I know I have said this many of times before, but, as moms, we so, so, so, far too often judge one another. Did you see how she was holding him? Did you see how filthy her bathroom was? Good lord that dinner was overcooked! She does what? Cloth diapers are gross. Her baby sleeps in her bed? She is one of those moms. She only buys organic. She makes Kraft! .
The sad news...these are just a few of the things we say about each other. Some are far worse. Far, far worse.
Whether you are a friend, a mom yourself, a woman with baby fever, a woman with a positive pregnancy test in your hand, or a woman desperately trying to conceive, please know:
I am not your competition.
I am your advocate.
I am your biggest fan.
I am your supporter.
I am just like you.
I am scared too.
I mess up often.
I feed my kids Kraft.
But, most importantly, I am not your competition.
How many of us confide in our mothers? For support-for an uplifting conversation? For a simple, it is going to be okay? I know I do. I know that at times, without her support, I may literally crumble and break in two. Why then, can we not do that for one another?
We are all mothers, or wanting to be, or trying to be. So why then, can we not help each other? Support each other? I will tell you why. We all feel as if we are in constant competition. We often compare what we do to what every other mother is doing. We break each other down. We judge. We question. We gossip. However, too much praise on your mothering skills-there is just no such thing! So, just in case no one has told you today, or this month, or this year, or in your lifetime:
You are doing such an amazing job.
There is no job on this planet as demanding as motherhood.
Your kids love you so much.
You deserve a metal.
The amount of clean clothes, toilets, floors, baseboards, and fans in your house is just right.
You are making the right choices.
You are doing what is best for your children.
You are sexy.
You are not my competition.
Sometimes, I really get it right. My kids are clean and well behaved, or my dinner party is perfection. My house is clean, and I cook in heels. My husband smacks my butt in appreciation/affection or slow dances with me in the kitchen. But, sometimes, I get it all wrong! I don't wash my hair. My son sleeps in my bed-every.night. I yell, or worse, scream. I go to bed with black feet because my hardwood floors are filthy. My kids wear dirty socks. My daughter doesn't shower for two days. I make chicken nuggets twice in one week. My husband wants nothing to do with me. All these things are true, sometimes. But, at the end of the day, I am a mom. I am going to make mistakes. I am going to compare myself to all of you.
Finally, I am going to do my very best to remind myself that you are not my competition, and I am not yours. We are all in this together. Whether we agree with one another or not-we are on the same team. We all have the same goal in mind. We all just want to be good mothers. To raise our kids right. To love them unconditionally and if we are lucky-get a fraction of that love right back.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Friday, October 10, 2014
I was fifteen in 1999
Today I am thirty. Thirty I am. I do not like it Sam I am.
But I have not cried yet.
The deal is, turning 30 is no biggy. It is just another day. Technically, I am only a day older than I was yesterday. 29 and 1 day. What I don't like is that time, all the sudden, is not my friend.
I am not in my twenties any more. No big deal.
I am officially an adult. Maybe I was a while ago? No big deal.
Yesterday I was 29, and one year ago yesterday, I was 28.
All of these things are true.
Am I sad, no. Am I older, yes. Do I feel old, kinda.
In reflection of being on this earth for a short thirty years (I pray I am granted many, many more), here are some thoughts:
In my twenties, I made mistakes-lots of them. I cannot believe that only nine years ago today I was turning 21. How much I have changed in that short time is astounding, unbelievable really. But really, I am not all that different now than I was then. Am I wiser, yes. Am I smarter, maybe. More educated-sure. More tolerant, yes. More patient, depends on the day. I just don't feel like I am all that different.
About two years ago, my uncle Jimmy passed away. Afterward, we watched lots of in home videos, like you often do after you lose someone. It is that last effort to remember them as they were. In the moments you watch, they are still there with you. It was like that while we watched him laugh and dance, and talk to his reflection in the mirror. When I watched those videos with my parents and aunts and uncles and friends, I realized something. My parents had known Jimmy longer than I had been alive. In the videos, they themselves were only in their twenties. It made me take a moment and step back. It made me realize that my parents, my parents, were once just like me. Just yesterday, they were having toga parties and dancing and singing into all hours of the night. My mom had four children by then, all sound asleep (yeah right!) across the street. They were exactly the same as they are now. I realized that soon, I would be their age- and watching videos that were twenty years old would make me feel as if time had stolen something from me, but offered me a gift all the same. I cant rewind and re-do things I have done. I cannot re-make memories already made. What I can do is look back at them. Some still feel like yesterday, like my wedding, my children's births, my college graduation. Some feel as if they were an entirely different lifetime ago, like ghost in the graveyard on a Friday night in Hamby. But they are all mine. When I see my mom and dad look at Addison and Lucas, when I see them make eye contact and nod at one another...I see exactly what they see. They see me. They see a lifetime ago when I was little. They acknowledge that this life is so damn short.
So, on my thirtieth birthday, I see it too. I see that this life has offered me thirty pretty-damn-amazing years. I have two kids that are my heart and soul. I have the most wonderful, handsome husband. I have a family that is too good for the books. I have friends that have been by my side through it all, and friends that are new to my life-all of which are always willing to throw on Togas and dance and sing into the night. I have moments of complete clarity where I know exactly what I want out of this life, and many more where I am left breathless, clueless, and stunned at what life can give and take from you.
In my next thirty years, I am going to celebrate my life. I am going to realize that thirty years from now, I will be thirty years older and I will have these 30 years worth of memories and people to cherish. And maybe, if I am lucky, I will get to see it happen all over again with my boy and girl.
Cheers!
But I have not cried yet.
The deal is, turning 30 is no biggy. It is just another day. Technically, I am only a day older than I was yesterday. 29 and 1 day. What I don't like is that time, all the sudden, is not my friend.
I am not in my twenties any more. No big deal.
I am officially an adult. Maybe I was a while ago? No big deal.
Yesterday I was 29, and one year ago yesterday, I was 28.
All of these things are true.
Am I sad, no. Am I older, yes. Do I feel old, kinda.
In reflection of being on this earth for a short thirty years (I pray I am granted many, many more), here are some thoughts:
In my twenties, I made mistakes-lots of them. I cannot believe that only nine years ago today I was turning 21. How much I have changed in that short time is astounding, unbelievable really. But really, I am not all that different now than I was then. Am I wiser, yes. Am I smarter, maybe. More educated-sure. More tolerant, yes. More patient, depends on the day. I just don't feel like I am all that different.
About two years ago, my uncle Jimmy passed away. Afterward, we watched lots of in home videos, like you often do after you lose someone. It is that last effort to remember them as they were. In the moments you watch, they are still there with you. It was like that while we watched him laugh and dance, and talk to his reflection in the mirror. When I watched those videos with my parents and aunts and uncles and friends, I realized something. My parents had known Jimmy longer than I had been alive. In the videos, they themselves were only in their twenties. It made me take a moment and step back. It made me realize that my parents, my parents, were once just like me. Just yesterday, they were having toga parties and dancing and singing into all hours of the night. My mom had four children by then, all sound asleep (yeah right!) across the street. They were exactly the same as they are now. I realized that soon, I would be their age- and watching videos that were twenty years old would make me feel as if time had stolen something from me, but offered me a gift all the same. I cant rewind and re-do things I have done. I cannot re-make memories already made. What I can do is look back at them. Some still feel like yesterday, like my wedding, my children's births, my college graduation. Some feel as if they were an entirely different lifetime ago, like ghost in the graveyard on a Friday night in Hamby. But they are all mine. When I see my mom and dad look at Addison and Lucas, when I see them make eye contact and nod at one another...I see exactly what they see. They see me. They see a lifetime ago when I was little. They acknowledge that this life is so damn short.
So, on my thirtieth birthday, I see it too. I see that this life has offered me thirty pretty-damn-amazing years. I have two kids that are my heart and soul. I have the most wonderful, handsome husband. I have a family that is too good for the books. I have friends that have been by my side through it all, and friends that are new to my life-all of which are always willing to throw on Togas and dance and sing into the night. I have moments of complete clarity where I know exactly what I want out of this life, and many more where I am left breathless, clueless, and stunned at what life can give and take from you.
In my next thirty years, I am going to celebrate my life. I am going to realize that thirty years from now, I will be thirty years older and I will have these 30 years worth of memories and people to cherish. And maybe, if I am lucky, I will get to see it happen all over again with my boy and girl.
Cheers!
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Cauliflower Fried Rice
Yeah...another cooking post. Zane made me do it.
For those of you who already knew about this, I am mad at you for not sharing.
For those of you, like me, that had no clue-I am doing you the favor of sharing.
Cauliflower fried rice is delicious. I mean really, really delicious. My son picked up his bowl and started licking up the remaining bits his spoon couldn't capture. My husband said he would never need to eat fried rice again, which is likely an overstatement-and a lie. Addison added ranch dressing to hers-ugh! Seven year olds! I hadn't planned on sharing this recipe, so pardon the not so great photos (and complete lack of progress photos). I only took photos to share with Zane. I paired this with teryaki marinated Coho Salmon. (equal parts teryaki sauce, dijon mustard, minced garlic, dash of black pepper and thyme)
The recipes I loosely followed called for sesame oil and scallions (neither of which I had). This one turned out wonderfully, but I am quite certain it would be equally delicious with those ingredients. I also considered adding some Thai basil, but worried it would clash with my salmon marinade. But anyway-here is how I made it last night.
