Scene: standing in the kitchen discussing the weeks events to come...
Me: "the girls want to do dinner at 6:00pm tomorrow"
T: "ok, that's fine"
Me: "that means you'll be alone for dinner, bath, and bedtime, you know..."
T: (without skipping a beat) "well he ain't gettin' lotioned!"
Monday, October 22, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Because why would anyone talk about what their kid doesn't do?
It's all over Facebook.
Brag brag brag. My kid does this, my kid does that. My kid pooped on the potty today and he's only 11 months old. My kid has a vocabulary of 43 words and she's not even 18 months. My kid knows quantum physics at just 2 and 1/2.
I'm no different. I think my kid is the sweetest, smartest, most adorable creature on the planet. And I love talking about what new thing he's done/new discovery he's made/new quirk he's developed every day. Because what mom doesn't think their child is the best? As mom's we're SUPPOSED to think that. Hell, we're supposed to KNOW and believe it with all of our hearts. Because in each of our own personal mommy eyes, our kids are the very best, most amazing, completely perfect creations that we (huge pat on the back) created. And truth be told, every kid IS the best. Because kids are awesome. If they weren't, we wouldn't be a planet of over 7 billion inhabitants, and people would just stop procreating, because if you haven't figured it out by now...SEX LEADS TO BABIES.
But you know what I don't see on Facebook. Like, ever? "My kid doesn't ___________."
I'm not talking "my kid doesn't like green beans." Or "my kid doesn't know how to match their socks/shirt/shoes/pants/headband/tutu/etc." I'm talking about the huge milestones.
When was the last time you saw somebody post "my kid doesn't walk yet, and she's almost 18 months old". Or "my kid refuses to give up diapers and go on the potty and he's damn near 4 1/2"?
Nobody posts that kind of stuff. Nobody talks about delays or missed milestones, because as parents, we only want the rest of the world to see what we see in our kids...their complete and utter awesomeness.
But you know what? No matter what delay your kid might have? They're still pretty damn awesome.
Up until Nick truly started sleeping through the night consistently, I was a big time sleep-complainer on Facebook. If you were my Facebook friend, then you knew that my son sucked at sleeping. (Sorry bud, but it's the truth.) And I constantly received comments on my posts that said "oh my gosh, we're in the same boat!" or "my kid is a horrible sleeper, too - let's form a 2am chat group". I never got any "shut up and deal with it, he's a baby" comments because anyone that was going through the same thing we were, needed the same reassurance that I did.
So why weren't more people posting the seemingly negative? Was I just still reeling in the after effects of post-partum depression, and silently cursing my kid-less friends while hoping all of my new mom friends were suffering from lack of sleep as much as I was? Were my other parent friends just worried that their friends with babies that slept through the night since week 3 would judge them? Were we all worried that someone would think us bad parents for not being able to get our kids on a rigorous schedule? HAD WE NOT READ ENOUGH PARENTING BOOKS?!
Who knows?!
What I do know, is that nobody posts the "anti-brag".
But I'm going to.
My kid? He doesn't talk.
Believe me, he WANTS to talk. He babbles constantly. He holds things up all the time in anticipation of you naming the object/color/shape of whatever he is playing with. He loves when we sing, and he claps in approval for any and all animal noises. And he "repeats" anything you ask him to say, with his interpretation of the word. But it's rarely, if ever, the actual word.
At almost 20 months old, my son has a vocab of less than 10 words.
It's a punch to the gut whenever I see another video posted on Facebook of somebodies 15 month old rattling off all of the words to "Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street". Because my kid rarely even says "Mama".
And it's frustrating as hell to finally tell someone "my kid is having a hard time learning to talk" and having them reply back "oh, don't worry about it, he'll be fine".
My mom gut says he'll be fine...but my mom intuition is also telling me he needs some help in learning. Some help that I can't seem to give him.
Do you know how awful that feels? To not be able to teach your kid a skill that is typically innately developed? To feel like you're failing at parenting? Awful.
Trust me - I know things could be a lot worse. And I'm not complaining by any means of the word. I love that he still uses baby babble...it let's me cling to that little bit of his baby-ness for that much longer. And he listens and understands SO well it's almost scary. Ask him to take something to the trash, and he runs across the house, to the kitchen, carefully depositing said item right in the trash-can. Tell him to bring you his shoes, and he comes running back with his preferred pair of the day. Hell, I asked him to point out the "ice cream cone" to me in one of his favorite books (which actually had nothing to do with ice cream, just happened to have a teensy-tiny picture of it), and even though he'd rarely had any interaction with the words "ice cream cone", he knew exactly where the tiny picture was and confidently pointed it out, smiling from ear-to-ear because he knew he was right.
