One of the best things about having kiddos is having an excuse to get crazy excited about the holidays. And to go see all the new Pixar/Disney/Muppet movies. Not that I really needed an excuse.
Anyway, Happy Halloween from my little monsters!
Monday, October 31, 2011
BOO!
One of the best things about having kiddos is having an excuse to get crazy excited about the holidays. And to go see all the new Pixar/Disney/Muppet movies. Not that I really needed an excuse.
Anyway, Happy Halloween from my little monsters!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
letter to my second-born
Dear Lawton,
Let me start by telling you how lucky you are.
You have a father whose number one priority is providing for our family and whose greatest joy is seeing you and your sister grow and learn. You have the most amazing big sister; she wakes up in the morning asking where you are, spends the day bringing you pacifiers, teacups, and plastic hamburger buns, and gives you a kiss goodnight when she goes to bed. Your extended family is exactly that- an extension of our family. Days after meeting you they had already posted hundreds of pictures of you on facebook. They adore you and will support everything you do for the rest of your life. Even your dogs are awesome.
Now let me tell you how lucky I am.
Almost four weeks ago, I gave birth to you, my beautiful and healthy baby boy, weighing in at only an ounce less than your older sister. You made me a mother of "two under two". You've brought even more joy to an already joyful family and even more light into an already brilliant life. You have shown me your father and your sister in new roles that make me love them even more. You are teaching me every day about the kind of mother I want to be and the kind of mother I am capable of being.
I miss nights of continuous sleep and days of guaranteed showers. I could do without getting spit up on 7,000 times a day and changing 10 cloth diapers an hour. I'm not a fan of screaming gassy fits and 2 hour feeding schedules. But all of that pales in comparison to the love I feel for you and how very, truly, wonderfully happy I am that you are part of our family now.
Welcome, son.
Love,
Mommy
Let me start by telling you how lucky you are.
You have a father whose number one priority is providing for our family and whose greatest joy is seeing you and your sister grow and learn. You have the most amazing big sister; she wakes up in the morning asking where you are, spends the day bringing you pacifiers, teacups, and plastic hamburger buns, and gives you a kiss goodnight when she goes to bed. Your extended family is exactly that- an extension of our family. Days after meeting you they had already posted hundreds of pictures of you on facebook. They adore you and will support everything you do for the rest of your life. Even your dogs are awesome.
Now let me tell you how lucky I am.
Almost four weeks ago, I gave birth to you, my beautiful and healthy baby boy, weighing in at only an ounce less than your older sister. You made me a mother of "two under two". You've brought even more joy to an already joyful family and even more light into an already brilliant life. You have shown me your father and your sister in new roles that make me love them even more. You are teaching me every day about the kind of mother I want to be and the kind of mother I am capable of being.
I miss nights of continuous sleep and days of guaranteed showers. I could do without getting spit up on 7,000 times a day and changing 10 cloth diapers an hour. I'm not a fan of screaming gassy fits and 2 hour feeding schedules. But all of that pales in comparison to the love I feel for you and how very, truly, wonderfully happy I am that you are part of our family now.
Welcome, son.
Love,
Mommy
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
eight
Jaime,
I've lost count of how many times I have started to write and then deleted my first sentence. Even this one sat, cursor blinking at the end, for a good few minutes before I decided I needed to just keep typing. I guess part of the problem is that I don't WANT it to have been yet another year. Another year means another layer of memory worn away by time, another year that I'm closer to being older than you ever were, another year of art and stories and jokes and pranks that never were and never will be.
But I guess that's not the way to look at it. One of your good friends (and mine) made the point that the way to recognize the day of your leaving us is to bring a little bit of you back for those who knew and loved you and share it with the people who were never lucky enough to do so. " And that is what you would have wanted, maybe even expected, us all to do.
I can't help but indulge in a selfish moment of sadness, though. For the loss of getting to know who you would have become in your 30s (and 40s and 50s and so on...). For my children, who will never know you. For my mother, for all that she endured eight years ago and so many days since then and all of the memories that haunt her, as they do so many others who were there that weekend. For the dancers and the artists and the actors and the students that miss your presence both onstage and off. For the bear hugs that I miss so very much... so very often... even now.
At least I know, though, that I have grown into a person over these last eight years that you would have wanted to know. You'd be proud of the woman I am becoming, the man that I married, the children I am raising. You'd be amazed by my sisters, and by the little girls you choreographed for and mentored and teased and loved so much, now all stunning and successful women. There's so much you would love about being here now. And there are so many of us who wish that you still were.
I love you.
"What has small balls and hangs down? ... Just answer the question. What has small balls and hangs down? Right, a bat. So what has big balls and hangs up?"
I've lost count of how many times I have started to write and then deleted my first sentence. Even this one sat, cursor blinking at the end, for a good few minutes before I decided I needed to just keep typing. I guess part of the problem is that I don't WANT it to have been yet another year. Another year means another layer of memory worn away by time, another year that I'm closer to being older than you ever were, another year of art and stories and jokes and pranks that never were and never will be.
But I guess that's not the way to look at it. One of your good friends (and mine) made the point that the way to recognize the day of your leaving us is to bring a little bit of you back for those who knew and loved you and share it with the people who were never lucky enough to do so. " And that is what you would have wanted, maybe even expected, us all to do.
