Dear Miles

I love your fat, squishy feet.

I love that you crack yourself up.

I love that you laugh at the drop of a hat.

I love that you love to be tickled.

I love that when I tuck you in and put your blanket on, you pull it up over your face and lay there with your legs all spread out and relaxed poking out the bottom of the blanket.

I love your pinchable butt.

I love that you didn't move for the first 8 or 9 months of your life, you little blob you.

I love that you jibber jabber to yourself all day long.

I especially love that you jibber jabber to yourself in the mornings until I come get you, albeit at least an hour.

I love that you love to be chased while you walk away at the speed of the slowest snail ever, giggling all the while.

I love how adorable your face is.

You're a dog gone pleasure, kid. A real pleasure.

Love, Mom

Action

I started the video too late for the crack up laughs, but the shoulder shrug is still worth it.

Blue's Clues. Miles is nuts for it. He's been sick with a cold, and Steve and Blue and been around. Enjoy the abrupt stop in the Blue's Clues celebration to rub his blanket with his finger and suck on his tongue... or whatever it is he does.

Fish Head

Bayview, ID:

It's way prettier than all these pictures.

House on a lake, anyone?

How about this one?

There was a nice little park...

...But we left after we found the fish head.

Slime, Smeli, Limes, Smile... MILES

Welcome

Spirit Lake, Idaho.

Take a closer look:

That's right: city hall. I like the A/C unit.

Yep.

Isn't this town awesome?

Miles liked it.

It's late...

But we had an exhilarating Valentine's Day.

Who does Miles love?

Mr. Noodle

Elmo

Happiness

"The present is an age of pleasure-seeking, and men are losing their sanity in the mad rush for sensations that do but excite and disappoint. In this day of counterfeits, adulterations, and base imitations, the devil is busier than he has ever been in the course of human history, in the manufacture of pleasures, both old and new; and these he offers for sale in the most attractive fashion, falsely labeled Happiness. In this soul-destroying craft he is without a peer; he has had centuries of experience and practice, and by his skill he controls the market. He has learned the tricks of the trade, and knows well how to catch the eye and arouse the desire of his customers. He puts up the stuff in bright-colored packages, tied with tinsel string and tassel; and crowds flock to his bargain counters, hustling and crushing one another in their frenzy to buy.

"Follow one of the purchasers as he goes off gloatingly with his gaudy packet, and watch him as he opens it. What finds he inside the gilded wrapping? He has expected fragrant happiness, but uncovers only an inferior brand of pleasure, the stench of which is nauseating.

"Happiness includes all that is really desirable and of true worth in pleasure, and much besides. Happiness is genuine gold, pleasure but guilded brass, which corrodes in the hand, and is soon converted into poisonous verdigris. Happiness is as the genuine diamond, which, rough or polished, shines with its own inimitable luster; pleasure is as the paste imitation that glows only when artificially embellished. Happiness is as the ruby, red as the heart's blood, hard and enduring; pleasure, as stained glass, soft, brittle, and of but transitory beauty.

"Happiness is true food, wholesome, nutritious and sweet; it builds up the body and generates energy for action, physical, mental and spiritual; pleasure is but a deceiving stimulant which, like spiritous drink, makes one think he is strong when in reality enfeebled; makes him fancy he is well when if fact stricken with deadly malady.

"Happiness leaves no bad after-taste, it is followed by no depressing reaction; it calls for no repentance, brings no regret, entails no remorse; pleasure too often makes necessary repentance, contrition, and suffering; and, if indulged to the extreme, it brings degradation and destruction.

"True happiness is lived over and over again in memory, always with a renewal of the original good; a moment of unholy pleasure may leave a barbed sting, which, like a thorn in the flesh, is an ever-present source of anguish.

"Happiness is not akin with levity, nor is it one with light-minded mirth. It springs from the deeper fountains of the soul, and is not infrequently accompanied by tears. Have you never been so happy that you have had to weep? I have."

-James E. Talmage

Snob Appeal

Guilty.

It was a struggle for me to go with the cheapo RoseArt crayons instead of my childhood Crayola. I found myself making excuses to Dave like, "Crayola colors better." Right. Needless to say, logic won, and we saved a couple bucks.

Good thing, too. Miles prefers to dump them out and stuff them back in the box anyway. So "how they color" really doesn't matter. With those couple extra bucks, you can just call us rich!

What happened?

What was once funny to me...

...is now just ugly.

Um, Hello

We live in a b-e-a-utiful place.

How lucky.

Hi Dave. Love, Ash.

Milesmania

Picture this: a nice quiet, dark room in the basement of a nice quiet house. It's my niece's room.

Every Monday I watch my sister's kids from dawn until dusk, and Miles-- of course-- comes along. I have to wake him up to get him ready and be out the door on time, which means I have to get up much earlier than I ever do, which makes me tired, and makes for a grumpy and/or grouchy and/or irritable Ash. I'm an absolute peach a) in the mornings, and b) when functioning on little/less than I "need" sleep. Super fun.

You would never know Miles is my son based on his morning/wake up habits and lack of sleep habits.

The hours of 1:30- 3:30 every Monday are absolutely sent from heaven, just for me. The older kids are at school and the two little boys take naps. My 2 year old nephew sleeps forever for me, and I love him for it. Miles, on the other hand, is a maniac.

I put him down today at 1:15, but he decided he'd rather play in that nice quiet, dark room. Playpens are so big-- who could resist? I mean, there is a hole in the mesh on the side, and that's pretty freakin fun. I went in the room and told him in more motherlya words to shut up and go to sleep. I exit and go snuggle up on the couch with a blanket. Time goes by, I just start to drift, and then I'm brought back to reality by sweet little playing Miles. I go in again and he has poop. I change his diaper and again, in more motherlya, but stern words: SHUT UP!!!!! GO TO SLEEP!!! This time, I just laid down on my niece's bed, literally 2 feet from his head and every time he'd start to jabber I'd say, "SHH" or "Miles, be quiet. Go to sleep." And every time he'd stand up I'd say "lay down. It's nap time. No more playing. Go to sleep."

It's hard to be irritated because he's so good-- not a whine was uttered nor a tear shed-- but it's easy to be irritated because all I want him to do is shut up so I can sleep too. Good and selfish-- that's the way we like it. And it's somewhat entertaining because he is so obedient in this type of situation. I say, "lay down" and he flops down on his belly quicker than you could say Bob's your uncle. But it's not entertaining because I'm a tired grumpy mommy.

Finally, he didn't obey when I told him to lay down, so I got up and physically forced him to do so. Then, at the sweet hour of 3:00, a short hour and 45 minutes after I first put him down, and 30 bazillion times of demanding that he be quiet, he dozed off to sleep.

So, no nap for me today. Just a party in that nice quiet, dark room in the basement of the nice quiet house.

a. I never tell my child to "shut up," and I never yell all those exclamations worth.