People tell me all the time that my daughter is a tiny Me. They say she looks like me and acts like me and is shockingly my twin in almost all the ways.
This, I believe, is deeply incorrect.
Today, my daughter decided to try to learn to dive. I noticed a friend on the side of the pool, coaching her to dive off the steps and not having much success.
Willing to go on an obvious fool's errand, I saw this opportunity and thought "Hey, while she's interested I'll pitch in and help." Because heaven forbid we parents let a kid sort through a thing on their own and learn by doing or worse - from someone besides US.
So I popped over all casual-like and said "Hey, if you want me to help I'm happy to."
I know Lily. She's allergic to the word help. Raising her takes extra time because SHE ALREADY KNOWS how to tie her shoes make her bed do her hair cook a roasted chicken split the atom.
So while she figures out either how to *actually* do these things, I have to sit patiently by. Except I am not patient nor do I have extra time and this, it turns out, is a major flaw in our relationship. Also, when she figures out that indeed she does NOT know how to put a ponytail in her doll's hair she obviously cannot come to me for help having already scorned said help so mightily, so now she has to DESTROY EVERYTHING because what else is there to do in such a quandary? Burn it down.
Anyway, I foolishly offered help. Strangely, she seemed cautiously amenable to it and we had some success with some baby steps while she dove from a sitting position off the side of the pool to get the hang of the idea that the head has to go in before the feet for it to actually be a dive.
Lily, armed with some cheers from friends and neighbors, rapidly ascended to an attempt to dive fully off of the diving board, and that is where the successes ended. She wasn't ready for that step, but you try telling her that. I had to sit back and let her do the thing.
She tried no fewer than 37 times. 36 times she went in looking like she was crawling or she full on belly flopped. Once - ONCE - she got it pretty well and that one success was enough to keep her climbing back on the board, shivering, red-chested, and with increasing ire, determined to perfect the dive. She marched from the ladder to the board, fists tightly clenched and jaw bulging. She would emerge from another failed attempt in the deep end with her mouth open, shouting her frustration to the heavens. She was soaked to the bone. She could not hear us. Any support or advice was met with fury.
I slipped into the pool, knowing the end was near. She swam a lap around the outer edge, artfully dodging what I was hoping would be an earnest conversation about being tired, cold, and hungry and how that doesn't help us when we are trying to learn new things.
Eventually we came to the place I knew we would. She melted down. She came, full stop, to the end of her rope and announced to the gaping friends at the patio table that IF SHE CANNOT DIVE SHE MAY AS WELL KILL HERSELF. Friends, in that moment, she meant it.
And this is the difference between Lily and me.
We may look a bit alike and be similarly forceful; some might call it bossy - I like to say we are strong-willed.
But Lily is determined. I am not. Make no mistake, I want things to be my way. But Lily WILL NOT QUIT. I will ask for help (sometimes). Or I will stop doing something I am not naturally gifted at. If it doesn't come to me? Meh, I'm moving on. I hated that job task sport craft idea anyway. Not Lily. Failure fuels her. It also ruins her.
I am a believer in capitalizing on one's strengths. But I am also sure that quitting everything that isn't on the tip of our tongues is not the answer, though it is undoubtedly my M.O. Lily will find her strengths and use them to the benefit of herself and all of society I have no doubt. But she will work harder, take more pride, and suffer more for all of it. And because of that, she will be truly exceptional.
Meanwhile, it is my job to find some magical way to harness that determination because next time she might just *actually* hold her breath until she passes out. And diving lessons are over until next year.
Friday, July 5, 2019
Wednesday, August 2, 2017
To My Children #2
Dear Johnny and Lily,
Today, you're at your Grammy and Grandpa's house. You've been there for a few days so that I can work. There have been three weeks at the end of this summer break where one or both of you were without childcare, and graciously your grandparents have handled a large chunk of it.
Lily, you spent several days at work with me and while you were a champ, playing games on the iPad, messing with Shopkins (what *are* they anyway?) and charming people into giving you candy, I really didn't accomplish much in the name of my actual job that week between the moments when you needed a hug, wanted to sing a song, required an escort to the bathroom, or wanted some more gatorade to spill on my carpet.
So it's good you have this time at your grandparents and I have some time to do the things they pay me for.
Johnny, you are ramping up for school which I am aware of due to your incessant counting of days and the daily asks regarding if your new backpack has arrived from Amazon yet. I call you at your Grammy's house to say hi and tell you how much you miss me and all you want to know is if that damn backpack is here yet. YOU AREN'T EVEN HERE TO SEE IT. But you can't rest until you know it's safely in the house. Well, kid, IT'S HERE. Your life can resume its normal focus on Legos and cookies now.
It's been a fun summer and we have done All The Things. We tripped all over Kansas and saw such amazing sights as a fake castle at Coronado Heights, a large public bathroom fashioned to look like a toilet from the outside, a fake gunfight, and The World's Largest Hand Dug Pool.
We've had friends over, been to sleepovers, enjoyed Grammy and Granpa's 20 year anniversary, and both of you tried salsa.
We've stayed up late and slept in a little and stayed in jammies for whole days and sometimes gone without baths for a number of days I choose not to put on The Internet.
Anyway, this is just to say it's been downright fun and I'm pretty sad to see it come to an end, though I'll be delighted to slap a cover on that GD pool that has cost me 10 thousand smackers this summer. THINK OF ALL THE LEGOS I COULD HAVE BOUGHT.
You're both the very best and I love you so much it's embarrassing.
-Mama
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
Elementary Math
Tonight is Johnny's 1st grade music program.
I take tremendous pleasure in these events, which is surprising because I am hands-off in almost every other way regarding his schooling. I'm not a member of the PTA, I dread parent-teacher conferences, and I don't even know how to log into his Student Portal. Do 1st graders have Student Portals? I hear people talk about these things. Hell, I can barely be bothered to keep money loaded into his lunch account.
This is, I understand, my great privilege because he is a good good boy, and loves school days more than weekends. He told me so himself, after I'd entertained him with a sleepover, a trip to a dog show, some park time, an orange soda, and then a Kentucky Derby party (literally, the kid's day was full of a dog and pony show), and some junk food for dinner. So the next day, I put him in his room with the TV and the YouTube and shut the door, shoving bits of ham and raisins under it every now and then. The effect was the same. School is better.
So I don't really concern myself with it. He can read and likes to, and he prefers math to other subjects. My job? Done. Hear those pats? It's me, and my own back.
But the annual spring concert is another thing. This, I can get into. I like to dress him up and put him on stage but he won't try out for anything so this is the one chance I get. Which is really sad because once he gets up there he rocks it. Every hand motion, every clap. He's on it. He sings enthusiastically and clearly. And I love all of that, and seeing his precious classmates, especially that one kid who is up there examining the booger he put in his pocket for later instead of singing about nutritious foods and weather patterns.
But mostly, it's because I remember my school programs. My tiny country school had several every year. Like most things, it's watered down in today's system. Ours were long - or at least they seemed that way - with multiple grades, the band, and some kid's harmonica solo all in the same night. We got new dresses, knee socks, and our mothers curled our bangs. It was SO EXCITING.
So I hope that Johnny's little concerts are memorable and special. I presume they're not such a Big Deal to him, but really, we have kids because of reliving our own personal journeys, right?
Anyway, this year I will take him for his concert and the customary ice cream after. And I'll have to drop him at his dad's after that which will make me sad, and then I'll have to go get a fancy cocktail to make it all better.
So really, Johnny's 1st grade concert = fancy cocktail for Mama. And that is how we do math, kids.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Recipe for a Good Day
Yesterday, I announced on Facebook that I had a day that was "exhausting, remarkable, and ordinary." And those are now the things I hope every day can be - save exhausting - though I do think that the exhausting days, if accompanied by the other two, are usually the most fulfilling.
I love ordinary things. I love eating popcorn in front of a movie in the basement with my family. I love chatting with my partner while he tries to read a book and I fold laundry. I enjoy tucking my kids in at night probably more than anything else on earth and doing our litany of things: book, arm wrestle, talk about the plans for tomorrow, discuss the importance of Magneto's gadgets, hug, kiss, tuck in again, lights out. I like grocery shopping, most days, and I enjoy seeing familiar faces as I do the very ordinary things around town that I do on the daily.
But every day should be a little bit remarkable, too, or they simply run together. Maybe it's just that you had a particularly big belly laugh that day, or you cooked a new and successful meal. Or you heard an inspiring speech or you read a fantastic book. Or, you traveled or ate at an inspired new restaurant or you pushed yourself farther than you thought you could in your brain, your body, your comfort zone.
And while I love a good lazy day and enjoy them more often than most, probably, I know that the days that end in a pile of tired are probably the ones that accomplish the two above goals the best. So when I complain of tired, ask me: was it ordinary? was it remarkable? And maybe I'll shut up.
I love ordinary things. I love eating popcorn in front of a movie in the basement with my family. I love chatting with my partner while he tries to read a book and I fold laundry. I enjoy tucking my kids in at night probably more than anything else on earth and doing our litany of things: book, arm wrestle, talk about the plans for tomorrow, discuss the importance of Magneto's gadgets, hug, kiss, tuck in again, lights out. I like grocery shopping, most days, and I enjoy seeing familiar faces as I do the very ordinary things around town that I do on the daily.
But every day should be a little bit remarkable, too, or they simply run together. Maybe it's just that you had a particularly big belly laugh that day, or you cooked a new and successful meal. Or you heard an inspiring speech or you read a fantastic book. Or, you traveled or ate at an inspired new restaurant or you pushed yourself farther than you thought you could in your brain, your body, your comfort zone.
And while I love a good lazy day and enjoy them more often than most, probably, I know that the days that end in a pile of tired are probably the ones that accomplish the two above goals the best. So when I complain of tired, ask me: was it ordinary? was it remarkable? And maybe I'll shut up.
Sunday, March 19, 2017
To My Children #1
Johnny and Lily,
Today I'll drive you to your grandma and grandpa's house to stay for a few days during Spring Break.
This is always bittersweet, as I do relish a few days to get only myself dressed and out the door in the morning and the ability to watch adult tv with abandon. But by the last day, I'm always so ready to have you back. Andy noticed recently that I am always unusually weepy toward the end of your stays away from me. Which is weird because I'm not a weepy person.
Lately, we've been bonding as a family while lying on my bed watching Disney movies. I do feel so guilty about this and I know we should be reading or practicing math or something, but there is something so divine about everyone piling on the bed together tucked into my bedroom away from the whole world and snuggling together with all of Lily's baby dolls. I just cannot resist it and I hope that those warm memories make up for any lack of education you may suffer because of my lackadaisical parenting.
Lily is into babies and shopkins and bless your heart, dear girl, but I just do not know how to play. I do not want to and I can't and I'm just never going to be that kind of mother. Johnny has accepted this and plays Legos at his table in the living room without my assistance and for that I am so grateful.
Anyway, it's a really fun time to be your mom and you get cuter and funnier all the time. Like Lily, when you told me to get you out of your carseat because you're "not getting any younger" and Johnny sings his ear worm "Lick it up" ad nauseam.
Please stop growing. I'm having the time of my life.
All my love,
Mama
Today I'll drive you to your grandma and grandpa's house to stay for a few days during Spring Break.