I have every aspiration that one day Nick will be a rocket scientist or an engineer, what with his interest in detail, button pushing, and ability to follow specific directions. (That, and I'm his mom, so obviously I think he's a genius.)
And the fact that he doesn't talk yet is of minor concern and we're taking the next steps with a speech therapist to get him to the level of speaking that he should be at at this point in his life.
But up until now, it's been one of those milestones that he hasn't reached, and therefore I haven't wanted to share it with anybody that doesn't see Nick on a regular basis. Because who wants to comment on someone else's brag post of "my kid just learned to say boulevard, spaghetti, refrigerator, and RG3 in the same night!" with "my kid can't even say 'cat'!"? I sure as hell didn't.
But you know what? Whether he can talk or not, I know my kid is perfect.
Because he's perfect for me.
Even when he lights up, gives me a big hug, and says "Da-Da!"
Brag brag brag. My kid does this, my kid does that. My kid pooped on the potty today and he's only 11 months old. My kid has a vocabulary of 43 words and she's not even 18 months. My kid knows quantum physics at just 2 and 1/2.
But you know what I don't see on Facebook. Like, ever? "My kid doesn't ___________."
I'm not talking "my kid doesn't like green beans." Or "my kid doesn't know how to match their socks/shirt/shoes/pants/headband/tutu/etc." I'm talking about the huge milestones.
When was the last time you saw somebody post "my kid doesn't walk yet, and she's almost 18 months old". Or "my kid refuses to give up diapers and go on the potty and he's damn near 4 1/2"?
Nobody posts that kind of stuff. Nobody talks about delays or missed milestones, because as parents, we only want the rest of the world to see what we see in our kids...their complete and utter awesomeness.
But you know what? No matter what delay your kid might have? They're still pretty damn awesome.
Up until Nick truly started sleeping through the night consistently, I was a big time sleep-complainer on Facebook. If you were my Facebook friend, then you knew that my son sucked at sleeping. (Sorry bud, but it's the truth.) And I constantly received comments on my posts that said "oh my gosh, we're in the same boat!" or "my kid is a horrible sleeper, too - let's form a 2am chat group". I never got any "shut up and deal with it, he's a baby" comments because anyone that was going through the same thing we were, needed the same reassurance that I did.
So why weren't more people posting the seemingly negative? Was I just still reeling in the after effects of post-partum depression, and silently cursing my kid-less friends while hoping all of my new mom friends were suffering from lack of sleep as much as I was? Were my other parent friends just worried that their friends with babies that slept through the night since week 3 would judge them? Were we all worried that someone would think us bad parents for not being able to get our kids on a rigorous schedule? HAD WE NOT READ ENOUGH PARENTING BOOKS?!
Who knows?!
What I do know, is that nobody posts the "anti-brag".
But I'm going to.
My kid? He doesn't talk.
Believe me, he WANTS to talk. He babbles constantly. He holds things up all the time in anticipation of you naming the object/color/shape of whatever he is playing with. He loves when we sing, and he claps in approval for any and all animal noises. And he "repeats" anything you ask him to say, with his interpretation of the word. But it's rarely, if ever, the actual word.
At almost 20 months old, my son has a vocab of less than 10 words.
It's a punch to the gut whenever I see another video posted on Facebook of somebodies 15 month old rattling off all of the words to "Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street". Because my kid rarely even says "Mama".
And it's frustrating as hell to finally tell someone "my kid is having a hard time learning to talk" and having them reply back "oh, don't worry about it, he'll be fine".
My mom gut says he'll be fine...but my mom intuition is also telling me he needs some help in learning. Some help that I can't seem to give him.
Do you know how awful that feels? To not be able to teach your kid a skill that is typically innately developed? To feel like you're failing at parenting? Awful.
Trust me - I know things could be a lot worse. And I'm not complaining by any means of the word. I love that he still uses baby babble...it let's me cling to that little bit of his baby-ness for that much longer. And he listens and understands SO well it's almost scary. Ask him to take something to the trash, and he runs across the house, to the kitchen, carefully depositing said item right in the trash-can. Tell him to bring you his shoes, and he comes running back with his preferred pair of the day. Hell, I asked him to point out the "ice cream cone" to me in one of his favorite books (which actually had nothing to do with ice cream, just happened to have a teensy-tiny picture of it), and even though he'd rarely had any interaction with the words "ice cream cone", he knew exactly where the tiny picture was and confidently pointed it out, smiling from ear-to-ear because he knew he was right.
