In the event that you ordered something you really, really, REALLY wanted. Something you wanted so much the anticipation of its arrival makes you giddy. Something you did package tracking on every single day – maybe even twice a day - just to make sure it was going to arrive on time, as promised - no backorders, no rescheduled shipping, no excuses. In the event, say, that a person was just that excited to get that special something and that person knew for a fact that the special something was going to be arriving via UPS this very day, but, unfortunately, UPS does not deliver to said person’s home until 5:00pm but as luck would have it that very person saw the UPS man driving around the other side of town at precisely 11:00am. Would it be appropriate, err acceptable, for that person to follow that UPS man for just a little while – no more than a couple of miles, of course, and ever so kindly jump out of her car and ask the UPS man if there is any way he might rifle through his truck for just a moment and her find special package?
No, no it wouldn’t be acceptable? Okay, I think I made the right choice then – ugh, I mean, I will tell my friend. Thanks.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Pint sized pedi
I’ve waited some time for these toes.
I wished for them years ago - a daughter of my own someday. A girl to share in the feminine novelties that I was blessed to shared with my own mother. Curling irons, lip gloss, tea sets.
I dreamed of them years later when I married prince charming and began to realize the fantasy of having a family of my own was less about playing house or make believe but more about planning and timing – all well within reach. Tights, make up, an Easy Bake oven.
I hoped for them, silently, when we decided the time was right to start “trying”. There was never a regret that a baby boy was on the way, but all the while I kept hoping – someday. Barbies, perfume, saltwater sandals.
I prayed for these toes. They were almost here once, but God had different plans. Plans I probably still don’t fully understand, but plans I trust just the same. And yet I prayed for them. Princesses, dresses, headbands.
And then at last they arrived. More wished for, more dreamed of, more hoped for and far more prayed for than I could have imagined, than I ever intended. Oh, how I have waited to paint these very toes. And while the road to paint them seemed a little long and sometimes tough, the moment is none less sweet. Even if there are never tea sets, if she hates dresses and saltwater sandals are completely outdated. Even if there is never an Easy Bake oven, I will be content because I got to paint those toes.
I wished for them years ago - a daughter of my own someday. A girl to share in the feminine novelties that I was blessed to shared with my own mother. Curling irons, lip gloss, tea sets.
I dreamed of them years later when I married prince charming and began to realize the fantasy of having a family of my own was less about playing house or make believe but more about planning and timing – all well within reach. Tights, make up, an Easy Bake oven.
I hoped for them, silently, when we decided the time was right to start “trying”. There was never a regret that a baby boy was on the way, but all the while I kept hoping – someday. Barbies, perfume, saltwater sandals.
I prayed for these toes. They were almost here once, but God had different plans. Plans I probably still don’t fully understand, but plans I trust just the same. And yet I prayed for them. Princesses, dresses, headbands.
And then at last they arrived. More wished for, more dreamed of, more hoped for and far more prayed for than I could have imagined, than I ever intended. Oh, how I have waited to paint these very toes. And while the road to paint them seemed a little long and sometimes tough, the moment is none less sweet. Even if there are never tea sets, if she hates dresses and saltwater sandals are completely outdated. Even if there is never an Easy Bake oven, I will be content because I got to paint those toes.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
While a hundred adjectives might not even sum up the first year of life with a new baby, today laundry will do just fine. Laundry. Laundry. Laundry. Not just the dirty kind – the spit up on kind, the diaper leaked on type, or the food smeared variety – but the a little too small, a little too long, not right for the weather kind as well. Sheesh, no wonder it seems like I am forever drowning in laundry. If I am not washing, drying, folding or ironing I am sorting, transitioning in, transitioning out, bagging up for the Christian thrift, storing for the possibility of another little person (don’t read too much into that – I said possibility) or tossing the really bad stuff in the garbage. Seriously, if a baby growing to nearly triple their birth weight within a year isn’t enough, we get to throw 4 seasons into the mix as well and let’s not even pretend that they might change sizes within a season because then we might as well just be sorting clothes at least once a month. Wow, maybe that’s why I feel there is always more laundry.
True, they do slow down as they get a little older. Tyler has calmed down to the twice yearly transition of Spring/Summer and Fall/Winter but he still finds a way to make his own contributions. In these amazing warm days, where we have shed coats and rid ourselves of socks my dear dirt-magnet of a boy adores being outside - adores it so much that he somehow bathes himself it – dirt of the powdery sort, the muddy sort or a combination of both, it’s everywhere. Of course such boyhood atrocities demand stripping said child prior to remittance back in the house and in the process we create, you guessed it, more laundry.
