Long Overdue Updates, Part I: Troy, AL

A blog is only as good as it is updated. So this one has been sucking lately.

But I can make it up for it.

First, two weeks ago, we loaded Billy in the car and headed for Troy University, to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Coach Billy Atkins' 1968 NAIA National Championship. It was a big deal. Billy, his dad (who was born in Troy), and grandma Ty stood on the field at halftime to honor Billy's grandfather. The players all told stories about how much they loved and feared and respected Coach Atkins, and were sweet to Billy.

Some of the players wives were Ace's babysitters when he was Billy's age, and they had a few good stories as well.

It was a long trip over and back, especially in 24 hours. Luckily, Billy loves his cow seat, and mostly slept. Except when we stopped, and he'd startle awake and look like this:
Hilarious.

When he discovered said stop was a doughnut run, though, he perked right up:

He loved everything about the football game: the colors, the noise, the lights. He danced along to the band. At halftime, he stood on the field in his Troy jersey with Atkins on the back that Ty rushed out to find before we arrived. It was a special moment. With Ace, Ty, and Billy on the field, Charlie kept me company up in the good seats. We ate free hot dogs to our heart's content. Or discontent.



Ty took us on the Troy tour: we saw their old house, the church where Ace was christened, and the cute little town. Ty told us old stories with all the eccentric characters you'd expect--including a drugstore delivery girl named Mister Mister.

The players told stories about the time Coach Atkins kicked a disrespectful player off the team bus in the middle of nowhere, or the time he had the team managers sneak an injured player out of a Navy hospital, or the time he taught a player to stop being afraid of being hit by lobbing passes and punts to him while he stood in the street dodging cars.

Billy and Ty had fun.

Happy Birthday to Bill

One year. The fastest and slowest year of my life. It's been incredibly hard and incredibly glorious. I've made a ton of mistakes, learned from them, and will probably make a whole mess of different mistakes the next time around.

In the end, though, Billy's none the worse for wear, despite the inexperience of Mom and Pops. Love and dedication go a long way to making up for what you don't know.

The birthday extravaganza began last week when Gran and Grandpa arrived from NC. Then Ty and Charlie from Alabama. Everyone hit Taylor Grocery for the official birthday Friday night and kept Bill out way past bedtime. Then, on Saturday, a whole army of wee babes and toddlers for the party. Pics are better than words:

Ty brings the toy blitz.

Gran and Grandpa entertain Billy outside Taylor Grocery on their 38th wedding anniversary.

Ty and Charlie catch Billy in motion.


Grandpa treats Billy to some balloon action.

Next year, Billy will look like his party guests Sam and, uh, Sam. Shocking but true. Remember, this time last year he was a tiny little mewling thing in a bassinet.

Dump truck!

Seriously, moms, do you know what all this sugar is going to do to my system?


Whew.

Happy Summer

Just back from a trip to Holden Beach, N.C., with the whole family plus the almost-family, the Howards. The Moores and the Howards have been doing the joint Holden Beach vacation since about 1984, we figured out this week.

Back then, we rented a little cottage that had two bedrooms, a bonus room, and a lot of floor space for us kids (three Moore girls and two Howard boys). Three of us are married now, two of us have kids, and all of us are long past the days of sleeping on the floor and sharing a bathroom. So we rented a six-bedroom, six-bath house right on the beach with space for all. My parents and sisters were in heaven with a week of the Billy man.


Grandpa Jack built sandcastles for Billy to knock down. His new favorite game--"Billy smash!"


We've been eating ice cream and playing mini golf at the same place under beautiful live oak trees for 24 years. Billy definitely approved of the ice cream. I could barely get a bite in edgewise. He actually tried to take it out of my hands.


He loved the water. But mainly, he loved the sand. Oh, salty deliciousness.


Pops made blueberry pancakes two mornings. Billy's discerning palate approved.


Thanks to Gran and Grandpa, Mama and Pops got to go out to dinner by themselves and be adults. Going out to eat without getting food in her hair or spit on her shoulder made Mama feel like a kid again.

So did hanging out in a dive-y beach bar with Aunt Marsha and Aunt Julia. Really, the worse Karaoke is, the better it is, no? David Allan Coe and Sir Mix-a-lot are a very good combination. Pops was even inspired to channel Elvis for a bit.

At times, it was all just too exciting.

I'll do it myself

So it was bound to happen eventually. Billy is asserting his independence, giving us a glimpse of what those terrible twos are going to be like.

The latest--why should he suffer through the indignity of me shoving food in his mouth if he's perfectly capable of doing that himself?

Or not so capable. His little fingers, while impressive at picking all kinds of things up, often don't end up in his mouth. Or the food falls right out. Or he gets bored and throws food to the dogs because that is funny. Or he lets a dog lick his hand and then puts it in his mouth before I can catch it.

At any rate, he's let me know in no uncertain terms that he is done with sitting there like a little bird, letting me feed him mush. He wants a cracker, and he wants to hold it himself, thank you very much.



