When You are Five

You sing out loud without worrying what other people will think.

You dance to your song, not considering if your moves are cool.

You give food an actual thumbs-down when you put it in your mouth and it tastes bad.

You tell someone if you like them (or not).

You love with your whole heart.

You want to learn all the things.

When you are five you filter nothing and take in everything.

Last night our son was at swimming lessons.  He is re-taking the same level again.  It is clear he has the same fear of water I had at his age.  I am not too concerned about this, as once I got over the fear I became a fish and would swim any time I encountered so much as a puddle.  The instructor took the students into the deep end and onto the short dive board.  When it came to his turn he crouched down on the end and it was clear he didn't want to jump in.  She seems to be no-nonsense, and I could tell she was commanding him to get in.  Once he did, and bobbed to the surface (with the help of a noodle tied to his waist) he was over the moon.  He climbed the ladder, skipped to the back of the line, was singing loudly, and danced while punching at the sky.  Oblivious to the looks other kids were giving him.  Not caring what anyone thought.  He conquered a fear.  He was celebrating.  His next jump was a jump.  An arms in the air, catapulting himself upwards off the board with all his might, splashing in fine five-year-old boy form, jump. 

When I witnessed this, I thought we could all learn a little from five year-olds.  They are uninhibited still.  They revel in their emotions.  Free of the temper tantrums of toddlerhood, yet allow themselves to fully immerse in joy and sorrow.  Willing to sing out loud whatever is in their head.  Willing to dance if so moved.  Willing to celebrate accomplishments with abandon.  When do we lose this? I think I am going to try to take some of it back.  Dance some more.  Sing even if I am off key.  And I won't worry (or at least try not to) who thinks I've lost my mind.  Because after all, why shouldn't I celebrate the best moments in life with gusto?

Your Parents

So my husband and I escaped our hectic lives for a bit over the weekend.  Saturday morning we hit the road and left our rambunctious five year-old behind with my parents.  For about 36 hours we reveled in adult pleasures.  (get yer minds outta the gutters people)  We wandered the city streets and shopped without a wee one asking when we would get candy or toys.  We went into a liquor store and didn't worry about gasps about bringing a kid in (or some little hand knocking glass bottles over).  We watched an entire sporting event from start to finish without having to take 15 bathroom breaks and 10 trips to concessions.  We had dinner and cocktails in a whiskey bar.  With grownups.  We slept-in.  It was glorious. 

Yesterday was supposed to be a return to reality-my day back to work and our son's return to school.  Grandparents are now departed.  Routine is restored.  But the fog rolled in on its little cat feet and parked right over our respective school districts.  Unexpectedly we had an extra day off.  An unplanned for three-day weekend!  What did I spend my day doing, you ask?  Why hearing all about "your parents."  Our son told me not about grandma and grandpa, but called them "your parents" in some formal way.  He told me how my mother (side note, I have never called my mom mother in my life) made him Christmas pancakes for breakfast in the shape of Mickey Mouse-and didn't make him eat a cereal bar.  You know, the breakfast he has chose to eat for the past year or so.  He told me all about my father (aka dad) and his puzzle making abilities.  At one point he said "your parents are the nicest family around.  Nicer than our family.  Nicer than any family I know.  I want to live with them."  Sigh.  Someone was spoiled. 

Not that I begrudge him the weekend of spoiling.  I had weekends with my grandmother where I sat on the kitchen counter while she fried up French toast.  Weekends where we went shopping and lunched.  Sleepovers where we watched Gone With the Wind for the gozillionth time while she rolled her hair.  Long phone conversations from my dorm room to her kitchen.  I may not have said it the same way my son did, but my dad's mother was lovely.  So I get it.  Parents are the ones who have to make you eat gross foods, do your homework, pick up your clothes, clean your playroom, sit in time-out, write apology notes to teachers when you have to clip down, make you come in when it gets dark, and turn of that darn TV.  "Your parents" are the ones who give you extra dessert, make cookies with you and let you lick the spoon, craft until the glue coats their hands and arms, color all afternoon on construction paper, play mysterious games of football where they don't understand the rules you've created, and indulge your every whim. 

I think all three of us needed a weekend of indulgence.  My husband and I needed to have one long date.  Our son needed some serious grandparent play time.  It recharges batteries.  We are now officially headed into the three busiest weeks of the year.  And I am so ready for them.  Thank goodness for my parents, some fog, a whiskey bar, and an excuse to get away.

One Small Step From Preschool, One Giant Leap Toward the Future

Today we took one baby step into kindergarten. It was the "ride the bus to school with your kids and meet the teacher" (or in our case, drive) day. You take in the supplies, get to hang in the classroom a bit, see what the daily routine will be like, and generally relax about sending your baby off into the big, bad world of kindergarten.

