First, First and First...

Little ol' Franco is almost six months old and the party does not stop for a second! Here are few more "firsts" in his universe:

His first visit with the oldest and dearest of his mum's friends. Becky and Erin and the respective kids came all the way to North Carolina so we could take this picture together! (And so we could chat, laugh, visit downtown Asheville, eat massive amounts of chocolate from The Chocolate Fetish, stuff ourselves at Papa's and Beer, swim, watch movies and eat popcorn, play with toys, reminisce, feel young and old all at once, goof off, and generally pack in the love...)

We had a wonderful visit, just like old times, except with less beer and more kids.  There are no words for the gratitude I have for this group of folks! Franco loved all the extra attention, as did all the old toys in the basement...

What can you say? The more things change, the more they stay the same...

Franco's first Father's Day with Ol' Scotty P. I think Franco looks so serious because he is attempting a negotiation/coup for some ice cream cake and Oreo cookies.  Maybe next year, fella.

First solid food, otherwise known as Franco's new favorite thing to eat: rice cereal. He genuinely loved it, and I can't say I blame him. I tried it and that stuff is good, even cold and mixed with water like we served it to him. He is thrilled.

As you can see, he already thinks he can use that spoon by himself. I imagine the conversation would go something like, "Well, I've watched you do it now three times. I know how. Give me that. I can do it myself." (Anyone who knows Scotty P. can attest to the following: Like father, like son.)


Franco's world is expanding day by day. He has all this and more in his future: peas, green beans, family visiting for next week's holiday, a trip to Ohio to see his great-grandmother, a summer visit from Auntie Rebeccah, and some pureed fruit...not necessarily in that order, but maybe in that order. I am sure he will take it all in stride, in pure Franco style! Happy Summer!!

Franco: An Update From the Trenches of Babyhood

As of the fifth of this month, Franco is four months old. Yep, already. As we know, he is quite a gregarious fellow, who enjoys good company and intelligent conversation, even if it might occur with several stuffed friends in a bouncy seat.

In his first four months, he has traveled to the following locales:

**Birmingham and Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to visit his relatives -

**Scottsdale, Arizona, with his parents for daddy's business trip -

**Wilmington, North Carolina, for a dear friend's wedding -

**Western Pennsylvania for a week in Stillers country with the fam -

Through all of these adventures, ol' Franco has maintained a cheerful disposition that would make Mary Poppins proud. His own personal motto as of this point: "Don't be tardy for the party." His best times include those with the most stimuli, and I think he would describe the three best days of his life as follows:

1.  The day we went to Sears for professional pictures with Grand-mama, Grand-papa, and Auntie Beckey. (See above.) Never before have I witnessed so much hammed-up behavior from a baby. (Not that I have any experience in this area, but still.)

As an aside, the skilled photographer pointed out his obvious Steelers-inspired name and informed us that, a few months before, a baby she photographed was named something even more Steelers-specific: Tunch.

There are no words, save maybe: That. Is. Awesome.

2. The day we had to run through the Atlanta International Airport to catch our connecting flight to Phoenix. If I could have spared a second to snap a photo of Franco's expression during this jaunt, I would gladly post it. However, as you can tell by its absence, no such moment could be spared.

You will have to take my word for it. Franco adored every breathless, frantic second of it, and his expression of awe and excitement ramped up my adrenaline with pure laughter. His joy seemed so incredibly infectious that onlookers clapped and cheered us on as we passed, like we were part of a bizarre airport marathon.  We made it to the gate with at least a minute to spare, and Franco's smile lasted all the way to take-off - when he promptly passed out.

3. The first pool party at our home.

Even though Franco tired himself out with all the swimming, he was able to completely enjoy the day, a preview of things to come around here.

Throughout Franco's first four and a half months, he has shown that babies are fun-filled companions who love to smile, giggle, hit your glass while you are drinking from it, pick up half-full bottles of soda with both hands to prove it possible, stand (with assistance) eye-level with a Beagle to pet its nose, roll over, snuggle, and squeal as loudly in possible when delighted with life. (Which is all the time.)

Ferris Bueller said, "Life moves pretty fast sometimes." Truer words have never been spoken, especially when life is being experienced by a baby.

We are lucky to be able to slow down once in a while to savor all the memories - and to share with all of you.

And Mean What You Say..

Well, Bobby Petrino has been fired from his job as head football coach at Arkansas. Why? How could such a thing happen to a nice, upstanding man with so much integrity? (Sarcasm? Duly noted.)

Well, actually, for a plethora of reasons. Let's see: he gave some 20-something girl he happened to be "involved with" $20,000 after hiring her to some no-name job in the athletic department while not telling anyone else on staff he happened to be "involved with" her, shortly after which he crashed his motorcycle, upon which she just so happened to be riding with him. And he's married and she's engaged. Neither to one another. (If you want the specific facts, google it. Or watch 5 minutes of ESPN. I am only here to summarize the scandal so I can get to the real point of what I want to say.)