Cauliflower Fried Rice
4 Servings
Ingredients
1 cup frozen mixed veggies (peas and carrots)
2 shallots-minced
3 garlic cloves-minced
2 tbsp peanut oil (or sesame if you have it)
2 whole eggs (three would have been better)
1 large head cauliflower-cleaned, cut and zapped in food processor until the cauliflower has a rice like texture. You could also use a cheese grater.
1/2 cup low sodium soy sauce
Salt and Pepper to taste
Directions
1. In a large skillet or wok pan, beat and scramble eggs with a touch of salt and pepper. Remove from pan and set aside.
2. Over Medium heat saute peanut oil, shallots, garlic, and frozen veggies until soft (about 2-3 minutes). *Definitely don't decide to add more shallots and garlic after 3 minutes bringing your total cook time to 5-6 minutes (I accounted for this change in the ingredients btw) my peas could have been a bit greener, less browner.
3. Turn heat up to Medium High and add cauliflower and soy sauce. For about 8-10 minutes cover the pan/wok, removing cover often to stir the mixture. When cauliflower has a soft center and crisp outside, add eggs and turn off heat. *Don't keep adding soy sauce as I did, thinking the mixture looks too dry. It will end up being too salty. Stick with the 1/2 cup and add more once plated if necessary.
-add thai basil if you have it. I regret my choice to skip it.
Enjoy!
Ps-don't let your toddler pick up their bowl and lick the bottom, it is bad table manners and likely the beginning of a long road of licking bowls-which might just ruin his first dinner date with a sweet gal pal. Scratch that, let him lick bowls because he is still small and precious and no where near a damn dinner date! His mom is no where near ready for his first dinner date either. Not. Even. Close.
Pss-take a family golf cart ride, or any ole family ride/walk afterward. It will be really nice and your ranch dressing loving daughter and bad table mannered toddler will squeal with excitement.
For those of you who already knew about this, I am mad at you for not sharing.
For those of you, like me, that had no clue-I am doing you the favor of sharing.
Cauliflower fried rice is delicious. I mean really, really delicious. My son picked up his bowl and started licking up the remaining bits his spoon couldn't capture. My husband said he would never need to eat fried rice again, which is likely an overstatement-and a lie. Addison added ranch dressing to hers-ugh! Seven year olds! I hadn't planned on sharing this recipe, so pardon the not so great photos (and complete lack of progress photos). I only took photos to share with Zane. I paired this with teryaki marinated Coho Salmon. (equal parts teryaki sauce, dijon mustard, minced garlic, dash of black pepper and thyme)
The recipes I loosely followed called for sesame oil and scallions (neither of which I had). This one turned out wonderfully, but I am quite certain it would be equally delicious with those ingredients. I also considered adding some Thai basil, but worried it would clash with my salmon marinade. But anyway-here is how I made it last night.
Cauliflower Fried Rice
4 Servings
Ingredients
1 cup frozen mixed veggies (peas and carrots)
2 shallots-minced
3 garlic cloves-minced
2 tbsp peanut oil (or sesame if you have it)
2 whole eggs (three would have been better)
1 large head cauliflower-cleaned, cut and zapped in food processor until the cauliflower has a rice like texture. You could also use a cheese grater.
1/2 cup low sodium soy sauce
Salt and Pepper to taste
Directions
1. In a large skillet or wok pan, beat and scramble eggs with a touch of salt and pepper. Remove from pan and set aside.
2. Over Medium heat saute peanut oil, shallots, garlic, and frozen veggies until soft (about 2-3 minutes). *Definitely don't decide to add more shallots and garlic after 3 minutes bringing your total cook time to 5-6 minutes (I accounted for this change in the ingredients btw) my peas could have been a bit greener, less browner.
3. Turn heat up to Medium High and add cauliflower and soy sauce. For about 8-10 minutes cover the pan/wok, removing cover often to stir the mixture. When cauliflower has a soft center and crisp outside, add eggs and turn off heat. *Don't keep adding soy sauce as I did, thinking the mixture looks too dry. It will end up being too salty. Stick with the 1/2 cup and add more once plated if necessary.
-add thai basil if you have it. I regret my choice to skip it.
Enjoy!
Ps-don't let your toddler pick up their bowl and lick the bottom, it is bad table manners and likely the beginning of a long road of licking bowls-which might just ruin his first dinner date with a sweet gal pal. Scratch that, let him lick bowls because he is still small and precious and no where near a damn dinner date! His mom is no where near ready for his first dinner date either. Not. Even. Close.
Pss-take a family golf cart ride, or any ole family ride/walk afterward. It will be really nice and your ranch dressing loving daughter and bad table mannered toddler will squeal with excitement.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Cooking Blog?
I have been pretty obsessed with cooking blogs lately (home improvement/renovation blogs have taken a a major back seat). Since Zach and I both decided we wanted to lose a few pounds live a healthier lifestyle, we have really been watching what we eat. I love to cook, but I usually cook to taste-not to health standards. I don't necessarily cook foods and meals loaded with fat, but I am not a recipe cook and I rarely measure ingredients, for calorie purposes or otherwise. I don't think as I am pouring heavy cream into my dish is this three grams of net carbs or 200 calories worth? That is, until now.
I decided since my blog does have the word kitchen in it, I can technically mix in recipes, right? Sure. Why not?
So, I give you-Mediterranean Chicken (ish). Zach and Addison said I needed a better name, but-neither of them provided anything of sorts.
I found two recipes while browsing for something to do with my chicken thighs, and since I had a mixture of the ingredients in both, I created my own!
Serving Size: 2 (and a toddler)
Ingredients:
4 chicken thighs
1 green pepper- chopped
1/4 cup roasted red peppers - sliced
1/2 cup artichoke hearts - quartered
1 tbsp capers
1/4 cup calamata olives-sliced
3 small garlic cloves-minced
1 small yellow onion-minced
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1 - 1 1/2 cups white wine (you can sub for chicken broth)
1/2 cup heavy cream
small pinch chopped fresh parsley (optional)
salt and pepper to taste
(I didn't end up using the green olives)
1. Heat a skillet on Med-High. Add butter and olive oil. Salt and Pepper your chicken thighs and Brown thighs on both sides (make sure the skin is nice and crisp-it will soften as the sauce cooks). Remove chicken from skillet. (side note-I ended up removing my skin, so you can totally cook this sans skin if you want to skip the added fat-but your husband will devour his, so-yeah.)
2. Adjust heat to Medium. Add green pepper, garlic, and onion and saute for about 2-5 minutes (they will not be translucent or fully softened quite yet).
4. Remove lid and add heavy cream. Do not stir-simply give the pan a couple shakes. Recover on Medium- Low for about 10 minutes (sauce may bubble a bit-but do not let the sauce come to a full boil).
You can serve this over noodles, or you can serve it over cauliflower mashers with Parmesan cheese (like I did to be a good low carb girl). We hardly touched our green beans, so if you were thinking of adding them-skip it.
Enjoy!
PS-share with your toddler, they will thank you :)
I decided since my blog does have the word kitchen in it, I can technically mix in recipes, right? Sure. Why not?
So, I give you-Mediterranean Chicken (ish). Zach and Addison said I needed a better name, but-neither of them provided anything of sorts.
I found two recipes while browsing for something to do with my chicken thighs, and since I had a mixture of the ingredients in both, I created my own!
Serving Size: 2 (and a toddler)
Ingredients:
4 chicken thighs
1 green pepper- chopped
1/4 cup roasted red peppers - sliced
1/2 cup artichoke hearts - quartered
1 tbsp capers
1/4 cup calamata olives-sliced
3 small garlic cloves-minced
1 small yellow onion-minced
1 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1 - 1 1/2 cups white wine (you can sub for chicken broth)
1/2 cup heavy cream
small pinch chopped fresh parsley (optional)
salt and pepper to taste
(I didn't end up using the green olives)
1. Heat a skillet on Med-High. Add butter and olive oil. Salt and Pepper your chicken thighs and Brown thighs on both sides (make sure the skin is nice and crisp-it will soften as the sauce cooks). Remove chicken from skillet. (side note-I ended up removing my skin, so you can totally cook this sans skin if you want to skip the added fat-but your husband will devour his, so-yeah.)
2. Adjust heat to Medium. Add green pepper, garlic, and onion and saute for about 2-5 minutes (they will not be translucent or fully softened quite yet).
3. Add capers, red peppers, artichokes and olives and give the mixture a nice stir. Add salt, pepper, wine and browned chicken thighs back to the pan. With heat remaining on M, cover for approximately 20 minutes. The sauce will come to a low boil at this time-which is fine!
4. Remove lid and add heavy cream. Do not stir-simply give the pan a couple shakes. Recover on Medium- Low for about 10 minutes (sauce may bubble a bit-but do not let the sauce come to a full boil).
You can serve this over noodles, or you can serve it over cauliflower mashers with Parmesan cheese (like I did to be a good low carb girl). We hardly touched our green beans, so if you were thinking of adding them-skip it.
PS-share with your toddler, they will thank you :)
Monday, June 16, 2014
Father's Day
Yesterday was Father's Day. And, to follow suit, I have decided to post today-after the big events. I cannot claim that there were no tears yesterday, because I would be lying. Mostly just misty. Truth is, there are very few special occasions on my calendar that do not involve tears. Even drinks with my girlfriends can oftentimes lead to tears, usually laughter tears-the best kind.
Let me just preface this with: My husband absolutely hates SMA (social media affection). His stance, and I cannot say I disagree completely, is that if you truly love someone, or you are truly thankful for them, or truly happy to have spent another year of your life with them, tell them yourself, in person.
