising a wienie.

Broken arms just hurt.

Thankfully, he has lots of people praying for him. And his friend Anna (his BFF's older sister and the reason why Henry calls ALL little girls Anna) is apparently crafting for him. Upon hearing Henry broke his arm, she told her mother, "Oh I know just what to do. I'm going to color him a Curious George picture." What a good friend, and what a good reason for her to be that person to whom all females are compared. I pray he continues to have such dear friends who know and love him.

Lesson in Loss

This morning Sloan and I began a new Sunday School class. We are learning about Spiritual Disciplines. At the end of the class, we broke into small groups and briefly discussed the ways in which we tended to grow Spiritually. Across the board, my group discerned that the way in which we grow the most Spiritually is through suffering. Yes, the time we spend in prayer, Bible Study and Christian fellowship certainly provides us with the tools necessary to grow in Christ, but ultimately, suffering provides us with the opportunity to put those tools to work. Suffering forced us out of our comfort zones onto the cliffs of faith, enabling us to flesh out all those things we've been studying about and praying for. This leads me to believe God even takes care of our trusting Him, knowing that we won't ever do it unless we've tried everything else. And that even our Spiritual Growth is brought about by God. And tonight, through my little boy's loss, I saw Him at work at Henry's Spiritual Growth.

Tonight, Henry lost his toothbrush. I'd finished up brushing his teeth and left him on his stool as I tried to find a pair of child nail clippers. (I've bought about 20 pairs of clippers. I keep hiding them from Henry because somehow he always seems to show up with them in his pockets or worse yet, snuggled up with him in the bed. So I tend to put them in places where he cannot find them. Apparently, I'm so good at hiding them I can't seem to find any.) Suddenly, from the bathroom, I hear screams. "Oh no. Uh oh. TOOOOOOOO BUSSSS. TOOOOO BUSSSSS." Henry had dropped his toothbrush down the sink drain. Down the sink drain with no stopper that I keep forgetting to replace.

To make matters worse, we could see the little lost toothbrush at the bottom of the drain. Henry kept sticking his fingers down the hole trying to get it. "TOOOOO BUSSS! TOOOO BUSSSS. HELP!! MOMMA HELLLLLLLLP! NO no no no no no no." His face grew red and giant tears began to roll down his cheeks. He turned on the water, I suppose in the hopes the toothbrush would rise to the top. No dice.

"It's okay, Henry. Mommy will try." I fashioned a hook out of a coat hanger and tried to get the toothbrush. I ended up with a nasty mass of hair. "YUCK, Momma. TOOO BUSSS." "Yuck is right, Henry. I'm sorry, but the toothbrush is gone. I can't get it back." At this, Henry collapsed. Totally deflated in a puddle on the bathroom floor. He began to sob. And this wasn't the mad sob that usually accompanies the end of a television show or when we have to leave somewhere fun. I watched, for maybe the first time, my son genuinely be sad. My heart broke. How many more times will I have to watch this? How many more times will I have to tell my son that I'm incapable of helping him? That I'll have to explain that something is gone and will never come back?

Now, yes. It was just a toothbrush. There was a part of me that wanted to just say, "Suck it up, kid. It's a toothbrush. Your grandpa is a dentist. We literally have a bucket of toothbrushes under the sink." But I didn't. I did pull out a new toothbrush. A brand new toothbrush that looks like a dinosaur. I handed it to him. He threw it at me. "TOOO BUSSS! TOOO BUSS!" He didn't want a new toothbrush. He wanted his toothbrush. So we sat on the bathroom floor and cried for a bit. Because it hurts when you lose something you apparently love. (I say apparently because I had no idea how much my son loved his blue and white toothbrush. It didn't even look like anything other than a toothbrush.)

After about five minutes of crying in the bathroom, once my entire left side fell asleep, Henry got up and went to get Hop Hop from his room. It was pitiful. He was still crying, dragging Hop Hop by his ear, whispering between sobs, "Tooo Buss. Too Buss." He cried the entire time I changed him into his PJS. He barely even noticed that I put him in his Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. Not even one little choo choo.

He quieted down as I read him books. But then got sad when the Train in Green Eggs and Ham went under water. And then sad again during Go! Dog, Go! when the one dog kept telling the other dog that he did not like her hat. This did not shock me. When you are sad, you see loss all around you. Thankfully, Henry did not find anything to sniffle about during Hop on Pop. So I thought we'd finished with the toothbrush grieving. Come to a place where we could accept the dinosaur toothbrush and go on our merry cavity fighting way.

