4 Months

Happy child, you are 4 months old and you have lots of new tricks. You like sitting in your Bumbo chair and you have found your toes. You love to stand and stomp your feet, kick and talk, and you rolled over from your tummy to your back. It has only happened twice, but we wait with baited breath during tummy time to see you do it again.

You love ceiling fans, Sophie the giraffe, and really anything that you can put in your mouth.


Bath time is one of our favorite times of day. You have learned how to splash and you delight in getting your Mama and Daddy wet. You also love going outside. We have already logged many hours on the back deck this summer.

You weigh 14 pounds 10 ounces and are 25 3/4 inches long. 

This month you made the big transition from the pack and play in our room to the crib in your own bedroom. However, your favorite place is still in Mama and Daddy's bed while we get ready for work in the morning. You sleep hard when you get to be the little prince in the big bed.

I am afraid that we have entered the "four month sleep regression" stage. Seasoned parents told me about this phenomenon when I was bright-eyed and boasting of full nights sleep. We will keep our fingers crossed for a quick transition back to the land of sweet dreams. Well rested or not, we are so grateful for the joy you bring to our family.

The Grass is Always Greener

I am in the market for some good grass…

It’s amazing how the meaning of that phrase changes with different stages in your life. In this scenario, I mean it quite literally. We have two humble strips of grass in our back yard. When we re-landscaped the yard two summers ago, I wanted at least a small patch of grass to feel under our feet in the summer time.   That small patch is feeling more like dead grass and dirt under our feet this summer.

So in a quest to make sure Henry has some grass in the backyard of his first home when he is able to enjoy it, I am on a quest to green the grass on our side of the fence. In this pursuit, I acknowledge that I am truly becoming the fatherly stereotype of a 1950’s sitcom, but if the water sprinkler fits…

My first attempt was this past Saturday, June 16. I seeded the yard with Scott’s EZ-seed. The directions say that it will grow grass on pavement…so here’s hoping.

The hardest part was loosening the dirt to prep for the seed. The dirt in our yard is as hard as a rock and I am starting to wonder if that’s part of the problem. Next I removed all the dead grass, put out the seed, watered and watered and waited. Here are a few before pics: 

Side 1 - Before

Side 2 - Before

My expectation of this first attempt is that the yard will look like it got hair plugs and not the lush green carpet in my dreams…but I guess I’d rather my grass be balding than my hair.

So join me on this journey to green our “grass strips” – I welcome any advice and fully expect to be solid sodding this time next year. That or spray paint.

Belated Happy Mother's Day: Mama's Boy or Well-loved?

**DISCLAIMER: This was written as a tribute for Mother’s Day, but not finished until now…**

As a son and father of a son who are both blessed with wonderful mamas, I think it’s high time to take back the term ‘mama’s boy.’ ‘Daddy’s girls’ wear t-shirts trumpeting the label, but a mama’s boy – that’s something we should be ashamed of. Come on. In my opinion if you’ve ever been called one you are one lucky mama’s boy.

I remember the moment vividly. I was 12, standing at the phone that sat on a dresser in my parent’s bedroom. It was a Friday afternoon in late summer and I was packed and ready to head out for the Boy Scout camp out that weekend. There were major storms predicted over the next few days due to a hurricane that was about to hit the Gulf Coast. The fate of the camping trip appeared in jeopardy, or so I thought.

I called the scout master to ask if we would still be going given the forecast. His direct response was swift and incredulous: “Don’t be a mama’s boy, Carlisle. A little thunder and lightning isn’t going to scare us away.”

I could feel his eyes roll through the phone. I hung up feeling embarrassed; my ears stinging and face red. Being called a ‘mama’s boy’ was mortifying.

I told my mom the verdict and the look on her face was skeptical.

“It will be fine,” I said quickly. Feeling resolved to force myself through the weekend without fear and working hard to appear annoyed at my mom for even assuming we might stay indoors during major storms.

I went on the camping trip and endured the mocking laughs of the scout master the entire rain-soaked weekend as he loudly told the tale of my call over the sound of pounding rain, “Carlisle thought we couldn’t handle this weather.” He said over and over, laughing loudly. We indeed survived the weekend, soggy and miserable.

I am sure any young guy with a loving mama has been caught in this same situation and there were more instances beyond the storm-threatened camping trip that I can recall warranted the labeling. In fact, the summer before I started college, my mother drove with me to Tuscaloosa to find the house I was going to for a pledge party so I could do it myself the next day and not get lost. Mama’s boy?  

I am now the father of a 3 month old and even at that young age I can see the look of peace on H’s face when his mama holds him. When he is restless or anxious for any reason, the sound of her voice soothes him and he is quickly sound asleep or cooing contently. The two of them were made to be nap partners. They could win an award for it. Together, they nap hard. I love to watch them with one another, matched perfectly together. He is a mama’s boy and I am damn proud of it.

Looking back, I shouldn’t have been embarrassed with the name calling of my scout master. I should embrace it. We all should. In my opinion it just means you have a mama who loves you so much that it might cause occasional embarrassment, as she tries to do all she can to make the world a better and safer place for her child.  And what loving mother wouldn’t do that for a son or daughter? You say mama’s boy, I say well-loved.

Mamas are a special thing. Being a mama’s boy isn’t so bad after all.