My oldest brother was born in 1979.
My mom talks about how poor my father and her were, how she had box-crates screwed into the wall for kitchen shelves, how my father built everything, including a toy box for Aaron's toys.
He also made this bassinet:
It's been in the family since, used for my brother's kids, and used when Lane was first born.
When dad passed away, there were few things that struck me like pieces of his handwriting.
The things he'd built were beautiful to have, his bike was beautiful to ride, but his handwriting was gold.
Lately though, Lane has gotten so active. He wants to roll and flail around trying to crawl and I think it'll be a matter of weeks before he's sitting up. So today I packed up the beautiful handmade bassinet with my father's initials carved on the bottom and flipped open the good ole' pack n' play.
After work, Colt prodded me out of the house for fresh air in hopes of enjoying the gloaming hour in the park. The weather has been strangely warm for January, so we threw on hoodies and a snowman hat for Lane and sat in the field for an hour before dinner. Sometimes I watch the entire day pass through the window, never getting to go out in it. I love the days when I'm pulled out, even reluctantly, into the fresh air.
He tasted every key. Blue is definitely the favorite.