Granted, I am not that nervous about it at all. Our boy has attended school in this district for two years. His preschool was taught in the same building as his kindergarten will be in. He rode the same bus he will ride this year. Played on the playground with his preschool class. Ate school lunches. He's Mr. Experience when it comes to the whole school thing. So I'm not going to be the mom who is wiping tears away as my little guy scampers off into the big bad world of kindgarten. (I was that mom two school years ago and it was awful)

What I did think about today was my freshman orientation group from last February. I lead the parent group while the students go into the high school gym with the teachers and administrators. Those parents were just like we were today. Wide-eyed. Scribbling down notes. Asking lots of questions. Wanting to make sure they got this right. I've led more than my fair share of freshman orientations, my very first was only a few weeks shy of little man's birth. Each time the first-time parents say "how did I get here-it all went so fast." That is what I am feeling right now. And I know before I blink, I will be where they sat last February. My husband and I will be sitting in a high school gym or auditorium, listening to the guidance counselor talk credits, state testing, eligibility for athletics, extra curricular activities, ACT testing information and more. We will be scribbling down notes that have nothing to do with volunteering for afternoon snack rotations or class parties, but scheduling and GPAs.

I know it is the cliche of parenting-it all goes so fast. Just when I think I have one stage figured out, we have transitioned into another. I loved babyhood-loved those snuggles. Loved those naps he took with me. I adored toddler years where he squealed happiness about a spoon or paper. Joy oozed from him sun-up to sun-down. At three he began to memorize car makes and models. We ventured into preschool then. I loved discovering his interests as he did. Like watching a sunrise. Four and five have been a slow explosion from small boy into all boy. We don't walk anymore; we run. We don't talk anymore; we shout. We don't sit down anymore; we flop. He loves rock and roll, dinosaurs, Detroit Tigers baseball, all things cars, tractors and construction equipment. He loves books and reading to us. He loves to draw pictures more than he does coloring in pictures. He loves the movie Short Circut. Yes, it all goes so fast, but it is a fun ride. And I am just as anxious as he is to see what is around the bend. The only difference is, I want to linger a moment longer before we get there because I know just how perfect right now is.

 

Kindergarten, here we come!

 

Me, My boy, Dinosaurs and a Rocket Ship

As a school counselor, I am blissfully aware that I am home from the middle of June through the middle of August (give or take a few days).  This means for the time being, I am a stay-at-home mom and am privy to the thoroughly enjoyable insights spouted off at random by our son.  You know him...this one conducting a business call in our dining room with a telephone that isn't plugged in...

When you are five, you have the world pretty much figured out.  As in this conversation...

(Upon exiting our car at the grocery store and examining the car parked directly next to us)

J: Mom, there must be dinosaurs around here.

Me: (not really listening) mmmmmhmmmmmmm...

J: Like Brachiosaurus or T-Rex

Me: (figuring out he may be crazy) What are you talking about? Dinosaurs are extinct!

J: Obviously not, because one put a giant dent in that car with its tail.  Duh.  (shaking his head with disgust)

Clearly I know little about dinosaurs.  My science education was a bust.

Or this morning, instead of a normal "good morning" there were demands and expectations...

J: Where's our space ship?

Me:  (trying to hug him with little success) Um, you mean any space ship?

J: No.  Ours.


Me: Well, I...um...well...I don't know.

J: You lost it?!  But I wanted to go to the moon!  I've never seen the moon!  I always wondered what it looked like!  (insert giant sigh)

Me: (calling after him as he wandered into the bathroom) Sorry buddy.  Maybe someday we will get it back!

I want to know where in the parenting manual we were supposed to be prepared for five year olds who expect dinosaurs to dent our cars and space ships to be parked behind our houses.  Oh, and use phrases like "all my life."

(Lack of) Potty Training

Seriously. WTF

I mean, we did this two years ago.  That's right, two years.  Count the months. They equal 24.  Twenty-four blissful diaper-free months.  Two years.  Two years without worrying about carrying around a diaper bag. Two years without having to find a suitable place to lay down our bundle of joy to wipe his rear end (because he got too heavy for those grody tables). Two years that we didn't have to carry a change of clothes everywhere. Two years of keeping the wipes in the car only.

And now we are back to this.  For the past week or so our five year-old boy has gotten up wet.  He is refusing to wipe himself.  He is wetting his pants.  A few months ago it was just an accident here or there.  Bed wetting we can understand.  But that isn't the case.  It is the "I have to go but I don't want to go so I will hold it as long as I can and ohmygoodnessIleakedandnowwhatdoIdo" thing.  Not wet through and leaking down his leg.  Oh no.  He is too engrossed in his play.  Or too sleepy right at dawn.  Or too much into his movie.  Or loves riding his bike too much.  And don't get me started on how helpless he becomes when it comes to wiping and washing his hands. 

Yes, I am ranting.  Because this boy insists he can "do it myself momma!" all the time.  Unless it is related to potty and hygiene.  He has regressed to babyhood.  And we cannot figure out what to do with it.  I am up to here (hand stretched to sky) with the wet pants and stink.  Potty training was much preferred to this! So I am open to suggestions.  Or offers to board our son while he works it out. 

I know, I know...I should be more patient.  I should be understanding.  But right now.  In this moment.  I. Am. Not.  Someday I will look back on this and giggle (possibly).  Just like we do over his hitting phase.  But today I want it fixed. And like any parents, we know that once this is solved, another problem will move in to replace this one.  Possibly one that is even more aggravating.  The neverending fun of parenting, right? 