This is always bittersweet, as I do relish a few days to get only myself dressed and out the door in the morning and the ability to watch adult tv with abandon. But by the last day, I'm always so ready to have you back. Andy noticed recently that I am always unusually weepy toward the end of your stays away from me. Which is weird because I'm not a weepy person.
Lately, we've been bonding as a family while lying on my bed watching Disney movies. I do feel so guilty about this and I know we should be reading or practicing math or something, but there is something so divine about everyone piling on the bed together tucked into my bedroom away from the whole world and snuggling together with all of Lily's baby dolls. I just cannot resist it and I hope that those warm memories make up for any lack of education you may suffer because of my lackadaisical parenting.
Lily is into babies and shopkins and bless your heart, dear girl, but I just do not know how to play. I do not want to and I can't and I'm just never going to be that kind of mother. Johnny has accepted this and plays Legos at his table in the living room without my assistance and for that I am so grateful.
Anyway, it's a really fun time to be your mom and you get cuter and funnier all the time. Like Lily, when you told me to get you out of your carseat because you're "not getting any younger" and Johnny sings his ear worm "Lick it up" ad nauseam.
Please stop growing. I'm having the time of my life.
All my love,
Mama
Wherein I complain vocally and pathetically.
I can go ahead and do here what I know will be called by some as sexist, because this is my space and for a hot second I will, unchecked, say what I want.
I will also succumb to my somewhat balanced self and give a disclaimer: maybe there are men out there who do and think the things I am going to outline below, but I don't know any. I know good men, no doubt. But I know zero men who feel compelled to listen to, feel guilty about, or participate in the things that I am talking about here. The good men I know might do ONE of these things. TWO max. But they do not let their heads spin with all this garbage because they GIVE ZERO FUCKS about most of it BECAUSE THEY DO NOT HAVE TO. And they are not called to.
Here is what it feels like to be me. To look at myself, take in media, talk to friends, think about my mother, my past, my future, my kids, and the world-at-large:
My inner monologue is this:
I am tired. TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED.
But there's so much to do.
I should be doing yoga and taking up running. Lose weight. Better health. Get centered. Know your body. Live longer and set a good example for the children.
Cook healthier dinners. Reduce the carbs, salt, processed, gluteny foods.
Shop at the farmer's market even though it's an extra much less convenient more time consuming stop twice a week on top of the regular store.
Keep your wardrobe updated and flattering. Shop diligently for appropriate but comfortable footwear that will not ruin your already rubbish feet.
Have a skin care process you practice every day.
Curl your hair.
Mop, vacuum, clean up dust.
Buy tasteful and current things to decorate your home so that you look like you live in a magazine but cooler because it's you. Have a point of view about decor, whatever that is.
Teach your kids to read when they're 3 and also be sure they know about YOUR favorite music. Make sure they look like they go to J Crew Preschool and that they don't want too much tv and be sure to tell your friends about all the activities they do and how creative they are.
Pack bento boxes for their fucking lunches.
Be sexy.
Don't let your car be dirty.
Be a good friend, neighbor, daughter, sister, and co worker. Be sure to care for EVERYONE'S general welfare and emotional needs and don't be a bitch even when you're sick or under water.
Learn what the fuck Cross Fit is. Reject it. Go for regular walks.
Be a good listener. Know how to bake bread. Keep a budget spreadsheet. Buy your kids all the things they need and some they want but don't spend any money on yourself.
Read important books.
Be updated on politics but don't be too loud about it. It's annoying to others.
Volunteer your time.
Give away your talents for free.
Don't be negative or complain.
Have a pleasant countenance, watch your resting bitch face.
And you guys, this is all POST feminist revolution. THIS IS THE IMPROVED SITUATION.
We gotta do better.
I will also succumb to my somewhat balanced self and give a disclaimer: maybe there are men out there who do and think the things I am going to outline below, but I don't know any. I know good men, no doubt. But I know zero men who feel compelled to listen to, feel guilty about, or participate in the things that I am talking about here. The good men I know might do ONE of these things. TWO max. But they do not let their heads spin with all this garbage because they GIVE ZERO FUCKS about most of it BECAUSE THEY DO NOT HAVE TO. And they are not called to.
Here is what it feels like to be me. To look at myself, take in media, talk to friends, think about my mother, my past, my future, my kids, and the world-at-large:
My inner monologue is this:
I am tired. TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED TIRED.
But there's so much to do.
I should be doing yoga and taking up running. Lose weight. Better health. Get centered. Know your body. Live longer and set a good example for the children.
Cook healthier dinners. Reduce the carbs, salt, processed, gluteny foods.
Shop at the farmer's market even though it's an extra much less convenient more time consuming stop twice a week on top of the regular store.
Keep your wardrobe updated and flattering. Shop diligently for appropriate but comfortable footwear that will not ruin your already rubbish feet.
Have a skin care process you practice every day.
Curl your hair.
Mop, vacuum, clean up dust.
Buy tasteful and current things to decorate your home so that you look like you live in a magazine but cooler because it's you. Have a point of view about decor, whatever that is.
Teach your kids to read when they're 3 and also be sure they know about YOUR favorite music. Make sure they look like they go to J Crew Preschool and that they don't want too much tv and be sure to tell your friends about all the activities they do and how creative they are.
Pack bento boxes for their fucking lunches.
Be sexy.
Don't let your car be dirty.
Be a good friend, neighbor, daughter, sister, and co worker. Be sure to care for EVERYONE'S general welfare and emotional needs and don't be a bitch even when you're sick or under water.
Learn what the fuck Cross Fit is. Reject it. Go for regular walks.
Be a good listener. Know how to bake bread. Keep a budget spreadsheet. Buy your kids all the things they need and some they want but don't spend any money on yourself.
Read important books.
Be updated on politics but don't be too loud about it. It's annoying to others.
Volunteer your time.
Give away your talents for free.
Don't be negative or complain.
Have a pleasant countenance, watch your resting bitch face.
And you guys, this is all POST feminist revolution. THIS IS THE IMPROVED SITUATION.
We gotta do better.
Monday, August 31, 2015
Johnny Letter #24
Dearest Johnny,
Today you turn 6 years old.
You love Spiderman, Batman, Power Rangers, you sister, your kitty, and me and your dad. Not necessarily in that order.
Last week, you started kindergarten. You did it, mostly, with a shrug. After 5 years at Ballard, 3 of which I was in the building with you, you marched off to kindergarten and haven't looked back. I would have cried the morning we dropped you off but you sister was pitching a fit so there wasn't time or space for me to experience my own emotions about you standing in a new, bigger school, with a teacher I don't know and a long day ahead with no nap whatsoever.
You are the sweetest, kindest child. I'm not just saying that, either. You help with you sister, are sweet to you new kitty, who you named Lollipop without batting an eye, and freely give hugs and snuggles in between body slams and tickle fights.
This year has been tough for our family, and you've handled all the changes with your usual good attitude. To be honest, it's all probably been hardest on you, but in the midst of working out details, worrying about finances, and adjusting to "new normal" your dad and I probably haven't fully given you the opportunity to grieve, much as we've tried. Thank you, Johnny, for your loving and diplomatic spirit. We promise we will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.
This year is the year of change. You learned to swim in the pool without a floatie. You got a big boy bike and are starting to run the neighborhood with your friends - my presence is not required. You're still a pretty picky eater, but you have learned to eat broccoli and have tried some new things, and we're not having crying episodes at the table anymore, so I'm calling it all a win.
I'm the luckiest mama in the world. You're all the things.
Happy birthday, Son. I love you.
Mama
Today you turn 6 years old.
You love Spiderman, Batman, Power Rangers, you sister, your kitty, and me and your dad. Not necessarily in that order.
Last week, you started kindergarten. You did it, mostly, with a shrug. After 5 years at Ballard, 3 of which I was in the building with you, you marched off to kindergarten and haven't looked back. I would have cried the morning we dropped you off but you sister was pitching a fit so there wasn't time or space for me to experience my own emotions about you standing in a new, bigger school, with a teacher I don't know and a long day ahead with no nap whatsoever.
You are the sweetest, kindest child. I'm not just saying that, either. You help with you sister, are sweet to you new kitty, who you named Lollipop without batting an eye, and freely give hugs and snuggles in between body slams and tickle fights.
This year has been tough for our family, and you've handled all the changes with your usual good attitude. To be honest, it's all probably been hardest on you, but in the midst of working out details, worrying about finances, and adjusting to "new normal" your dad and I probably haven't fully given you the opportunity to grieve, much as we've tried. Thank you, Johnny, for your loving and diplomatic spirit. We promise we will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.
This year is the year of change. You learned to swim in the pool without a floatie. You got a big boy bike and are starting to run the neighborhood with your friends - my presence is not required. You're still a pretty picky eater, but you have learned to eat broccoli and have tried some new things, and we're not having crying episodes at the table anymore, so I'm calling it all a win.
I'm the luckiest mama in the world. You're all the things.
Happy birthday, Son. I love you.
Mama
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Lily Letter #13
Dearest Lily,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't taken as much video, written as many letters, had your picture professionally taken, or worked on your baby book as much as I did for your brother. I am really sorry. Unfortunately, I don't think I can promise to change my ways. I simply don't have the time or wherewithal to do all of that business as diligently as I used to. You see, it's like my friend Trina says: "One kid is one kid. Two is twenty."
So with you came an avalanche of more work. I changed to an exponentially more challenging job about two days after I found out I was pregnant with you, and then, well, two kids. Or what might as well be twenty. So you will not likely grow up with scads of memorabilia neatly organized into piles and boxes and cd's and flashdrives and frames. You will have some. It will have to be enough.
What you will grow up with is a big brother. And one that worships you and with whom you will create so many memories there won't be room for the artificial stuff I could purchase or create.
You will grow up with a mom and a dad who are busy but make it that way because they want to cram AS MUCH LIFE into each moment as humanly possible. And for you, that means a life full of parties and people and loved ones new and old. It means knowing about your community and being a part of the big picture in a way that can't be replaced with trips to Toys R Us, which we abhor and will never make time for. Sorry.
As for you, you're nothing short of exceptional. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom. You are brilliant. I tell people all the time about the things you can do, which are grossly boring to them but utterly fascinating to me. For about the past six months, since you were about 15 months old, you could hold a pen properly and draw. And not just scribble, but make circles and representations of bunnies and copies of things you see in books. Oh, and the books. You carry one under your wing all the time, sort of like the character Petunia. You eat dinner with "Old Man" (a little silly board book of "This Old Man" tucked under your chubby thigh. You make me read 100 books a day, and that doesn't count what your teachers are submitting to at school.
We have long said that "You be little, but you be fierce." We sort of knew from the very beginning that you are a woman of will. You're sweet and good, but you know your own mind and you don't do what your'e not really interested in doing. Your brother, who is sweetness and light and all sensitivity, can be talked into cuddles and kisses, but not you. You cross your arms and say "NO" until you're darn good and ready to share some lovin' with us. I think this will serve you well, Daughter.
You're gorgeous, also. This may serve you well, but I have my concerns. Your big brown eyes can easily become a substitute for action. If you get what you want with those, why work harder on your skills? Be careful, Daughter, with those eyes.
