To my Valentine's

Todd and Nick,

You are my loves, my life, my future.

I will never give up on us.

Time.

I've been thinking for some time now that I ought to document what happens during our weekends.  Mostly just so I can remember the little details of our all-too-short two days of work-less freedom together.  But also because I've really come to appreciate weekends even more so now that I have a husband who does not have to work through them, and a son that thinks his parents are the two greatest people on earth (except for when they are denying him goldfish crackers for breakfast).

Lately (like as in the past two years) I've felt as though time is going even faster than it used to.  I get up in the morning, race to get Nick dressed and ready, throw some grubby clothes on my own body, usher Nick out the door and into the car, drive him to daycare, rush back home, plop down in front of my computer, and before I know it I'm so completely immersed in travel planning, scheduling, and PowerPoint presentations that it's time to head back out to pick him up from daycare.  And it doesn't stop there -- I pick him up, either head back home, or run some much needed errands, and then it's home just in time for dinner, bath, and bedtime before falling onto the couch to watch mindless reality TV for two hours before heading upstairs to pass out in bed next to my hubby who has already been snoozing for an hour and I'm left laying there with the wheels in my head turning at rapid speed trying to comprehend just how and why the last 24 hours passed quicker than I could even pause long enough to wash my hair or empty the dishwasher.  Where is the time going??  

The other night Todd and I sat on the couch together flipping through old videos of Nick on our cell phones.  Video's of him as a baby.  A baby that just cooed and giggled.  A baby learning to sit up.  A baby learning to stand on his own - to push a walking toy - to walk unassisted.  A baby learning to eat solid foods and clap.  And it took everything in me to not dissolve into a puddle of tears. At one point Todd had to say "don't cry honey!" to which I couldn't help but reply "do you ever feel like we missed Nick being a baby?"  And I was actually surprised to hear Todd say "yes." 

And now we know more than ever before that we're ready for another baby.

When Nick was an infant, we spent so much of our time worrying about whether or not we were "doing things right", that neither of us feel as though we really spent the appropriate amount of time just enjoying him being a baby.  We spent so much time panicking about getting him fed on his set schedule and making sure he was home in time for bed.  Worrying about letting him cry it out versus sleeping in our bed.  Worrying about putting him in too many layers, or not enough layers for bed.  I often look back at pictures of Nick at 6, 7, 8 months old and think "I feel like it went so fast...I didn't get to just relish in him being so little". 

And I know this is common - especially with your first baby - especially when you've never been around babies before - to just be worried that you're even keeping them alive properly.  But there's just so many times that I wish we could rewind a bit.  Keep our 6 month old up just a bit past his bedtime so we can watch him fall asleep on our shoulders in a crowded restaurant, as people ooh and ahh over his cuteness.  Run to check on our crying 3 month old at 3 am, just to spend an extra 30 minutes gazing down at his sweet face as he finishes his bottle.  Ignoring the sheer exhaustion and just embracing how much it's all worth it.

I feel like I'm going to wake up tomorrow and Nick is going to be kissing me goodbye as he runs to the school bus.  Sitting me down at the kitchen table to help with his English homework (because Lord knows his dad will be helping with the math homework).  Asking me for permission to drive my car to take his girlfriend to the school dance.  Graduating high school.  Leaving home to go to college.  Getting married.  Having his own kids. 

I can't even think about it.

Then again, one day when Nick has his own kids, and my main worry will no longer be keeping the babies on schedule, but instead smothering them with love and kisses and tickling an 8 month old until he can hardly breathe from so much giggling...then maybe I'll feel like I truly get to enjoy a baby for just what it is -- a baby.  I guess that's why my parents love being grandparents so much.  All the enjoyment, none of the responsibility.

But I'm just not ready to think about any of the above.  I need time to slow down.  I need to make the time to relish in all things two-years-old.  Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that he will never be this age again. 

I once thought the quote "the days are long, but the years are far too short" applied to us.  But now I'm not so sure.  I feel as though the days are far too short, and the years pass far too quickly.  But such is life.  And we have no choice but to make the most of every second we are given here on earth.  So please excuse me for ending this here, but I have to take a cute little red headed toddler to the playground -- and spend some time going down the slides and playing in the dirt with him.  Because once this moment has passed, I know I won't get it back.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby Boy!