For now, I reserve the right to rant.  And will call our family physician for a consult to rule out any serious medical issue.  And purchase a board to beat my head into.  And then turn to the bottle.  Because this is a problem that can only be solved by a good, stiff drink. 

For me, people! Yeesh!

It Wiggles!

This is what we heard exclaimed from the backseat of the car on our way to shopping on Saturday. 

"It wiggles!"  With his fingers jammed into his mouth.

"My toof! It is loose!"

I was not ready for this.  I mean, the dentist said a few weeks ago he had moderately loose teeth on the bottom.  Ones that may (or may not) be out by the end of summer.  You know, right before kindergarten starts.  But that was months away.  Ages. 

Not now. 

I glanced back.  Fully prepared for his little sausage fingers to show me a "toof" that barely budged under their force.  But no.  This sucker was a dangler.  Shoved forward in that grotesque way that teeth do when they are ready to come loose from a child's mouth.  This one wasn't even the tooth that had shown signs of wiggle.  How could that be?!

He couldn't wait to get into the store.  Bolting for the first mirrored pillar, he stared, open mouthed, wiggling it with his tongue and trying not to grin.  Also, trying to talk at the same time.  Pulling him away was more than difficult. 

By the time the two of us parted from my husband and headed for Gap Kids, he was pausing at every mirrored surface in the mall.  Checking to see the progress of the wiggler.  Needless to say, our progress was a bit slow.  I kept telling him to be careful, he didn't want to lose it here and miss out on the tooth fairy getting it. 

I swear, he is on to us.

48 hours later and the "toof" is still there.  Dangling by a thread.  I cannot stand to look at it.  The whole process of losing teeth just grosses me out.  Of course, now that he knows this, he misses no opportunities to show me the progress.  I am certain before we get to our family photo shoot on Sunday, he will have a gap on his lower jaw to show with pride.  Part of me grins to think of it.  Part of me is wistful.  Once the baby teeth are gone, he loses that "littleness" forever. 

Sigh.  This mothering business is nothing but heartbreak and falling in love all over again. 

For now, I'll be taking suggestions on tooth fairy amounts.  Last I checked, it was less than a dollar.  But that was in the 80's.  I'm sure inflation has upped her amount!  And we will need the skinny soon...

Neverending Honeymoons

For most of my young adult life and early 20's I had this idea of what marriage was and what an ideal marriage was supposed to be.  Two distinct things.  Not much in common with the other except that it involved two people, united by the bond of marriage, spending their lives together.  At that point the similarities ended and the roads took 90 degree turns from one another. 

I believed what marriage was, in my vernacular, was a union of two people who, at one time, loved each other like crazy.  But as time wore on they grew and changed.  Typically this change did not involve them growing together but apart.  I saw couples who had groups of friends that were separate from one another.  Couples who spent little time together.  Couples who bickered.  Couples who could put on good face, but when apart did nothing but complain about their other half.  Their marriage had become more of a management proposition and less of a relationship.  I saw very little in my world to indicate that marriage was anything but this.  It was worrisome.

Yet this did not stop my mind from formulating what I believed marriage ought to be.  I don't know when I started to imagine this-sometime in high school I suppose.  But there it was, my ideal marriage.  It had two nameless, faceless individuals in this relationship.  They were romantically in love from the start.  But over time, this love became more-it was woven and shot through with the trials they faced, the tough times, the days that were just too much.  It also was stitched by their laughter and shared jokes.  Patched by common memories, experiences, interests.  Made more vibrant by divergent interests they shared with the other.  Grew larger with children and friends.  This love could mend hurt feelings.  It could be a safe harbor in a storm.  It could be a warm blanket on a cold night.  As the relationship aged, it looked different, but it improved, it grew, stretched, contracted, and accommodated the passage of time.  There was no expectation of perfection in this marriage.  Just love, comfort, and support. 

I never expected to be blessed with such a relationship.  I hadn't seen one like it, so how would I even know how to create one? Yet this weekend, after my husband and I were discussing the notion of the honeymoon I realized something-I do have that ideal.  We are not perfect.  Far from it.  But I don't think either of us expect perfection from each other.  I am messy.  I am neurotic. I am a procrastinator.  I love to start and not finish things.  I can be one hot mess.  But he loves me in spite of my flaws.  And not only does he love me, but together we laugh so hard we cry, we still share private jokes when out at events, we hold hands, we sit smushed up against one another on the couch, and weekend mornings are spent lounging in our bed with our son cracking jokes.  I am one lucky lady.  I don't say it often enough.

My hope is that my stepdaughter and son are lucky enough to have a relationship as full and rich as mine is with their dad.  One that isn't just about the happy days, but shows its best side during the rough patches.  Not just any marriage, but the ideal marriage.  Just like the one I was fortunate to find.

3285

3285 days ago I went on a date.

It was a date that changed my entire life.

In the 3285 days to follow this has happened...

We got married on the most perfect Ohio July day ever to exist.  Seriously, 75 degrees in July.  Look it up, I am pretty certain it has only happened once.

Those were awesome. Even if one of the dark ones were crushed into my dress. 