It's almost Thanksgiving, which means its almost Christmas, which means we are gearing up to show you a REALLY GOOD TIME. Here is hoping you don't scream on Santa's lap this year. Or, to be honest, here is sort of hoping that you do.
We love you to the moon and back. And then some.
Thank you for being the loveliest, most amazing creature.
Always,
Mama
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't taken as much video, written as many letters, had your picture professionally taken, or worked on your baby book as much as I did for your brother. I am really sorry. Unfortunately, I don't think I can promise to change my ways. I simply don't have the time or wherewithal to do all of that business as diligently as I used to. You see, it's like my friend Trina says: "One kid is one kid. Two is twenty."
So with you came an avalanche of more work. I changed to an exponentially more challenging job about two days after I found out I was pregnant with you, and then, well, two kids. Or what might as well be twenty. So you will not likely grow up with scads of memorabilia neatly organized into piles and boxes and cd's and flashdrives and frames. You will have some. It will have to be enough.
What you will grow up with is a big brother. And one that worships you and with whom you will create so many memories there won't be room for the artificial stuff I could purchase or create.
You will grow up with a mom and a dad who are busy but make it that way because they want to cram AS MUCH LIFE into each moment as humanly possible. And for you, that means a life full of parties and people and loved ones new and old. It means knowing about your community and being a part of the big picture in a way that can't be replaced with trips to Toys R Us, which we abhor and will never make time for. Sorry.
As for you, you're nothing short of exceptional. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom. You are brilliant. I tell people all the time about the things you can do, which are grossly boring to them but utterly fascinating to me. For about the past six months, since you were about 15 months old, you could hold a pen properly and draw. And not just scribble, but make circles and representations of bunnies and copies of things you see in books. Oh, and the books. You carry one under your wing all the time, sort of like the character Petunia. You eat dinner with "Old Man" (a little silly board book of "This Old Man" tucked under your chubby thigh. You make me read 100 books a day, and that doesn't count what your teachers are submitting to at school.
We have long said that "You be little, but you be fierce." We sort of knew from the very beginning that you are a woman of will. You're sweet and good, but you know your own mind and you don't do what your'e not really interested in doing. Your brother, who is sweetness and light and all sensitivity, can be talked into cuddles and kisses, but not you. You cross your arms and say "NO" until you're darn good and ready to share some lovin' with us. I think this will serve you well, Daughter.
You're gorgeous, also. This may serve you well, but I have my concerns. Your big brown eyes can easily become a substitute for action. If you get what you want with those, why work harder on your skills? Be careful, Daughter, with those eyes.
It's almost Thanksgiving, which means its almost Christmas, which means we are gearing up to show you a REALLY GOOD TIME. Here is hoping you don't scream on Santa's lap this year. Or, to be honest, here is sort of hoping that you do.
We love you to the moon and back. And then some.
Thank you for being the loveliest, most amazing creature.
Always,
Mama
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Johnny Letter #23
Dear Johnny,
I just tucked you in. This is quite possibly my favorite part of my day, on the days it is my turn to do it. Lucky Daddy, he gets a turn every other night.
I have many shortcomings as a parent. I don't make enough time to play superheros with you. Sometimes I'm too tired to play a game or run around the yard, instead opting for cartoons for you and Kindle time for me. I work a lot, get cranky, and often forget to wash your school bedding on time.
But one thing I am great at is bedtime. And the reason I am great at it is because of you. For as long as I can remember, after our nightly story, you have asked me to "Talk about what we'll do in the morning." So we do the usual rundown of "breakfast, get dressed, school, yada yada..." It is the same virtually every day. Our days are so regular, it would be painful if it weren't so simply sweet. There is no reason you need to hear what we'll "do in the morning" because you know the routine better than you know the dialogue in Toy Story 2, which is to say, very, very well. VERY well. Still, you ask every night, and I repeat the litany of the things, and then you throw an arm around my neck and look me in the eyes and say "I love you, Mama."
And I say, "I love you Johnny. To bits and bits and bits. I love you and I always keep you safe." And you say "I know." And you roll over and turn out your lamp after asking me about 100 times if I will stay and "sleep with you for a long time" which is your new obsession. You want us to spend the night in your room. I blame myself - I've done it a time or two, mostly by accident.
The routine rarely varies except that sometimes you ask for a song, and I say "what song" and you always always say "Mockingbird," which is the song my mama always sang to me.
Yesterday, we read The Giving Tree at naptime and I had to hide the fact that I was choking back tears. So tonight when we were picking a book you said you didn't want The Giving Tree I said I was happy, because sometimes that book makes me sad. You wanted to know why, so I explained that it reminds me that you are going to grow up one day and you might not need me anymore. This seemed to truly shock you, the notion that you might not need me, and you looked me square in the eye and said "But I will still stay here with you."
Which is simultaneously terrifying and gratifying. For now, I'll take it. Eventually it is my job to send you packing, but for now, I'll take the idea that I will get to tuck you in into perpetuity, and that I'll get to redeem my lackluster parenting skills every other night when we crawl in your bed with blankets and books and hugs and whispers of plans for tomorrow.
Thank you for being the sweetest boy ever.
All my love,
Mama
Mama
Monday, January 6, 2014
Johnny Letter #22
Dearest Johnny,
I wanted to take this opportunity to recap your 5th and so far, most awesome Christmas while it was still fresh in my mind.
Let me begin by explaining the time leading up to Christmas. Mommy's life erupted with some confusion that resulted in pimples, nails bitten back to the quick, and a lack of ability to concentrate on the simplest tasks -but that's another story altogether. Suffice to say, Mommy wasn't quite up to snuff in her focus on Christmas and planning this year.
Also shortly before Christmas, Daddy was sitting at the table with you coaxing you to eat dinner, the same as one or both of us does tediously every night of your life, when you urped on your plate. How was he to know this night's resistance to food was significantly different than any other night of the week or year? You detest letting anything that is not a fruit snack or a chocolate candy pass your lips, so how was he to know you had a real deal aversion to food that night? This was the beginning of a stretch of The Plague that started with you, ran its course through (and when I say "ran through" I mean RAN THROUGH) our bodies one by one.
But it was a brief, albeit highly disturbing, plague and it didn't stop us for too long from enjoying Christmas festivities. Although maybe it should have, because we left a wake of (no kidding) at least 30 bodies behind us. People dropped like flies after having been in our midst for more than 30 seconds. Sorry, Lawrence. Sorry, Cheney. Sorry, Kansas City, El Dorado, and Dallas, Texas. Sorry, sorry, sorry about that!!
But still, even with The Sickness and The Stress, it was The Best Christmas Ever. I am not even kidding.
Because of you. Because you LOVED IT ALL SO VERY MUCH AND TOLD US EVERY TEN SECONDS HOW MUCH YOU LOVE CHRISTMAS AND US AND SANTA AND OH MY LIGHTS AND CANDY AND OHHHHH THE DECORATIONS AND THE PARTIES AND LOOK AT THIS MAMA ITS A CANDY CANE!!!??!!!!
You wrote your letter to Santa with a little help from yours truly, and you delivered it at the post office. Only little did Mama know that the post office isn't really open at the wee hour of the morning that we went to drop the letter in a special North Pole slot. But a nice postal employee saw what we were trying to do and unlocked the door just for you to go deliver your list to The Big Guy. It really almost brought a tear to my eye.
We went downtown for a little music and to watch Santa be rescued from on top of Weavers Department store and I must say, I kind of got misty eyed that night too, standing across from our town's quaint 159 year old department store, singing Christmas carols with my fellow Lawrencecians while you screamed that SANTA LOOKED AT you! HE DID! HE LOOKED RIGHT AT ME MAMA.
You had the opportunity again this year to have breakfast and a shopping spree with a local police officer because of the awesome Take Our Youth Shopping program at your school. You got yourself some things and a monkey for Lily and candles for me, and the whole thing nearly killed you with the awesomeness. You haven't stopped talking about it and NEXT YEAR? NEXT YEAR I AM GOING TO GET A BATMAN WHEN I GO WITH THE POLICE OFFICER.
We went to Sandbar Subs and your sister did us proud by screaming bloody murder at the mere sight of Santa and we did what all self respecting parents do and put her on his lap anyway and took a picture. You, on the other hand, were cool as a cucumber and whispered your desires right in his ear and were delighted with the bag of sweets he handed you in return. Santa was surprised to hear that you had changed a want on your list at the last minute and he had to scramble to make sure everything you asked for was under the tree on Christmas morning. But you got that "Big Spiderman that Does It Webs" and it is truly the best toy ever.
You loved seeing all your grandparents and cousins and asked me for days on end afterward if we were going back and when and what was the next Christmas we were going to have. You were more than a little sad when we took down the tree and decorations and said goodbye to Christmas until next year. which only made the whole thing sweeter.
I never knew Christmas could be like this. I've always done okay with holidays and liked the special times of year, but this? This is unparalleled. Bless your sweetest heart for making our lives so full of wonder and happiness. What ever would we do without you and your sister?
?
All our love and then some,
Mama and Daddy
I wanted to take this opportunity to recap your 5th and so far, most awesome Christmas while it was still fresh in my mind.
Let me begin by explaining the time leading up to Christmas. Mommy's life erupted with some confusion that resulted in pimples, nails bitten back to the quick, and a lack of ability to concentrate on the simplest tasks -but that's another story altogether. Suffice to say, Mommy wasn't quite up to snuff in her focus on Christmas and planning this year.
Also shortly before Christmas, Daddy was sitting at the table with you coaxing you to eat dinner, the same as one or both of us does tediously every night of your life, when you urped on your plate. How was he to know this night's resistance to food was significantly different than any other night of the week or year? You detest letting anything that is not a fruit snack or a chocolate candy pass your lips, so how was he to know you had a real deal aversion to food that night? This was the beginning of a stretch of The Plague that started with you, ran its course through (and when I say "ran through" I mean RAN THROUGH) our bodies one by one.
But it was a brief, albeit highly disturbing, plague and it didn't stop us for too long from enjoying Christmas festivities. Although maybe it should have, because we left a wake of (no kidding) at least 30 bodies behind us. People dropped like flies after having been in our midst for more than 30 seconds. Sorry, Lawrence. Sorry, Cheney. Sorry, Kansas City, El Dorado, and Dallas, Texas. Sorry, sorry, sorry about that!!
But still, even with The Sickness and The Stress, it was The Best Christmas Ever. I am not even kidding.
Because of you. Because you LOVED IT ALL SO VERY MUCH AND TOLD US EVERY TEN SECONDS HOW MUCH YOU LOVE CHRISTMAS AND US AND SANTA AND OH MY LIGHTS AND CANDY AND OHHHHH THE DECORATIONS AND THE PARTIES AND LOOK AT THIS MAMA ITS A CANDY CANE!!!??!!!!
You wrote your letter to Santa with a little help from yours truly, and you delivered it at the post office. Only little did Mama know that the post office isn't really open at the wee hour of the morning that we went to drop the letter in a special North Pole slot. But a nice postal employee saw what we were trying to do and unlocked the door just for you to go deliver your list to The Big Guy. It really almost brought a tear to my eye.
We went downtown for a little music and to watch Santa be rescued from on top of Weavers Department store and I must say, I kind of got misty eyed that night too, standing across from our town's quaint 159 year old department store, singing Christmas carols with my fellow Lawrencecians while you screamed that SANTA LOOKED AT you! HE DID! HE LOOKED RIGHT AT ME MAMA.
