I wake up around 3 AM to the sound of him screaming my name across the hall. I nudge Zach. "He is calling for you," he says. "Pleeeeease," I whimper half asleep.
I wake up around 6 AM, lets be real-it is 6:38, to a small head nudged into my rib cage and cold toes on my left shoulder. I shimmy out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom for a 3.5 minute shower (yes, I swear, I am clean by then-the water is scalding hot!). I grab my clothes using my iPhone flashlight, all the while still tiptoeing. I wake my 7 year old four times and dress in her room. Finally, after I am certain my 7 year old is ready to walk out the door, around 6:58, I scoop him out of bed. He yells Iwuuuuuzlayindown in a precious half asleep, angry voice. I pop his paci in, wrap him in a blanket, and I load him into the car. I drop Addison at the bus stop and head to Mimi Barbara's to drop him off. He sleeps the whole way there-because, you know, he didn't get much sleep last night in my bed. I kiss him goodbye and head to work. I apply my makeup in the car and don't take my fist luxurious, hot, delicious sip of coffee until I am at work at 8:00.
This morning, all of that was exactly the same. The only difference was that this morning, he was two. No longer a baby. Officially a toddler. Officially a kid. Head in rib cage, check. Feet on shoulder, check. Whining about being woken, check. 1 year old-not today. Today he is two. He is no longer a baby. I know, I said that already. But I have to keep saying it to believe it is true. See, two years is a long time, right? Wrong. Two years ago my daughter was still 5, which just so happens to be the age I still think she is. Which means, my mind works as if it is still two years ago. As in, in my mind, he was just born-today.
Lucas has been whatisthewordIamlookingforhere since he was born. When I spent the most amazing and trying and emotional first twelve weeks of his life with him in sweet delicious solitude, he cried-a lot. He cried when I changed him. He cried when I burped him. He cried when I put him in his swing. He cried when I ate. He cried when I tried to sleep. He didn't cry when he was nursing or sleeping. When I went back to work, I was in constant fear that all his needs weren't being met. "He needs to be held a whole lot of the time-as in, all the time," I'd told her. "He spits up a lot, as in, all his food," I'd told her. "Be sure he burps 3 times," I'd told her. Every second away from him in the beginning was impossible. I could finally breathe when I got there to pick him up. He will be OK now, I'd thought. I finally grew out of that. A bit.
Now, he is 2. He is not a baby anymore. I don't know if I understand a life without a baby in it. Addison was not a baby for quite some time before Lucas came, I know. But now, for some reason, I feel like my life requires his being a baby. Well, more like-I am going to need him to still be my baby. My baby-he will never stop being that. But a baby - he is not. Soon he won't require a pacifier (god willing) at night. Soon, he won't hold my cheeks in his hands and nuzzle his nose against mine. Soon, he won't require my chest to fall asleep on. Soon, he will pronounce all his words correctly-and his sweet way of saying I love you won't be quite as sweet. Soon, he won't pitter patter in the hallway on his teeny little chubby feet. Today, he won't be one anymore. Soon, he won't wake up and scream across the hall. Soon, he will be in a big boy bed. Shit, tomorrow, he will be seven!
I am the luckiest mom in the world to call him mine. I love him with every.single.piece of my heart. I love him too much. Yes, that is a thing. Loving too much is a scary thing because it makes you worry beyond reason. It makes you care beyond responsibility. It makes your heart hurt with happiness. I look forward to every second and every moment of the next two years I get with this little man, and every single second of every single day after that.
Happy Birthday Little Man.
Daddy, Addison, and I love you too much. Always.
P.S.-of course I cried today.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
I am not your competition
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.
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.
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)