I became a stepmom.  Or as she so affectionately calls me...a steppenmommy.  It is pretty awesome.

We only did this to her once. And she was only minorly scarred. Scout's honor.

I graduated from graduate school, we made a baby, built a house, and my steppendaughter graduated from high school.  All in the same year. (oh, and my husband and I both started new jobs that year too...because we are anything if not underachievers!)

Baby boy...bad photo, but when you're 5 seconds post-birth, cell phone is the best you can do!

Steppendaughter went off to college and baby boy started sitting upright.

Did I mention he was part turtle too?

Steppendaughter graduated from college.

Baby boy did NOT want to have his photo taken. Notice new family member...he will make a reappearance...

My baby sister graduated from high school.

He's still camera adverse. And I won't crop out baby sister's boyfriend. Because I'm mean like that.

We grew a garden that is pretty and pretty awesome.

This is the garden in baby stage, year one. Now it has lovely lavender, sweet pea vines, and loads of veggies!

I got orange curtains in our master bedroom.  This is monumental in my life

Not only are they orange and awesome, but my husband picked them out. Beat. That.

Our boy got a "big house." Not to be confused with jail.

His 'big' house

Our boy started pre-school.  Like, on the bus and all day and stuff.

Yes, I did cry.  Because he is so big!

We had us another wedding.  It was beautiful and perfect like the first.  Only in the winter on a sunny and snowy day. Thanks Ohio for being awesome.

My little family grew again!

Holy heck...has it been nine years?  Nine years of building a little family.  Building a life together that has taken us 3285 days to get to this very place where I sit writing you on this blog.  Nine years ago I fell head over heels in love with a man who I adore still.  The man I knew would be a great dad, because he already was one.  The man who gives the best hugs, who is the anchor to my wildly adrift ship, who cooks me the best comfort foods on my worst days.  He is the love of my life.  Happy first date anniversary sweetie...I couldn't love you more!

Adventures in Picky Eating

I used to be what one would call a "picky eater." When my husband met me no matter where we went to eat, it was chicken fingers and fries for me, thank you very much. My knowledge of vegetables ran only as far as the tuber family could take me. Anything green, forget it. Over the years though, my palate has expanded broadly. I merrily order steak cooked medium rare (emphasis on the rare). I bake kale chips whenever it is in season and gobble them down. I could eat butternut squash roasted all fall and winter long. I will kill a platter of crab cakes before you can blink. And, (this totally blows my husband's mind) I've even been known to spread roasted marrow on crusty bread and sprinkle it with sea salt before downing it. Chasing it with a swig with a dry, spicy, punch-you-in-the-mouth red wine. Yes, I said marrow. As in bone. As in, we ordered a giant porterhouse steak for the two of us, and I had heard the marrow was good. It was. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Needless to say, I am not that picky anymore.

However, there is a picky eater in our house. Our son. I shouldn't be too shocked. After all, I come from a family of four kids, and three of us strained the "bits" out of sauce before it hit the plate (the fourth kid just ate the "bits" from the other three on top of his!). But our son used to eat anything you put in front of him-with glee. With gusto. With abandon. He loved any and all food. We still talk about the time he was with us at a fancy Italian restaurant and had part of our braised lamb shank and cannelini beans. Then he hit a wall. I can count the foods he will stuff in his face on my 10 fingers. We worry about nutrition. We fret over anemia (he really just wants PBJ). He even will go 1-2 days with hardly consuming anything other than liquid. Of course the next few he eats like someone hired him to, and he's getting paid in M&Ms and matchbox cars.

This summer our goal is to re-expose him to as many tastes as we can. The school year is so crazy, that meals can be hectic. We have gotten our stubbornly picky eater to consume the following:
Hamburger
Grilled red/orange/yellow peppers and zucchini
Baked potatoes
Hot Dogs (that was a first! Always claimed to hate them before!)
Steak
Strawberries
Peaches
Raspberries
Blueberries
Cantaloupe
Ribs
Baked Beans

Most everything he gagged down at first, and other than the baked potato, he pretty much likes it all. This look comes over his face, kind of shock, and he says "it's good!" Like we were trying to trick him or something. We have all sorts of tactics-we "race" him to get bites in, we threaten to drink his precious juice box, we have been known to get treats after dinner and he doesn't if he didn't eat properly (but the next few days shoves pretty much everything into his mouth). Maybe by the time school starts he won't be so picky, and will actually eat the school lunch? One can hope. I just know how crippling it can be to be a picky eater, and don't want my son to be held back in the same way I was in my youth. The world is your plate little man, eat up!

Father's Weekend

This weekend we are celebrating all things dad around here...as are many of you, I'm assuming.  For our family, that means strawberry shortcake for one (it's the husband's favorite spring/summertime dessert) and a cookout with the family for another.  We lucked out with our CSA and are getting our chicken share for pick-up tomorrow morning.  Add in a stop at the berry farm, a bag of charcoal, homemade marshmallows for smores, and family and you have the perfect gathering for the dads in our life! On Sunday we will take a short road trip to Lakeside, Ohio to visit with my dad and family at a spot that has so many memories for us.  Enjoy some shuffleboard, mini golf, swimming, ice cream, and Lake Erie fun.  So, how do you celebrate the wonderful fathers (and father-figures) in your life?  Here's wishing all of you out there who get up each morning and parent your little men and ladies a wonderful Fathers Day Weekend!

