Tag Archives: James

Grabby McGrabberton

And the first pictures I’m bringing forth from our Alaska vacay: James! My 7 month old nephew. The one with the fuzzy head. The one with the big old cheeks.

The one with the fattiest, most delightful little baby thighs I have ever seen, squished, or kissed.

This isn’t the first time that fat baby thighs have distracted me from blogging about larger events . . . as I recall, a pair of marshmallow legs at Joe and Steph’s wedding produced the identical effect. What can I say–I guess I’m predictable that way.

I’m having trouble imagining I could ever love a child as much as I love this one. Even if I give birth to a baby from my own loins, sustain its fragile life with food from my own body, name it ‘Fatty Lumpkin,’ and it has thighs so wonderfully big that they could roll down a baby-sized highway, right now I doubt it could ever be as lovable. As cute. As grabbable . . . or as grabbing-crazed. So here is a little series entitled ‘Grabby McGrabberton.’ The alternate title–from the perspective of my terrified camera–is ‘Death Claw Alert–Save Ye He Who May.’

Oh that little James. He’s a cure-all for the Monday blues.

Alaska here we come!

Does it seem to anyone else that we’re flying towards September at breakneck speed? And once September arrives, well, we’re headed straight towards Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. Wait! I don’t know what our Thanksgiving plans are! And I haven’t even figured out what I’m getting everyone for Christmas!

Yes, that is how my mind works–at least when I let it run rampant. Note to self: continue to discipline the wild horse that is my mind in order to fully enjoy the present and not worry about tomorrow. Amen and amen.

Everyone pause to make a wild horse noise.

Really get into it. Shake your hair about and give it a loud whinny.

It helps to dilate your nostrils and furrow your brow quite deeply during this process. I speak from experience.

Thank you. Now we can move on.

While I’m looking forward to the cooler, crisper weather and the reduction of sweating (that has a directly proportional relationship with the volume of my laundry piles), I feel like I need to really hang on to these next few weeks. Force time to slow down a little. Squeeze every bit of relaxation out for my husband before he faces his comprehensive exams this fall and winter. And where better to do that than Alaska!

Fairbanks, Alaska is the residence of a certain gorgeous ballerina . . .

. . . and this little squooshy-cheeked man.

And together they rule the galaxy.

Heidi’s husband is deployed, in case you were wondering–with still a few months to go. I don’t know how they do it. Or rather, I do–by the grace of God alone.

By the way, now is probably a good time to break some news to all of you: if I ever have a little one, I plan on nicknaming him or her Fatty Lumpkin. I can’t even say that name without working myself into an ecstasy of cuddliness. Yes, I want a fat baby with ooshy-gooshy little rolls on their legs. Fat babies are the cutest, and the most . . . *mom-ism alert beep beep beep* . . . munchable. I will only call them that when they’re quite small and unable to be scarred or embarrassed–I think.

Anyway, we fly out tomorrow morning, and after a cruel and unusual 3-flight journey, we will arrive in the land of crazy temperatures, weird sunlight patterns, and Santa Claus himself. Our Alaskan activity list goes as follows:

-Take as many pictures of Heidi and James as I possibly can.

-Schmooch baby James on an hourly basis. No, not ‘smooch’–‘schmooch.’ Two very different things.

-Visit the town of North Pole, home of the aforesaid Santa Claus.

-Bathe in the hot springs?

-Eat salmon. Or something. Possibly on a dinner boat experience.

-Do this excursion thingy that involves panning for gold.

-Become a gold-panning millionaire and share my largesse with you by inviting you to my new Gourmet Spa Space Station on Pluto.

-Hike around the National Park of Denali.

-Cook up a storm.

-Spend two nights in Anchorage with my man, which entails a 6 hour drive through an incredibly beautiful part of the country.

-Are you ready? Not blog.

-Yes, I’m taking a vacation from blogging while I’m gone.

-Am I allowed?

-I think so.

-I’m glad you agree.

I’ll be back after Labor Day, so don’t go thinkin’ that you can get rid of my that easily! Plus, they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I haven’t really been absent for a while. Using that correlation, that means that fondness may perhaps be at an all time low. I understand–I wouldn’t me jabbering in my own face every morning! So this is really a kindness to you, eh? Eh.

I will have obscene amounts of pictures to share upon my return, I’m sure. Pictures of the Alaskan scenery. Pictures of Those Cheeks. Recipes from Heidi’s kitchen. Who knows what else–besides the whole ‘getting rich panning gold’ thing that I have planned, of course.

I’ll try not to miss you too much . . .

. . . okay, I’m going to miss you. Kitchen Witch‘s beautiful and poignant stories . . . the city and farm tales of my beautiful semi-relatives the Sweet Ridge Sisters . . . Veronica‘s optimism, her Thankful Thursdays and almost daily recipes . . . Joanne‘s insane penchant for running marathons and combining bizarre ingredients to make something unexpectedly delicious . . . you guys have become such a part of my life!

Next week I have delegated a couple posts to a certain ‘friend’ of mine to keep you all entertained. All I’m saying is: she wears a helmet. Or her head is a helmet. Stay tuned, and see you all after Labor Day!