Although publicly acknowledging someone you love or appreciate does not bother or annoy me, Zach flat out cannot stand it. Ha! So, to try and avoid publicly acknowledging him too much, I will try to keep this brief.
My husband and dad truly are remarkable men in every way. Thank you so very much to my Grammy Bonnie and my mother-in-law for bringing them into this world and shaping them into such incredible fathers. I cannot imagine a single second of my life without them in it. I am completely and utterly wrapped around their fingers.
Let me just preface this with: My husband absolutely hates SMA (social media affection). His stance, and I cannot say I disagree completely, is that if you truly love someone, or you are truly thankful for them, or truly happy to have spent another year of your life with them, tell them yourself, in person.
Although publicly acknowledging someone you love or appreciate does not bother or annoy me, Zach flat out cannot stand it. Ha! So, to try and avoid publicly acknowledging him too much, I will try to keep this brief.
My husband and dad truly are remarkable men in every way. Thank you so very much to my Grammy Bonnie and my mother-in-law for bringing them into this world and shaping them into such incredible fathers. I cannot imagine a single second of my life without them in it. I am completely and utterly wrapped around their fingers.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Lucky Seven
I decided to hold off on writing this post until the day after the big seven for several reasons. For one, I thought of it yesterday and then became completely distracted and forgot. Two, birthdays are emotional at my house, and three, I just needed a minute to catch my breath after the week we have had!
When I say birthdays are emotional at my house, I fear it is a pretty big understatement. Usually it all starts with Zach saying something terribly heart wrenching such as "look how big she looks" or "did you notice how well she read that sentence, " or "she is halfway to fourteen." Ok, he didn't say the last one, but my dad did mention at lunch that 9 is the hardest age because that is when your time with them is half way up. I immediately asked him to leave and said we could never have lunch on my daughters birthday ever again. And I said a quick thanks to God that she is not 9. I mean Jesus-your time is half way up. Could those words be any harder to digest?
How my sweet little Bo Bear is seven is absolutely unfathomable to me. I mean SEVEN? I rarely use all caps-I am an italics girl, but SEVEN really deserves to be screamed. I mean 6 I could handle, 4 was a god sent because we were no longer 3 (which for those of you with 3 year olds, you know exactly what I am referring to)! 2 was tough because she was officially no longer a baby-she was a walking, talking, big girl pottying, toddler. 5 was absolutely miserable because it meant she was starting kindergarten-which is a story for an entirely separate post. SEVEN, well, it is just impossible and unbelievable. Flat out-it just came too fast! Six was a total blur. I thought she was still 5. I was still digesting 5. I was still digesting kindergarten. And now she is about to start second grade! Second grade!
So, a few words to my vivacious, smarty pants, independent SEVEN year old:
Addison,
Yesterday, you turned seven. In the grand scheme of things, this may seem like a blip. A small number and a simple age that quite plainly just followed six. Well, let me tell you-it is a lot more than that to mom and probably dad too. It signifies that for seven whole years you have been in our lives. Every single second for the last seven years you have been a part of me. You have been pulling on my heart strings and destroying my patience for nearly 2600 days (you asked how many days old you were last night when I was tucking you in and I almost had a come apart). I didn't know what life was before you baby girl. I didn't know that I could ever ever love someone so much. I didn't realize what was coming the day you came into my life. As the doctor held up your sweet little scrunchy face and balled up body (as if you were still snug inside my tummy) all I could think was holy shit how am I going to do this? Terror proceeded. Pure terror.
I wasn't a young mom-but I was the youngest among all my friends, and admittedly I wasn't quite emotionally ready to take on motherhood. I don't really know that any woman is-regardless of age. I fumbled through so very much of your early days. I read to you. I rocked you. I changed your impossibly smelly diapers. I snuggled you tightly and prayed I'd never have to let go. I laughed and cried and cried some more. I watched you get bigger and smarter and I (as much as I hate to admit) rushed to the next stages of your life. I couldn't wait to see you sit up all by yourself. I wanted so badly to hear you speak your first words (which was not ma-ma, ma-ma was seventh). I begged for the days when I wouldn't have to change diapers anymore. And then, just like that, all of that was gone. I wished it all away so quickly. Now, I spend every day wishing you would slow down. Stop growing and stop changing. I so desperately want to go back to that day in the hospital when you first came into our lives. I want to do it all over again. You will one day come to understand that there are very few things in life that are that way. Almost every experience you have will shape you, but of those, you will wish to repeat very few. You will take from them what they have given and take a step into something new. Motherhood isn't quite like that.
Being your mom has been the hardest, most trying thing in my life. We often argue. We often yell at one another and we often often forget how special and important our relationship is. You are my only daughter and my first born, and that is something that just cannot be replicated, cannot be replaced or shaken. You taught me how to be a mom. Your mom. I have wanted you in my life for as long as I can remember. Although I wish I could go back to your earlier years at times, I am so very happy in the moments we have now. You make me laugh all the time with your witty comments. You amaze me every day. I love spending time with you-sometimes feeling like I have the very best seven year old friend anyone could ask for. I love your smile (the real one) and your laugh. Your dad and I are so proud of how intelligent you are-how you dissect every situation and how you are always seeking more knowledge. I love the affect you have on the people around you. It made me so proud to receive all the birthday calls and well wishes for you yesterday. You truly are loved by so many!
So today, the less emotional day after your seventh birthday, I wish for you a year filled with days that pass just a little bit slower. I pray that you continue to grow and learn and love, and I look forward to the day when we celebrate 8 ,10, 11 (nine is officially dead to me) and so on-but please please not too soon!
I love you Bo Bear! Happy Birthday!
Mom
When I say birthdays are emotional at my house, I fear it is a pretty big understatement. Usually it all starts with Zach saying something terribly heart wrenching such as "look how big she looks" or "did you notice how well she read that sentence, " or "she is halfway to fourteen." Ok, he didn't say the last one, but my dad did mention at lunch that 9 is the hardest age because that is when your time with them is half way up. I immediately asked him to leave and said we could never have lunch on my daughters birthday ever again. And I said a quick thanks to God that she is not 9. I mean Jesus-your time is half way up. Could those words be any harder to digest?
How my sweet little Bo Bear is seven is absolutely unfathomable to me. I mean SEVEN? I rarely use all caps-I am an italics girl, but SEVEN really deserves to be screamed. I mean 6 I could handle, 4 was a god sent because we were no longer 3 (which for those of you with 3 year olds, you know exactly what I am referring to)! 2 was tough because she was officially no longer a baby-she was a walking, talking, big girl pottying, toddler. 5 was absolutely miserable because it meant she was starting kindergarten-which is a story for an entirely separate post. SEVEN, well, it is just impossible and unbelievable. Flat out-it just came too fast! Six was a total blur. I thought she was still 5. I was still digesting 5. I was still digesting kindergarten. And now she is about to start second grade! Second grade!
So, a few words to my vivacious, smarty pants, independent SEVEN year old:
Addison,
Yesterday, you turned seven. In the grand scheme of things, this may seem like a blip. A small number and a simple age that quite plainly just followed six. Well, let me tell you-it is a lot more than that to mom and probably dad too. It signifies that for seven whole years you have been in our lives. Every single second for the last seven years you have been a part of me. You have been pulling on my heart strings and destroying my patience for nearly 2600 days (you asked how many days old you were last night when I was tucking you in and I almost had a come apart). I didn't know what life was before you baby girl. I didn't know that I could ever ever love someone so much. I didn't realize what was coming the day you came into my life. As the doctor held up your sweet little scrunchy face and balled up body (as if you were still snug inside my tummy) all I could think was holy shit how am I going to do this? Terror proceeded. Pure terror.
I wasn't a young mom-but I was the youngest among all my friends, and admittedly I wasn't quite emotionally ready to take on motherhood. I don't really know that any woman is-regardless of age. I fumbled through so very much of your early days. I read to you. I rocked you. I changed your impossibly smelly diapers. I snuggled you tightly and prayed I'd never have to let go. I laughed and cried and cried some more. I watched you get bigger and smarter and I (as much as I hate to admit) rushed to the next stages of your life. I couldn't wait to see you sit up all by yourself. I wanted so badly to hear you speak your first words (which was not ma-ma, ma-ma was seventh). I begged for the days when I wouldn't have to change diapers anymore. And then, just like that, all of that was gone. I wished it all away so quickly. Now, I spend every day wishing you would slow down. Stop growing and stop changing. I so desperately want to go back to that day in the hospital when you first came into our lives. I want to do it all over again. You will one day come to understand that there are very few things in life that are that way. Almost every experience you have will shape you, but of those, you will wish to repeat very few. You will take from them what they have given and take a step into something new. Motherhood isn't quite like that.
Being your mom has been the hardest, most trying thing in my life. We often argue. We often yell at one another and we often often forget how special and important our relationship is. You are my only daughter and my first born, and that is something that just cannot be replicated, cannot be replaced or shaken. You taught me how to be a mom. Your mom. I have wanted you in my life for as long as I can remember. Although I wish I could go back to your earlier years at times, I am so very happy in the moments we have now. You make me laugh all the time with your witty comments. You amaze me every day. I love spending time with you-sometimes feeling like I have the very best seven year old friend anyone could ask for. I love your smile (the real one) and your laugh. Your dad and I are so proud of how intelligent you are-how you dissect every situation and how you are always seeking more knowledge. I love the affect you have on the people around you. It made me so proud to receive all the birthday calls and well wishes for you yesterday. You truly are loved by so many!