My two Tigers.  Happy Father's Day!

On the Discovery of Miracles

This morning is gloriously sunshiney, filled with puffs of springtime breezes, and perfect.  Much like the past two days.  The only difference?  Every single muscle, joint, tendon, even my skin...hurts.  I feel as though I aged 50 years overnight. 

Owwwwwwwwwwww.

Why, you ask?  Well, yesterday, after the most delicious mother's day brunch at our favorite Italian restaurant, we headed home.  At first, I intended to sit on our porch and read (I'm in the middle of Planting Dandelions: Field Notes From a Semi-Domesticated Life by Kyran Pittman. It is fantastic.  Go get it now).  Then we stepped out of the car and the garden beckoned me.  So off went the dressy clothes and on went the t-shirt and denim.  I grabbed the wheelbarrow, shovel, rake, and gloves and prepared myself to only divide a few black-eyed susans and be done.  Ha! I pulled, yanked, shoveled, and spaded up countless stubborn weeds.  I transplanted a hydrangea that has failed to thrive.  I divided those black-eyed susans and made four new spots for them.  I raked out bits of ornamental grasses left over from our assault on them last week.  I neatened up the beds.  Then I fertilized.  Oh, did I fertilize. 

In the process, our son Jack was my partner in crime.  He rotated between shoveling his sand under his playhouse and helping me.  This is the first year he really is 1) interested in it and 2) able to be of any real assistance.  He wheeled the wheelbarrow.  He picked up sticks.  He pulled easy weeds out.  And, he was there when I found the rabbit nest.  I moved aside what looked to be a lump of straw in my vegetable garden.  Well, it was a lump...of straw covering four baby rabbits.  I literally squealed as the four rabbits hopped out and scattered.  The glee in Jack's eyes was immeasurable.  He giggled over the rabbits and my scream.  Of course, I had to explain that rabbits did not hatch from eggs.  Then we had to catch them because they were trapped inside the vegetable garden walls.  This was his favorite part...because both my husband and I were holding these tiny bunnies (he named each bunny "tiny"). 

Later I found a toad.  Remembering his joy over the rabbits and the fact that he remembers toads from two springs ago, I called him over.  I had the toad in my gloved hand.  Jack reached out, wide-eyed, grabbed the toad in his palm and whispered things to it only the toad and Jack will know.  Secrets between a pre-schooler and toad.  I love it.  He named it "Henry Toad." 

For Mother's Day I received many gifts...new beads for my bracelet, a handmade card, brunch with my boys...but the best was the look in the eyes of our son as he witnessed the miracle of nature right in our very own yard.  When I was giving him a bath last night I asked him what his favorite thing was that day, and his response was "the animals."  Mine was simply, to be his momma. 

Stinking Babies

I know, you're reading that title and are thinking one of the following things:


1. I hate children/babies (not true...love them.  Have one of my own. Two if you are counting my stepdaughter, which I do)
2. Our four year-old has regressed and is un-potty trained, therefore creating a stink. (nope...but would love some helpful hints on how to nix the nighttime pull-ups)
3. Just wanted something catchy to grab your attention to read something unrelated to babies entirely. (I'm not that brilliant of a blogger...but thanks for the credit)


No, I'm lamenting my stupid and crazy state of being.  Here is what I am looking at this morning:

That is my boy Jack...almost 3.5 years ago.  Pardon me.  I must go to another room and weep a bit.

Okay, I'm back.  Look at that face.  Those sausage legs.  Those rolls on his wrists and knuckles.  Excuse me.

Whew.  That was rough.  Seriously, it is killing me.  That little face.  As I type this I can hear him in the basement "rawring" as he plays Iron Man in the playroom.  By himself.  Without his momma.  Oh the horrors.  

Well, working on his baby Mixbook, coupled with all of these women who are having babies (well it seems like EVERYONE is having babies) is making my stupid, idiotic ovaries scream in protest at me.  I keep telling them to shut up, but seriously, they aren't getting the message.  Stupid things.  They aren't the ones who have to get up and feed a baby in the middle of the night.  They don't change stinky diapers for years on end.  They don't lug diaper bags everywhere.  No, once they do their job, they go back to resting peacefully in a dark, warm place.  You know, like I get to now that Jack sleeps for 12 solid hours, can go without a diaper, feed himself, and play Iron Man in the basement without me (sob).  

No more babies for this momma.  I'm serious.  We are done.  I'm just having one of those moments where I'm staring at photographs of my baby and remembering only the best parts of it.  Someone out there remind me of the truly horrific parts.  Please.  Like how I won't be able to sit upright for at least two weeks after the bundle of joy arrives.  

Okay, that was enough.  I think that thought alone did it.