The truth is while I try pretty hard to stay on top of all the reconfiguring of sizes and seasons I’m not perfect. But, since I am the one home with the kids all day it usually works out okay. I know what fits and I know what doesn’t and I can dig around and find the right stuff to throw a properly fitting outfit together. The trouble is when someone else tries to dig around in those manic drawers. The ones with newborn shoes that wouldn’t fit half of Bailey’s foot but are in the drawer because they were her dedication shoes and I couldn’t bear to put them in the hand-me-down bin quite yet. And then there is the outfit that is size 12 months which could easily hold two little Baileys but it was a gift – one of my favorites, in fact – and I can’t put it somewhere else because I might forget about it. Along the way you might also find a 3-6 month diaper cover that goes with who knows what dress, some socks that fit my pinky finger and various colors of tights that don’t really seems to fit right no matter what size they are. Yes, the manic drawer that my husband must never be allowed to open lest he dress my child like an overgrown newborn, 12 month shirt which is now a dress, socks with the heal that rests mid-arch and matching? Let’s not even talk about matching. So, as I see it I have only two options – stay on top of this laundry madness or risk being solely responsible for dressing my children for the next half dozen years. Which reminds me, I gotta go – I’ve got laundry to do.
True, they do slow down as they get a little older. Tyler has calmed down to the twice yearly transition of Spring/Summer and Fall/Winter but he still finds a way to make his own contributions. In these amazing warm days, where we have shed coats and rid ourselves of socks my dear dirt-magnet of a boy adores being outside - adores it so much that he somehow bathes himself it – dirt of the powdery sort, the muddy sort or a combination of both, it’s everywhere. Of course such boyhood atrocities demand stripping said child prior to remittance back in the house and in the process we create, you guessed it, more laundry.
The truth is while I try pretty hard to stay on top of all the reconfiguring of sizes and seasons I’m not perfect. But, since I am the one home with the kids all day it usually works out okay. I know what fits and I know what doesn’t and I can dig around and find the right stuff to throw a properly fitting outfit together. The trouble is when someone else tries to dig around in those manic drawers. The ones with newborn shoes that wouldn’t fit half of Bailey’s foot but are in the drawer because they were her dedication shoes and I couldn’t bear to put them in the hand-me-down bin quite yet. And then there is the outfit that is size 12 months which could easily hold two little Baileys but it was a gift – one of my favorites, in fact – and I can’t put it somewhere else because I might forget about it. Along the way you might also find a 3-6 month diaper cover that goes with who knows what dress, some socks that fit my pinky finger and various colors of tights that don’t really seems to fit right no matter what size they are. Yes, the manic drawer that my husband must never be allowed to open lest he dress my child like an overgrown newborn, 12 month shirt which is now a dress, socks with the heal that rests mid-arch and matching? Let’s not even talk about matching. So, as I see it I have only two options – stay on top of this laundry madness or risk being solely responsible for dressing my children for the next half dozen years. Which reminds me, I gotta go – I’ve got laundry to do.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
An Easy Thanks
Sometimes being thankful is just plain work. Days when I lock myself out of the house for the third time in two weeks. Days when the milk gets spilled at every meal and a certain little person could not hit the toilet if it were a bathtub. Days when naps are short and patience is shorter. Days when a baby is permanently attached to my hip or days when both kids cry. Some days a baby is permanently attached to my hip AND both kids cry. As much as I know these are precious moments, funny memories, the wonder years that I will at some point in the future look back on with the rose colored fuzziness of selective memory that only time can bring, in the moment it is sometimes just pretty darn hard to be thankful.
But then there are the rest of the days. The beautiful days that I want permanently etched in my memory. Forget memory, they are days I could repeat over and over again. Days of endless drooling smiles, of seventy degree sunshine, of lemonade and lounge chairs, strawberries and barbeque, of capris and painted toes, a 4 year old playing with a fishing pole and a baby in a wide brimmed polka-dotted hat. Days of lounging and dancing and playing tag and swinging. Days filled with grandpas and grandmas and the people who make life good. Blooming tulips, growing gardens, clean cars.
I am sure there is something more glorious, more virtuous, about gritting your teeth and choosing thankfulness on days that are not quite so splendid. But even so, on this incredibly easy day, when thankfulness comes with no effort at all, I mean it just the same. Thank you God, I could not have asked for more.
But then there are the rest of the days. The beautiful days that I want permanently etched in my memory. Forget memory, they are days I could repeat over and over again. Days of endless drooling smiles, of seventy degree sunshine, of lemonade and lounge chairs, strawberries and barbeque, of capris and painted toes, a 4 year old playing with a fishing pole and a baby in a wide brimmed polka-dotted hat. Days of lounging and dancing and playing tag and swinging. Days filled with grandpas and grandmas and the people who make life good. Blooming tulips, growing gardens, clean cars.
I am sure there is something more glorious, more virtuous, about gritting your teeth and choosing thankfulness on days that are not quite so splendid. But even so, on this incredibly easy day, when thankfulness comes with no effort at all, I mean it just the same. Thank you God, I could not have asked for more.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
And so I blog
So here it is. My initial blog, my inagural post, my virgin attempt at putting into words the very events, thoughts and ramblings that are my life. Why a blog? Well, why not? Sure I may be a slow adopter and may be gearing up when other bloggers are slowing down but why not buck the trend. But, more precisely, I think I am finally beginning to grasp just how quickly life changes. I took Tyler, my 4 year old, to pre-school preview day yesterday and the fact that nothing stays the same hit me like a freight train. Gone are my slow mornings of snuggling him in bed. Gone are the days of me being the sole teacher and influence in his day. Kids grow up; things change.