I have every aspiration that one day Nick will be a rocket scientist or an engineer, what with his interest in detail, button pushing, and ability to follow specific directions. (That, and I'm his mom, so obviously I think he's a genius.)
And the fact that he doesn't talk yet is of minor concern and we're taking the next steps with a speech therapist to get him to the level of speaking that he should be at at this point in his life.
But up until now, it's been one of those milestones that he hasn't reached, and therefore I haven't wanted to share it with anybody that doesn't see Nick on a regular basis. Because who wants to comment on someone else's brag post of "my kid just learned to say boulevard, spaghetti, refrigerator, and RG3 in the same night!" with "my kid can't even say 'cat'!"? I sure as hell didn't.
But you know what? Whether he can talk or not, I know my kid is perfect.
Because he's perfect for me.
Even when he lights up, gives me a big hug, and says "Da-Da!"
Monday, October 1, 2012
4 years
Yesterday was the four year "anniversary" of my blog. I started writing this blog in September of 2008 -- about two months after Todd proposed -- as a way to document planning our wedding. I had no idea that four years later, I'd still be writing here.
It's amazing to think about all that has happened to us in four short years -- wedding planning, a wedding, a honeymoon, a pregnancy, a baby, hilarious moments of married bliss and parenthood, happy times with family, and, of course, lots of tears (both happy and sad!).
I'm so grateful for all that has happened in our lives in these past four years, and even more so, I'm glad that I took the time to write down so many of our little moments, stories, quips, and memories. I know I've forgotten to document plenty of things, but I know that one day we will be able to look back at my blog and read about Nick's first visit to the pumpkin patch, or crack up as we remember a conversation Todd and I had on a random Tuesday night.
Our life may not be perfect. There may be a lot of posts about Nick's sleeplessness, Whinnie's pooping, and my raging hormones. But the memories are abundant and documented and I can't wait for my grandchildren to read this one day and say "Gramma...I love reading about my Daddy as a baby".
As much as I don't want to think about time moving that quickly, that alone is motivation enough to keep on writing.
So thanks to all who have been reading, commenting, or providing me with material for this blog. I hope you'll continue to read along on our little journey because believe me, we're just getting started!
It's amazing to think about all that has happened to us in four short years -- wedding planning, a wedding, a honeymoon, a pregnancy, a baby, hilarious moments of married bliss and parenthood, happy times with family, and, of course, lots of tears (both happy and sad!).
I'm so grateful for all that has happened in our lives in these past four years, and even more so, I'm glad that I took the time to write down so many of our little moments, stories, quips, and memories. I know I've forgotten to document plenty of things, but I know that one day we will be able to look back at my blog and read about Nick's first visit to the pumpkin patch, or crack up as we remember a conversation Todd and I had on a random Tuesday night.
Our life may not be perfect. There may be a lot of posts about Nick's sleeplessness, Whinnie's pooping, and my raging hormones. But the memories are abundant and documented and I can't wait for my grandchildren to read this one day and say "Gramma...I love reading about my Daddy as a baby".
As much as I don't want to think about time moving that quickly, that alone is motivation enough to keep on writing.
So thanks to all who have been reading, commenting, or providing me with material for this blog. I hope you'll continue to read along on our little journey because believe me, we're just getting started!
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Tears
Growing up, I remember my mom crying a lot. Not necessarily bad or sad tears, just lots of crying.
Every time somebody got married on All My Children...she cried.
Every time a player was seriously injured during a Redskins game...she cried.
Every time she heard a sweet or sad song, every time she heard about a new baby being born, and every time someone passed away - even if she only knew them through a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's brother...she cried.
And Lord help us every time my brother and I participated in a school play or chorus concert, or went to another high school dance, or drove a car for the first, second and fifteenth times, or participated in our respective sports...man, did she cry.
I honestly never really understood. I "got" that she was proud of us. I knew she loved us. And I understood that someone getting married/having a baby/breaking their arm (and subsequently having to sit out for the rest of the season) were all semi-emotional moments. But I just couldn't fully understand -- why did anything remotely emotional make her eyes swell up and cause her mascara to run? (FYI - she's since discovered waterproof mascara.)
I'll tell you why. Damn hormones.
For the love of all that is holy, hormones are ridiculous.
Perhaps I should preface this by telling you that I have never been much of a crier. Bang the crud out of my shin and pour blood? Ok, I'd cry. Have my heart shattered in a million pieces by a (less than desirable) boyfriend? Yeah, I'd cry. Somebody passed away that was close and dear to me? I'd definitely cry. But otherwise my family liked to refer to me as the "hard ass". I didn't really get emotional about things. Case in point: my parents bought me a BRAND NEW car when I was a sophomore in college. Did the whole surprise thing where they bought me a few silly gifts convincing me that was all I was getting, and then my mom told me she was dying to show me her rose bushes in the backyard and when I went outside, there it was -- a gorgeous, shiny new sports car with a gigantic ribbon on top. They were POSITIVE I would cry. Nope. Not this hard ass. I was thrilled and beyond excited. But no tears.