Digital Scrapbooking

I've spent the weekend in blissful doing nothings...and finishing my very first digital scrapbook.  Well first scrapbook of any kind really.  I hate all the cutting, pasting, and positioning (and mess) that comes with paper scrapbooking.  When my friend introduced me to the wonderful world of digital scrapbooking through Mixbook, well hellllooooo fun!  Take a peek at Jack's third year of life, in lovely, mess-free digital print.

| View Sample Photo Books | Create your own Photo Book

I just put the order in for a coffee table size of this, so when it comes, I will let you know how good Mixbook's products are!  

Your 5th Year

As parents, we all know it isn't a job filled with funshine and roses.  (for the record, yes, I did mean funshine-as in the Care Bear, funshine bear) Parenting is hard, trying, exhausting, scary, panic-inducing, and overwhelming.  That's the ugly truth that no one tells you.  I mean, when I gave birth to Jack, everyone told me how much labor would hurt, how tired I would be afterwords, how starving I would be...but no one told me how I wouldn't be able to sit in an upright position for two full weeks.  Yeesh.  That needs to be in the manuals.  If there are any non-parents reading this, now you know.  Your bits will be a bit beyond the line of sore for a good long while.  I'm just sayin...


But parenting is also fun.  It is fun, wonderful, loving, emotional, exciting, thrilling, (gosh, this sounds like a Cedar Point commercial here...) and breathtaking.  Today I'm posting on our son, Jack's, fourth birthday.  He has now existed on this earth for four years.  We are entering the fifth year of his life.  I look back and cannot believe it has been that long, but has felt so utterly short. 


In the past year, we have made huge strides, dearest son.  One year ago, it was still diapers and sippy cups.  Now it is big boy underwear and cups without lids.  As you turned three, you began to make the transition from toddler to boy, and it showed.  It showed in your lumbering up and down the stairs, but your insistence to "do it by myself," in your desire to help get dressed each day, but inability to put your arms and legs in the right place each time, in your wiggly ways when we were out, how you insisted on walking next to the cart but were never able to quite do it.  Now I look at you and see a boy who is growing into a helpful little man.  Just tonight, you helped me search for items at Target and the craft store without (much prompting) and never had to get put into the cart.  You gave your own order at McDonald's (your birthday meal of choice).  When we got home, you helped me put together your treat bags for your classmates tomorrow.  You helped me unload and reload the dishwasher, upset that I wouldn't let you put in the detergent pack because it wasn't full enough to run.  When I finally let you sit down to watch some of your beloved Nick Jr. you wanted me to snuggle you.  Be still my momma heart.  


We laid there on the bed together, much like we did four years ago this very day, snuggled up together.  You wrapped in a blanket then, your own blankie now.  That early morning you were born, you stole my heart.  Each day you do something that amazes me, makes me melt, and yes, even frustrates me beyond words.  But mostly little man, you make us laugh our heads off.  What we didn't know before you arrived, but all can honestly say now, is that you are the missing piece we were looking for.  You are the best boy, the perfectly imperfect one to complete us.  We love you so very much, our four-year-old little man.  Happiest of happy birthdays.  

Our little chunker four years ago

And the handsome man you've become

Mommy Meltdown?

I read this article about mommy meltdowns on Huffington Post last night and as I read I felt myself sitting up and becoming more and more irritated as I read.  Not at the writer, because she (I'm assuming it was a she, but it could very likely have been a he too...it isn't cited anywhere I can find) is spot on with this article.  No, I was irritated by this statement Tina Fey fielded from her physician:

"The ear-nose-and-throat doctor I see about some stress-induced canker sores offers, unsolicited, "You should have another one. I had my children at forty-one and forty-two. It's fine." Did she not hear the part about the stress-induced canker sores?"

I am the mother of two children.  I have a lovely stepdaughter who is 22 years-old.  She came into my life (or I came into hers...something like that) when she was 14.  I also have a son who will be 4 years-old next week.  My husband and I decided when we were married that we would only add one to our family.  Seriously, the 18 year age difference between our two kids is plenty, thank you.  But what irritates me the most about the statement from Fey's doctor is this:  I hear it all the time.  Why is it that people assume you need/want more kids?  Is there something wrong with my family because we made the very thoughtful decision to add only one more child to it?  Because our kids are 18 years apart?  Because my stepdaughter has the luck to have a mom, dad, stepdad and me?  Because our son Jack has a sister who is so much older than him, he doesn't remember her living at his house?  We made the correct decision for our family, and have never had doubts in our minds about it. 

The whole crux of the article on mommy meltdowns was to ask us parents why it was so bad to admit that parenting isn't always easy.  This really makes me laugh.  I can't tell you how many lunch table conversations I have with my work BFF's about how confusing/challenging/crazy parenting our kids can be.  I know that when we get together with our friends who have kids, and I'm talking to the adults in the group, the conversation turns to the crazy stuff our kids do that makes us so frustrated.  It is almost like a competition-who has the kid who drives the parent the most crazy!  I think the media is the only place where parenting is put on a pedestal and made to seem as though it is some blissful walk through a sunny field of flowers.  All of the bloggers I follow who have kids (Alice Bradley, Heather Armstrong, Rebecca Woolf, Karen Wolrond, Ree Drummond, to name a few) talk very openly about how crazy and wonderful parenthood can be.  Why beat ourselves up about it? 

