I am tired and thankful. And I think I brushed my teeth this morning. Today is Thanksgiving, and since our entire world was up-ended last week (in the best possible way), we’re staying home. Instead of making preparations for a Thanksgiving meal, I’m inside with Anna, watching the Macy’s Day Parade while Tom is outside
She’s here! She’s here! We are so pleased to announce the arrival of our baby girl, Anna Leigh Krieger. 8 pounds, 5 ounces, 20 inches. Born Sunday, November 12 at 8:44 p.m., four days before her due date, during a family celebration for Tom’s birthday (In the hospital! We made it to the hospital!) Anna
One day Thomas is going to read this blog, and he’s going to notice that there are maybe seven times more photos of the first three months of David’s life, and at least three times more from Mary Virginia’s. And if he’s anything his father, Thomas will have all the relevant information compiled in a
I decided on the title “Postpartum chic” for this post because I figured no one had ever put those two words next to each other before, and maybe I could trademark them or something? Chic isn’t the first thing that pops into my mind when I think of the postpartum period. There’s all kinds of medical things
The other day Tom took the big kids on a quick errand, and I decided it was high time I got around to giving Thomas his first bath. I’m not going to tell you how old Thomas is in these photos because my mother raised me with higher hygiene standards than that, and she has a reputation
My mom once told me that after she had my brother — her third child — she started wearing sneakers every day. Her days started early and ended late, and she spent them gardening, hanging laundry on the clothesline, making pickles, sewing, leading Girl Scouts — oh, and taking care of three kids. To make it through the day she needed support.
When we were kids, my dad used to tell us he picked us in a cabbage patch. Good try, Dad. Then why do my knees pop just like yours? And how do you explain my inability to throw away a jar of peanut butter before scraping the ever-loving marrow out of it, thereby slashing my family’s monthly
All day every day I walk around the house humming “Blue Eyes” by Elton John. Because I can’t help but think that when he wrote the song, this is what he had in mind.
Whenever I tell her that she’s going to get wrinkles from all that scowling, she just looks back at me and furrows her eyebrows ever harder.
Like I said, Mary Virginia wasn’t smiling by five weeks. But five weeks and two days? Well now, that’s a different story entirely.