wa'mo

This past Christmas we bought William the cutest little wooden espresso maker. Because, of course, I love coffee and was giddy about the idea of a tiny kid coffee maker. It's impossibly adorable that this exists. Sometimes kids aren't as excited as you are about certain things, but thankfully this wasn't one of those times. He loved it.

I think at that point he only knew the color green because it was the color of Starbucks, and he heard me say "we're getting in the car because mama needs coffee!" more often than any other sentence in his life. Whatever the reason, he was actually very happy about his coffee maker. I taught him how to use it - pod in the slot, push the top down, fill the cup, pour some cream & sugar, stir with the spoon, ooh careful! Make sure you blow on it - and thus we ushered in the first piping hot cup of make believe. We both tried it, and agreed it was the best thing we'd ever had.

He actually made me some of this very special coffee this morning. He even let Ginny have some, making the sipping noises for her. After I've theatrically enjoyed my own sips, he always asks: "you wa'mo?" in his hopeful little way. Yes, William. I want more.

I want more of this imagination of yours. I want to drink your coffee every single morning. I want to remember the way your eyes squint and your voice goes progressively higher when you really, really want to postpone bedtime. "I can read more books?" or "I can have my new car in the bed?"
I want more of your surprised laughter, the kind that tumbles out of your little belly and lasts so much longer than either of us expects it to. And I seriously don't want you to ever realize that my kisses don't actually heal your wounds. I want to be more like you, and exclaim "I'm HAPPY!!!" after something doesn't go my way, but I make that choice anyway. I want more of your whispered words and the way your eyes search for me when you've wandered just a little out of reach. The way you run full tilt and hug my legs so tightly. I want more of the way you follow me and ask to do whatever it is I'm doing, too, just because you want to be with me some more.

I want more of your dancing, which consists almost exclusively of your left shoulder bouncing up and down. It's the only part of you that truly can't resist a good beat. I want more of the way you proudly gesture to your stuffed animals each morning and say, "Lookit! Look at all of my friends." I want more of the sneaky way you take care of Ginny, bringing her toys and giving her kisses and rubbing her little fuzzy hair on your face until it tickles your nose. I can never get it on camera, because you really only do it when you think you guys are alone. And it makes me so proud to be your mother.

So be sure, William. Don't ever doubt it. In fact, you never even have to ask.
Because with you, I will always, always wa'mo.

afternoon dates

I think there's something about 2pm that just gets to me. 

It's that time of day where uneasiness settles in, boredom maybe. Extreme fatigue. All I want to do is fold up under my desk like human origami, and eat a bar of extra, extra dark chocolate. (Which, by the way, is my new favorite thing. Chocolate has always been meh, which as a woman I've been ashamed to admit - but super dark chocolate is basically the extra bold coffee of chocolates. Score.) 

Whatever you're doing at 2pm, time is against you. It's the afternoon curse. It's some strange alternate universe that swallows you up and wants you to fail at everything you're doing. 

For all these reasons and more, Dusty and I came up with afternoon dates.

Because eureka, coffee solves all my 2pm problems.

We began to figure out that we needed that bit of a break, that little extra time together. 

A time to run outside and jump in the car. Sunglasses on, music up, sigh of relief. 

A spontaneous treat in the hot morbid dead center of that awful, no good portion of our everyday lives. 

2pm. 2-freakin-pm. 

Top/Necklace (shop!): Ruche, Skirt: Modcloth, Sweater: Banana Republic 

Naturally, because we are the way we are, afternoon dates often include picture-taking.

And here, in the Sonic parking lot, was a completely irresistible red tree. You wouldn't even know you were near fresh cheddar poppers and tater tots, by the look of it. Completely wild and on fire with fall. 

On a side note, if you've never owned a true cashmere sweater -- invest in one. Today.

Spoil yourself! You deserve it.

Dusty got this one for me from Banana Republic for our anniversary this past January, and true story, it feels like I'm being kissed by angels all over my arms.