And what I want to say is, well, color me shocked. I just so naively assumed that, even after hearing all the facts played and replayed, there was no way the Razorbacks' boosters would get rid of this guy because, despite this set of questionable judgment calls, they did hire him fully aware of his numerous other questionable judgment calls and, bottom line, he wins football games.

Sure, I agree with his firing, less so because of the newest set of boneheaded decisions, but because he never fully paid the karmic price for his previous slime ball maneuvers.  He bolted as head coach of an NFL franchise, in the middle of the season, after reassuring the owner he was fully committed to the team. And how did he tell his professional players? He left them little notes in their lockers. And you thought Berger (AKA: Peter from "Office Space") breaking up with Carrie Bradshaw by post-it note was bad. Sheesh.

In the aftermath of this critically "brave" decision by Arkansas' Athletic Director, Twitter is all a'tweet with righteous indignation. What I wish everyone in every facet of life, including college sports, would do is just step away from the podium of political correctness and be honest about things.

Wouldn't that be refreshing? What if Bobby Petrino just came out and said, "Yeah, I know I'm a tool bag, but you know what? I'll probably get another coaching offer before the sun sets this weekend because I win on the field. And winning college football games is the ultimate offering at the shrine of the almighty dollar. So, who cares what I do, because in the end I'll get another gig somewhere, just like I did the last umpteen times I screwed some program over and if you hire me, I'll probably do it to you, too, but you won't care because in the interim between now and then, I'll win. And your school will get to go to a bowl game and be paid millions of dollars and the fans will love me for it in that moment and you will make even more money."

Wow. That would be utopia. I would seriously not know what to do with myself. I think everyone would ultimately see the addiction it could be to tell the truth and then it would catch fire just like Tebowing. Or Facebook. We'd all be telling the truth and living with integrity, even if that truth were inconvenient or ugly. At least all the cards would be on the table, instead of couched in passive aggressiveness and innuendo and blatant lies.

But, until then, we are stuck with things the way they are. And Bobby Petrino will move on to another day, another several million dollars.

Maybe this time, at least he won't pretend it's for the long haul.

A Few of Your Favorite Things...

Here is the first picture I took of ol' Franco P. on his actual birthday. See that little hand trying to escape the swaddle?

By now, we all now full well that he needed to get in some fist pumps, a trademark characteristic. Often, his fists pump so furiously you can not get a good shot of him. Sometimes it looks like this:

If you are lucky enough to see him fist pump properly, then you will know that what I say is true. I certainly hope this quirk continues, but it might not, and what if we all forgot about it in the end? Tragic. 

That is why I have to document Franco's favorite things as of his nearly three whole months on this earth, leaving out the obvious eating and sleeping and various other activities shared equally by all newborns. Here we go:

**The aforementioned fist pumps, which can also evolve into karate chops

**Kicking furiously,  usually accompanied by dramatic arm movements, but not always

**Wearing mitts:

**Going on adventures, be it to the mall or to eat in a restaurant or to court with his disgruntled attorney mom or to friends' houses. Franco is always up for an outting

**Listening to sports on the television - a trait well-valued in this household

**The bouncy seat so generously leant to us by Auntie Mary Katherine

**The silly sisters (AKA Emma and Gracie) even when licking like the dickens

**Deep thinking and pondering the future - or something along those lines:

Such a long list for such a young little guy! We'll all anxiously await the continuing saga as it unfolds before our very eyes! Stay tuned...

What Have You Done Lately?

This is William Franco Stark Poling. On January 5, 2012, he joined our little family. We call him Franco. (See the Steelers' binky beside him in the picture? That should give you all the clues you need as to where his awesome moniker originated.)

I would blame my lack of blogging on him, but let's face it: that would be only slightly correct. I hope to remedy this slack attitude, now that I have a new muse about whom to...muse.

So, I will start with a letter I wrote to ol' Franco when he was about a month old. Someday, I hope he reads it with joy. For now, I hope you will do the honors!

Dear Baby Franco,

It took me a long time to decide to have a baby. Lots of factors played into my winding road to motherhood, but there was one striking catalyst: when I watched the sweet movie “Waitress” (which your dad refers to simply as “that f---ing pie movie”) and heard Keri Russell sing that darling pie song to her unborn baby, something changed within me. I knew someday I wanted to sing that lullaby to my own child and thus began my journey.

Fast-forward several years: I found out about you on the same weekend that Prince William married Kate Middleton and the world succumbed to Pippa mania. In the exact moment, I cried like a knocked-up teenager, even though I totally wanted you, because extreme change brings extreme anxiety.  And because “Glamour” magazine had indicated it would take a year and a half of hard work for an old woman like me to get pregnant and I had only been sort of trying for three months. Like a true procrastinator, I reasoned I had more time. But, you were on the way, and after the shock wore off, I was super excited.

When I told your dad, he did not cry a lick. He ran out and told everyone he knows (and some people I’m pretty sure he doesn’t) all about the good news. I, on the other hand, told only a handful of folks. Your Grand-papa, my dad, responded by telling me it was “nice” but that he was watching a hockey game so “talk to your mom”, who promptly said, “That’s not true.” Finally, after I questioned who prank-calls something like this, she believed me, and no one waited as impatiently for your arrival as she did. Except maybe my sister, your Auntie Rebeccah. I’m pretty sure she started buying you trinkets the very next day.

