Freddie's first birthday party

The fact that Freddie is still sleeping at 8 a.m. on the morning after is probably a pretty good indication of how he enjoyed his first birthday party. At the very least, he enjoyed his first birthday cake.

More on that later.

But first, the birthday party.

As natural as my October-born son having a "Boy of Fall" football first birthday party was the decision that my January-born baby should be a "Boy of Basketball." It was a decision made well before he was born - like his name or the fact that his dedication service would be held on the Sunday of the US Open.

We did Jones's second birthday party on a Sunday afternoon and really liked it. The timing - between both meals and church services - seemed to accommodate our guests' Saturday schedules and also make serving substantial food unnecessary. Plus, I can finish setting up, while the boys nap before the party, so it's just a win-win on many, many levels. That's why we went with a Sunday party for Freddie.

Yesterday was that Sunday, and the party went perfectly. A rainy morning gave way to a really beautiful - though cool and blustery! - afternoon. And the fussy baby I'd been dealing with for the past few days was back to his super sweet self.

He was made all the sweeter by the way he went after his cake.

When I gave the Boy of Fall HIS first birthday cake, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and stared at the audience waiting to watch him make a mess. He wouldn't even touch the cake, seeming totally ambivalent to the fact that it was perfectly coordinated with both the invitation and the decorations (what is WRONG with him?!?).

Freddie, on the other hand, was a little more aggressive.

Without a second's hesitation, he literally dug in - first kneading the cake like a big ball of yeast before biting into it like a gigantic, sugar-coated apple. It was a thing of beauty to watch.



After he'd gone almost halfway through the cake, I cut him off. Pam Floyd and Freddie's Nan cleaned him - and his highchair - off, a process that required getting more than a little icing out of his nostrils. His cake looked like it'd been attacked by a shark. In other words, it was the kind of experience that the person who invented smash cakes had in mind whenever she invented smash cakes.

After that, everyone else had cake - cut from a different sheet, of course, and then Freddie opened his presents. He got many wonderful things - not the least of which were three big boxes of diapers and an extra-long gate to put between his new playroom and the office. He may not appreciate these things as much as the dump truck full of Duplo blocks or the pirate ship that shoots balls out of a cannon, but his mama sure does!

More than anything, though, I appreciate the wonderful family that always comes together to celebrate our boys. We have been given so much more than we deserve - not the least of which is the one and only FREDDIE BEAR!

Freddie Bear's first birthday

I'm not gonna lie to you.

Freddie's first birthday was hardly happy.

He's got a cold and two teeth tearing through his gums, and he's just about as miserable as a boy can be, which breaks my heart, both because he's so out of sorts and because, when he's out of sorts, I'M out of sorts, and Jones hasn't exactly been on his best behavior here lately, either, and poor (wonderful, patient) Jeremy bears the brunt of all our angst (I'm sorry, Sweetie. Thank you for being so wonderful. And, especially, patient).

In spite of Freddie's feeling bad, we tried to make things as merry as possible. The day began with a chocolate donut, picked out the nite before by his daddy and his big brother. I put a single candle on the donut, and the three of us sang to our tiny fourth. He, of course, had no idea what I meant by, "blow it out!"

All he knew is that the little flame in front of his face was absolutely fascinating, so immediately after I blew out the candle for him, he touched the wick and got hot wax on his finger. As if his day weren't already bad enough - what with the snot and the drool, and the eye teeth giving him fits ... he did, however, seem to enjoy the chocolate donut (because: DONUT), and then, he opened his presents.

And then we took him to have his first hair cut.

We took him to a guy who has cut the hair of every Pressley man back to Jeremy's great grandfather ("Daddy Robert"). Jeremy had wanted to take Jones to this guy, but my insistence that he have his first haircut on Main Street USA won out. Unwilling - and unable - to take Freddie to Disney World for his first birthday, I agreed with Jeremy that the Pisgah Barber Shop would be the most logical second choice.

I had envisioned that his first haircut would be a lot like Jones's. There'd be a sweet little snip and a spray of pixie dust and then the ceremonial lopping off the crazy curls that make our boy look a lot like Ed Wynn (my sister came up with the comparison, and I think it's a really good one). Where I thought "snip," however, our barber thought "shear." As in "with a razor." As in "like a sheep."

Poor little, miserable Freddie Bear went in looking like Ed Wynn and left with the business card of an Army recruiter who wondered when he'd be enlisting.

Bless his heart.

The rest of the day was pitifully unremarkable. In fact, I can't remember anything else - except that Freddie continued to be totally out of sorts, and I started wondering if he was "getting mean" like my Mayme always used to do after she'd had her haircut.

Anyway, here are some pictures - and the hope that tomorrow's birthday party will be a whole lot happier than the birthday itself was.

"Ree"-diculous

If Jones's mouth looks full, it's because it is. Both boys were sitting on the floor, each with his own bowl of dry cereal ("ree ree," according to Jones). For some reason, Freddie kept bypassing his bowl and trying to eat Jones's instead. Ever inventive, Jones put all of his in his mouth at once to keep his brother from getting it from him. 

While I'm writing down that little anecdote, here are a couple more I want to remember: 

1) I'm really trying to get Jones to close his eyes during prayers and to say "Amen" after them - just so he knows to show reverence to the act. He does really well with both, but I usually squint to see if he's keeping his eyes closed through the whole prayer. Most of the time he does, but if he doesn't, I'll motion to him to close his eyes (how very "do as I say, not as I do" of me). 

Well, the other nite, we were praying for dinner, and I was watching Jones, as I always do. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and looked at Freddie - who, by the way, was being perfectly quiet - and put his finger over his lips in a "shush" gesture. 

I guess he just wanted Brother to know the type of behavior he expected?

2) The same day that Freddie stood - he hasn't done that again, by the way - Jones was pounding on the paneling with the hammer he got for Christmas - "Pat," he calls him.  Thank you, Handy Manny. 

Well, when Freddie saw what he was doing, he crawled over to the wall and stood beside him (leaning on the wall) and, since he didn't have a hammer of his own, he started hitting then wall with his hand.

All of that to say that I kinda feel like having boys is the greatest thing in the history of things. 

Thank You, Lord, for my little buddies.

Hymn of the Month

In honor of Freddie's standing today, the January Hymn of the Month is:

"Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus."

2014 Christmas Card

(Many thanks to the one and only Brooke Rainey for the card design!)

In case you haven't heard ...

... BOTH of my boys look just like their daddy.