You had the opportunity again this year to have breakfast and a shopping spree with a local police officer because of the awesome Take Our Youth Shopping program at your school. You got yourself some things and a monkey for Lily and candles for me, and the whole thing nearly killed you with the awesomeness. You haven't stopped talking about it and NEXT YEAR? NEXT YEAR I AM GOING TO GET A BATMAN WHEN I GO WITH THE POLICE OFFICER.
We went to Sandbar Subs and your sister did us proud by screaming bloody murder at the mere sight of Santa and we did what all self respecting parents do and put her on his lap anyway and took a picture. You, on the other hand, were cool as a cucumber and whispered your desires right in his ear and were delighted with the bag of sweets he handed you in return. Santa was surprised to hear that you had changed a want on your list at the last minute and he had to scramble to make sure everything you asked for was under the tree on Christmas morning. But you got that "Big Spiderman that Does It Webs" and it is truly the best toy ever.
You loved seeing all your grandparents and cousins and asked me for days on end afterward if we were going back and when and what was the next Christmas we were going to have. You were more than a little sad when we took down the tree and decorations and said goodbye to Christmas until next year. which only made the whole thing sweeter.
I never knew Christmas could be like this. I've always done okay with holidays and liked the special times of year, but this? This is unparalleled. Bless your sweetest heart for making our lives so full of wonder and happiness. What ever would we do without you and your sister?
All our love and then some,
Mama and Daddy
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 12
Dear Lily,
Your hair is really something. Let's just talk about the fact that I have given you three, count them - THREE - haircuts, since you were born, the last one so significant that I had to attempt to use some sort of haircutting technique to remove your formidable mullet. But now? Oh my, is that hair cute. Let this be a lesson to you. Everyone told me not to cut it, but I did it anyway, because that is how your mother is. I cannot help myself. Most things, I just go ahead and do, against the better judgement of most of the world. Sometimes, they turn out great, like your hair. Sometimes, not so much. It's never boring.
You like your brother a lot. You light up and laugh for him far more than you do anyone else. I try not to be jealous, but seriously, does he get up with you in the middle of the night or wipe your boogars on his sleeve? I didn't think so. Still, it's nice you're friends. Let's keep it that way.
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You're crawling super fast (almost creepy fast) and pulling up on stuff and hey, why don't you just go ahead and walk so I can bring you to The Ballard Center with me on your first birthday? You can't come if you aren't walking and I can't tell you how much it delights me to think of having both of my babes there at work with me all day. Sorry, Ballard Center. I will try to accomplish tasks in between rounds of hugs and kisses and hair petting. No promises.
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We're going to your Grammy's house tomorrow to see your Aunt Amy and Cousin Kate (she whom you are named after) and your brother is so excited he can't sleep. He might be more excited tonight than he was the night before Halloween, which I thought was unparalleled Johnny excitement, but Halloween ain't got nothin on Grammy plus cousins. It's off the chain. One day I am sure you will understand. The kids? They love their Grammy. She makes all of the favorite things and puts Max and Ruby on a continuous loop and there are PETS. Did I mention PETS? This is a coveted situation, seeing as your mother and father have made a NO PETS rule that seems to have stuck for almost 3 years now. WINNING!
You are big into the Patty Cake scene right now and close behind it is the world of Waving Bye Bye. We've been working hard on your Blow Kisses talent which is coming along nicely and maybe next week we'll introduce So Big to your repertoire and then BOOM, Baby, you're taking this act on the road. I'm sure people would probably just pay to look at you but with these added bonuses? We will sell this thing out. You can patty cake like NO BABY BEFORE YOU. Or at least like most of the other babies, and it's stinking cute regardless.
I feel like the parent of the year because I have conquered cutting your fingernails. I haven't done this in over four years, when I tried once - ONCE - to cut your brother's nails and nicked him. Never again. Your Grandma Barbara did it ever since, but I decided I was going to climb the fingernail mountain and face my fears, and dang if you aren't accomodating. It's the only time you ever sit still, but somehow you know that if your mother is wielding a sharp object near your body, you best cooperate. Smart Lily.
You are charming and sparkly and all claps and smiles. Your big brown eyes are the center of my world. Bless your pea-pickin' heart.
Everything,
Mama
Your hair is really something. Let's just talk about the fact that I have given you three, count them - THREE - haircuts, since you were born, the last one so significant that I had to attempt to use some sort of haircutting technique to remove your formidable mullet. But now? Oh my, is that hair cute. Let this be a lesson to you. Everyone told me not to cut it, but I did it anyway, because that is how your mother is. I cannot help myself. Most things, I just go ahead and do, against the better judgement of most of the world. Sometimes, they turn out great, like your hair. Sometimes, not so much. It's never boring.
You like your brother a lot. You light up and laugh for him far more than you do anyone else. I try not to be jealous, but seriously, does he get up with you in the middle of the night or wipe your boogars on his sleeve? I didn't think so. Still, it's nice you're friends. Let's keep it that way.
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We're going to your Grammy's house tomorrow to see your Aunt Amy and Cousin Kate (she whom you are named after) and your brother is so excited he can't sleep. He might be more excited tonight than he was the night before Halloween, which I thought was unparalleled Johnny excitement, but Halloween ain't got nothin on Grammy plus cousins. It's off the chain. One day I am sure you will understand. The kids? They love their Grammy. She makes all of the favorite things and puts Max and Ruby on a continuous loop and there are PETS. Did I mention PETS? This is a coveted situation, seeing as your mother and father have made a NO PETS rule that seems to have stuck for almost 3 years now. WINNING!
You are big into the Patty Cake scene right now and close behind it is the world of Waving Bye Bye. We've been working hard on your Blow Kisses talent which is coming along nicely and maybe next week we'll introduce So Big to your repertoire and then BOOM, Baby, you're taking this act on the road. I'm sure people would probably just pay to look at you but with these added bonuses? We will sell this thing out. You can patty cake like NO BABY BEFORE YOU. Or at least like most of the other babies, and it's stinking cute regardless.
I feel like the parent of the year because I have conquered cutting your fingernails. I haven't done this in over four years, when I tried once - ONCE - to cut your brother's nails and nicked him. Never again. Your Grandma Barbara did it ever since, but I decided I was going to climb the fingernail mountain and face my fears, and dang if you aren't accomodating. It's the only time you ever sit still, but somehow you know that if your mother is wielding a sharp object near your body, you best cooperate. Smart Lily.
You are charming and sparkly and all claps and smiles. Your big brown eyes are the center of my world. Bless your pea-pickin' heart.
Everything,
Mama
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Johnny Letter #21
Dear Johnny,
Tonight you had your first real taste of Bad Decisions. Before this you made a few, let's be honest. But tonight you made one that I can call yours. You were big enough to know better, and smart enough to understand suffering the consequences.
It wasn't a terrible awful very bad decision. It was just a run-of-the-mill, make-Mama-real-mad bad decision. You didn't throw your sister down the stairs or anything. You just decided to use Mama's lipstick to decorate her favorite and very expensive chair (read: prized possession) and paint her kitchen table with orange nail polish.
This is what I get for having thoughts. Because yesterday I saw that lipstick laying there and had the audacity to think to myself, "I am so glad I have a kid who doesn't mess with my stuff. He could totally do some damage with that thing, but it's been there for three days and 'nada'." Same for the new nail polish I brought home over the weekend. Ooops. There I go thinking. I go downstairs to change over laundry and apparently I took too long because you decided to punish me. And I had to give you a consequence for your actions. A whole night of NO TV. You'd have thought I pulled out your arm hairs one by one.
All in all, though, it worked out okay. The good news is, you hate when we're upset. You CARE. And that's what matters. You know you screwed up, you own your mistake, and you took your punishment, albeit with a good amount of tears. Most of the tears, I think were due to your distress over having disappointed us, but let's be fair: the no TV thing was a real killer.
You are hard to punish. You are so sweet, and so despondent, and you kept asking "ARE YOU HAPPY? MAMA, ARE YOU HAPPY?" You so hated to have made me and your father upset. It made me love you more and more and for the first time, I sent you to your room. That part is what really killed you. You went, and you stayed while I cleaned up the mess and when I beckoned you out, you'd have thought your Elmo doll had been ripped from limb to limb, how sad you were.
This is very good news, son. You are a sensitive soul, one who feels EVERYTHING and knows that feeling bad? Not good. You want happiness and light and dang if you don't just bring it with you everywhere you go. I am so glad I don't have to punish you for being mean to friends or not sharing with your sister. Those things, general niceness and love, come easily to you. The occasional soiled chair or mess is nothing. I would trade a million beautiful chairs for your sweet nature. You care about people. You care about who is a good guy and who is saying nice words and who is your BEST FRIEND FOREVER (which is, in a word, EVERYONE).
Son, you are a treasure. You turned four and had two parties and rocked them both. You LOVE each present, no matter if it's a $4 box of playdough I got you or a rockin' car track set from a grandparent. It's all YOUR FAVORITE and you've spent days recounting who was here and who brought what and thanking them over and over to me and your dad. I wish it was your birthday every day, for it is so fun.
A minion cake and a rousing round of "Happy birthday to you" is all it takes to delight you into speechlessness. Oh, to be four. To be Johnny Stuke and four? Even better.
You are our pride, our joy, and our every twinge of happiness.
All my love,
Mama
Tonight you had your first real taste of Bad Decisions. Before this you made a few, let's be honest. But tonight you made one that I can call yours. You were big enough to know better, and smart enough to understand suffering the consequences.
It wasn't a terrible awful very bad decision. It was just a run-of-the-mill, make-Mama-real-mad bad decision. You didn't throw your sister down the stairs or anything. You just decided to use Mama's lipstick to decorate her favorite and very expensive chair (read: prized possession) and paint her kitchen table with orange nail polish.
This is what I get for having thoughts. Because yesterday I saw that lipstick laying there and had the audacity to think to myself, "I am so glad I have a kid who doesn't mess with my stuff. He could totally do some damage with that thing, but it's been there for three days and 'nada'." Same for the new nail polish I brought home over the weekend. Ooops. There I go thinking. I go downstairs to change over laundry and apparently I took too long because you decided to punish me. And I had to give you a consequence for your actions. A whole night of NO TV. You'd have thought I pulled out your arm hairs one by one.
All in all, though, it worked out okay. The good news is, you hate when we're upset. You CARE. And that's what matters. You know you screwed up, you own your mistake, and you took your punishment, albeit with a good amount of tears. Most of the tears, I think were due to your distress over having disappointed us, but let's be fair: the no TV thing was a real killer.
You are hard to punish. You are so sweet, and so despondent, and you kept asking "ARE YOU HAPPY? MAMA, ARE YOU HAPPY?" You so hated to have made me and your father upset. It made me love you more and more and for the first time, I sent you to your room. That part is what really killed you. You went, and you stayed while I cleaned up the mess and when I beckoned you out, you'd have thought your Elmo doll had been ripped from limb to limb, how sad you were.