Two years old.

Two years of fun.

Two years of tears.

Two years of poopy diapers, toddler hugs and kisses, and sleepless nights.

Two years of watching my heart walk around outside of my body.

I'm not sure how it's possible, but every single day I feel as if I love you a million times more than I did the day before.

Every day you change, grow, become more of a little person and less of an un-opinionated baby.

I love this stage...this age.  Even with the tantrums.  Even with the middle of the night wake-up calls. I love every single thing about you.

Watching your face scrunch up into an almost embarrassed grin as I use a funny voice while reading to you.

Seeing you learn to jump, climb, reach, pull, slide, carry, and DO - all with purpose and determination.

Hearing you dissolve into a puddle of giggles as you wrestle with your daddy.

Feeling you wrap your little arms around my neck - squeezing my cheeks with your tiny hands - planting your little lips smack on mine.

Your innocence.

And knowing that you are all mine.  All ours.  And we created you.

There are days when your daddy and I will be standing in the kitchen, chatting or washing and drying dishes together, when you'll come barreling in on your bike, hop off with ease, and throw your arms around one of our legs in a bear hug, squealing with glee at the fact that your favorite people are in your presence.  And I'll look at your daddy and say "I still can't believe there is another person living in our house...a little person that WE made!"  Your daddy will always respond coolly with something along the lines of "hey, we do good work".  And I know how much pride he has swelling inside of him, for the son he calls his own. 

Just as I feel it couldn't be possible to love you more than I already do, I know your daddy feels the same way.  I watch his love and admiration for you grow ten-fold every time he lays eyes on you.  Every time he opens the door after a long day at work and you run into his arms yelling "Da Da! Da Da!"  Every time you lean your little head towards his in your own "guy code" kind of snuggle...I see another little piece of him soften. 

I remember crying in disbelief, the week we brought you home from the hospital, at how our lives would never be the same.  Worried.  Frightened.  Unsure if I was prepared for the change in our normal routine.  Sad that it would never again be just your daddy and I.  And now I find myself crying in disbelief that I ever felt that way.  I am still worried, frightened, and unsure of our every day lives, as well as our future.  But the one thing that I am always sure of is you.  You ARE our life.  You ARE our future.

Every single day with you is better than the day before.  You are hilarious and keep all of us in stitches.  Even when you get angry or upset, we have to cover our faces to keep you from seeing us laugh.  Both because we don't want you to think we condone the tantrums, but also to keep you from getting your feelings hurt as you are a tad on the sensitive side.  All traits you get from me.

And then there's your easy going and loving nature.  You're content to do your own thing, get totally wrapped up in any cartoon you may be watching or toy you may be playing with, and love anyone that you consider to be "one of your people" with depth and commitment.  All traits you get from your daddy.

There is no way to verbalize, or even attempt to fully comprehend, the emotions that consume my body and mind when it comes to you.  So I won't even try.  Because I could never properly put into words just how much I love you.

You are my heart.  You are my soul.

Happy 2 years, baby boy. 

A dating history of sorts

Yesterday marked six years to the day since Todd and I had our very first date. A casual cup (cups) of coffee at the Starbucks near Mark Center in Alexandria. At the time, I was living a couple of blocks away in my own apartment (man I loved that apartment). Todd was living more like 45+ minutes away in Centreville with three other guys in the ultimate bachelor pad.

 

We had met four years prior to that, which means this year marks 10 years total that Todd and I have "known" each other. 10 years that we have been a presence, no matter how small or big, in each other's lives. That is officially 1/3 of my life. And sure, that doesn't seem like much to most people, but to me, it is incredible. Especially when I think back to what I had to go through to end up with a man like Todd. 

Very first picture together - March 2007 (after about 1.5 months of dating)

 

I remember being in middle school - terrible bangs, glasses, braces, zits, and an awkward shyness - watching the popular girls receive flowers and teddy bears from their boyfriends.  Seeing them kiss in front of their lockers.  Hearing them constantly talk about so-and-so going out with so-and-so this week, and changing to a different guy the next.  And I remember longing for the day when I would have my own boyfriend.  Desperate, is really what you'd call it.