All this to say that I apparently was lacking in the hormone department up until about 2 years ago.
Then I got pregnant.
Pregnancy started out relatively relaxed. No truly absurd outbursts or crying sessions. But by about 20 weeks, I was crying and insecure about everything, stopping Todd dead in his tracks mid-dinner-making to console me. And for about 17 more weeks after that, if I had a hormone surge, no amount of consoling could fix my need for a "good cry". So I did a lot of random crying.
And then Nick was born. And the crying only got worse.
Why? I had not a clue other than I'd had a baby. In my defense, it turns out that those tears were in fact less of the "baby blues" and more of post-partum depression.
Eventually all of those hormones evened out, I calmed down, and I was able to wrap my head around this mothering thing.
But now? Now I can't help but think of my mom every single day. Because the tears? They still come...for reasons I would have NEVER shed a tear for before.
Sunday I cried watching football as they panned across Ravens player Torrey Smith's tear-stained face during the National Anthem (his brother passed away the night before, but up until Sunday I had no idea who Torrey Smith was).
Monday I cried listening to country star Lauren Alaina's new song 18 inches as she sang the words "7 pounds and 18 inches, the doctor lays that new baby's head right on her heart".
(I might've just cried typing out those lyrics.)
Tuesday I cried as I watched an old man carefully mount his bicycle in old town, shaky but confident, slowly riding it through town like I'm sure he's done a million times in the last 80+ years of his life.
And last night I cried as I recalled a conversation Todd and I recently had about bullying...knowing that all too soon Nick will be in school, and it is our job to protect him -- and it breaks my heart just thinking about anybody ever hurting him.
I cry any time I see a sorority sister announce her pregnancy or post pictures of her new baby on facebook.
I cry any time I know of a friend going through a difficult time and not being able to do anything to help console them.
I cry when I think about my grandparents and my parents getting older...knowing that I can't keep them all forever. Wishing I could.
And I cry and I cry and I cry. Sometimes happy tears, sometimes sad tears. But they come. And they come without warning. I just can't help it. It's these dang hormones.
So the next time you see me and think that I look like I've been crying...truth be told, I probably have. Because most likely? I was just watching the latest Subaru commercial. And I guarantee if you've seen it, you've cried too.
That is, if your hormones are out of whack like mine.
Every time somebody got married on All My Children...she cried.
Every time a player was seriously injured during a Redskins game...she cried.
Every time she heard a sweet or sad song, every time she heard about a new baby being born, and every time someone passed away - even if she only knew them through a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's brother...she cried.
And Lord help us every time my brother and I participated in a school play or chorus concert, or went to another high school dance, or drove a car for the first, second and fifteenth times, or participated in our respective sports...man, did she cry.
I honestly never really understood. I "got" that she was proud of us. I knew she loved us. And I understood that someone getting married/having a baby/breaking their arm (and subsequently having to sit out for the rest of the season) were all semi-emotional moments. But I just couldn't fully understand -- why did anything remotely emotional make her eyes swell up and cause her mascara to run? (FYI - she's since discovered waterproof mascara.)
I'll tell you why. Damn hormones.
For the love of all that is holy, hormones are ridiculous.
Perhaps I should preface this by telling you that I have never been much of a crier. Bang the crud out of my shin and pour blood? Ok, I'd cry. Have my heart shattered in a million pieces by a (less than desirable) boyfriend? Yeah, I'd cry. Somebody passed away that was close and dear to me? I'd definitely cry. But otherwise my family liked to refer to me as the "hard ass". I didn't really get emotional about things. Case in point: my parents bought me a BRAND NEW car when I was a sophomore in college. Did the whole surprise thing where they bought me a few silly gifts convincing me that was all I was getting, and then my mom told me she was dying to show me her rose bushes in the backyard and when I went outside, there it was -- a gorgeous, shiny new sports car with a gigantic ribbon on top. They were POSITIVE I would cry. Nope. Not this hard ass. I was thrilled and beyond excited. But no tears.
All this to say that I apparently was lacking in the hormone department up until about 2 years ago.
Then I got pregnant.