So today, the less emotional day after your seventh birthday, I wish for you a year filled with days that pass just a little bit slower. I pray that you continue to grow and learn and love, and I look forward to the day when we celebrate 8 ,10, 11 (nine is officially dead to me) and so on-but please please not too soon!
I love you Bo Bear! Happy Birthday!
Mom
Friday, May 9, 2014
Mom's day=total BS
As we honor our moms this weekend, or celebrate being mothers ourselves, I wanted to remind everyone (moms, daughters, and sons alike) that this holiday is bull shit. Not because I don't think being a mom should be celebrated. I think being a mom should be celebrated every day. The foundation of the idea is smart. But for goodness sakes, thank your mother more often. Buy her flowers next Wednesday and on March 11.
My mom deserves 365 days of recognition. A fact that I may not have fully realized until 6 years and 11 months ago. Becoming a mom allows you to truly honor your own. That is not to say you are unable to understand the undeniable incredibleness of your mother without having become one yourself. I knew my mom was incredible long before I had children. I knew she was incredible when I went off to college and called her 17 times a day to get directions on just about everything I did. "Do I call or email?" "Do I boil or steam?" "Do I buy the bargain brand or the name brand?" "How long?" "What temperature?" "How the hell do you fold a fitted sheet?" I remember at a parents weekend sorority event I sat at a table with 4 of my closest friends and their moms (knowing damn well my mom dislikes events like this) and listening to the other moms go on and on about how much they missed their daughters. My mom was very quiet. Finally, another mother asked my mom, "what do you miss about having Nickie at home?" My mom laughed. Sipped her wine. Then she said, and I will never forget it, "Nickie has never for one second allowed me to miss her." All the moms looked puzzled. They were most likely thinking, how could this mother not miss her daughter terribly as we miss ours? What they didn't realize is that I spoke to my mother more times in a day then their daughters called in a month. I called her before class, during class, after class, before bed, during dinner, while I went to the bathroom and thought of another question. I missed her terribly. Not in a needy way. Ha! Just in a, I cannot do anything without this woman's approval way.
During college, I moved home and transferred schools, pregnant with Addison. My neediness only worsened. Every time she kicked I asked her if that was normal. Every pound I gained I asked her if I was getting too fat. When I ate ice cream with strawberries for breakfast for a solid week, I opened the freezer the following week to find frozen yogurt. She has always known best. Maybe not for everyone. But for me. She has always known just what I need to hear. She has given tough love for most of my life. She rarely says I love you back when we hang up the phone. She isn't much of a hugger or cuddler or hair putter upper. She didn't paint my nails. She didn't get giddy seeing me in my prom dress. She is the most amazing grandmother I have ever seen. My kids fight out of my arms to be snuggled in hers. She cried at my wedding.
Now, as a mother, I rely on her more than ever. I remember when we lived downstairs and Addison got sick in the middle of the night. I was woken by Addison's pain cry-which meant I needed to get to her, and quickly. Zach beat me to her. He held her in his arms as she threw up all down his back. She was hysterical. Crying harder than I had ever heard her little body cry. She was sick. Really sick. For the first time in her short three or four month life. I grabbed her from him and went darting up the steps. Zach called up to me, "where are you going, don't you dare wake her!" But that is the thing, he knew. He knew I needed her in this moment, just as I have every single moment I can remember. I needed her to tell me she was OK. I needed her to hold me while I held her. You never outgrow the need for your mother even when you become one and you are the mother in need.
Every day, I try to be more like her. I try to be a better planner. I try to be tidier. I try to do more laundry (this one will just never ever happen). I still call her nearly every day-although now it is calls with questions about my 401K and health insurance and which car to buy and what soap to use and what to spray my stains with and how long to cook my garden beans she gave me and if I should take Lucas to the doctor again. I still invite myself to dinner when I miss her. I know that I am not her. We are very different. I don't know the quilt/fabric expression that relates to this very thing, but we are different patches-different patterns. In the world of fabric metaphors-she is solid for sure. I am floral and polka dotted. Girly-have been since day one. I like to paint my own nails once a week. I like to get dressed up. I love a slumber party. I get giddy over baking with Addison. I love planning. I love weddings. I love dresses, frills, lace, curls. I whine. I pout. Things my mother would never be caught dead doing (I think this is the raised in the south part of me). I adore decorating my house for Christmas (this is NOT a chore for me as it always was for her). I curl my hair and buy far too many handbags and shoes. But, I am like her to. I always buy things on sale. I take control. I always know what is missing. I like hand me downs. I like to walk barefoot. I love to cook. I love to be surrounded by people I love. Just like her.
So, this mothers day, and every single day, I honor her. I love her. I remind her that I love her. I ask her how the hell she did it. How she continues to do it. And she just smiles that tight smile. And in her head I like to think she is thinking "you get it." And she is right. I do. I get it. She does it because she loves her children unconditionally, whether she says it when we hang up the phone or not. She would do anything for any one of us-any day of the week-any time of the night. I die inside every second the thought crosses my mind that she won't be with me forever.
"Mommy how about Nanny keeps me sometimes-you know, I stay with her more nights."
"But mommy and daddy will miss you too much."
"Well, I can just stay with her on Mondays and Wednesdays and Thursdays and Sundays"
"That is a lot of days. Won't you miss us-me and daddy?"
"Mommy, what is the day today?"
"Wednesday."
"Take me to Nannys."
My mom deserves 365 days of recognition. A fact that I may not have fully realized until 6 years and 11 months ago. Becoming a mom allows you to truly honor your own. That is not to say you are unable to understand the undeniable incredibleness of your mother without having become one yourself. I knew my mom was incredible long before I had children. I knew she was incredible when I went off to college and called her 17 times a day to get directions on just about everything I did. "Do I call or email?" "Do I boil or steam?" "Do I buy the bargain brand or the name brand?" "How long?" "What temperature?" "How the hell do you fold a fitted sheet?" I remember at a parents weekend sorority event I sat at a table with 4 of my closest friends and their moms (knowing damn well my mom dislikes events like this) and listening to the other moms go on and on about how much they missed their daughters. My mom was very quiet. Finally, another mother asked my mom, "what do you miss about having Nickie at home?" My mom laughed. Sipped her wine. Then she said, and I will never forget it, "Nickie has never for one second allowed me to miss her." All the moms looked puzzled. They were most likely thinking, how could this mother not miss her daughter terribly as we miss ours? What they didn't realize is that I spoke to my mother more times in a day then their daughters called in a month. I called her before class, during class, after class, before bed, during dinner, while I went to the bathroom and thought of another question. I missed her terribly. Not in a needy way. Ha! Just in a, I cannot do anything without this woman's approval way.
During college, I moved home and transferred schools, pregnant with Addison. My neediness only worsened. Every time she kicked I asked her if that was normal. Every pound I gained I asked her if I was getting too fat. When I ate ice cream with strawberries for breakfast for a solid week, I opened the freezer the following week to find frozen yogurt. She has always known best. Maybe not for everyone. But for me. She has always known just what I need to hear. She has given tough love for most of my life. She rarely says I love you back when we hang up the phone. She isn't much of a hugger or cuddler or hair putter upper. She didn't paint my nails. She didn't get giddy seeing me in my prom dress. She is the most amazing grandmother I have ever seen. My kids fight out of my arms to be snuggled in hers. She cried at my wedding.
Now, as a mother, I rely on her more than ever. I remember when we lived downstairs and Addison got sick in the middle of the night. I was woken by Addison's pain cry-which meant I needed to get to her, and quickly. Zach beat me to her. He held her in his arms as she threw up all down his back. She was hysterical. Crying harder than I had ever heard her little body cry. She was sick. Really sick. For the first time in her short three or four month life. I grabbed her from him and went darting up the steps. Zach called up to me, "where are you going, don't you dare wake her!" But that is the thing, he knew. He knew I needed her in this moment, just as I have every single moment I can remember. I needed her to tell me she was OK. I needed her to hold me while I held her. You never outgrow the need for your mother even when you become one and you are the mother in need.
Every day, I try to be more like her. I try to be a better planner. I try to be tidier. I try to do more laundry (this one will just never ever happen). I still call her nearly every day-although now it is calls with questions about my 401K and health insurance and which car to buy and what soap to use and what to spray my stains with and how long to cook my garden beans she gave me and if I should take Lucas to the doctor again. I still invite myself to dinner when I miss her. I know that I am not her. We are very different. I don't know the quilt/fabric expression that relates to this very thing, but we are different patches-different patterns. In the world of fabric metaphors-she is solid for sure. I am floral and polka dotted. Girly-have been since day one. I like to paint my own nails once a week. I like to get dressed up. I love a slumber party. I get giddy over baking with Addison. I love planning. I love weddings. I love dresses, frills, lace, curls. I whine. I pout. Things my mother would never be caught dead doing (I think this is the raised in the south part of me). I adore decorating my house for Christmas (this is NOT a chore for me as it always was for her). I curl my hair and buy far too many handbags and shoes. But, I am like her to. I always buy things on sale. I take control. I always know what is missing. I like hand me downs. I like to walk barefoot. I love to cook. I love to be surrounded by people I love. Just like her.
So, this mothers day, and every single day, I honor her. I love her. I remind her that I love her. I ask her how the hell she did it. How she continues to do it. And she just smiles that tight smile. And in her head I like to think she is thinking "you get it." And she is right. I do. I get it. She does it because she loves her children unconditionally, whether she says it when we hang up the phone or not. She would do anything for any one of us-any day of the week-any time of the night. I die inside every second the thought crosses my mind that she won't be with me forever.