By the time I reached the ninth grade, I had grown out my bangs, got my braces taken off, and bought a set of contacts.  I tried out for, and made the freshman cheerleading squad, and I subsequently began making the best group of girlfriends I could have ever imagined.  I was not quite as awkward anymore, and let's be honest - I had pretty big boobs for a ninth grader, so I had that going for me.  I was perfect girlfriend material.

Or so I thought.

Instantly, I fell for the bad boys.  I had a desperate crush on one guy - who I'm pretty sure was a major stoner, though I never actually confirmed that - but it was one of his friends that asked me to go to homecoming with him instead.  He had diamond earrings (which for some reason thrilled my mom), and generally gave me the creeps every time he even looked at me.  We went to homecoming together, and I even had my first kiss with him - in the sweaty LB gym.  Dancing to "Unbreak My Heart".  It was awkward, slobbery, and pretty freaking exciting because I had finally! kissed! a boy! 

On Monday in school, he came up to me, tried to put his arm around my shoulders, and I got completely grossed out and never spoke to him again. 

By 10th grade, I decided I was more into the athletes and set my sights on a cute football player in my computer class.  And damn if I didn't snag him for a whole 3 months.  As a Valentine's present, he took me to my very first concert - Matchbox 20 (Rob Thomas still holds a special place in my heart), before literally ripping my heart out of my chest by telling me he had feelings for his "best friend".  Crushed.

In 11th grade, I met another football player - one of the above mentioned guy's good friends.  We hit it off in our Advanced P.E. class, went to homecoming together, and ended up dating for a full 2 years.  We were inseparable and I even decided to follow him to college, only to go away to beach week with all of my friends, and realize I just wasn't in love with him anymore.  I broke his heart, felt horrible about it, and then learned not so long after that, that he had been egging my car (while we were dating!) with a friend of his, and told every single guy on the football team - in the locker room - that we had sex.  Frequently.  A total, blatant lie, that made me thrilled I had broken up with him.

By college, I was ready to be single, but the summer before heading off to college, I fell hard for a friend.  Someone I had essentially known since about the 3rd grade, through a mutual friend. We fell for each other a mere two months before heading off to college.  And managed to stay together for a whole semester.  Except he went on a ski trip with his buddies over winter break, didn't call me once, and then broke up with me the minute he got back.  Heart, broken.

I took my sophomore year of college to finally be single - and it was by far my favorite year of college.  I went out with my girlfriends, joined a sorority, flirted like crazy, and made a ton of new friends.  But by the end of sophomore year, word had gotten back to my aforementioned boyfriend (by way of some of his close friends that I went to college with) that I was "so much fun" and he decided he wanted me back.  A fool in love, I took him back, only to have my heart ripped out once again due to his lack of commitment.  Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, and it hurts ten times as bad.

College sophomore me.

By my junior year of college, I was working at a local restaurant, waiting tables.  After a few months of working there, Todd happened to come in for lunch with a buddy of his.  I saw a cute guy in a backwards hat sitting at a table in the bar, and instantly told the bartender "that guy is so cute!"  She told me she was going to give him my number, and ran back to his table.  I knew I had to say something to him, so I went over, said "hi, that's my number" and long story short, we eventually made plans for a date that I stood him up on, stating that I "just wasn't ready to date again".  In hindsight, it was a good move.  Todd always says, had we tried to date back then, we would've never made it.  We were just in different places in our lives.

But a few months later, at that very restaurant, I met E.  He worked there, as well.  He was 6'4", loud, and all the girls fawned over him.  I was no exception.  So imagine my excitement when he took notice of ME.  He wanted to date ME!  By the end of my junior year of college we were a couple - if you could call it that.

I spent well over a year of my life desperately waiting by the phone for him to call me.  Spending every single dime I earned at work to buy him dinner and beer and anything else he wanted, just to have an excuse to go to his house and hang out.  The more I wanted him to love me, the worse he treated me.  He was into drugs (fortunately never did them in front of me), and once told me he'd rather deal cocaine than hang out with me.  One night he got in a fight with his roommate, I tried to jump in the middle, and he punched me so hard in the face that my eye swelled up black and blue and swollen shut.  He wasn't even remorseful. I told my mom we were horsing around and it was an accident.  She knew the truth.