I remember when I was pregnant people would tell me to enjoy it because kids grow up fast and time passes quickly. Then came the seemingly endless nights and tired days and crying, pooping, hungry baby and I thought - they lied to me, I may have very well spent half my life with this crying, pooping, hungry infant. But then I got some sleep and said infant became a smiling, drooling, crawling baby and a curious, wobbly, giggly, babling toddler and a creative, energetic, intelligent little boy and I realized that those people are right. And now I have a drooling little girl carefully following the very same path so if I can't stop it and I can't slow it I might as well record it. Because in the words of Arrowsmight, "I don't want to miss a thing".
Beyond documenting my life with kids and the changes they bring, reason #2 for starting a blog - I change too. Alot. A few months ago I found a journal that I wrote half my life ago and had not read since. Yeah, imagine for a second what you would have written half your life ago! It made me laugh and cringe at the same time. I had completley forgotten what a crazy emotional time those teenage years can be and how differently I understood self-worth and confidence and value and everything that is really important. And, while I kind of hated remembering it all I also realized how important it was to record it, to remember. Because it won't be too long before I will have crazy, emotional teenagers of my own and, for better or worse, I want to have the true empathy of my own memories and not simply brush their trials away with a "this too shall pass".
The truth is, without an honest account, a journal of our thoughts, we tend to glaze things over a bit. Just this past weekend Ross and I were looking at a photo of Tyler and him carving pumpkins a few years back. We sat there taking it all in - remembering that cute shirt Tyler was wearing, smiling at the pile of pumpkins guts running through his finger and the rest dangling off the table and onto the floor, staring at those adorable little Nikes he used to wear and in awe of what a wonderful moment, wonderful memory that was. The funny part is the more we thought about that night, we remembered that we were in a hurry because we had to get somewhere and I was freaking out because I didn't want pumpkin guts on my clean floors and Tyler was crying because he wanted to play with the carving knife and Ross was frustrated because....you get the point. While it is sometimes great that we don't remember everything that goes on outside the frame of the camera, that is also a very real part of life and I want my kids to know it. Transparency isn't exactly something that comes naturally for me. I'd be much happier letting everyone, including my kids, think I've got it all together. But that's not the truth. Far from it. So this blog is an attempt at that - recording honestly. So when my little girl is a mommy and she screws up her baby boy's first birthday cake and feels like a failed mother she'll know that I did it too. So when my son thinks his wife is crazy for obssessing over exactly which carseat to buy he'll know his own mommy did the very same thing. Tracking changes, recording history and providing a dose of honest reality - that is why I will blog.
I remember when I was pregnant people would tell me to enjoy it because kids grow up fast and time passes quickly. Then came the seemingly endless nights and tired days and crying, pooping, hungry baby and I thought - they lied to me, I may have very well spent half my life with this crying, pooping, hungry infant. But then I got some sleep and said infant became a smiling, drooling, crawling baby and a curious, wobbly, giggly, babling toddler and a creative, energetic, intelligent little boy and I realized that those people are right. And now I have a drooling little girl carefully following the very same path so if I can't stop it and I can't slow it I might as well record it. Because in the words of Arrowsmight, "I don't want to miss a thing".
Beyond documenting my life with kids and the changes they bring, reason #2 for starting a blog - I change too. Alot. A few months ago I found a journal that I wrote half my life ago and had not read since. Yeah, imagine for a second what you would have written half your life ago! It made me laugh and cringe at the same time. I had completley forgotten what a crazy emotional time those teenage years can be and how differently I understood self-worth and confidence and value and everything that is really important. And, while I kind of hated remembering it all I also realized how important it was to record it, to remember. Because it won't be too long before I will have crazy, emotional teenagers of my own and, for better or worse, I want to have the true empathy of my own memories and not simply brush their trials away with a "this too shall pass".
The truth is, without an honest account, a journal of our thoughts, we tend to glaze things over a bit. Just this past weekend Ross and I were looking at a photo of Tyler and him carving pumpkins a few years back. We sat there taking it all in - remembering that cute shirt Tyler was wearing, smiling at the pile of pumpkins guts running through his finger and the rest dangling off the table and onto the floor, staring at those adorable little Nikes he used to wear and in awe of what a wonderful moment, wonderful memory that was. The funny part is the more we thought about that night, we remembered that we were in a hurry because we had to get somewhere and I was freaking out because I didn't want pumpkin guts on my clean floors and Tyler was crying because he wanted to play with the carving knife and Ross was frustrated because....you get the point. While it is sometimes great that we don't remember everything that goes on outside the frame of the camera, that is also a very real part of life and I want my kids to know it. Transparency isn't exactly something that comes naturally for me. I'd be much happier letting everyone, including my kids, think I've got it all together. But that's not the truth. Far from it. So this blog is an attempt at that - recording honestly. So when my little girl is a mommy and she screws up her baby boy's first birthday cake and feels like a failed mother she'll know that I did it too. So when my son thinks his wife is crazy for obssessing over exactly which carseat to buy he'll know his own mommy did the very same thing. Tracking changes, recording history and providing a dose of honest reality - that is why I will blog.
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