This is very good news, son. You are a sensitive soul, one who feels EVERYTHING and knows that feeling bad? Not good. You want happiness and light and dang if you don't just bring it with you everywhere you go. I am so glad I don't have to punish you for being mean to friends or not sharing with your sister. Those things, general niceness and love, come easily to you. The occasional soiled chair or mess is nothing. I would trade a million beautiful chairs for your sweet nature. You care about people. You care about who is a good guy and who is saying nice words and who is your BEST FRIEND FOREVER (which is, in a word, EVERYONE).
Son, you are a treasure. You turned four and had two parties and rocked them both. You LOVE each present, no matter if it's a $4 box of playdough I got you or a rockin' car track set from a grandparent. It's all YOUR FAVORITE and you've spent days recounting who was here and who brought what and thanking them over and over to me and your dad. I wish it was your birthday every day, for it is so fun.
A minion cake and a rousing round of "Happy birthday to you" is all it takes to delight you into speechlessness. Oh, to be four. To be Johnny Stuke and four? Even better.
You are our pride, our joy, and our every twinge of happiness.
All my love,
Mama
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 11
Dear Lily,
You're 7 months old. You get more adorable every day. Your dad says I used to say it about your brother too, and it's probably true, but I swear, just when I think you can't get any cuter, you do.
Currently, I like to tell everyone that you are the "cutest thing on planet Earth." I am not even kidding, and I know I'm your mom, but for real, you are. You are round and sweet and you laugh a lot and dang if you don't want to crawl. You get up on all fours, rock back and forth, and when you can't quite figure out how to move the hands and knees to accomplish forward motion, you hop. On all fours, you hop. It's ridiculously cute and nothing short of awesome. That's my girl, thinking outside the box at 7 months.
No matter what is happening in my life, how stressful work is or how worried I am about our budget or the hot water heater or the too many things that are always on my plate, when I come home to you, it all melts away. Holding you, playing on the floor, feeding you baby food, that is my happy place.
Some mornings your dad, who gets up a little before me most days, will bring you to my bed while he showers and I'll feed you a bottle and at some point your brother will wake up and join us in the bed for a hot minute before he begs and demands oatmeal and an episode of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood. Sometimes, during those few minutes, your dad will flop back down and there we'll all be, for about two minutes of morning bliss, and those are moments that I seriously close my eyes for just a second and think, "DO NOT FORGET THIS." No matter what happens in my life, I will have those moments, and if nothing good ever happens to me again, it's okay, because I've had THIS. I know that sounds cynical and even maybe a little morbid, but it's true. I've had the best of the best, and you and your brother and your dad are all of that.
I love me a good party and we had your brother's annual Johnny and Cash birthday bash this past weekend. You were delightful. You got passed around to lots of our friends and maybe peed on one but she happily forgave you. Mostly, you were delightful, I should say. Except for the peeing on Jo's dress. Anyway, we do this party every year and this year it was extra awesome because instead of bringing a lot of toys your brother will play with for five minutes, people brought donations for the Ballard Center - the little community center where your mama works. I cried through the whole thing. You are blessed with THE BEST community ever. I'm glad you and your brother can grow up with this kind of perspective. I'm glad you'll be supported by the amazing group of people we've collected over 20 plus years in Lawrence. This is what you get for having old parents. You're welcome.
I'm sorry that you will probably not get to experience parties on this scale, because you have the great misfortune of having a January birthday. Trust me, Sister, if I'd have planned this pregnancy, it wouldn't have resulted in a winter birthday. But, you wanted to be born in January and my girl gets what she wants. I can already tell that about you. If you pick up a piece of fruit off of the table while you sit in the high chair while I make dinner and then you drop it and can't reach, you cry at it. Just for a second, but you want that lemon to know that it has wronged you. It's not a big obnoxious fit - just a little "WAH! Hey! I wanted you and you let me drop you! Don't do it again, okay?! Okay, thanks." I love that I see a little spunk already. Atta girl, you're gonna need it.
I love you more than chocolate chip cookie dough and a milk crate full of Peeps.
Mommy
You're 7 months old. You get more adorable every day. Your dad says I used to say it about your brother too, and it's probably true, but I swear, just when I think you can't get any cuter, you do.
Currently, I like to tell everyone that you are the "cutest thing on planet Earth." I am not even kidding, and I know I'm your mom, but for real, you are. You are round and sweet and you laugh a lot and dang if you don't want to crawl. You get up on all fours, rock back and forth, and when you can't quite figure out how to move the hands and knees to accomplish forward motion, you hop. On all fours, you hop. It's ridiculously cute and nothing short of awesome. That's my girl, thinking outside the box at 7 months.
No matter what is happening in my life, how stressful work is or how worried I am about our budget or the hot water heater or the too many things that are always on my plate, when I come home to you, it all melts away. Holding you, playing on the floor, feeding you baby food, that is my happy place.
Some mornings your dad, who gets up a little before me most days, will bring you to my bed while he showers and I'll feed you a bottle and at some point your brother will wake up and join us in the bed for a hot minute before he begs and demands oatmeal and an episode of Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood. Sometimes, during those few minutes, your dad will flop back down and there we'll all be, for about two minutes of morning bliss, and those are moments that I seriously close my eyes for just a second and think, "DO NOT FORGET THIS." No matter what happens in my life, I will have those moments, and if nothing good ever happens to me again, it's okay, because I've had THIS. I know that sounds cynical and even maybe a little morbid, but it's true. I've had the best of the best, and you and your brother and your dad are all of that.
I love me a good party and we had your brother's annual Johnny and Cash birthday bash this past weekend. You were delightful. You got passed around to lots of our friends and maybe peed on one but she happily forgave you. Mostly, you were delightful, I should say. Except for the peeing on Jo's dress. Anyway, we do this party every year and this year it was extra awesome because instead of bringing a lot of toys your brother will play with for five minutes, people brought donations for the Ballard Center - the little community center where your mama works. I cried through the whole thing. You are blessed with THE BEST community ever. I'm glad you and your brother can grow up with this kind of perspective. I'm glad you'll be supported by the amazing group of people we've collected over 20 plus years in Lawrence. This is what you get for having old parents. You're welcome.
I'm sorry that you will probably not get to experience parties on this scale, because you have the great misfortune of having a January birthday. Trust me, Sister, if I'd have planned this pregnancy, it wouldn't have resulted in a winter birthday. But, you wanted to be born in January and my girl gets what she wants. I can already tell that about you. If you pick up a piece of fruit off of the table while you sit in the high chair while I make dinner and then you drop it and can't reach, you cry at it. Just for a second, but you want that lemon to know that it has wronged you. It's not a big obnoxious fit - just a little "WAH! Hey! I wanted you and you let me drop you! Don't do it again, okay?! Okay, thanks." I love that I see a little spunk already. Atta girl, you're gonna need it.
I love you more than chocolate chip cookie dough and a milk crate full of Peeps.
Mommy
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 10
Dear Lily,
You turned five months old this week and you are the size of a three year old. No, seriously, you're kind of giant. You're gorgeous and robust and strong. You can sit up with very little help and you look like you're going to take off crawling across the room any minute - the right lure just hasn't shown up yet to make you get moving. Your EXPANSIVE wardrobe saddens me - I know you'll never get to wear all the 3 - 6 month stuff before you outgrow it. I'm maniacally shoving you into three, four, five outfits a day just so I can see you in everything before we have to hand it down.
You're nothing short of amazing. Starting a little over a week ago, you sleep through the night. 10 hours straight, in the crib, quiet. THANK YOU. Let me say it again: THANK YOU. In this hectic life we live, the fact that you are a happy baby who likes to sleep? Priceless. I am going to go buy you that pony now.
I had to give you a little haircut awhile back, because Sister, you were rocking a mullet. A rather grand and serious mullet. Which if you were a teenage boy in Topeka, KS in 1984, that would have been more awesome than bacon-wrapped hot dogs, but since you are a pretty girl in 2013, it had to go. I do not know anyone who has given their four month old a haircut except me, but welcome to your mother's crazy. I couldn't stand it. So now your hair is simply adorable, dark and plentiful without trying to be ironically retro. Don't worry - I saved a snip of it in your baby book. Because that is not weird at all. NOT WEIRD I SAID.
Of course, everyone loves you, probably me most of all, though your father begs to differ. Please do not let this go to your head. I will still not let you borrow the car, and no one is buying you beer before you're 21.
I drag you around to as many places as I possibly can and try to show you off. It's completely shameless, but I do feel it's wrong to hoard all the cuteness to myself. Plus, that wardrobe, it really does need an audience.
I kept saying it to your brother but he didn't listen: STOP GROWING. STOP IT! He's all big now, and while he's certainly as adorable as the day he was born, I also REALLY LIKE BABIES, so please stay round and cute and keep letting me haul you around while you hold onto my neck and coo. FOREVER.
Everything,
Mama
You turned five months old this week and you are the size of a three year old. No, seriously, you're kind of giant. You're gorgeous and robust and strong. You can sit up with very little help and you look like you're going to take off crawling across the room any minute - the right lure just hasn't shown up yet to make you get moving. Your EXPANSIVE wardrobe saddens me - I know you'll never get to wear all the 3 - 6 month stuff before you outgrow it. I'm maniacally shoving you into three, four, five outfits a day just so I can see you in everything before we have to hand it down.
You're nothing short of amazing. Starting a little over a week ago, you sleep through the night. 10 hours straight, in the crib, quiet. THANK YOU. Let me say it again: THANK YOU. In this hectic life we live, the fact that you are a happy baby who likes to sleep? Priceless. I am going to go buy you that pony now.
I had to give you a little haircut awhile back, because Sister, you were rocking a mullet. A rather grand and serious mullet. Which if you were a teenage boy in Topeka, KS in 1984, that would have been more awesome than bacon-wrapped hot dogs, but since you are a pretty girl in 2013, it had to go. I do not know anyone who has given their four month old a haircut except me, but welcome to your mother's crazy. I couldn't stand it. So now your hair is simply adorable, dark and plentiful without trying to be ironically retro. Don't worry - I saved a snip of it in your baby book. Because that is not weird at all. NOT WEIRD I SAID.
Of course, everyone loves you, probably me most of all, though your father begs to differ. Please do not let this go to your head. I will still not let you borrow the car, and no one is buying you beer before you're 21.
I drag you around to as many places as I possibly can and try to show you off. It's completely shameless, but I do feel it's wrong to hoard all the cuteness to myself. Plus, that wardrobe, it really does need an audience.
I kept saying it to your brother but he didn't listen: STOP GROWING. STOP IT! He's all big now, and while he's certainly as adorable as the day he was born, I also REALLY LIKE BABIES, so please stay round and cute and keep letting me haul you around while you hold onto my neck and coo. FOREVER.
Everything,
Mama
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 9
There were ten in the bed and the little one said
"Roll over, roll over..."
Lily,
You roll over. And over and over and over. You are the busiest girl. Unlike your brother, who really could not be bothered to move much at all and who preferred to be bundled like a burrito most of his infant life, you like to roam free. You never needed (nor wanted) a tight swaddle, and you relish the opportunity to show off your kicking and stretching, which I can only presume you learned from your Aunt Lindsey sometime in the womb. I can't be sure, since she wasn't in this state while you were gestating, but somehow it sunk in. Your Aunt Lindsey is the kickin-est, stretchin-est woman ever. Even when she falls down, she's still good at it. I assume you'll be the same. One day, I'll explain.