"Mommy how about Nanny keeps me sometimes-you know, I stay with her more nights."
"But mommy and daddy will miss you too much."
"Well, I can just stay with her on Mondays and Wednesdays and Thursdays and Sundays"
"That is a lot of days. Won't you miss us-me and daddy?"
"Mommy, what is the day today?"
"Wednesday."
"Take me to Nannys."
Monday, March 31, 2014
I want. I want. I want.
I have been reading a lot of posts lately (correction-I have been tearing up at my desk while reading a bunch of posts) about things we, as parents, hope for our children. And, to follow suit, I thought I would share some of my own. Just as a preface, I have not made a mental list (as I almost always do) before sitting down to write this. I have not jotted notes either. Basically, I have not done what I normally do, pretty much one hundred percent of the time, which is-write in my head before on paper/screen-so be prepared for this list to be all over the place. Some for my sweet baby boy and some for my over-the-top six year old precious lady. Most of all, all for both.
Firstly (although this is not a word, it should be), I hope they experience love. Every single day. I hope they know what it is to be loved and they know how to love someone in return. Not just mom and dad (but please oh please let them love us unconditionally too). I hope that their love is smart. And silly. And a mess. I hope that they love more than once. I hope that their fist love spares their heart just long enough to love again, and maybe again and again. Most of all, I hope they understand that there are all kinds of love in this world and that each is unique and special. Sometimes I am bursting with it and other times I have hated the very four letters that encompass such a terribly difficult emotion. I want all of that for them. Both.
Second, I want them to work hard. I want them to understand that iPads and NintendoDS are not the root of the world. That there is more to life than Disney princesses and sticks you carry around a gnaw on. And that, in order to have those things-to earn those things (although you don't have to earn sticks per say), you need to work for them. You need to work hard. And I can only hope they enjoy what they do-enough to where it doesn't affect the great parts of life (well, the hours and days that are left after the 40).
I want them to be intelligent. A pluses and high markings are not what I am referring to-although those ain't half bad ;) I want them to make good choices, which is not to say I don't want them to make mistakes...I know that is inevitable. But intelligence allows for constant learning and constant growing. Which sums it up-I want them to constantly learn and constantly grow. I want them to question (this, I do not fear Addison has missed-she questions just about every single thing that is spoken in her direction). I want them to ponder. I want them to be afraid of the vastness of the universe but I also want them to be ever-curious (like their dad-as I have missed the mark on this one).
I pray that they get so exited about something, or somethings, that they cannot stand the idea of living life without having experienced them. For me, this is not lost. There are so many things I love-that I cherish every day. I am simple. I know this. I get oh-so-very excited when the weather is warm like today (after several days of cold). I can almost feel my six minute quiet commute with the windows down and warm sun beaming on me (before the kids join me). I get excited when it is Wednesday because that means tomorrow is Thursday and that is only one day from Friday. I get excited when I cook something new and it works out-like really works out-like I want more instantly kind of works out. I get absolutely thrilled when I make a list that makes it to the refrigerator and gets even one check mark placed. I am telling you, I am simple. I want that for them. I want them to understand and appreciate all the simple pleasures of life.
I hope they have days where they do nothing and everything all at once. I hope they have memories that are made and never forgotten-ever. I hope that in certain moments they stop and think I will never forget this moment-ever. Like singing into antique furniture dusters with your aunts, at the very top of your lungs, way past bedtime! Like driving across a corn field in an old Oldsmobile for the very first time. Like listening to Red Rag Top when your parents bring home a new Lexus. Like the first hug you share with your husband having no idea at the time that is who he will turn out to be. Like bringing babies into this world. Oh. My. Goodness. bringing babies. Like sneaking around your grandmothers house with cousins looking for treasures. Or strutting down the street singing with cousins. Or making rabbit traps with cousins. Or playing in small parks in Iowa with cousins-talking about life at twelve years old. Or walking down the isle. Having siblings to share memories with-both good and bad, pretty and ugly. (You're welcome for that kids).
I realize by now that each of the things I have listed are things that I love about my life. But I suppose that is what a wish list is. Wishing that all the good things you have in your life are not missed on your children. FAMILY is definitely one that does not get written off (hence all the mention of cousins, siblings, etc). I have come to realize that families really range wildly across the board. Yes, I have really only just come to realize this. When I was younger, I knew not everyone went home to what I went home to. I had friends that raised their parents, friends that didn't have parents around at all, friends with two moms, friends with single parents, friends with parents that suffered from addiction-really I had seen it all. But, it wasn't until my adult life that I gained a real appreciation for the differences rather than thinking I had it better than they did. Some would argue that I did. Shoot-sometimes I would still argue that. But, I have also learned that families come in all shapes and sizes (these are the exact words I share with Addison). Some people simply call their friends their family. Some of us have huge families that share everything (oftentimes too much) and some of us have one or two people in which we list as family. Some people wish they didn't have family (this I cannot fathom and makes me terribly sad). So basically, I want my kids to know that family (whatever shape or size it may come in) is forever. It is thick and thin. It is have your back always. It is sing past bedtime into furniture brushes and share life with. It is every thing.
There are so very many more things I am sure, but as I mentioned, this was not a well plotted planned out list. It was merely a quick response to all these lists I have read recently that touched my heart just a little - or a lot in most cases (my heart is very easily touched). My heartstrings are very easily tuggable, if you will :) Most of all, I want them to have the good stuff from Zach and I. I want to not screw things up too badly. I want them to love me as much as I undeniably cannot-get-enoughaly love them and my parents alike- and I want them to have the things I want them to have. Did I say want too much in this post. I am pretty sure I did.
Firstly (although this is not a word, it should be), I hope they experience love. Every single day. I hope they know what it is to be loved and they know how to love someone in return. Not just mom and dad (but please oh please let them love us unconditionally too). I hope that their love is smart. And silly. And a mess. I hope that they love more than once. I hope that their fist love spares their heart just long enough to love again, and maybe again and again. Most of all, I hope they understand that there are all kinds of love in this world and that each is unique and special. Sometimes I am bursting with it and other times I have hated the very four letters that encompass such a terribly difficult emotion. I want all of that for them. Both.
Second, I want them to work hard. I want them to understand that iPads and NintendoDS are not the root of the world. That there is more to life than Disney princesses and sticks you carry around a gnaw on. And that, in order to have those things-to earn those things (although you don't have to earn sticks per say), you need to work for them. You need to work hard. And I can only hope they enjoy what they do-enough to where it doesn't affect the great parts of life (well, the hours and days that are left after the 40).
I want them to be intelligent. A pluses and high markings are not what I am referring to-although those ain't half bad ;) I want them to make good choices, which is not to say I don't want them to make mistakes...I know that is inevitable. But intelligence allows for constant learning and constant growing. Which sums it up-I want them to constantly learn and constantly grow. I want them to question (this, I do not fear Addison has missed-she questions just about every single thing that is spoken in her direction). I want them to ponder. I want them to be afraid of the vastness of the universe but I also want them to be ever-curious (like their dad-as I have missed the mark on this one).
I pray that they get so exited about something, or somethings, that they cannot stand the idea of living life without having experienced them. For me, this is not lost. There are so many things I love-that I cherish every day. I am simple. I know this. I get oh-so-very excited when the weather is warm like today (after several days of cold). I can almost feel my six minute quiet commute with the windows down and warm sun beaming on me (before the kids join me). I get excited when it is Wednesday because that means tomorrow is Thursday and that is only one day from Friday. I get excited when I cook something new and it works out-like really works out-like I want more instantly kind of works out. I get absolutely thrilled when I make a list that makes it to the refrigerator and gets even one check mark placed. I am telling you, I am simple. I want that for them. I want them to understand and appreciate all the simple pleasures of life.
I hope they have days where they do nothing and everything all at once. I hope they have memories that are made and never forgotten-ever. I hope that in certain moments they stop and think I will never forget this moment-ever. Like singing into antique furniture dusters with your aunts, at the very top of your lungs, way past bedtime! Like driving across a corn field in an old Oldsmobile for the very first time. Like listening to Red Rag Top when your parents bring home a new Lexus. Like the first hug you share with your husband having no idea at the time that is who he will turn out to be. Like bringing babies into this world. Oh. My. Goodness. bringing babies. Like sneaking around your grandmothers house with cousins looking for treasures. Or strutting down the street singing with cousins. Or making rabbit traps with cousins. Or playing in small parks in Iowa with cousins-talking about life at twelve years old. Or walking down the isle. Having siblings to share memories with-both good and bad, pretty and ugly. (You're welcome for that kids).
I realize by now that each of the things I have listed are things that I love about my life. But I suppose that is what a wish list is. Wishing that all the good things you have in your life are not missed on your children. FAMILY is definitely one that does not get written off (hence all the mention of cousins, siblings, etc). I have come to realize that families really range wildly across the board. Yes, I have really only just come to realize this. When I was younger, I knew not everyone went home to what I went home to. I had friends that raised their parents, friends that didn't have parents around at all, friends with two moms, friends with single parents, friends with parents that suffered from addiction-really I had seen it all. But, it wasn't until my adult life that I gained a real appreciation for the differences rather than thinking I had it better than they did. Some would argue that I did. Shoot-sometimes I would still argue that. But, I have also learned that families come in all shapes and sizes (these are the exact words I share with Addison). Some people simply call their friends their family. Some of us have huge families that share everything (oftentimes too much) and some of us have one or two people in which we list as family. Some people wish they didn't have family (this I cannot fathom and makes me terribly sad). So basically, I want my kids to know that family (whatever shape or size it may come in) is forever. It is thick and thin. It is have your back always. It is sing past bedtime into furniture brushes and share life with. It is every thing.
