Summer lovin'.

You've probably noticed I've been a bit scarce lately.

No?

Um, okay. That's kind of sad. But hey, it's fair. I've been a pretty pathetic excuse for a blogger and blog commenter. I'm sorry. I love you. And I read your blogs even when I don't comment. Promise, I do. You're all so clever and crafty and devoted to your passions. And your kids remain very cute. So, keep up the good work. And I'll try to do better with the commenting.

Anyway, for the past few weeks while I've not been blogging, I've been living. Outside, mostly. Spending time with my family. Working in my yard. Going to the farmer's market. Playing in the sprinkler. Soaking up these blissful early summer days of 75-degree weather and low to no humidity.

Heaven, really.

We've been to the zoo. And the park. And Minnehaha Falls. We've sat on a number of patios for dinner, ours included. I baked an incredible blueberry peach pie, of which I only captured a before photo (dumb). We've planted lots of flowers and Nate's coaxed grass to grow in impossible places.

I am happy. And thankful — for our sweet little house and healthy little family and all kinds of culinary goodness like orzo/tomato/dill salad and hot dogs and caprese salad and Byerly's steak kebabs and cheddar and sour cream potato chips and grilled vegetables and my pie and other things I wish I could eat every single day of the year.

Is it obvious that summer = food in my mind?

And now, a random mishmosh of outdoor photos — some with captions, some without.







The picture below was my attempt at capturing the line for dinner at Sea Salt last weekend. All I could get was the back third of the outdoor line. So, triple that line and then add in the line of people inside the restaurant. I am so glad we got there when we did (in the first third of the outdoor line). Our wait was only an hour (plus another hour for our food to come). Sounds crazy, but there's no better way to spend a Saturday night. Or $30. Dang, that food is amazing.






Here is my pie. Unbaked. Amazing, huh? I was impressed. Just imagine this all golden, crisp, and bubbly with lots of blueberry goodness leaking out the top.




This poor quality photo of Calvin was included solely to showcase his mad head of curls post-bath. They are so awesome, but as soon as he wakes up in the morning his hair is back to stick straight. Unfortunate. I was hoping the McLaughlin 'fro would live on.

In case anyone is wondering...

Have I mentioned how much I hate being hot?

Pant, pant, sweat.

It be my birthday today?

Was the question asked day in and day out over the course of a two month period by my son. Every morning Calvin would bolt upright in his bed, pop his head up over the edge of the crib, and say "It be my birthday today? My Mickey party today?" And I would say "No, sweetie. It's not your birthday today. But, soon!"

Well, soon very quickly turned into three weeks ago and this mom of the year is just now looking through the pathetic assortment of photos I took during Calvin's birthday party. Really, my worst showing yet. Somehow I have no problem capturing the boring everyday moments on film, but the big, important events in my son's life? The ones he talks about for two months beforehand? Not so much.

No photos of our family. No photos with the Grandmas. No photos with Uncles Jon or Mike or Aunt Mary. No photos of the expertly strung crepe paper or Calvin and Grandma Mary jointly blowing out the candles on her birthday cheesecake.

Sigh.

Sorry, kiddo. Just know that we all had lots of fun at your Mickey party. Even if we don't have the best photos to prove it.















Since I'm already admitting to my failures as a mother, I may as well tack this one on: I really dropped the ball on that whole keeping a baby book thing. Good intentions and whatnot. Luckily I've heard the internet will be around forever, so I'm relying heavily on the blog to fill that void. Here's hoping Calvin never wants to know when his teeth came in or what his favorite vegetable was at 18 months, because I've got nothing.

Anyway, I took Calvin to the pediatrician two weeks ago for his two-year well child checkup. He is, in fact, a well child. The ever-important stats:

Weight: 28lbs, 50th percentile
Height: 36 inches, 80th percentile
Head: 19.5 inches, 75th percentile

He's on track growth-wise, and his verbal and large motor skills are on par with that of a three-year-old. We heard a similar account during his spring conferences at school a few weeks ago — he's the youngest in his class but he's keeping up (and then some) with the three-year-olds. He knows his colors and shapes, can count up to 10, has a very large vocabulary, and has begun stringing along pretty impressive sentences (most of which begin with "I don't!").

While I am proud of my son's "academic" achievements (for which I take no credit, the Lord has truly blessed us with a bright and capable kid), I am most impressed by Calvin's tender heart, sense of humor, and good-natured personality. He is a joy. And a challenge. But mostly a joy.

I'm so lucky to be his (disorganized) mom.

The Big 0-2: Part 1

We Breyers know how to party.

We just don't know how to post pictures of the party in a timely manner.

Party number one, just us three. And a half. If your dog is willing to wear a party hat, she must be included in the tally.

I made a cake. Lemon, with lemon frosting. From a box, of course. When Calvin saw it after his nap, I thought he'd be excited. Instead he started crying because I said he couldn't eat it until after dinner. Lesson learned. Hide the cake. Or allow your child to eat it first because it's his birthday and you really need to loosen up a bit. You know, either way.


We started with presents. Because who can resist those?



Well, Calvin, apparently. Slightly underwhelmed by his first gift of matchbox cars, he insisted we move onto cake.



Who needs a cone? Or a spoon?


This required bribery.


Back to presents. A set of tools, which he was VERY excited about. He kept exclaiming "My own tools! MY OWN TOOLS!" as if we'd been forcing him to share tools with other children all this time. Which, well - daycare. I guess we have.


Pliers come in handy for opening all remaining presents at a snail's pace.


We thought the tools were a hit...until he opened the matchbox car ramp. He hasn't stopped playing with it in three weeks. (NAILED IT! So proud of myself for doing boy toy shopping all by myself. Hm. That sounds borderline inappropriate.)


'Twas a happy little night celebrating our sweet Bub together, and much improved over Calvin's first birthday, which we spent trying to force cake down his throat and cleaning up barf. Ah, memories.

Two.

Happy second birthday to my precious Calvin. I love you, darling boy.

Payoff.

In the following video I am freshly showered with uncombed hair, no makeup and no bra, and I'm in my pajamas. I look terrible. Yet, I'm posting this on my blog for the world to see because it's too good not to. The things we do for our children.

May I present an excerpt from Bruce Degen's Jamberry, as "read" by my one-year-old?



We read through the entire 32-page book last night, and he could recite the lines from every. single. one. Nate recorded us reading through the whole book on my phone, but the file was too large to email so I had to clip it. I will just tell you that my jaw was hanging open almost the entire time.

Reading with your kids every single night since birth pays off. Don't let anyone tell you differently. The initial return on investment might just be a little boy who can memorize/recite a bunch of words, but the seed has definitely been planted.

I am one proud mama. And is his little voice cute or what?

Pablo Breyer.

This weekend was rainy and cold. I thought — hey, why not try finger painting with Calvin?

Well, maybe because my kid is weird and refuses to get his hands messy, that's why. I tried to show him how to use his fingers in the paint and he freaked out and made me go get a washcloth to wipe off his hand.

So we tried paintbrushes instead. That went much better, though I have to say he really might be on the verge of OCD. Even with the brushes, the second a speck of paint got on him he got a terrified look on his face and insisted I wipe it off. I sat there the entire time he painted holding a wet washcloth so I could address any accidental splatters.

But, anything to nurture my child's inner artist. I mean, will you look at these masterpieces? Calvin is so going to give Picasso a run for his money one day.





This is the look I got when I asked him to smile with his finished artwork. We shall call this series Cheese Face.