Anyway, you like to use your arms and legs and you were far ahead of the class in the rolling over competition. Oh, wait. We don't compete. Right? Well, whatever. You did it early. And you do it and do it and do it, much to my chagrin, because once you get over? Guess what. You want to be on your back again, and that, girlfriend, you haven't quite figured out. So there you lay, like a scrambling bug looking for footing, and dang if you aren't just mad about it. HEY SISTER, YOU DID IT TO YOURSELF. These are lessons I had to be in my 30's to learn, so hopefully you'll be brighter than your old mom and do just go ahead and figure that out at four months and save us both a lot of slammed doors.
Next week, you'll be asking me to borrow the car. OH, TOO BAD. I HAVE A MINI VAN. Sucks to be you. No one wants that. I am no dummy, sister. I will drive the uncoolest car I can possibly muster until you are 20 so you will never request to drive it. BEEN THERE DONE THAT. Hellooo, Ford Escort. Oh, they don't make you anymore? I'll find one from the 80's. Surely my daughter won't want to borrow it and ride down dirt roads with warm bottles of Boone's Farm in that. Not that I know anything about that.
Lily, you are going to be a challenge. You're a super-good girl now, and all smiles and gurgles and fantastic baby sounds. But I can tell that you possess a certain spunk that your brother does not. He is all sweetness and light and snuggles and FEELINGS. You tend more toward the "HEY GIRL, LET'S ROLL" sort of programming, and while I respect that (I have NO IDEA where you got it), it terrifies me.
Roll on, sister. Just do it wearing a seatbelt, helmet, and any other protective gear they offer.
You're hilarious and bubbly and everything I ever hoped a daughter would be, even when I didn't think I'd get to have a daughter. Thank you SO MUCH for screwing up last summer. You are worth every minute of my disastrous swimsuit season.
All my hugs and kisses,
Mama
"Roll over, roll over..."
Lily,
You roll over. And over and over and over. You are the busiest girl. Unlike your brother, who really could not be bothered to move much at all and who preferred to be bundled like a burrito most of his infant life, you like to roam free. You never needed (nor wanted) a tight swaddle, and you relish the opportunity to show off your kicking and stretching, which I can only presume you learned from your Aunt Lindsey sometime in the womb. I can't be sure, since she wasn't in this state while you were gestating, but somehow it sunk in. Your Aunt Lindsey is the kickin-est, stretchin-est woman ever. Even when she falls down, she's still good at it. I assume you'll be the same. One day, I'll explain.
Anyway, you like to use your arms and legs and you were far ahead of the class in the rolling over competition. Oh, wait. We don't compete. Right? Well, whatever. You did it early. And you do it and do it and do it, much to my chagrin, because once you get over? Guess what. You want to be on your back again, and that, girlfriend, you haven't quite figured out. So there you lay, like a scrambling bug looking for footing, and dang if you aren't just mad about it. HEY SISTER, YOU DID IT TO YOURSELF. These are lessons I had to be in my 30's to learn, so hopefully you'll be brighter than your old mom and do just go ahead and figure that out at four months and save us both a lot of slammed doors.
Next week, you'll be asking me to borrow the car. OH, TOO BAD. I HAVE A MINI VAN. Sucks to be you. No one wants that. I am no dummy, sister. I will drive the uncoolest car I can possibly muster until you are 20 so you will never request to drive it. BEEN THERE DONE THAT. Hellooo, Ford Escort. Oh, they don't make you anymore? I'll find one from the 80's. Surely my daughter won't want to borrow it and ride down dirt roads with warm bottles of Boone's Farm in that. Not that I know anything about that.
Lily, you are going to be a challenge. You're a super-good girl now, and all smiles and gurgles and fantastic baby sounds. But I can tell that you possess a certain spunk that your brother does not. He is all sweetness and light and snuggles and FEELINGS. You tend more toward the "HEY GIRL, LET'S ROLL" sort of programming, and while I respect that (I have NO IDEA where you got it), it terrifies me.
Roll on, sister. Just do it wearing a seatbelt, helmet, and any other protective gear they offer.
You're hilarious and bubbly and everything I ever hoped a daughter would be, even when I didn't think I'd get to have a daughter. Thank you SO MUCH for screwing up last summer. You are worth every minute of my disastrous swimsuit season.
All my hugs and kisses,
Mama
Monday, May 13, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 8
Dear Lily,
I've been poor about these letters. It turns out, two babies are much harder and time consuming than one. With one baby, I could cook, write, work, and mother with relative ease. There was time for everything I needed to do and most of what I wanted. This time, with you, things have been more challenging. My job is more challenging. We have more house, more responsibilities, infinitely more laundry, and more people needing our time - most of all you and your brother.
Thankfully, you are a delightful and delighted baby and you don't add to the fracas with frequent bouts of crying or other difficulties. You coo and laugh and stare with fascination at your little hands and when I finally get the chance to just sit down and hold you, you burrow your little head into my neck and breathe heavily as if you've been waiting for this all day.
This year since you were born we've struggled through illnesses, surgeries, and the sudden and heartbreaking death of your grandfather, and you've only been here three months. Your father has gotten a promotion and my job only picks up in hours and events with seemingly relentless momentum. I am a person who likes to say "yes" and I like to live in chaos, it appears. I over-schedule and under-sleep, and thank you, Lily, for being so kind and putting up with all of it. Your grandmothers, aunts, and all of our friends hold you and pass you around while I make cinnamon rolls for an army or while your father and I try to entertain "just a small" dinner party of 5, 8, 12 people several times a month.
Our house is constantly littered with toys and bits of basil and sugar on the floor. There is never a day that there isn't a lost bottle or two and a curdling cup of your brother's beloved "chocky" milk fallen behind a chair. The basement is the laundromat and we barely pick up last week's ten loads and put them somewhere near where they belong before ten more loads magically appear and so we have just learned to treat the floor down there like its always covered in landmines, tiptoeing around to come and go and find places to run trains on the floor.
There are days I think I will lose my mind. It's all my own doing. And the frustration with the messes and the tiredness and the always-behindness of it all rises and I curse myself for signing up for yet another volunteer effort or for choosing to nap with you instead of vacuuming the living room.
Our evenings are like a waltz, handing you from one parent to the other so someone can change over laundry or go stir the soup on the stove. We dance around toys and shoes on the floor and leap over the Buzz Lightyear car that took up residence on the kitchen floor. And you laugh and giggle and I know you just think, as you suck your fist and look around, that you have been given the most ridiculous family in the world.
I am growing right along with you. As you add pounds and inches, I am evolving in different ways. I'm learning to accept our family for what it is, for all of our faults and messes and meetings. I'm learning to enjoy our waltz even if we trip over our feet or lack much for style and grace. Our imperfection is our calling card, and just when I want to throw up my hands and cry or fight or demand some sort of changes, the weather gets warm the the breeze comes through the kitchen window and you sit in your bouncy chair and gurgle in your throat at me as I roll out just one more pizza crust, and I figure we're doing alright. And I release the part of me that feels bad about the dirty kitchen floor and I forgive us all for not having done enough tummy time with you that evening, or for having let Johnny watch maybe one too many episodes of Max and Ruby before bedtime.
Because you and Johnny seem happy and healthy. Because your dad and I love each other and even when we're annoyed or tired or sick we do our best to be supportive and understanding. Because people are lovely to us and offer to babysit or come help me pick up the toys and organize the playroom. Because we are, by my estimation, the luckiest family in the world. We have you, and you are perfect.
If the morning is busy and I'm rushing to be on time to work, I still take the moment to pick out a bow for your hair. Not because you'll wear it for more than 20 minutes before you pull it out of the baby-fine wisps atop your head, but because I have you, my girl, and I can. Because I take stupid joy in putting matching booties on your feet and bows in your hair and knowing that it won't be long before you tell me exactly what you are willing to wear and how you're doing your hair, and that will be fine. I'll let you have that power when the time comes. But for now, I get to dress you and hold you and you don't care if there are toys on the floor or that I haven't washed my hair today. You just want to look at us and talk and laugh and you still let me dress you up in ridiculous outfits and take way too many pictures of you doing just what you did yesterday.
Our life may be chaos, but you are the eye of the storm. You are the peace in the evening when I put it all down and just fall into a chair with you in my arms and surrender. I cannot imagine life without you, now that you're here.
All my love,
Mama
I've been poor about these letters. It turns out, two babies are much harder and time consuming than one. With one baby, I could cook, write, work, and mother with relative ease. There was time for everything I needed to do and most of what I wanted. This time, with you, things have been more challenging. My job is more challenging. We have more house, more responsibilities, infinitely more laundry, and more people needing our time - most of all you and your brother.
Thankfully, you are a delightful and delighted baby and you don't add to the fracas with frequent bouts of crying or other difficulties. You coo and laugh and stare with fascination at your little hands and when I finally get the chance to just sit down and hold you, you burrow your little head into my neck and breathe heavily as if you've been waiting for this all day.
This year since you were born we've struggled through illnesses, surgeries, and the sudden and heartbreaking death of your grandfather, and you've only been here three months. Your father has gotten a promotion and my job only picks up in hours and events with seemingly relentless momentum. I am a person who likes to say "yes" and I like to live in chaos, it appears. I over-schedule and under-sleep, and thank you, Lily, for being so kind and putting up with all of it. Your grandmothers, aunts, and all of our friends hold you and pass you around while I make cinnamon rolls for an army or while your father and I try to entertain "just a small" dinner party of 5, 8, 12 people several times a month.
Our house is constantly littered with toys and bits of basil and sugar on the floor. There is never a day that there isn't a lost bottle or two and a curdling cup of your brother's beloved "chocky" milk fallen behind a chair. The basement is the laundromat and we barely pick up last week's ten loads and put them somewhere near where they belong before ten more loads magically appear and so we have just learned to treat the floor down there like its always covered in landmines, tiptoeing around to come and go and find places to run trains on the floor.
There are days I think I will lose my mind. It's all my own doing. And the frustration with the messes and the tiredness and the always-behindness of it all rises and I curse myself for signing up for yet another volunteer effort or for choosing to nap with you instead of vacuuming the living room.
Our evenings are like a waltz, handing you from one parent to the other so someone can change over laundry or go stir the soup on the stove. We dance around toys and shoes on the floor and leap over the Buzz Lightyear car that took up residence on the kitchen floor. And you laugh and giggle and I know you just think, as you suck your fist and look around, that you have been given the most ridiculous family in the world.
I am growing right along with you. As you add pounds and inches, I am evolving in different ways. I'm learning to accept our family for what it is, for all of our faults and messes and meetings. I'm learning to enjoy our waltz even if we trip over our feet or lack much for style and grace. Our imperfection is our calling card, and just when I want to throw up my hands and cry or fight or demand some sort of changes, the weather gets warm the the breeze comes through the kitchen window and you sit in your bouncy chair and gurgle in your throat at me as I roll out just one more pizza crust, and I figure we're doing alright. And I release the part of me that feels bad about the dirty kitchen floor and I forgive us all for not having done enough tummy time with you that evening, or for having let Johnny watch maybe one too many episodes of Max and Ruby before bedtime.