There are so very many more things I am sure, but as I mentioned, this was not a well plotted planned out list. It was merely a quick response to all these lists I have read recently that touched my heart just a little - or a lot in most cases (my heart is very easily touched). My heartstrings are very easily tuggable, if you will :) Most of all, I want them to have the good stuff from Zach and I. I want to not screw things up too badly. I want them to love me as much as I undeniably cannot-get-enoughaly love them and my parents alike- and I want them to have the things I want them to have. Did I say want too much in this post. I am pretty sure I did.
Friday, March 14, 2014
So...I'm thinking
I really don't quite have a pinpoint on what this post will encompass. Actually, I haven't a clue. I just felt like sharing today. With Hunter and Stacey's wedding looming - it is tomorrow we have been busy doing some prep at home. Zach has been working on their wedding gift for what feels like weeks and I have been tyring my darnedest to keep the house somewhat clean for the in law visit. Lucas and I have both been battling not feeling 100% this week-so I am really hoping my stomach will hush up for the busy weekend ahead. Doubtfully.
I have been following home renovation blogs like a fiend, which has lit a small candle under my butt, if you will. I was able to sand, paint and change out the hardware on all my top kitchen cabinets this past weekend, and now I am dying to get the bottom ones done! What a difference! I had a little help from Robyn, Addie and Zach (all he did was hang them back up for me-I only steal his credit bc I very rarely do a project without his help and I feel like I did on this one). On my sick day this week I also cleaned out the linen closet (it needs a major makeover, but tidiness was first on the list), organized under the bathroom sink (we still had moving boxes under there-driving both Zach and I a little nuts), and cleaned my master closet shelves off with one trash bag donation bag to goodwill. I'm sure I could have accumulated about six bags, but it was a skim clean not a deep clean. I am really ready (ready for Zach) to get the stairs painted and put up a railing and do something about the kitchen floors-asap! Right now we don't have a washing machine and we are expecting a new free stainless gas oven and fridge in the upcoming weeks, so I have a feeling I will have to wait a bit longer...as those things will come first. As much as I enjoy my mom being my laundromat, I have a sneaking suspicion she is over it!
Aside from weekend madness and house renovations, not too much is new. Spring is just around the corner and I cannot wait to see some greenery in the yard again. Barren trees and mud (as oppose to leaf covered dirt) is getting pretty old. Hopefully the sun room will get a phase 1 makeover (cannot quite fit in the time or budget for a phase 2 update just yet) very soon. Here I am talking about home renovations again, I am telling you all the blogging and pinning has started to corrupt my brain.
I promise to post some pics of the house soon. I was looking at some before pics yesterday and it is amazing how much we (again, Zach) have really accomplished!
Have a great weekend, y'all!
I have been following home renovation blogs like a fiend, which has lit a small candle under my butt, if you will. I was able to sand, paint and change out the hardware on all my top kitchen cabinets this past weekend, and now I am dying to get the bottom ones done! What a difference! I had a little help from Robyn, Addie and Zach (all he did was hang them back up for me-I only steal his credit bc I very rarely do a project without his help and I feel like I did on this one). On my sick day this week I also cleaned out the linen closet (it needs a major makeover, but tidiness was first on the list), organized under the bathroom sink (we still had moving boxes under there-driving both Zach and I a little nuts), and cleaned my master closet shelves off with one trash bag donation bag to goodwill. I'm sure I could have accumulated about six bags, but it was a skim clean not a deep clean. I am really ready (ready for Zach) to get the stairs painted and put up a railing and do something about the kitchen floors-asap! Right now we don't have a washing machine and we are expecting a new free stainless gas oven and fridge in the upcoming weeks, so I have a feeling I will have to wait a bit longer...as those things will come first. As much as I enjoy my mom being my laundromat, I have a sneaking suspicion she is over it!
Aside from weekend madness and house renovations, not too much is new. Spring is just around the corner and I cannot wait to see some greenery in the yard again. Barren trees and mud (as oppose to leaf covered dirt) is getting pretty old. Hopefully the sun room will get a phase 1 makeover (cannot quite fit in the time or budget for a phase 2 update just yet) very soon. Here I am talking about home renovations again, I am telling you all the blogging and pinning has started to corrupt my brain.
I promise to post some pics of the house soon. I was looking at some before pics yesterday and it is amazing how much we (again, Zach) have really accomplished!
Have a great weekend, y'all!
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Holy How do I Decide
Over dinner with my best friend, we got onto the topic of being a mom (among so many other topics-I don't know how we ever stay on track). She is not a mom. I am a mom of 2. How we, moms that is, get on the topic of being moms even with friends that are not moms is a bit depressing. We should be talking about recipes, shopping, traveling, dating, or shoes, or shoes...or anything but being a mom in the moment when we don't have to be. Either way-we were talking about it. I was basically telling her that being a mom leaves you with a multitude of questions and decisions that are nearly impossible to answer or decide upon. So here is my list (because bloggers love lists, right?). I will preface this list with the reminder that I do not have it all figured out. I have never claimed to. I, in fact, know that I never will.
1. Vaccines-holy moly Lord Almighty help me now. To immunize or not to immunize. That is the question. Have I mentioned that in my lifetime (mere 29 years-yes I said mere) I have never heard of, met, or been in the presence of a Polio or Rubella patient. Not one. Not ever. (Please don't fact check me here, this is a rant people). However, we continue month after month, to shoot our kids with vaccines that their usually obnoxious pediatricians suggest we get-slash if you don't you'll need to look for a new doctor. I was recently at the doctor with Lucas for an ear infection when all the sudden the nurse strides in with a tray full of shots. Um...."What are those for?" "Says here Lucas is 13 months old and he has not had his 12 month vaccines." This is when the fight started. I no longer attend that pediatrician. Not because I smothered that nurse with the stuffed bear in the corner, but because I wanted to (after she gave him the shots-I don't like confrontation and I cave easily-another not so perfect mom trait).
2. Organic. JESUS! Another thing we have to consider. Daily. And not without scrutiny from both sides. Do you feed your child whole, natural ingredients? Do you make your own baby food? Do you milk a damn goat in your sunroom in suburbia for some fresh off the teet goats milk? Um...no! I give my kid broken up french fries and Mexican rice if that is what I am eating...and I buy organic Gerber baby food if it is on sale at Publix-does that count? Which leads me to...
3. Breastfeeding. The holy grail of being the perfect mother these days. If you don't breastfeed-you are evil, selfish, etc. Yes! These are real descriptions of mothers -from other mothers about the choice not to breastfeed. I got a frantic text from a close friend just yesterday asking if it was "OK to quit." How I would have felt if I had quit. Would I ever have quit. These questions from a woman battling thrush. Yikes! The pressure. I breastfed. It was a love hate relationship-the relationship between the me that wanted to, the me that didn't want to, and the me that refused after all the pain, infections, and postpartum sobbing to give up. Do I judge others for not breastfeeding? NO! Why? Because, like me, they are mothers. We should all stick together. Lean on each other. Confide in one another. If nothing else, we should sleep soundly (yeah, right!) knowing that at least one group of people are not judging our every move. We have our mother in laws to do that. Mine is wonderful. I was only kidding.
4. Education. My daughter is in first grade. I have a degree in Education. However, for some reason-I cannot quite get this one together. I am that mom. The one that forgets the return daily folder. The one that does homework on Thursday nights or Friday mornings in the carpool line-or not at all. I don't empty or go through her backpack-ever. Do I know how important my daughters education is? Yes! Do I have time for site word practice-NO! OK-yes, but NO! Do I read with my daughter, yes. Do I listen to her read, unfortunately- yes again. Education is a toughy. I thank my lucky stars I don't socialize or count myself among a group that get on wait lists for preschool and pay college tuition type bucks for kindergarten. I wouldn't survive it. I'd get kicked out the first week-probably for not joining the PTA or burning baked goods for the bake sale or returning the return every day folder once a month. I am not judging those people-simply stating that I get enough questioning and scrutinizing for the aforementioned things. Education is very important y'all-but so is bath time and dinner and ballet, and clean laundry, and sex.
5. Birthday Parties, Sleep Overs, Play Dates, Laundry, Cooking, Cleaning, Teething, Diapering, Appointment making, Grocery Shopping, Breastfeeding/Pumping, Bathing, Singing, Dancing, Cartoon Watching, Choo Choo Train Sound Making, and more. This is just a quick summed up list of things that moms do alongside making all these huge decisions every day.
Are we going to screw up our kids? If we decide to skip a vaccine will our children get Polio, Measles, Mumps? If we decide to vaccinate, will they develop autism? Who knows. Not me. If I forget to return her folder, or feed my son fried pickles with ranch dipping sauce, are they going to die, become obese, get Polio? Are they going to be sub par human beings? I can't say. What if, God forbid, we use regular bumper pads rather than the new breathable ones? What if we let our infants sleep in our beds, or on their tummies, or in our arms, or in their car seats? What if we buckle the car seat in wrong. I'm telling you-some of these things are life or death. And all of these things are questions we face almost every day as parents. It is a tough job. No one will ever tell you otherwise. Buy hey, I am here and my mom chose the answers to all these questions. Did she have help? Yes. Did she ask for it. Sometimes. The only thing I can do for now is seek advice from other moms, talk to my husband, my mom, his mom, my grandmother, my cashier at the grocery store, or vent to my single best friend over lobster tail dinner. Because at the end of the day-we all have the same answers. Some right. Some wrong. Some in between.