I can't help but indulge in a selfish moment of sadness, though. For the loss of getting to know who you would have become in your 30s (and 40s and 50s and so on...). For my children, who will never know you. For my mother, for all that she endured eight years ago and so many days since then and all of the memories that haunt her, as they do so many others who were there that weekend. For the dancers and the artists and the actors and the students that miss your presence both onstage and off. For the bear hugs that I miss so very much... so very often... even now.
At least I know, though, that I have grown into a person over these last eight years that you would have wanted to know. You'd be proud of the woman I am becoming, the man that I married, the children I am raising. You'd be amazed by my sisters, and by the little girls you choreographed for and mentored and teased and loved so much, now all stunning and successful women. There's so much you would love about being here now. And there are so many of us who wish that you still were.
I love you.
"What has small balls and hangs down? ... Just answer the question. What has small balls and hangs down? Right, a bat. So what has big balls and hangs up?"
Monday, August 1, 2011
a letter to my son
Dear Baby Boy,
I love feeling you squirm and kick and roll and punch, watching my body morph as you grow. I love pulling out all of the little tiny onesies and hats and sleepers and sorting them into piles, figuring out what might fit you... wondering just how big you might be when you make your debut. I love seeing Laine start to understand about you, hugging and petting and talking to my belly, welcoming her little brother before she even sets eyes on you (oh, and she HAS tested some of your toys for you... hope that's ok). I love knowing where you are at all times, safe and sound and warm and happy and QUIET.
But, darling son, now that it's August? You can come out whenever you're ready.
I love you already, so very much.
Mommy
PS - You have a very sweet face, little one.
I love feeling you squirm and kick and roll and punch, watching my body morph as you grow. I love pulling out all of the little tiny onesies and hats and sleepers and sorting them into piles, figuring out what might fit you... wondering just how big you might be when you make your debut. I love seeing Laine start to understand about you, hugging and petting and talking to my belly, welcoming her little brother before she even sets eyes on you (oh, and she HAS tested some of your toys for you... hope that's ok). I love knowing where you are at all times, safe and sound and warm and happy and QUIET.
But, darling son, now that it's August? You can come out whenever you're ready.
I love you already, so very much.
Mommy
PS - You have a very sweet face, little one.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
mommyhood is...
Aiming all of the air vents toward the back seat on a 100 degree day (bonus points for being 7 and a half months pregnant).
Leaving the bedroom door open all night to be sure to hear those first little noises in the morning.
Timing your showers with an episode of Elmo's World.
Reading Sam and the Firefly 4,767 times. Which is probably about 4,765 more times than you actually wanted to.
Wanting to go in and watch your sweet sleeping one's face... but not as badly as wanting them to stay sweet and sleeping.
Relating to the parents of reality show contestants sometimes even more so than the contestants themselves (hey, proud mama crying in the audience... I totally feel ya).
Taking more pictures and videos over a year and half than the other 26 years of your life combined. And thinking everyone surely wants to look at them as much as you do.
Becoming fluent in toddler-ese.
Realizing a dream by driving home a Toyota Sienna, humming the "Swagger Wagon" song to yourself as you pull out of the lot (past all of the hot convertibles... which are just SO not practical right now).
Leaving the bedroom door open all night to be sure to hear those first little noises in the morning.
Timing your showers with an episode of Elmo's World.
Reading Sam and the Firefly 4,767 times. Which is probably about 4,765 more times than you actually wanted to.
Wanting to go in and watch your sweet sleeping one's face... but not as badly as wanting them to stay sweet and sleeping.
Relating to the parents of reality show contestants sometimes even more so than the contestants themselves (hey, proud mama crying in the audience... I totally feel ya).
Taking more pictures and videos over a year and half than the other 26 years of your life combined. And thinking everyone surely wants to look at them as much as you do.
Becoming fluent in toddler-ese.
Realizing a dream by driving home a Toyota Sienna, humming the "Swagger Wagon" song to yourself as you pull out of the lot (past all of the hot convertibles... which are just SO not practical right now).
Sunday, June 5, 2011
think on this
If you are a mommy (or a daddy), most especially of the stay-at-home variety, read this. I found that it said a lot of the things I have said or though about the importance and difficulty and monotony and wonder and drudgery and joy of being home with kids all day in such a beautiful, empowering way.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
territorial
I've been determined since the moment I found out I was expecting #2 that I would keep up my gym routine this time and not turn into a York peppermint devouring walrus. So I've been half successful. (I love me some York mints, especially when I'm busy growing a human.) I still hit the gym 3 or 4 times a week, rocking it out on the spin bike or balancing my pregnant self on an exercise ball to do some chest presses. Not gonna lie, I expect people to be a little impressed when I waddle myself into an hour long group exercise class. I notice the double takes and a shoot back a hell-yeah-I-can-grow-a-human-AND-pump-it-up-WHATUPSUCKA look. It's a look I've really begun to master. I've got the pregnant girl at the gym act down pat. It's one of the perks, folks, what can I say? Doesn't hurt that there's not really any competition.
Until today.
I walked into my usual Thursday morning spin class and started setting up my bike and stretching all nonchalant-like when SHE walked in. Slightly sweaty like maybe she had been working out BEFORE class. Cute as a button. And very much pregnant.
Aw, heck naw. I've been dethroned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)