Because you and Johnny seem happy and healthy. Because your dad and I love each other and even when we're annoyed or tired or sick we do our best to be supportive and understanding. Because people are lovely to us and offer to babysit or come help me pick up the toys and organize the playroom. Because we are, by my estimation, the luckiest family in the world. We have you, and you are perfect.
If the morning is busy and I'm rushing to be on time to work, I still take the moment to pick out a bow for your hair. Not because you'll wear it for more than 20 minutes before you pull it out of the baby-fine wisps atop your head, but because I have you, my girl, and I can. Because I take stupid joy in putting matching booties on your feet and bows in your hair and knowing that it won't be long before you tell me exactly what you are willing to wear and how you're doing your hair, and that will be fine. I'll let you have that power when the time comes. But for now, I get to dress you and hold you and you don't care if there are toys on the floor or that I haven't washed my hair today. You just want to look at us and talk and laugh and you still let me dress you up in ridiculous outfits and take way too many pictures of you doing just what you did yesterday.
Our life may be chaos, but you are the eye of the storm. You are the peace in the evening when I put it all down and just fall into a chair with you in my arms and surrender. I cannot imagine life without you, now that you're here.
All my love,
Mama
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 7
Dear Baby,
Well, you are a month old. I still haven't taken a proper nap since we left the hospital.
I've had help. Lovely friends and relatives have descended on us to help us make this transition from one kid to two a little easier, and I cried every day after they left until I woke up with a hemorrhoid my nurse friend Kathy described as "strawberry-sized". Really. She saw it. On the operating table. When I was getting operated on. To remove the strawberry. Let's just call it a strawberry from now on, because I don't like saying hemorrhoid and I like typing it and spelling it even less. And I have done both lately, a lot.
Anyway, I didn't cry that day because I didn't have help anymore, I cried because GIANT HEMORRHOID. Then I didn't have to cry so much because my mom came back to help again and YAY.
Why did I get the strawberry, you ask? Because of you, my Dear. And this is how you know I love you more than my own life. Because, Baby, this has been the most excruciating experience of my life. Not the surgery so much, or even the having of the strawberry which was, in a word, horrific. No, its what happens, say, a day or two after the removal of said strawberry that really does a person in. I texted my nurse friend Kathy on Valentine's Day - that's right - this ruined a perfectly lovely VALENTINE'S DAY - after the unspeakable happened and asked how much more Percoset I could take without dying. I will let you use your imagination about what might have happened to cause me to require more Percoset than the human body is allowed to ingest in one hour. I made your father a big dinner of steaks, twice baked potatoes, shrimp, green beans, the works. And I had a glass of Cava a friend gave us with which to celebrate your birth. And an hour later, I disappeared into the abyss. I only resurfaced 24 hours later and I am a changed woman. I have seen the darkness. I have been to the other side. I barely made it back.
I have never experienced natural childbirth, but I promise you, this was worse. I cherish my c sections, but I'd trade them to never have had to look into that abyss. Your father did a remodel on my bathroom last fall. He's going to have to change it again because it is the scene of That Which We Can Never Speak Of Again.
What I'm saying, Baby, is that I love you. Because you did this to me. And I kept you. I still rock and cuddle you and I don't say bad words about you or make up scenarios wherein you are 16 and I make you take your father to a dance instead of that cute boy with the messy hairdo because I want to punish you for doing this to me. Okay, maybe that one scenario.
Let's just say that the last month has been rough. Two surgeries, very little sleep, and let's throw in the crazy that is your mother who has been trying to put in a few hours at work here and there because she feels guilty for leaving them high and dry. But it's all like a foggy dream wherein you wake up in the morning and you have the impression that something possibly unpleasant happened but all you remember is the good part where Ryan Gosling came and rescued you from having to eat at Applebee's while wearing mom jeans. You, Lily, are Ryan Gosling in this situation. You're that good.
You're freaking adorable. You grunt and stretch like a little woodland creature. You have a little rosebud for a mouth and the softest hair - seriously, that hair is so soft, if it wasn't weird I'd say I wanted to make a pillow out of it. But that's weird. So I'll just say that snuggling you into my neck is next to nirvana and holding you is how I prefer to spend 80 percent of my days. Don't tell your dad but I don't actually mind being the one who stays up with you five or six nights a week because it means I get to lie in bed with you snuggled into my arm-nook and rub my cheek on your soft hair all night while we alternately sleep and eat. Both of us. Don't tell him though because I'm still working the HUGE MARTYR angle with this.
When I look at your face I fall apart. You are beautiful and perfect and I can't believe I ever considered not having another kid after Johnny because YOU. What would I do without you? I'm already terrified of you growing up and moving away. I've had you a month, and I'm already plotting how to keep you home with me forever. Don't tell your dad that part either. I have similar plans for your brother. This is all going to be so awesome.
I mean, unless you have a better idea, which I am sure you will because I can already tell you are a genius. You'll want to go to college or something and be a doctor or some sort of avant garde musician and I'll have to let you because the WORLD NEEDS YOU. Dammit. Mothers have to be so selfless. I will remember the strawberry and shake my head at all the selflessness I've exhibited through the years and I will remind you to send me a check when you are famous. But only a reasonable one. You can decide for yourself what the Strawberry Episode is worth. Your brother has the Gall Stone Episode to deal with, so you might consult him, he'll have had experience with this before you.
Bless your little tiny heart, and your hands and feet and especially your soft, soft hair. I love you to bits and back.
Everything,
Mama
Well, you are a month old. I still haven't taken a proper nap since we left the hospital.
I've had help. Lovely friends and relatives have descended on us to help us make this transition from one kid to two a little easier, and I cried every day after they left until I woke up with a hemorrhoid my nurse friend Kathy described as "strawberry-sized". Really. She saw it. On the operating table. When I was getting operated on. To remove the strawberry. Let's just call it a strawberry from now on, because I don't like saying hemorrhoid and I like typing it and spelling it even less. And I have done both lately, a lot.
Anyway, I didn't cry that day because I didn't have help anymore, I cried because GIANT HEMORRHOID. Then I didn't have to cry so much because my mom came back to help again and YAY.
Why did I get the strawberry, you ask? Because of you, my Dear. And this is how you know I love you more than my own life. Because, Baby, this has been the most excruciating experience of my life. Not the surgery so much, or even the having of the strawberry which was, in a word, horrific. No, its what happens, say, a day or two after the removal of said strawberry that really does a person in. I texted my nurse friend Kathy on Valentine's Day - that's right - this ruined a perfectly lovely VALENTINE'S DAY - after the unspeakable happened and asked how much more Percoset I could take without dying. I will let you use your imagination about what might have happened to cause me to require more Percoset than the human body is allowed to ingest in one hour. I made your father a big dinner of steaks, twice baked potatoes, shrimp, green beans, the works. And I had a glass of Cava a friend gave us with which to celebrate your birth. And an hour later, I disappeared into the abyss. I only resurfaced 24 hours later and I am a changed woman. I have seen the darkness. I have been to the other side. I barely made it back.
I have never experienced natural childbirth, but I promise you, this was worse. I cherish my c sections, but I'd trade them to never have had to look into that abyss. Your father did a remodel on my bathroom last fall. He's going to have to change it again because it is the scene of That Which We Can Never Speak Of Again.
What I'm saying, Baby, is that I love you. Because you did this to me. And I kept you. I still rock and cuddle you and I don't say bad words about you or make up scenarios wherein you are 16 and I make you take your father to a dance instead of that cute boy with the messy hairdo because I want to punish you for doing this to me. Okay, maybe that one scenario.
Let's just say that the last month has been rough. Two surgeries, very little sleep, and let's throw in the crazy that is your mother who has been trying to put in a few hours at work here and there because she feels guilty for leaving them high and dry. But it's all like a foggy dream wherein you wake up in the morning and you have the impression that something possibly unpleasant happened but all you remember is the good part where Ryan Gosling came and rescued you from having to eat at Applebee's while wearing mom jeans. You, Lily, are Ryan Gosling in this situation. You're that good.
You're freaking adorable. You grunt and stretch like a little woodland creature. You have a little rosebud for a mouth and the softest hair - seriously, that hair is so soft, if it wasn't weird I'd say I wanted to make a pillow out of it. But that's weird. So I'll just say that snuggling you into my neck is next to nirvana and holding you is how I prefer to spend 80 percent of my days. Don't tell your dad but I don't actually mind being the one who stays up with you five or six nights a week because it means I get to lie in bed with you snuggled into my arm-nook and rub my cheek on your soft hair all night while we alternately sleep and eat. Both of us. Don't tell him though because I'm still working the HUGE MARTYR angle with this.
When I look at your face I fall apart. You are beautiful and perfect and I can't believe I ever considered not having another kid after Johnny because YOU. What would I do without you? I'm already terrified of you growing up and moving away. I've had you a month, and I'm already plotting how to keep you home with me forever. Don't tell your dad that part either. I have similar plans for your brother. This is all going to be so awesome.
I mean, unless you have a better idea, which I am sure you will because I can already tell you are a genius. You'll want to go to college or something and be a doctor or some sort of avant garde musician and I'll have to let you because the WORLD NEEDS YOU. Dammit. Mothers have to be so selfless. I will remember the strawberry and shake my head at all the selflessness I've exhibited through the years and I will remind you to send me a check when you are famous. But only a reasonable one. You can decide for yourself what the Strawberry Episode is worth. Your brother has the Gall Stone Episode to deal with, so you might consult him, he'll have had experience with this before you.
Bless your little tiny heart, and your hands and feet and especially your soft, soft hair. I love you to bits and back.
Everything,
Mama
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Johnny Letter #20
Dear Johnny,
Well, your sister is here. You could not be less impressed.
In the days leading up to her birth, we explained to you that you'd be going to your Grammy's house for a few days while Mommy and Daddy went to the hospital to get Lily. All you heard was the first part of the sentence: "You're going to Grammy's house." We told you this a good week in advance which was a huge mistake on our part because every five minutes for seven days, you asked "Can I go to Grammy's NOW?" "How about NOW?" You were not the least bit concerned about the hospital or the impending baby sister. All that mattered was that you were going to Grammy's house BY YOURSELF.
This, son, is a good thing, and we were happy that you were so excited about the trip. We had some mild concerns that you would feel that you were being kicked out of the nest to make room for the new baby but our fears were unfounded. Actually, you'd have been happy to have been kicked out of the nest. There is, apparently, nothing better in the world than spending a string of days with Grammy. We called you every day to check in and you'd happily inform us that you were having a fabulous time and "No, I'm not ready to come home. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow." Good enough, kid.
You came to the hospital with Grammy to see us and the new baby before you went away to your posh vacation and we were surprised to find that you were not interested in getting anywhere near that baby. It was as if your father was holding a rabid honey badger wrapped in a blanket, the way you kept your distance. When you came home I can't say it was much different. You are more into staying a good three feet away from the baby than, say, holding her or helping feed her. Which is okay. Like your dad says, "You have a lifetime to warm up to her."
Miss Kiley at school informed me that when asked about your new baby sister, you replied "She won't talk to me. She only wants to sleep and eat." Touche, Son. That is the truth. We promise she'll get to be more fun in time.
Last night you deigned to sit with me in the big chair on my right and watch a movie on my Kindle while I held the baby on my left. But heck if you were gonna make eye contact with her. Still, we called it progress.