1. Vaccines-holy moly Lord Almighty help me now. To immunize or not to immunize. That is the question. Have I mentioned that in my lifetime (mere 29 years-yes I said mere) I have never heard of, met, or been in the presence of a Polio or Rubella patient. Not one. Not ever. (Please don't fact check me here, this is a rant people). However, we continue month after month, to shoot our kids with vaccines that their usually obnoxious pediatricians suggest we get-slash if you don't you'll need to look for a new doctor. I was recently at the doctor with Lucas for an ear infection when all the sudden the nurse strides in with a tray full of shots. Um...."What are those for?" "Says here Lucas is 13 months old and he has not had his 12 month vaccines." This is when the fight started. I no longer attend that pediatrician. Not because I smothered that nurse with the stuffed bear in the corner, but because I wanted to (after she gave him the shots-I don't like confrontation and I cave easily-another not so perfect mom trait).
2. Organic. JESUS! Another thing we have to consider. Daily. And not without scrutiny from both sides. Do you feed your child whole, natural ingredients? Do you make your own baby food? Do you milk a damn goat in your sunroom in suburbia for some fresh off the teet goats milk? Um...no! I give my kid broken up french fries and Mexican rice if that is what I am eating...and I buy organic Gerber baby food if it is on sale at Publix-does that count? Which leads me to...
3. Breastfeeding. The holy grail of being the perfect mother these days. If you don't breastfeed-you are evil, selfish, etc. Yes! These are real descriptions of mothers -from other mothers about the choice not to breastfeed. I got a frantic text from a close friend just yesterday asking if it was "OK to quit." How I would have felt if I had quit. Would I ever have quit. These questions from a woman battling thrush. Yikes! The pressure. I breastfed. It was a love hate relationship-the relationship between the me that wanted to, the me that didn't want to, and the me that refused after all the pain, infections, and postpartum sobbing to give up. Do I judge others for not breastfeeding? NO! Why? Because, like me, they are mothers. We should all stick together. Lean on each other. Confide in one another. If nothing else, we should sleep soundly (yeah, right!) knowing that at least one group of people are not judging our every move. We have our mother in laws to do that. Mine is wonderful. I was only kidding.
4. Education. My daughter is in first grade. I have a degree in Education. However, for some reason-I cannot quite get this one together. I am that mom. The one that forgets the return daily folder. The one that does homework on Thursday nights or Friday mornings in the carpool line-or not at all. I don't empty or go through her backpack-ever. Do I know how important my daughters education is? Yes! Do I have time for site word practice-NO! OK-yes, but NO! Do I read with my daughter, yes. Do I listen to her read, unfortunately- yes again. Education is a toughy. I thank my lucky stars I don't socialize or count myself among a group that get on wait lists for preschool and pay college tuition type bucks for kindergarten. I wouldn't survive it. I'd get kicked out the first week-probably for not joining the PTA or burning baked goods for the bake sale or returning the return every day folder once a month. I am not judging those people-simply stating that I get enough questioning and scrutinizing for the aforementioned things. Education is very important y'all-but so is bath time and dinner and ballet, and clean laundry, and sex.
5. Birthday Parties, Sleep Overs, Play Dates, Laundry, Cooking, Cleaning, Teething, Diapering, Appointment making, Grocery Shopping, Breastfeeding/Pumping, Bathing, Singing, Dancing, Cartoon Watching, Choo Choo Train Sound Making, and more. This is just a quick summed up list of things that moms do alongside making all these huge decisions every day.
Are we going to screw up our kids? If we decide to skip a vaccine will our children get Polio, Measles, Mumps? If we decide to vaccinate, will they develop autism? Who knows. Not me. If I forget to return her folder, or feed my son fried pickles with ranch dipping sauce, are they going to die, become obese, get Polio? Are they going to be sub par human beings? I can't say. What if, God forbid, we use regular bumper pads rather than the new breathable ones? What if we let our infants sleep in our beds, or on their tummies, or in our arms, or in their car seats? What if we buckle the car seat in wrong. I'm telling you-some of these things are life or death. And all of these things are questions we face almost every day as parents. It is a tough job. No one will ever tell you otherwise. Buy hey, I am here and my mom chose the answers to all these questions. Did she have help? Yes. Did she ask for it. Sometimes. The only thing I can do for now is seek advice from other moms, talk to my husband, my mom, his mom, my grandmother, my cashier at the grocery store, or vent to my single best friend over lobster tail dinner. Because at the end of the day-we all have the same answers. Some right. Some wrong. Some in between.
Monday, February 17, 2014
"All you need is Love, Love is all you Need"
The day of love is over. Just like years past, it felt similar to a birthday-here and gone before I even get a chance to take it all in. As I thought about this post, I realized with all that took place over the last week and over the weekend, it was going to be all over the place. I'm embracing the chaos. Hope you can too.
My snow week felt like the longest workday ever. Everyday I felt as if I logged on and logged off, but never really left work. The kids were needy. Zach was needy. I was a stress bucket. We did get a few moments to really marvel at the blankets of snow outside. But only a few. Not nearly enough. Lucas just stared up in amazement where the street light lit up the falling flakes-it was the coolest thing to see him take it all in. I do so love the way babies reach out their little chubby hands as if to reach for something they cannot quite understand. Then they usually eat it. Or put it in their mouth just to be sure they have it pinned. But, just like a dream, the snow was melted and had disappeared before we could even really grasp its presence.
Last week also came with some very sad news. Someone very close to me is sick. Someone that has already been dealt a tough hand in recent months. Tougher than I myself am able to fathom. The news has stuck with me every second of every day since. She is constantly in my thoughts and although the news is sudden and scary, I know in my heart that she can handle just about anything life throws her way. This is the girl that, even in the midst of madness, can almost always make you laugh and smile. Make you laugh until you cry because you are laughing so hard. She once told a story that made my dad laugh harder than I have ever seen him laugh-ever, even to this day. She also cries well. She cries more than anyone I know too. She can put even the cryingest cryer to shame. In a good way. The best way. I cry at Publix commercials so who am I to judge? She cries each time we say goodbye to each other-pretty much anytime she says goodbye to anyone she loves. That is how much love she has. Although she doesn't feel as if she has enough strength to conquer this-I know she does. We all do. And I know somehow, someway, she will make it funny and terribly tearful. I only wish that in times like these, we lived closer to one another. All I can really think to say is..."I know that there is pain but...Things will change, things will go your way-if you hold on for one more day."
And just as promised-I will now completely switch gears into my weekend. Chaos go.
Friday we had a dinner party to celebrate Valentine's Day with our closest friends and family. We hosted and welcomed friends with kids, friends with spouses, friends without spouses...you get the picture-everyone was there. It was so noisy and chaotic and wonderful. I would have to say the highlight of the night for me was when my six year old daughter, Addison, pulled out her new pink guitar and dedicated a song to her bestest friend Ella. They haven't seen each other a lot in recent months and they, for once in their six years of friendship, played so wonderfully together-sharing and giggling and putting on fashion shows with very little conflict. It really was magical. The song was precious. It was extremely short and sweet and I cannot remember at all now what the quickly self spoken lyrics were. It reminded me so much of Alicia and I. We sang and sang and sang some more as kids. Before iPads and Barbie Cars (yes, they existed but were way too expensive) and Disney shows that rule the world, kids sang for entertainment. Well, we did. We also played ghost in the graveyard and sardines, but that is for another post altogether.
Saturday Zach and I went out. Not quite for the traditional Valentine's dinner I was expecting-but for a concert. A good friend of Zach's bought us tickets months ago-and it wasn't until the last minute that Zach was able to secure a sitter. The venue was a small little hole in the wall hipster bar in Atlanta. Seemed normal enough. We were about an hour early so we had a couple drinks before the opening act. Holy freakin moly the opening act. I like to think I can enjoy nearly all live music. Something about hearing someone, or a group of someones play live is just fantastic. However, this was not normal. This was heavy metal. I guess. I almost feel as if the entire genre of heavy metal might be offended being categorized with these guys. The instrumental was decent enough. That was-until the lead singer. All he did was scream. In a really freakish way. The kind that rattles you and makes you sick a bit. Like a horror movie. He also spit. Not spit like a few droplets spewed while screaming. He spit, like leaned back and really threw it out there. Ew. The main event on the other hand was phenomenal. They were strictly instrumental-no lyrics or singing whatsoever. Somehow, they made certain parts of each song sound like vocals. It was incredible. They were incredible. Russian Circles for any of you who feel like taking a quick listen.
After recovering from an extremely late night-3 AM to be exact, we decided to take the kids to the zoo on Sunday. Mom got us passes for Christmas and we still hadn't put them to use. Kelly and Ava- my sister and niece, and Zane-my brother in law, joined us. It was such a beautiful sunny day-and after a snow storm and earthquake in Georgia, we wanted to really take in the sunshine. We spent the whole day walking around outside looking at all the sweet baby animals snuggling with their mothers and swinging from branches and chomping on leaves. My daughter and niece liked the snakes the best. Naturally.
All in all, what a wonderful week and weekend of love. In hindsight this probably should have been about 4 separate blog posts, but here it is. All in one. Just for you. Happy Valentine's Day!