Here, he eats his first big breakfast--scrambled egg yolk (the whites are a baby no-no) and hashbrowns. He did well with this one. Potatoes of any kind are always a good call. (I did crave the hell out of french fries while pregnant)

People, I do try to put this stuff in his mouth. Honest. But he is Not. Having. It.

See?


Actually, he just feels the same way about peas as his mom does. (an aside--he looks JUST LIKE his Aunt Marsha in this picture. I used to cause the exact same look on her face)

Anyway, meal times, which used to be ruthlessly efficient 10-minute affairs, are now a saga of tears (his and sometimes mine), pleading, and food mashed in hair, eyes, legs, ears, everywhere.

My latest method is to spread the things he likes on the tray (no plates--who can use those anyway? Ours get hurled across the room) and while he's distracted and open-mouthed, shove a little healthy fruit and rice cereal in his mouth. That works for a couple minutes until he catches on, grabs the spoon, and throws it on the ground.

He's learning, though. We ended up snagging a spot at Oxford's most amazing day care, and they are truly, truly wonderful. He's in a class with kids a couple of months older than him, and they're showing him the ropes. He learned to drink out of a cup, fingerpaint, and eat crackers there.

My little boy is all grown up.

Happy Mother's Day

Billy likes picnics, red wagons, anything I am eating, beer (no, I do not give him beer--but he does try to take it), and chocolate ice cream. Which I know he probably shouldn't eat for a lot of reasons. Oh well.

Wait--it's May? Where did April Go?

Okay, I feel like I lost April.

Brief recap: after my parents left, Ace came home to rest for a few days in between tour dates. He came down with the flu from hell, ended up canceling the New Orleans part of the tour, and stayed in bed for more than a week. At the same time, our babysitter was in Mexico with another family, and a dear friend who often saves the day with babysitting was struck down with the same flu.

So we were screwed.

Here's the thing, parents to be: have a backup. Have 20 backups. Don't think you can flit along like I did. Billy's girlfriend, the beautiful four-month-old Annaliese, invited him over for one day, which totally rocked, for me and for him. But for the rest, we were pretty much on our own to work full time and take care of the little man full time.

We made it. Just barely. Helped along by the fact that although he is a handful during the day--one of the most active eight-month-olds in the history of eight-month-olds--he is blessedly easier at night than before. I guess that's the tradeoff as they get older. That and beauteousness.




So the week from hell without childcare drove home something I had been flirting with for a while: it's time to do daycare. Can't justify the expense of a full-time nanny, though that would be nice; and working is a good thing.

In my pre-child naivete, I really really believed that I could work from home and be a full-time caregiver. It's just not possible. We tried for a long time, and I think we did an okay job, and I wouldn't trade my one on one Billy time for anything in the universe. When he was younger, it made sense for a lot of reasons, but I really underestimated how quickly babies grow up and need more than you can give them while checking your email and doing a conference call.

So, parents to be, even if you think you won't do daycare, go ahead and get on a list somewhere. Because that crap is more competitive than the Ivy League. At the best place in Oxford, babies are on the waiting list that haven't even been conceived yet.

Ace is finally back and well, so we gussied ourselves up Tuesday afternoon and went around throwing ourselves on the mercy of daycare ladies all over Oxford. We won't get our first choice, but we did okay, I think. So in a couple of weeks, Billy starts daycare. I'll go at lunch to feed him and will probably go home a little early and work late from home, but I know I will still cry like a baby when I drop him off. We're buds.
The family celebrated Cinco de Mayo at our favorite Water Valley Mexican joint. Billy models his new Guayabera shirt. Too bad dad's not wearing his.

When he doesn't notice he's doing it, he stands up on his own. As soon as he looks around and realizes he's not holding on to anything, you can see "Oh, crap," cross into his head and he immediately sits down. But if you distract him, he'll even take a step or two toward you. Give it a week. He'll be trucking.

And I think he's saying mama. When he wants me, he lifts his arms and says "Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma." Which I'm claiming as mama. He doesn't call Ace mamamamama, so I think he does know the difference.

Another milestone: first swimming pool!

After Ace did a book event in south Alabama, we met him at Ty and Charlie's house in Orange Beach. Billy got to hang with his grandmother and go swimming in her pool. I knew he would love it, because bath time is his favorite thing. He did indeed.

I wasn't sure how to handle the incredibly waterlogged diaper, so I just took it off poolside and let everything air. You know I like any excuse for nekkid baby pictures:


ETA: oh, and thanks to Gran and Grandpa Jack for the totally perfect Radio Flyer classic red wagon in the first picture, which they picked out old school style at our hardware store in Water Valley. Awesome.

Wearing Out the Grandparents

Ace is on book tour right now--tonight Tampa, tomorrow, St. Pete, then Montgomery, then finally home late Saturday night. Everything's going well--good buzz, nice crowds, excellent reviews. But he misses us. And it's a tiring schedule. Still, I find it hard to feel sorry for him when he sends me photos of his luxury boutique hotel on the beach.