He treated me like a dog...and that's what I felt like.  I spent half of my time crying over him, and the other half trying to make him love me.  He broke my finger by pushing me across the room, over the bed.  And yet I still wanted him to love me.

The thing of it was, for other people - our coworkers, friends, adults - he put on a good show.  He acted like a goofball that everyone found hilarious and wanted to hang out with.  And I was completely embarrassed of myself, so I never told anyone what was going on.

I became depressed and removed from my friends.  I gained a lot of weight - to which he told me I looked fat, yet he still allowed me to spend MY money to take us out to dinner and buy him beer.

I stopped talking to my family.  They didn't like him, and so I blamed them for the problems in my relationship. 

And then it all came to a head.  One night he spent 30 minutes on the phone telling me how fat and disgusting I was.  How he was hooking up with other girls.  How worthless he thought I was.  I called in sick to work in the morning, only able to cite that I was "really sad".  I spent all day in bed crying.  And I knew I had to change something.

It took finding an apartment in a different city, and not telling anyone where I was moving - not even my roommate at the time, my best friend - and getting the hell out of dodge, to realize my worth.

I moved to a place all my own.  I reconnected with my parents - who never even brought up my horrible relationship, just allowed me to heal with their love and guidance.  And I eventually pushed him away.  He called me one night in the middle of the night to tell me he was so sorry...he wanted to change...he was going to change.  He said he wanted to be with me forever, get married to me one day.  I told him there was something mentally wrong with him - that he needed to see a therapist - and that I was no longer going to be an outlet for his problems.  He told me he was taking a bunch of pills and wanted to hang himself.  I calmly hung up the phone, called his parents, told them what he had said, and never spoke to him again. 

Through the grapevine, I heard that he began to better himself.  Went to therapy, went back to college, graduated...changed his life around.  But to me, it was far too late.  HE was the worthless one in my eyes.  It took me a long time to understand that.  I am a forgiving person - usually forgiving, but not forgetting.  In his case, the wounds are too deep.  I will never forget, and I will never forgive him. 

After that experience, I played it single for a while.  Went out with my girlfriends, partied, adopted Whinnie when I became lonely and needed a companion.

Baby Whinnie in 2006

And then I realized that I wanted someone to share my life with.  And meeting guys in bars just wasn't working.  So I joined e-Harmony.

10,000 questions later, I went on a date with a guy that only wanted to talk about all the partying he did in college (dude loved himself some beer pong).  There was absolutely no spark.  I deleted my account the next day.

A few months later, a girlfriend told me she met a guy on match.com and that it was an awesome website.  So I joined with a trial membership.  And I ran the gamut from total creepy weirdos, to pretty cool guys.  I suppose my match.com experience is a blog post in and of itself.  I mean, one guy even sent me a message containing all the lyrics to Pearl Jam's "Can't Find a Better Man".  No actual words of his own...just song lyrics.  No, we didn't ever go on a date.

One guy showed up at my apartment in boat shoes with no socks.  In February.  Pass.

Another guy I actually went on two dates with.  On the second date, he dropped me off at my apartment just as it started to rain, and he said "do you mind if I drop you off here and don't walk you to the door since it's raining?"  Nope, didn't mind.  And nope, we never went out again.

But I did date one guy that I thought was a pretty good find.  He was a special education teacher, tall, attractive, kind.  We had a pretty quick connection and I was certain I was going to be through with my match.com account after just our first date. Turns out, he was just on match looking for a hook-up and after a few dates, couldn't be bothered to talk to or hang out with me unless it fit his schedule.  Back to square one.

Just as I was giving up hope of ever dating a nice, normal guy, Todd reconnected with me over AOL instant messenger (I know, old school!).  He sent me a message, had to refresh my memory on who he was, and asked if I wanted to grab a cup of coffee sometime.  I distinctly remember thinking "well, what's one more bad date?"  At this point I had experienced it all, so I felt like a pro.

We spent our first date in this very car -- I love my Buick, but man do I miss her...

