Skip to main content

Charles Alban Paulson Tate

Charlie has been out and about for six months now.  SIX MONTHS. 



 When Charlie was six weeks, I put together a nifty little video of all of his cuteness.  I started to post another post.  I got distracted.  I can't tell if Charlie just needs to be held more than my other chickens, or if I am so out of practice.  I don't remember how to raise a baby, and, somehow, I've done it for six months now.  I've been overwhelmed by adjustments- to this place, to our house, to our new life as a pastor's family, and our new status as outsiders.  Things still TASTE differently here, and I feel like I am not nearly as good about knowing exactly what to do with my new little being.  For all that, he's sweet and wonderful, and we're good, very good, to be where we're supposed to be.

  I tell my kids, and everyone, because I find it easy to forget, and important to remember, that everything worth doing takes work, and the more worthy the thing is, the harder it can be.

 Josh has nicknamed Charlie, "Good."  He's been here for five million years already.  He can sit up on his own, but he can't roll over from his back to his front yet.  He has two teeth.  He's had reflux, and sleeps sporadically, and is sweetness, just sweetness when he sees me after a long separation of five minutes.  He hates being cold.  He loves his siblings.  His siblings are crazy about him, too.  We all are.

Comments

Abigail said…
You could have posted ANYTHING, really, and I would have left an excited comment, but I really, truly, love this post.

Nearly two years is a long stretch. (Oh, Facebook, don't tempt me so!)

I love reading your words and hearing your voice and heart in them. I love seeing your older children loving the little one. I love seeing pictures of your sweet, clingy baby who makes you so very tired (and swells your heart. and makes you tired.) I love your true approach to mothering, and that the sustaining knowledge of this work's clear worth and good somehow doesn't negate the difficulty, but in fact, is inseparable from it.

It is worth doing. Yes, indeed.

And that's a lots of "loves," but I meant every one of them.

God bless you and your family, Sarah.
sarah said…
I post for my family, mostly, but I post for you, Abby, a ton. :)

Popular posts from this blog

Summer in Florida

This is our fourth summer in Florida- a number that amazes me.  I still don't feel at home here, although  I know my way around.  I don't feel completely out of place in the supermarket, but I have this suspicion that everyone knows I'm not from here, and they know that they don't know me.  That special kind of paranoia belongs to the homesick, and even while I acknowledge its foolishness, I still feel it.
Summers- I may have mentioned this before- are the worst. 
     It's partly an issue of comfort, or rather, of discomfort.  The long summer days are hot and sticky, the bugs are ravenous and abundant, the plants are vindictive with thorns and poison, and the air itself is attempting to decompose your body 37% faster than air in dryer climes.*  If there is a spring or pool to soak yourself in, it's fine, pleasant, even, because there are no ticks in the water, and you can usually avoid mosquitoes under the water.  To Florida's credit, there are any nu…

And he's gone.

The last week has been all craziness and preparation, poor schooling and frustration.  After a long decline, my Umpa passed away on Tuesday...this picture, above, was of him before we left for Florida, and in the last three years, he has lost the joy and comfort of being alive.  His death doesn't seem overwhelmingly sad in and of itself- he was 91 years old, in constant pain, and missing my Grandma all of the time.  To be removed from suffering makes death a kindness.
It's what his death means to my family that makes it sad.  This is our Patriarch- a man that presided over all aspects of our family with strong opinions and countless sayings.  His generosity was unbelievable.  He valued his family- he taught us all to value our family.
When my Grandma died five years ago, our cultural decline began- at her funeral, three separate cousins confided in me that Umpa was soon to follow- he felt this way, too, and longed for it, I think, although my Umpa was not a quitter, and if th…

Jack, who is 9, and Miles, who is 7.

This is Jack.  He loves zip-ties and drawing.  He has a best friend named Dan.  He will be 10 in less than a month.  His favorite food is "nutella crepes."  He wants to be an artist.  Or an actor.  He wants to do a lot of different things, all at once. 

 This is Miles.  He is 7- he will be eight in July.  He likes lots of things in general and not so much specifically.  He is a picky eater.  He wants to sleep like a burrito, and never make his bed.  He never has a problem finding a friend to play with on the playground- on any playground.  His best friend is Michael.

These boys seek each other out, and want to play with each other, but at any moment- ANY MOMENT- it might become a violent and loud fight.  What was play one second ago becomes a battle this second.  The worst punishment I can give them is to not let them play with each other.