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!
Friday, October 10, 2014
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.
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