My snow week felt like the longest workday ever. Everyday I felt as if I logged on and logged off, but never really left work. The kids were needy. Zach was needy. I was a stress bucket. We did get a few moments to really marvel at the blankets of snow outside. But only a few. Not nearly enough. Lucas just stared up in amazement where the street light lit up the falling flakes-it was the coolest thing to see him take it all in. I do so love the way babies reach out their little chubby hands as if to reach for something they cannot quite understand. Then they usually eat it. Or put it in their mouth just to be sure they have it pinned. But, just like a dream, the snow was melted and had disappeared before we could even really grasp its presence.
Last week also came with some very sad news. Someone very close to me is sick. Someone that has already been dealt a tough hand in recent months. Tougher than I myself am able to fathom. The news has stuck with me every second of every day since. She is constantly in my thoughts and although the news is sudden and scary, I know in my heart that she can handle just about anything life throws her way. This is the girl that, even in the midst of madness, can almost always make you laugh and smile. Make you laugh until you cry because you are laughing so hard. She once told a story that made my dad laugh harder than I have ever seen him laugh-ever, even to this day. She also cries well. She cries more than anyone I know too. She can put even the cryingest cryer to shame. In a good way. The best way. I cry at Publix commercials so who am I to judge? She cries each time we say goodbye to each other-pretty much anytime she says goodbye to anyone she loves. That is how much love she has. Although she doesn't feel as if she has enough strength to conquer this-I know she does. We all do. And I know somehow, someway, she will make it funny and terribly tearful. I only wish that in times like these, we lived closer to one another. All I can really think to say is..."I know that there is pain but...Things will change, things will go your way-if you hold on for one more day."
And just as promised-I will now completely switch gears into my weekend. Chaos go.
Friday we had a dinner party to celebrate Valentine's Day with our closest friends and family. We hosted and welcomed friends with kids, friends with spouses, friends without spouses...you get the picture-everyone was there. It was so noisy and chaotic and wonderful. I would have to say the highlight of the night for me was when my six year old daughter, Addison, pulled out her new pink guitar and dedicated a song to her bestest friend Ella. They haven't seen each other a lot in recent months and they, for once in their six years of friendship, played so wonderfully together-sharing and giggling and putting on fashion shows with very little conflict. It really was magical. The song was precious. It was extremely short and sweet and I cannot remember at all now what the quickly self spoken lyrics were. It reminded me so much of Alicia and I. We sang and sang and sang some more as kids. Before iPads and Barbie Cars (yes, they existed but were way too expensive) and Disney shows that rule the world, kids sang for entertainment. Well, we did. We also played ghost in the graveyard and sardines, but that is for another post altogether.
Saturday Zach and I went out. Not quite for the traditional Valentine's dinner I was expecting-but for a concert. A good friend of Zach's bought us tickets months ago-and it wasn't until the last minute that Zach was able to secure a sitter. The venue was a small little hole in the wall hipster bar in Atlanta. Seemed normal enough. We were about an hour early so we had a couple drinks before the opening act. Holy freakin moly the opening act. I like to think I can enjoy nearly all live music. Something about hearing someone, or a group of someones play live is just fantastic. However, this was not normal. This was heavy metal. I guess. I almost feel as if the entire genre of heavy metal might be offended being categorized with these guys. The instrumental was decent enough. That was-until the lead singer. All he did was scream. In a really freakish way. The kind that rattles you and makes you sick a bit. Like a horror movie. He also spit. Not spit like a few droplets spewed while screaming. He spit, like leaned back and really threw it out there. Ew. The main event on the other hand was phenomenal. They were strictly instrumental-no lyrics or singing whatsoever. Somehow, they made certain parts of each song sound like vocals. It was incredible. They were incredible. Russian Circles for any of you who feel like taking a quick listen.
After recovering from an extremely late night-3 AM to be exact, we decided to take the kids to the zoo on Sunday. Mom got us passes for Christmas and we still hadn't put them to use. Kelly and Ava- my sister and niece, and Zane-my brother in law, joined us. It was such a beautiful sunny day-and after a snow storm and earthquake in Georgia, we wanted to really take in the sunshine. We spent the whole day walking around outside looking at all the sweet baby animals snuggling with their mothers and swinging from branches and chomping on leaves. My daughter and niece liked the snakes the best. Naturally.
All in all, what a wonderful week and weekend of love. In hindsight this probably should have been about 4 separate blog posts, but here it is. All in one. Just for you. Happy Valentine's Day!
Monday, January 27, 2014
Slow Dance in the Kitchen
There are only a couple of things that can cheer me up when my mood has gone upside down and backwards and in a million bad directions. I mean really cheer me up. Not cheer me up while I chew - like dark chocolate with almonds can. Or cheer me up only while I'm sipping *gulping* wine. Or cheer me up for 15 minutes - like a really long extended play-on-pinterest-potty-break can. Or cheer me up like slipping on three-wears-without-washing jeans and for a brief moment thinking my clothes are getting loose. But really legitimately change my mood.
One is when my husband decides that my bad mood = the best mood he has ever been in. That always and I mean always does the trick. He may argue with this. He would be lying. There is nothing better than when your spouse is able to flip their mood to match (or I guess-in this case-not match) yours. It tends to make for much better weekends, nights, dinners, moments, parenting...you get the idea. On the other hand, when you and your notsopatient and sometimesmoody husband are both in a bad mood-watch out!
Another, and even more mood changing than anything, is a slow dance in the kitchen. Let me tell you now, if you are not already part of this phenomenon, this single thing can change your life. Really-it can. People say this about food. They say it about movies. They say it about books (this one has merit). They say it about all things really. Who are they exactly? (I digress). Anyway, I once saw a sign that said "this kitchen is for dancing" and it was then that I realized I was not the only one. I was not the only one.
Technically, I knew this already, as my parents were not strangers to this either. I remember watching them dance often when I was little-to no music at all. I remember mom being annoyed with dad each time he would pull her in close to him and start to sway. "Daaan" I am busy doing (insert pretty much anything here-since my mom did it all). But after just a few moments, the laundry basket would be on the floor, the sauce set to simmer, the homework books closed in place-and the dance would be in full swing. Dad grinning ear to ear, mom with tight lips fighting back her smile. Dad showing off his dance skills. He does this with all of us girls too, my sisters and I-and now grand babies are pulled into a slow rocking motion more often than they even realize. He hums or sings in their ears as they sway from side to side. My six year old, not unlike my mom, is always too cool or too busy to dance with Dado (his grand baby given name), but again, not unlike my mom, she succumbs to the dance rather quickly. Laughing and flailing about as he flips her around and twirls her. Grand baby dances are not quite slowdances per say. Nonetheless, each dance has the same effect. Any room in the house works, I guess, but there is just something about the kitchen. The linoleum/tile/hardwood resembles a dance floor much more closely than Berber. Ick. Berber. Dances in the kitchen, just, well, they just change your life. Your day at the very least.
I'm not sure I have stressed my point enough. So-I say it again. Slow Dance in the Kitchen y'all. Do it alone. Do it with your spouse. Do it with your kids. Do it with your girlfriends, or grand babies, or dogs-or whomever or whatever makes you happy. Just give it a dip, twist, or whirl-tonight!
One is when my husband decides that my bad mood = the best mood he has ever been in. That always and I mean always does the trick. He may argue with this. He would be lying. There is nothing better than when your spouse is able to flip their mood to match (or I guess-in this case-not match) yours. It tends to make for much better weekends, nights, dinners, moments, parenting...you get the idea. On the other hand, when you and your notsopatient and sometimesmoody husband are both in a bad mood-watch out!
Another, and even more mood changing than anything, is a slow dance in the kitchen. Let me tell you now, if you are not already part of this phenomenon, this single thing can change your life. Really-it can. People say this about food. They say it about movies. They say it about books (this one has merit). They say it about all things really. Who are they exactly? (I digress). Anyway, I once saw a sign that said "this kitchen is for dancing" and it was then that I realized I was not the only one. I was not the only one.
Technically, I knew this already, as my parents were not strangers to this either. I remember watching them dance often when I was little-to no music at all. I remember mom being annoyed with dad each time he would pull her in close to him and start to sway. "Daaan" I am busy doing (insert pretty much anything here-since my mom did it all). But after just a few moments, the laundry basket would be on the floor, the sauce set to simmer, the homework books closed in place-and the dance would be in full swing. Dad grinning ear to ear, mom with tight lips fighting back her smile. Dad showing off his dance skills. He does this with all of us girls too, my sisters and I-and now grand babies are pulled into a slow rocking motion more often than they even realize. He hums or sings in their ears as they sway from side to side. My six year old, not unlike my mom, is always too cool or too busy to dance with Dado (his grand baby given name), but again, not unlike my mom, she succumbs to the dance rather quickly. Laughing and flailing about as he flips her around and twirls her. Grand baby dances are not quite slowdances per say. Nonetheless, each dance has the same effect. Any room in the house works, I guess, but there is just something about the kitchen. The linoleum/tile/hardwood resembles a dance floor much more closely than Berber. Ick. Berber. Dances in the kitchen, just, well, they just change your life. Your day at the very least.
I'm not sure I have stressed my point enough. So-I say it again. Slow Dance in the Kitchen y'all. Do it alone. Do it with your spouse. Do it with your kids. Do it with your girlfriends, or grand babies, or dogs-or whomever or whatever makes you happy. Just give it a dip, twist, or whirl-tonight!
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