I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to take over Father’s Day with my new favorite thing on this green earth. It was supposed to be about celebrating the man, the dad, the father figure, the brave, strong, absurdly handsome male specie who knocked me up and has been there every step of the way supporting me through grueling 2 a.m. cough, McDonald’s, cough runs or three trips to the grocers in less than an hour for the 16th, 17th and 18th bottles of Russian making, pickling causing vinegar — and that was just during my human oven months. Sure, I could complain that he couldn’t keep a good thing going or rejoice that he finally let us change it for the better, but inadvertently I stole his triumphant day, his first Father’s Day, and made it about me. That’s for 8 hours of labor, bucko.

I jest. I was blessed with the ability to literally pop out an 8-pound man child in barely no time at all — but look at me, I’m stealing the spot light again. We’re here for the four best words — my new favorite words (unless we could some how include vanilla bean — oh wait, I have — and brown butter — I’m sure there is a way!), and admittedly my husband’s as well:  1. Salted.  2. Bourbon.  3. Caramel.  4 .Sauce. It’s no joke. It’s the best. It’s mine. Until you make it and invite me over. Then it will be mine again.

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Marshmallows are a sticky, messy business people. Had I known this prior to setting off to tackle awesome mom-dom by way of making fun mallow shapes dyed the color of a rainbow (because what adult kid would turn this down) I became tangled in a rather large sticky mess of mallow strings and almost gave up the notion of being anything resembling a cool parent. I know, my kid is a mere seven weeks and not in the least able to get messy with me in mallow webs of yummy, currently preferring a good hoot with his forest friends over rainbow stickiness, but when the day comes, I will be prepared.

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First of all I want to thank you for the warm welcome you have given little Henry. He is quite smitten with us as we are with him, and it seems as if everyone else is too. I must be a mom because reading comments, and being stopped by a friend or random stranger and getting compliments on baking up something so sweet, precious and insanely cute never gets old.

And he is cute and adorable and every other cliche (but not really) adjective you want to use. Did I mention he is trying to suck his thumb (mama called that one), he snorts like a pig when he’s hungry, or that he has so much hair not a single person can walk past him without giving him a loving pet — which means we have bought stock in baby shampoo and have taken home a teeny tiny comb and brush set to make sure his locks stay in place (which have yet to obey us). Tsk, tsk, so unruly baby Henry!

Not that we will ever blame him for his adorable cow licks and nap-static hair. He is just too cute. But while we are catching up, I almost hate to mention the fact that in addition to the world’s easiest pregnancy (did I mention, other than the insane lack of energy, I otherwise felt, err, not pregnant?) I also had a labor that would make most first time moms a wee bit jealous. Besides coming a whole day prior to his due date (he and I had a talk about this and we both agreed a prior eviction would be easier and more pleasant for us both) and the almost embarrassing moment of my water breaking at a friend’s birthday party, my labor lasted for a mere six hours and left me feeling like I could do it again real soon. (Though, I must shoot down rumors of us baking up a brother or sister for Henry any time soon. As good as he is, I think we will enjoy him a little bit before we start thinking about adding more awesomeness to the mix).

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As if any further evidence was needed that we should not have scheduled a beach vacation in the middle of the holidays, here is yet another treat chocked full o’ sugar and doused in three different chocolates, concluding with us sitting on the beach wearing 2XL tee-shirts and sweatpants because the bikinis shorts wrap around skirts frankly don’t fit. Sure, we tried, we even foresaw a whole  two months in advance and tried to do something about it, but in vain were our efforts and now we are stuck here like beached whales on beach beds — really, you don’t need to feel sorry for us. We did this to ourselves.

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Have you ever had one of those days weeks (groan) months where your to-do list seems to grow at an irrational rate of speed all while your time to complete said tasks rapidly vanishes making you feel like you are moving in slow motion when in fact you’re running around like a mad person trying to get everything done atthisverymoment. Ack! That has been me for, oh, since Thanksgiving. You see, Josh and I are planning on skipping outta this cold weather that seems to have taken over these here parts (and just when I was starting to get used to the 65-degree November/December weather too. No, please come back!) — in fact we plan on being quite the grinches this year by spending Christmas whisked away falling asleep on beach beds and having waiters bring us blended cocktails with brightly colored umbrellas — it’s ok to be jealous.

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