 

I can still remember that first date vividly, as though I am still on it.  Todd was wearing carpenter's jeans, a Michigan hat, and a pull-over windbreaker.  I had on a blue sweater from Victoria's Secret, jeans, and these workman style boots that should have sent Todd screaming for the hills.  He smoked cigarettes and paid for my coffee.  He ordered a sugar free hazelnut latte.  I ordered a vanilla latte - the only thing I'd ever had from Starbucks before.  The shop was completely crowded, not a free seat, so we decided to sit in the car because it was freezing (it was January after all).  Being a skeptic, I asked that we sit in my car.  He agreed.

April 2007

 

We had met at 7:00pm.  By 11:00pm I realized we had been talking about everything and anything under the sun for four hours, and that my poor 1 year old puppy hadn't eaten dinner and probably had peed in her crate, and so I told him I had to go home.  We hugged goodbye next to my Mitsubishi, and I drove away thinking "if nothing else, I just gained an awesome friend." 

10 minutes after I got home, he texted me "I'm sorry I didn't kiss you, I owe you one next time".  We made plans to get together for our next date on Superbowl Sunday.  We had our first kiss in the parking lot of Arby's in Centreville (hey, we were young and on a budget).

August 2007 - oh to be that young and thin again!

 

Six years later, we have an incredibly strong marriage, a beautiful two year old son, and a life I never imagined I would get to have.  He is my absolute best friend, my rock.  He loves me first thing in the morning - make-up free, bad breath and all.  He's seen me from the inside out (literally!  Hello c-section!) and watched me go #2 on a hospital bed.  We have literally been through the good, the bad, and the disgusting.  And at the end of the day, there is nobody I would rather spill my guts to than him. 

It took me a long time to realize that what I deserved most in a man, was someone who accepted me fully, loved me unconditionally, and truly treated me as his equal and very best friend.  I know that things won't always be easy - trust me, we have our share of arguments.  But I am beyond 100% confident that what we have is unbreakable.  We will always be a team.  And I completely owe this life with Todd to God's divine intervention.  Todd truly was an unanswered prayer.

And then we made this little guy.  Does it get any better than that?!

A cow says "ooooooooo"

We spent another glorious two-days at my parent's lake house this past weekend and I've officially decided that there is nothing better for my soul than escaping to that little slice of heaven.  Maybe it's the crisp, fresh lake air and the ability to get some real oxygen into my lungs.  Or perhaps is the sharp silence when you first wake up in the morning.  Or if we're being real here, it's probably because Nick seems to sleep best at the Lake.  All of which add to my zen like state, the dropping of my blood pressure, and the full ability to just de-stress, unwind, and breathe. 

Whatever the main reason, the Lake is my happy place.  And I'm already ticking off the days in my planner until we can go back.  I've gone so far as to tell my husband he can host Shandy Cup in our house again this year, because THIS year, Nick and I can escape to the lake with my folks.  Heaven.

So the weekend was spent playing games (Sour Apples to Apples, Scattergories, Poker), eating far too much yummy food (baked spaghetti, egg & hash brown casseroles, huge deli sandwiches, snicker doodle cookies, hamburgers & hot dogs...yes my stomach still hurts two days later), having a two-on-two basketball game with Todd, my brother, and his girlfriend (yes, my body still hurts two days later), snuggling and playing with my favorite two year old, and enjoying the fact that at any given time, his two very willing grandparents were ready to jump in and take over for a while, giving Todd and I ample time to just RELAX. All three dogs came to the lake as well, and it was two straight days of puppy lovin'...(although if we're being honest, Whinnie needs to learn a little more about sharing properly).

But the absolute highlight of our ridiculously relaxing weekend??

Nick started repeating some animal noises.

For a kid who up until now has been less than verbal, this was huge.  All on his own.  Practically out of thin air.

We were sitting at the coffee table reading books, and he picked up his "FARM" book.  It's basically just a short, 8 page board book, with pictures of farm animals and items, with the word printed under them.  Up until this weekend, any time I read the book to Nick, he had zero response to my questions of "what does a _________ say"...unless it was a duck, in which case he would give me a very quiet "kack".