At first, I didn’t look any different from the outside, so I just kept my own mouth shut.  I’m different from your dad like that. I knew right away you were there, though, because all of a sudden I craved cake and sweeties, which is not at all typical for me. Your dad and I called you our “little punkin” while speculating whether you were a boy or a girl. I went ahead with all the things I normally do. I took my dance classes and participated in the annual recital.  I hung out with our friends at the pool and went to the beach with the dogs and kept up with my job and played Mrs. Mayor in “Suessical.” Even though I often felt sick and took more naps than usual, I persevered. (I think all that candy you liked helped me out considerably!)

On your dad’s and my 11^th wedding anniversary, we had a delightful lunch at the Knife and Fork restaurant before heading for my ultrasound to find out your gender. At first, you were quite modest and they told us we were having a girl and we smiled. A half hour later, it was clear you were, indeed, a boy and your dad shouted so loudly in glee I think he startled half the hospital. He later told me he had initial flashes of endless sequins and dance recitals and I reminded him that could still be the case, and we each vowed to love you no matter what. Later that evening, before one of the final “Suessical” performances, I got you two stuffies: a Cat in the Hat and Horton the Elephant, the first things I ever bought for you myself.

Pretty soon after that, football season started. We traveled to the WVU home games, planning all the way for your inclusion in the coming years and reveling in my growing belly, a reminder that you were getting bigger and stronger and preparing to join us soon. Throughout autumn, we lived and breathed football. We took a trip to see the Steelers for a Sunday night game where I bought you a Steelers monkey and you kicked furiously every time Heinz Field got super loud. (Which was the entire evening!) Your dad and I made big plans for the next time we visited Pittsburgh, when you were out of the belly and could enjoy it with us. Later that month, your Grand-mama and Auntie Rebeccah put on the most awesome baby shower ever, where all the people who love you the most celebrated you with laughter and presents - and lots and lots of cake.

You and I spent Thanksgiving with my crazy family in Ohio and met your dad and all our friends at the Backyard Brawl in Morgantown where we had the best time at a football game all season.  By now, I was really a great big fat person, and your dad and I talked all the time about what you looked like and whether you would get here by Christmas. We decorated the house and trees and wrapped our gifts early, just in case.

However, you stayed firmly put. Our holiday season was mostly a long, anxious baby watch. We went to tons of movies over the Christmas break and we always wondered whether we would see the endings or have to rush to the hospital. One day, I ate spicy Chinese food and played “Just Dance” on the Wii for hours trying to get you to join the world, but you seemed comfortable right where you were.

January 3^rd – your due date – came and went. I remember that night we ate spaghetti and meatballs with gingerbread pudding and sugar cookies for desert. I wondered whether that would be my last meal without a baby. And guess what? The next morning, my water broke and even though Dr. Rogers had told me it would not be like the movies, it totally was! All I could think of was “Sex and the City” where Charlotte’s water breaks in the street – it was pretty much exactly like that, only I was at home in my pajamas. Your dad was shaving when I told him and he hurried up to call off work and we went to the hospital a few hours later.

Even though we were all ready, you were not. Twelve hours after all that excitement, and just at the start of the WVU Orange Bowl game against Clemson, I was induced into labor. While Dr. Rogers, your dad, and I all watched the Mountaineers beat up on the Tigers in a BCS Bowl-setting record, you were slowly making some progress to meet us. However, it just wasn’t working out, no matter that I tried to push you out the old fashioned way for three-plus hours. At 5:30 in the morning, we all decided we couldn’t wait any longer and we rolled on to the OR to get you out already.

Your dad saw you first, and he cried when he told me you had a cone on the side of your head from trying to push out that way. Your first cries sounded like a bird. A few minutes later, they let me see you all wrapped up and I thought you were the cutest baby ever. You kissed my nose. A little while later, your Uncle Dr. Chad, came to me and told me you were “one healthy kid.” When I finally got to hold you, you started breastfeeding right away, like we’d been at it for years.

Later that night, after we had recovered a bit from our long ventures, we snuggled in our hospital bed, just the two of us. I ate a cheeseburger and we watched “Chelsea Lately” on E! and you slept so peacefully in my arms, like you had always been here.

And now, you are always here. You are already growing so fast. Your dad and I love to look at you and laugh about how you are just your dad in a baby body. Sometimes you cry, but it doesn’t bother us too much. We will fight sometimes over who gets to hold you.

You and I still do lots of snuggling while watching fun stuff on TV, like Jersey Shore and Dance Moms, and your dad yells at me for my crappy shows – but so far you don’t seem to mind. You like to do karate chops with your arms and you smile when a dog licks your face. If you hear a football game, you settle down and have big wide eyes. Some of your looks remind me of my Aunt Joyce and this makes me laugh. You like when your dad gives you a bath, but you are not a fan of manicures or wardrobe changes. You love when your dad plays the guitar.

And you do seem to like the pie song when I sing it to you. Just like I somehow always knew you would.

Love, Your Mum