I never know how to start a blog post. I always try to come up with some witty first line or a clever beginning of some sort. I usually sit in front of my screen, with a blank stare, knowing that I have a million things that I can talk about, but not knowing exactly which ones to share. Knowing where to begin is the key.

James says he thinks that I should sometimes be a little less factual. Be emotional, he tells me. Sometimes that’s hard. At any given moment, there are a plethora of emotions, flitting around my head–they can be cunning and deceptive–unwilling to show their true selves. . not wanting to be captured. Once they are seized, so ends their mystery. They are forever exposed. I have to figure out which one I should pluck from the group and delve into. For those of you who are Harry Potter fans, think back to the scene in the film version of the Sorcerer’s Stone–when Harry is on his broom in a room full of flying keys. There is only one right key. The only key that will unlock the door to the next room. He begins weaving in and out of the masses of wrong keys, catches the right one out of the corner of his eye and sets off on a wild adventure to capture it.

So it is with the many emotions in my life right now. I’m in that room. On my broom. But I haven’t yet located the glistening, polished emotion out of the corner of my eye.

Well, now that all those emotions (or lack there of) are dealt with, let’s get on to the factual events of past few days. At least those don’t scamper off, trying to flee from my grasp. They are right there out in the open.

James and I make a pretty good pair. We interact with Brayden much differently. While I enjoy sitting, doing quiet activities with him, James prefers the rough-and-tough approach. Thankfully, Brayden enjoys both, and appreciates each of those things. We spend much of our day coloring, reading, playing with blocks . . . playdoh . . . puzzles. We sit on the floor in the family room and I attempt make his brain adapt and rewire itself . . . expand his neural network.

James, on the other hand, plays in a way that makes Brayden better at physical feats. They play rough . . . play nearly non-stop in very active ways. Usually some type of ball is involved. Brayden, of course, soaks up every last minute of it. He thrives on it.

But I do really think he likes doing the quiet things with me just as much. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Sometimes those new pathways that I help to form in his brain still don’t stop him from doing this. (I think these kind of pathways are made strictly during active play–man to man time. Definitely not quiet-on-the-floor play). Therefore, I am not to blame, in any way for these kinds of actions.

I am so in love of this other little boy of mine. The wee one. The one who stares at me with his blue eyes, following me with his gaze. The one who gives me his adorable smile when I call him Mr. Sillykins and coo at him.

I try to dress him in more than just his sleepers. He’s so tiny still. It seems there isn’t much of an in between from newborn clothes to three month clothes. Even the ones dubbed 0-3 months are far too big still. Sleepers are getting boring. At least I’m the only one complaining about it . . . he could care less.

I did find two outfits amongst his things that I could get away with putting on him. Two outfits–two days of adorableness. Now they are in the hamper–I’m sure they won’t be seen for another two weeks, the way that we get to laundry around here. Heaps of clean clothes sit in baskets for days at a time. James is getting really good at just plucking out one pair of underwear at a time. You know–to lengthen the whole process and put off having to put them away. I’m really good at just ignoring them. Currently there is a gigantic basket of clean clothes on our coffee table. If I’m really successful, it will still be there on Friday. I bet it won’t still be there though–it will be in a different location. It will slowly move it’s way down the hall, to the bottom of the stairs, in front of our bedroom door, and then sit in our bedroom for another three days before someone thinks about folding it.

Carter was six weeks yesterday. He is still hanging on to those blue eyes, and has the most adorable curly hair that I’ve ever seen right after I bathe him. That hair of his somehow has a hint of red to it. I wonder what he will look like when he’s one. When he’s ten. When he graduates from high school. Dreaming is so much fun, isn’t it?

Right now though, I just want to keep him the way he is. Life is so simple when you are entranced by twirling fans, bright lights and the teddy bear on your pack ‘n play mobile. I wish I could see life in such simple terms. Instead, all those emotion keys are zooming around me, just out of my grasp. Distracting me from seeing clear.

I should take a lesson from my son to hear no evil, see no evil and speak no evil. Then I’d have those emotions tamed in no time. I’d have them heaped on the floor, just like my laundry. Lifeless. Waiting to be plucked up and put away, one at a time. Until there is nothing left but a drawer full of clean clothes and a mind free and clear of the clutter. Leaving me more room for the things in life that I’d like to enjoy.