I know that after work today I am going to take advantage of this beautiful weather and walk outside for a while before picking up my son from the sitter's.  Who knows what dinner will be.  At some point I know the chorus of "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy" will make me crazy and I'll have to seek refuge somewhere.  By the time bedtime rolls around I'll tuck him in and read him a book with some good snuggling.  When all is said and done, parenting isn't terrible, but it isn't easy either.  It just is.  And someday our kids will become adults and our relationships with them will be completely new and different.  But this is the job we all signed up for.  We made decisions, make PBJ sandwiches, give kisses, get sticky-handed hugs, and wipe away tears.  We're all parents and it's our job.  Too bad the media hasn't caught on to that yet.

Sick Day

Oh to be home with a sick boy when you are perfectly aware that you are drowning at work, the voicemail light in your office is blinking angrily at you, your inbox is flooding your living room and getting ready to take over your kitchen too, and you left your paperwork in your office.


Did I mention the weather forecast is for 12 + inches of snow, high winds, and possibly heavy ice?


Can I get a mulligan?


So here I sit.  At my computer all morning.  Sifting through emails from parents (who are wondering why they haven't heard from their child's school counselor in oh, like, four days...I was in classes all last week!!), trying to fix applications for our career center without access to a printer at home, coordinate a school survey with the knowledge that this massive snowstorm may be hitting us, calling the doctor's office and pharmacy, and administering medicine to a sick little boy.  He's sitting on my lap.  Heating me through. It's like wearing an electric blanket that weighs about 40 pounds.


In the spirit of my sedentary day, I thought I'd give y'all some fun reading for the day.  You know, since my Mac is my lifeline for now, and may very well be for a while.  (unless we lose power, Internet connection, and cell phone use...then I just might die)


My favorite HBO show, Big Love is back for its final season, and last night's episode was a heart-wrenching twist on the family Christmas.  New York Magazine's The Vulture has a great recap of this sad, touching, and dramatic account of this family.  I can't help but root for the Hendricksons...they're hopelessly flawed like all of us.  Even though I hope I'm not that flawed!


Sitting with a sick child overtaking your lapspace, the best way to get your reading in can be on your smart phone (an IPhone in my case).  So as I was reading HuffPost today, I found this fantastic article about Mommy Bloggers by Kari Henley:  Mommy Bloggers Are Going to Rule the World.  It was a fascinating read, and spot-on.  I can't help but agree with her, as I adore all of my daily reads from the blogosphere.  I have two main bookmark categories on my computer and IPhone-news/weather and blogs.  They're my lifeline.


Speaking of blogs, a badass woman I have known since high school has started her own.  Check out Wise Woman Fertility for information on alternative medicine, and women's health issues.  It is a wonderful blog for anyone who is interested in thoughts/ideas beyond the medicine they give you at Rite Aid...which I know many of us are.


Now, I know many of us ladies are married to men who are hot.  (raises hand)  In my case, mine is not just good looking but also warm.  We finally invested in a vehicle that has dual thermostat controls so I can keep my toes toasty warm while he gets cool air blowing on his warm cheeks.  In search for an answer of a problem he keeps telling me is in my head, I may have found one...because Amanda Schaffer wonders why women feel colder than men too.


Finally, in honor of the snowstorm approaching us, I thought I'd leave y'all with a little video of the great Blizzard of '78.  It could always be worse...remember that.





We could have to drive those cars...

The event

I'm taking advantage of being iced into our house (literally...there is a thick coating of ice on everything outside!) to answer some emails, read some news feeds, and to...


...wait...


(cue the music)


Order our son's fourth birthday gift! 


We decided last year that instead of a physical gift, we would give him an experience with us...some sort of event.  Right now he is too young to really pick it out, but as he gets older we will allow him to pick out what he would like to go and do.  Last year we took him to see Nick Jr. Live.  While I would rather poke my eyes out with spoons than watch the Backyardigans on stage, seeing Jack's eyes light up each time Moose and Zee were right in front of him made it all worth it.  He was mesmerized.  We even got him his first "concert" t-shirt.  


This year, Toy Story on Ice is coming to our area right around his birthday.  If you ever read this blog, then you know that our son is obsessed with all things Toy Story.  He sleeps on Toy Story sheets, under a Toy Story fleece blanket, has several Toy Story shirts he wears in rotation, got every Toy Story toy you can imagine for Christmas-including his beloved Buzz Lightyear.  He owns all three Toy Story DVD's as well. Before Christmas, when he got up on the weekends, he used to come straight to our bed and climb in for "some lovin."  Now he heads straight for his toys and digs out his Buzz and then comes to our room.  Sigh.


Well, I managed to snag him (and us, by default) second-row, rink side seats for the matinee!  His little eyes are going to pop out of his giant noggin.  While I still would rather go to a rock concert than Disney on Ice, to see his hero come to life will be worth it.  We can't help it...we love this boy like crazy!

Happy Holidays!