So here I was, flipping the pages, and came across the cow.  Before I could even finish saying "what does a cow say?"  Nick responded with a very loud, and matter-of-fact "ooooooooooo!".  Sure, he was missing the "mmm" sound at the beginning, but he knew damn well what he was saying - and what he was saying was "moo!"

I turned the page to a sheep and said "Nick, what does a sheep say??" and he responded with a loud "aahahahaaha".  It wasn't quite "baaaahhh", but we both knew exactly what he meant and that he was 'getting it' finally!  So I asked one more - that wasn't in the book - and said "Nick, what does a monkey say?" and damn if my little guy didn't put both hands under his arm pits like a monkey and say "eeee eeee eee!"  Something Todd and I have been trying to get him to do for months.  MONTHS.

It was one of my proudest mommy moments to date.  For a mommy of a verbal toddler, I'm sure this won't make much sense.  I'm sure this sounds like something a 14 month old should be saying, not a 4-days-from-turning-2 toddler.  But for us, it was huge.  It was a breakthrough.  And you better believe I jumped up and down, clapped, swung him around, and cheered like he'd just won the Nobel Prize.  Because to me, it felt that good.  He's finally getting it.  He really wants to talk.  He is GOING to talk.  And it's starting now.
   
Like I said - there's something magical...something healing...about the Lake House.  And I can't wait to go back.

Sick

The only thing I've done today is tend to my sick baby boy. He is lethargic, exhausted, and coughing like a 65 year old Marlboro Red smoking cowboy. the only thing he wants to do is lay on me. And truth be told, considering how busy of a two year old he usually is when feeling well, I am soaking in every single sweet snuggle and loving it.

Earlier, as I held Nick on my chest, I pushed the sweaty hair back from his feverish forehead, and tried to soothe his achy whimpers, and I couldn't help but picture myself - tiny and helpless, curled up on my own mom's lap in the middle of the night - sick and scared. I remember how the only thing that made me feel better when I was sick, was her presence. How breathing her in, with my head tucked right into the crook of her neck, was somehow more soothing than any medicine. And the gentle stroking of her fingers along my back were more healing than any doctor. She was the cure for any ailment.

And now that I am responsible for taking care of a little one - making sure he is comfortable and soothed - I realize he is also taking care of me. Filling a suppressed "mommy-need", if you will. The need to feel needed. And I realize now that just as my mom was giving every ounce of herself to make sure I was well taken care of, she was also secretly grateful for those middle of the night cuddles. Because she needed me. And she was needed.

I still wish I could curl up on my mom's lap every time I'm sick. But now it's my turn to provide the comfort to my own baby. And I'm loving the opportunity.

It's amazing how life has certainly come full circle.

Little fibber

I have so many posts to catch up on - most of which are sitting in my drafts folder, half written, half waiting for pictures - but I can't seem to motivate myself to finish them.  But this, I want to remember, because it was cute.  Sort of a "you had to be there" cute, but cute none-the-less.

Last night as Todd was giving Nick a bath, I was picking up and putting away a few things upstairs.  I popped into the bathroom to say something to Todd and noticed that he was washing Nick's hair (as we do just about every night).  I left the bathroom to finish what I was doing, and came back to hang out for the remainder of bath time.

When I knelt down next to Todd and the tub, Nick's hair had clearly been rinsed.  I said:
"Nick, did Daddy wash your hair?"

Nick reached up, rubbed his hair with his hands, looked me straight in the eye, and shook his head "no".

Todd and I both cracked up and Todd said "how are you gonna lie to mommy like that?!"

I asked Nick again "Daddy didn't wash your hair??"

And again, Nick shook his head with a very firm "no".

So I asked Nick "did Daddy wash your stinky feet?"

Again, a firm toddler "no" head shake ensued.  Followed by the propping of his feet on the side of the tub for me to scrub them.

At this point, Todd threw in the towel and said "well, if he doesn't think I'm gettin' him clean enough, I guess you'll have to do bath time from now on!"

So I tried one more time, and asked Nick "did Daddy wash your stinky butt?"

And Nick grinned and shook his head "yes".

Guess we know where Daddy stands with bath time.  Full time butt scrubber!