We're doing everything in our power to make sure you feel just as loved and nurtured as you did pre-baby and truly, if anything, this experience with Lily has only made us love and appreciate you more - if that's possible. You are adorable and smart and charming, and Lily is so lucky to have such a great role model to follow. Here's hoping she doesn't annoy you too much. Little sisters tend to idolize their big brothers, so be careful with her.
We missed you so much while you were away having the time of your life at Grammy's. We're so thrilled to have a family of four now and so lucky especially to have you. You're one of a kind and more special than a five legged goat. That is pretty special. I swear, I saw one once. You don't forget that.
All of my love and heart and hugs,
Mama
Well, your sister is here. You could not be less impressed.
In the days leading up to her birth, we explained to you that you'd be going to your Grammy's house for a few days while Mommy and Daddy went to the hospital to get Lily. All you heard was the first part of the sentence: "You're going to Grammy's house." We told you this a good week in advance which was a huge mistake on our part because every five minutes for seven days, you asked "Can I go to Grammy's NOW?" "How about NOW?" You were not the least bit concerned about the hospital or the impending baby sister. All that mattered was that you were going to Grammy's house BY YOURSELF.
This, son, is a good thing, and we were happy that you were so excited about the trip. We had some mild concerns that you would feel that you were being kicked out of the nest to make room for the new baby but our fears were unfounded. Actually, you'd have been happy to have been kicked out of the nest. There is, apparently, nothing better in the world than spending a string of days with Grammy. We called you every day to check in and you'd happily inform us that you were having a fabulous time and "No, I'm not ready to come home. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow." Good enough, kid.
You came to the hospital with Grammy to see us and the new baby before you went away to your posh vacation and we were surprised to find that you were not interested in getting anywhere near that baby. It was as if your father was holding a rabid honey badger wrapped in a blanket, the way you kept your distance. When you came home I can't say it was much different. You are more into staying a good three feet away from the baby than, say, holding her or helping feed her. Which is okay. Like your dad says, "You have a lifetime to warm up to her."
Miss Kiley at school informed me that when asked about your new baby sister, you replied "She won't talk to me. She only wants to sleep and eat." Touche, Son. That is the truth. We promise she'll get to be more fun in time.
Last night you deigned to sit with me in the big chair on my right and watch a movie on my Kindle while I held the baby on my left. But heck if you were gonna make eye contact with her. Still, we called it progress.
We're doing everything in our power to make sure you feel just as loved and nurtured as you did pre-baby and truly, if anything, this experience with Lily has only made us love and appreciate you more - if that's possible. You are adorable and smart and charming, and Lily is so lucky to have such a great role model to follow. Here's hoping she doesn't annoy you too much. Little sisters tend to idolize their big brothers, so be careful with her.
We missed you so much while you were away having the time of your life at Grammy's. We're so thrilled to have a family of four now and so lucky especially to have you. You're one of a kind and more special than a five legged goat. That is pretty special. I swear, I saw one once. You don't forget that.
All of my love and heart and hugs,
Mama
Friday, January 18, 2013
Baby 2, Letter 6
Dear Baby,
Today is the day. As of right now, you're not here. In a few hours, you will be. Right now I'm technically a mother of one. Soon, I'm a mother of two. It's crazy.
I can't explain what I'm feeling. I'm not scared or even nervous. I'm simply full of anticipation for meeting you and awe at the process we've undergone for the last nine, er, ten months. I've never been so ready for anything, except maybe the birth of your brother. I was ready for that, too.
I've instructed my work not to call me for at least two weeks so I can sit, uninterrupted and open-mouthed and stare at you. I've stocked the freezer and cabinets so I don't have to worry about what to eat, and I've stashed comfy places for you to rest all over the house so you never have to be out of arm's reach.
So many people have been waiting with bated breath for you. Our children are the luckiest little people alive to have such a network of family and friends who care honestly and deeply for them - you will never be without plenty of supporters. Also, that means someone will always be watching you. So, just so you know - for high school.
I cannot wait to dress you up like a dolly and tote you around and gaggingly show you off to anyone who will look. Your brother is already the most-photographed child in Lawrence, but just you wait. He never had a pink tutu.
6 hours and counting until we meet. Of course, I feel like I already know everything about you. We've been traveling together for a long time and it will be strange not to tote you with me every step of my day.
See you on the other side, Lily.
I love you more than you will ever know.
Always,
Mama
Today is the day. As of right now, you're not here. In a few hours, you will be. Right now I'm technically a mother of one. Soon, I'm a mother of two. It's crazy.
I can't explain what I'm feeling. I'm not scared or even nervous. I'm simply full of anticipation for meeting you and awe at the process we've undergone for the last nine, er, ten months. I've never been so ready for anything, except maybe the birth of your brother. I was ready for that, too.
I've instructed my work not to call me for at least two weeks so I can sit, uninterrupted and open-mouthed and stare at you. I've stocked the freezer and cabinets so I don't have to worry about what to eat, and I've stashed comfy places for you to rest all over the house so you never have to be out of arm's reach.
So many people have been waiting with bated breath for you. Our children are the luckiest little people alive to have such a network of family and friends who care honestly and deeply for them - you will never be without plenty of supporters. Also, that means someone will always be watching you. So, just so you know - for high school.
I cannot wait to dress you up like a dolly and tote you around and gaggingly show you off to anyone who will look. Your brother is already the most-photographed child in Lawrence, but just you wait. He never had a pink tutu.
6 hours and counting until we meet. Of course, I feel like I already know everything about you. We've been traveling together for a long time and it will be strange not to tote you with me every step of my day.
See you on the other side, Lily.
I love you more than you will ever know.
Always,
Mama
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Johnny Letter #19
Dear Johnny,
I've been trying to prepare you for the arrival of your baby sister, but so far my efforts seem to be a failure. I've yet to have you cry or gnash your teeth. You haven't yet told me you don't want the baby to come to our house and you haven't tried to destroy her room or any of the baby things that litter the rooms of our house. Johnny, this is not normal. You are not supposed to be HAPPY about getting a new baby. You are supposed to be CONFUSED and ANGRY and VENGEFUL. At least, this is what I read and what the experts tell me. You should feel like a jealous wife whose husband has announced he's bringing home a concubine.
Despite my efforts, you continue to ask to see my tummy and pat the baby inside it. You look at the bassinet and say "That's Lily's?" and beam with pride when people ask if you're going to be a big brother. You seem downright excited about the prospect of meeting our new addition. You're thrilled to be getting a short vacation to Grammy's house while I am in the hospital and so far not at all distressed that you're getting kicked out of the nest for awhile to make room for baby.
Granted, it hasn't happened yet. You haven't been confronted with the reality of your parents focusing on a new, crying being who doesn't get the importance of Buzz Lightyear in a daily routine. So, I'll withhold some judgement until the deed is actually done, and just say "So far, so good."
Christmas was a blast with you this year. You totally "got" who Santa is and for days afterward reassured me and yourself aloud that Santa had been here and he ATE THOSE COOKIES. You're still depressed that Christmas is over and the tree is gone, but you've consoled yourself with the fact that we have SNOW ON THE GROUND! THAT IS SNOW, MAMA! IT IS WINTERTIME! Which apparently is almost as good as Christmas if you are three.
You're a good boy all around. You're so loving and intuitive, I can't imagine you being anything but a doting big brother. (Yes, I'm delusional, but I'm nine months pregnant and I need to bright side everything in my life.) You're funny and smart and a constant source of delight. You're fully obsessed with Toy Story and everything related to it. You completed your set of Toy Story folks at Christmas and now are prone to carrying around Jessie, Bullseye, Buzz, Woody, and Slinky Dog all at the same time. You demand we read the Toy Story book every night before bed (Oh, I never thought I'd see the day wherein I *missed* Chicka Chicka Boom Boom) and beg and bargain to watch one of the Toy Story movies at some point every day. Buzz and Woody are as much a part of our family now as you are.
This week, you were sick with some unnamed virus so you stayed home from school and hung out with your Grandma and now you're spoiled rotten and think it's your birthright to eat mashed potatoes for every meal and commandeer every "blanklet" in the house for your snuggling needs. I don't mind so much that I've been up all night with you every night, because you are so loving and sweet when you are sick, I take some perverse pleasure in it. Hearing a feverish "I lub you, Mama" makes being awake at 3:00 in the morning totally okay.
Bless you and your precious heart. I am overjoyed that you are my little boy. Lily sure has a tough act to follow.
All my love,
Mama
I've been trying to prepare you for the arrival of your baby sister, but so far my efforts seem to be a failure. I've yet to have you cry or gnash your teeth. You haven't yet told me you don't want the baby to come to our house and you haven't tried to destroy her room or any of the baby things that litter the rooms of our house. Johnny, this is not normal. You are not supposed to be HAPPY about getting a new baby. You are supposed to be CONFUSED and ANGRY and VENGEFUL. At least, this is what I read and what the experts tell me. You should feel like a jealous wife whose husband has announced he's bringing home a concubine.
Despite my efforts, you continue to ask to see my tummy and pat the baby inside it. You look at the bassinet and say "That's Lily's?" and beam with pride when people ask if you're going to be a big brother. You seem downright excited about the prospect of meeting our new addition. You're thrilled to be getting a short vacation to Grammy's house while I am in the hospital and so far not at all distressed that you're getting kicked out of the nest for awhile to make room for baby.
Granted, it hasn't happened yet. You haven't been confronted with the reality of your parents focusing on a new, crying being who doesn't get the importance of Buzz Lightyear in a daily routine. So, I'll withhold some judgement until the deed is actually done, and just say "So far, so good."
Christmas was a blast with you this year. You totally "got" who Santa is and for days afterward reassured me and yourself aloud that Santa had been here and he ATE THOSE COOKIES. You're still depressed that Christmas is over and the tree is gone, but you've consoled yourself with the fact that we have SNOW ON THE GROUND! THAT IS SNOW, MAMA! IT IS WINTERTIME! Which apparently is almost as good as Christmas if you are three.
You're a good boy all around. You're so loving and intuitive, I can't imagine you being anything but a doting big brother. (Yes, I'm delusional, but I'm nine months pregnant and I need to bright side everything in my life.) You're funny and smart and a constant source of delight. You're fully obsessed with Toy Story and everything related to it. You completed your set of Toy Story folks at Christmas and now are prone to carrying around Jessie, Bullseye, Buzz, Woody, and Slinky Dog all at the same time. You demand we read the Toy Story book every night before bed (Oh, I never thought I'd see the day wherein I *missed* Chicka Chicka Boom Boom) and beg and bargain to watch one of the Toy Story movies at some point every day. Buzz and Woody are as much a part of our family now as you are.
This week, you were sick with some unnamed virus so you stayed home from school and hung out with your Grandma and now you're spoiled rotten and think it's your birthright to eat mashed potatoes for every meal and commandeer every "blanklet" in the house for your snuggling needs. I don't mind so much that I've been up all night with you every night, because you are so loving and sweet when you are sick, I take some perverse pleasure in it. Hearing a feverish "I lub you, Mama" makes being awake at 3:00 in the morning totally okay.
Bless you and your precious heart. I am overjoyed that you are my little boy. Lily sure has a tough act to follow.
All my love,
Mama
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