So I turned off the light and went to putting him to bed. Like we do every night, we knelt at the foot of the bed together with folded hands and said our prayers. This basically amounts to me thanking God for Mommy and Daddy (yes, I thank God for myself on behalf of my son), keeping Mrs Erin's babies safe (for my friend who is on bedrest), and for God to make him a big brother. And then I say Amen, which is usually followed by Henry's chirp "Ahm." But tonight, there was no Ahm. Just silence and then a whisper--"Gee-Us, too bus. Ahm."

My son's first audible prayer. And it was for his toothbrush.

Thank you Jesus for teaching my son that, in the end, only you can heal our sadness.

Lessons learned from Puppy Love

I'm working on a post I wrote while at the beach, but until that is finished I wanted to show you the cake my nephew made for his girlfriend on her 15th birthday. According to my sister, he found the recipe himself online. This is not a cake from the box. The icing is not from a canister. His girlfriend said she wanted a white cake with white icing. Knowing his girlfriend's love of pink and green, he took some liberty with the icing. It took him all day to make and he even had to be nice to his little sister who helped teach him how to write with the icing baggy.
He also MADE her a card.
Gentleman, take note. This is what love looks like.
Ladies, did any of your high school boyfriends ever bake for you? I didn't think so. I don't mean to scare this girl, but seriously, if she doesn't marry my nephew it will all be downhill from here.

beach grab bag and making new friends

So we're here at the beach. I love the fact that our days are so simple: breakfast, pack the cooler, go to beach for 5 or so hours, Henry takes the nap while Mommy and Daddy read or watch Bravo, go to pool, dinner, golf cart ride, then Mommy and Daddy watch a video from the red box from the Piggly Wiggly. Rinse. Repeat. (I am on my third book of the week, so yeah, I'm in heaven...)

Henry loves the beach. He also loves riding the golf cart. He sits between Sloan and me and slaps the steering wheel saying, "Beep Beep, aw, Toot, toot." Sloan is less than enthusiastic that I taught him this song. Oh well. He'll just have to wait until Football season is in full swing and I teach him Rocky Top. (Oh, btw, GOOOOOO GAMECOCKS!)

Henry has also developed the nastiest diaper rash. It even goes down his thighs. And yet, this does not seem to phase him or deter him from digging holes and then sitting in them, only to cover himself up. When we get home, he'll be going commando for a bit, but as for now, we're simply lubing him up with Lotrimin and Destitin.

Henry has also made a friend at the beach. A little boy who is three days younger than him--Gabe. Gabe is from the DC area and we've enjoyed collectively parenting the two boys, which basically has amounted to me and Gabe's mom (who is 6 months pregnant) sitting and chatting and the two dads running after the boys.

Henry's friendship with Gabe has me longing for the days when all you had to was walk up to someone and laugh and they'd hand you a shovel and then the two of you could just play for hours at a time. No games. No sucking in. No matter that your skin is different colors. And your only fights are over a dumptruck. (Thank goodness we brought H's dumptruck to the beach as well so we don't have to force them to share too much.) They shared snacks, toys, Dads, and beach chairs. It was truly one of those rare moments in life where you sit back and reflect this is what is all about.

This friendship of Henry's has been a blessing for me as well. I don't like meeting new people. I pretty much assume that if I don't know you, there is good reason for that. Mainly, it is that I don't do small talk. And that can intimidate people. But what a blessing that Gabe's Mom is actually an adoption case worker. So we got to talk adoption and pregnancy and nesting. I shared with her tips for transitioning to a big boy bed (as if I'm some sort of expert!) and she told me all about the kid friendly museums in DC. She also didn't look at me as though I was crazy when I shared with her my ideas for the nursery or regale me with her thoughts of me being noble because of adoption. We were just 2 women chatting about getting ready for our second child.

I am sad that we leave on Saturday, but thankful that Monday is also a holiday and so we'll have time to readjust to home before really having to enter the real world.

Oh and also, it should be noted that I am now sporting a rockin' tan. Seriously. And Sloan's Chaco "Z-tan" may just be the coolest thing I've ever seen.