I know, I've been lax about writing of late.  This time of year has a way of getting all of us wrapped up in busy-work, real work, and other minute that we don't always take the time to slow down.  Each year I vow to try to enjoy the holiday season and not let it get away from me.  This year I am finally doing better with that promise.  As a family, we have stepped back a little with our celebrations.  We are staying on budget with gift-giving so far...a huge plus for us!  I have made a to-do list for the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day and am sticking to it.  This has helped with making sure things are getting done and not feeling overwhelmed with the enormity of hosting two family celebrations this time of year.  But for us, the biggest thing has to be watching the magic really come alive for our 3.5 year-old son.  He is breathing Christmas magic this time around.  It started with putting the tree up on Thanksgiving night.  I basked in the glow coming off his face as we unwrapped each ornament.  Who needs lights on a tree when you have a pre-schooler squealing with delight over even the slightest object?  When our "elf on the shelf" Cheerio made his appearance, we got the lecture from our son "you cannot touch, but you can talk to Cheerio," and he is good to his word...wishing Cheerio a good morning, telling him all the good things he does, even making sure he is comfortable.  Just today our son was crawling around the living room making a humming sound.  When I asked what he was doing, he said he was lighting the way for Santa.  Well, why wasn't that obvious...he had just watched Rudolph, and when the reindeer's nose lights up, it does make a noise!  


I am finding myself giddy with excitement for Christmas Eve when I get to play Santa.  I cannot wait to put gifts under the tree for our little guy.  I cannot wait until our quiet Christmas morning when he gets to play with his new toys while we drink coffee, orange juice and munch on cinnamon rolls.  Nothing makes me happier than the quiet times with my little family, and this holiday is shaping up to be a celebration of those moments.  Well, with a a few additional squeals, jumps, and excited hand claps thrown in.  


Keep your fingers crossed for snow in Northwest Ohio too.  So far we are missing out, and my son is convinced Santa needs it.  I may have led him to this belief, only because I adore the beauty of snow.  Shhhhhh...don't tell my husband about our snow dance!

Raising a Man

Today I read two beautifully written pieces about raising children and boys in this world.  All the time I look into my son's pool-blue eyes and wonder what kind of man he will become.  Will he be as kind-hearted as his dad?  Will he have his uncle's senses of humor?  Will he have my love of the outdoors? Will he have compassion, kindness, hope, happiness? One of the things I so love about mothering is watching all of his many layers develop and open through time.  I can now see how he will be a big-hearted soul...he is so loving as a three-year old boy, and has an innate sense of how to comfort those who are sad.  I think that (and his giggles) is my favorite quality about him at this age. 

But I also worry.  How do I arm this man-child for life in the big, bad world?  How do I provide him with the skills needed to be a good partner, parent, citizen?  There is a plethora of information available for parenting girls.  How to arm them with "girl-power."  Don't misunderstand me-I love that.  I love that I see girl-power in my students all the time.  But I still want to raise a man who can be a wonderful human, and I don't know if there has been much thought given to this.  The article I read on The Daily Beast today confirmed my worries.  I think so many parents are in the same predicament that we are-and there just are not resources dedicated to helping out boys.  I know...they've dominated the world for years.  I'm not looking to raise a neanderthal here.  But a happy medium.  The kind of man I can look at and burst with pride because of his sheer goodness.  It isn't easy. 

On Girl's Gone Child  today Rebecca Woolf wrote about arming our kids so that they feel ready to take on the world.  I think she nailed it. So I will continue to nurture my son's big heart; but I will also work towards giving him the knowledge that he is a beautiful, wonderful human that we all cannot possibly imagine our lives without.  And when I tell him that he's loved, he remembers all the kisses, hugs, and words we've shared through the years and feels it.

What is your halloween costume?

I adore the ladies of Momversation so very much.  They make laugh, cry, think, giggle, and generally feel so much better about all the things related to motherhood.  I try to keep up with each episode (they're only a few minutes long) that they post every few days, because they're just that good.  This one I almost skipped, because, well, I have issues with Halloween costumes.  But then I watched.  Oh holy heck.  Alice Bradley, if you ever read my blog (and I'm certain you don't...) I am positive we are sisters of another mother.  Before you read the rest of this post, you must watch this Momversation episode.  


When I was headed into the throes of junior high school, my mother (in her infinite wisdom) decided I was far too old to be dressing up for Halloween.  I was relegated to sitting in the living room with the candy bowl.  Costumeless.  During high school, on Halloween, when all of my friends would wear costumes to school and have parties, I was not permitted to dress up.  It was not something teenagers were supposed to do.  By the time I arrived on my college campus, the die had been cast.  There was no way this prim and proper girl would hit the town on Halloween night decked out in a costume of any sort, let alone one that resembled a hussy nurse, slutty nun, or any other variation of skimpy career wear.  I preferred to hide out in my dorm room/apartment on Halloween so as to avoid the costumed crowds and the questions about why I wasn't dressed up.  


Now I'm all grown up, and invited to go out trick-or-treating with my son and his friends.  I am somewhat surprised with what the parents are wearing.  Witch hats, yes...slutty mommy wear, hmmmmmmm.  But, it is Halloween, so if you want to let your freak flag fly....you go right ahead.  Just don't be offended when my three-year old son can't take his eyes off of your barely-there fire-girl wear.  (because he totally knows that you cannot safely fight a fire in that)