Our house, what with the baby, 12 dogs, nine cats, and my full-time job, is simply unmanageable by myself. I got through all right a couple of days last week all by my lonesome, but if one tiny thing goes wrong (as it often does), then everything goes to hell. So my parents arrived last Thursday to help out (supposedly) and visit Billy (their real reason for coming).
They have been playing and working non-stop. My dad completely serviced our lawnmower--new blades and everything--and then mowed and trimmed about four acres. It looks beautiful. My mom has vacuumed and mopped and generally helped keep things running. Most of all--free childcare for the week. It's a tough job. Last time they saw Billy, he couldn't really move out of the spot you'd put him in. Boy, has that changed. Now, I think he is physically incapable of staying still. See:
I'm biased, but what a cutie. He turned eight months old yesterday, and I have no doubt he'll be walking before the month is out. He's already cruising--moving from chair to coffee table to whatever. Gran sent a Tonka truck for his Easter present, and he can roll it along the floor standing behind it making "vroom" noises. Here's the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aosu83ohDD0
When he's not playing with toys, he goes right for what he shouldn't: the fireplace, the bookcase, etc. So he must be supervised at all times. He's really fast, too.

He's a lot to keep up with. And although Mom and Dad are fairly well preserved, they're almost worn out.

I rewarded them on Sunday with a trip to Taylor Grocery, which has the best catfish in the world. (Ace and I had our wedding reception there) Billy ate cereal, teething biscuits, and lemons:

But after a week keeping up with the little man, we're scheduled for a return visit Friday night. They deserve it.

Hoppy Easter

I won't type much. The pictures speak for themselves. This Easter, we loaded up the Jeep and headed down to Orange Beach, Ala., to Ace's mom's house for Easter baskets, beach trips, and shopping. In the old days, we'd throw a few things in one bag an hour or so before we left and hotfoot it down the road.

No more. You'd have thought we were moving, not spending three days at grandma's.

When we arrived at 11 p.m. Thursday, Ty had Billy's first Easter basket laid out, with clothes, swim trunks, and funny toys. She also had beer and pizza for us. She knows what we like. She was so happy to see her littlest boy:


Unlike last Easter weekend, during which we froze, it was actually warm enough to go to the beach. Billy loved it.


He looked around, took it all in, felt the sand in his fingers, and then promptly started to eat it. Of course. He had sandy poop for two days.


Poor Billy inherited his mom's fair skin instead of his grandmother's and father's lovely Cherokee olive tones. So I was terrified he would burn. I slathered every inch of him in 60 SPF and kept him under an umbrella most of the time. The result? Not even a pinkish glow. Whew.

Check out the You Tube channel soon--against my fears of the post-baby body hitting the internet, I'll be posting a video of his first touch of the ocean, too. He liked it. I was cold.

He actually looks more like me--the Moore side--every day. But his body, ears, and cheeks are still totally Ace.


Here, he models an Atkins family heirloom. Ace wore this blue suit on his first Easter 37 years ago. All of Ace's nephews have worn it as well. Although Billy isn't really a lace or pastel fella, he looks kind of perfect in it, don't you think?


We're pretty proud.

Ace's book tour starts next weekend at the Arkansas Literary Festival. Then Birmingham, then home for a couple of days, then Phoenix, Houston, a week-long Florida leg, then Montgomery. Then home a week, then New Orleans. If you're in those areas, contact me for details and try to stop by.

As he gets older, I'm mulling new childcare solutions. What did you do? Have any insights to share?

You People Are Okay

The older he gets, the more Billy likes us.

A new mom friend and I were discussing this the other day. Her two-month-old daughter spent the first few weeks crying a lot, but she's now settled down into a pretty content little dear. She said it was almost like her daughter didn't quite trust her at first, and has now decided her parents ain't half bad.

Billy's seven months old as of this past weekend, and he can now reach for us, hug us, kiss us (well, bite the face, which he thinks is a kiss), and he laughs at what we do.



He laughs at us and dances and likes to play. He likes our stupid songs. I think he's always liked our stupid songs, but it seems like something more now--like he understands just how stupid they are. When he was teeny, he needed us, but now, he really wants us. We're buddies.



He smiles a lot.

I know that this just a developmental thing, that he wasn't waiting to trust us before he turned on the charm--he just wasn't capable before. Still, it sure is nice to feel the love back from the little guy.


Superbaby update--he stands up all the time and can crawl faster than lightning. He's beginning to let go of the tables, chairs, crib, etc. He'll be walking by eight months, no doubt.

He had his first visit with our new Oxford pediatrician this week, and I was holding him in my lap as the doctor came in. The doctor asked, "Is he turning over yet?" and I started laughing. Let's just say I am becoming a master of the standing diaper change.

I hope you all don't mind that this blog is Billy, Billy, Billy. But quite frankly, that's why I started it. Ace and I are simply not that interesting.

Well, maybe Ace is: the new book tour starts April 10 (yes, my birthday). I'll post dates and locations as we get them.