Pregnancy started out relatively relaxed. No truly absurd outbursts or crying sessions. But by about 20 weeks, I was crying and insecure about everything, stopping Todd dead in his tracks mid-dinner-making to console me. And for about 17 more weeks after that, if I had a hormone surge, no amount of consoling could fix my need for a "good cry". So I did a lot of random crying.
And then Nick was born. And the crying only got worse.
Why? I had not a clue other than I'd had a baby. In my defense, it turns out that those tears were in fact less of the "baby blues" and more of post-partum depression.
Eventually all of those hormones evened out, I calmed down, and I was able to wrap my head around this mothering thing.
But now? Now I can't help but think of my mom every single day. Because the tears? They still come...for reasons I would have NEVER shed a tear for before.
Sunday I cried watching football as they panned across Ravens player Torrey Smith's tear-stained face during the National Anthem (his brother passed away the night before, but up until Sunday I had no idea who Torrey Smith was).
Monday I cried listening to country star Lauren Alaina's new song 18 inches as she sang the words "7 pounds and 18 inches, the doctor lays that new baby's head right on her heart".
(I might've just cried typing out those lyrics.)
Tuesday I cried as I watched an old man carefully mount his bicycle in old town, shaky but confident, slowly riding it through town like I'm sure he's done a million times in the last 80+ years of his life.
And last night I cried as I recalled a conversation Todd and I recently had about bullying...knowing that all too soon Nick will be in school, and it is our job to protect him -- and it breaks my heart just thinking about anybody ever hurting him.
I cry any time I see a sorority sister announce her pregnancy or post pictures of her new baby on facebook.
I cry any time I know of a friend going through a difficult time and not being able to do anything to help console them.
I cry when I think about my grandparents and my parents getting older...knowing that I can't keep them all forever. Wishing I could.
And I cry and I cry and I cry. Sometimes happy tears, sometimes sad tears. But they come. And they come without warning. I just can't help it. It's these dang hormones.
So the next time you see me and think that I look like I've been crying...truth be told, I probably have. Because most likely? I was just watching the latest Subaru commercial. And I guarantee if you've seen it, you've cried too.
That is, if your hormones are out of whack like mine.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Dora saves the day...or night rather.
I'm blogging from my phone at 11pm on a Sunday night, because I don't want to forget this little moment. A moment not much different from any other night over the past 19.5 months. But a moment so sweet and pure that I just feel the need to write it down so that I don't forget.
Nick has always been a hit or miss sleeper. Fortunately, since he turned a year old, he's been more hit than miss and rarely wakes at night unless he's cold, teething, sick, or scared from a bad dream. And when that happens, it's usually well into the early hours of the morning, waking us all from deep sleep, jolting us upright in bed in panic.
But tonight, Nick awoke around 10:45pm...just as I was turning off the tv and putting down my phone for the evening. I checked the monitor to see him standing in his crib, crying out softly. I could tell it was either teething or a bad dream. So I went in to comfort him and give him some orajel to relieve some of the pain (he's currently cutting his eye teeth on top). The orajel didn't help and he continued to cry, while reaching up to put his little arms around my neck - begging to be picked up from the crib and pulled into our room and bed for the night. But being that it was so early in the night, I couldn't bear the thought of none of us getting any sleep all night, seeing as Nick is a terrible co-sleeper (tossing, turning, kicking, and generally laying awake talking to whinnie, me, daddy, the ceiling fan, etc. etc.). So I tried to hug him until he was content, but he refused to lay back down and continued to cry.
So I pulled out the secret weapon...Dora.
See, Nick is in a bit of a Dora phase. And by "bit" I mean completely and totally in love. And seeing as I'm a sucker for anything that makes my kid sublimely happy, I purchased him a stuffed Dora pillow a few weeks ago. But up until now, Dora has been an "awake" toy only.
So tonight, as he continued to cry, totally un-soothed by mommy hugs, I asked "do you want mommy to get Dora?". Instant silence. The tears ceased and he nodded a slight "yes". I sprinted downstairs, scooped Dora up, and ran back into Nick's room. As I handed her to him, I whispered "but you have to go ni-night with Dora". And he squeezed her with all his tiny 30+ pound might, laid down right on top of her, and went back to sleep. Just like that. Pure sweetness.
And now, here I am, blogging about how I got my kid to go back to bed, so that I too could get some sleep, and instead I'm staying awake to watch him snuggle with Dora, occasionally reaching out and rubbing a soft foot of his teddy bear across his face, as if to reassure his bear that he hasn't been completely replaced. Man, toddlers are the best. I love this little boy. And tonight, I love Dora, too.
Nick has always been a hit or miss sleeper. Fortunately, since he turned a year old, he's been more hit than miss and rarely wakes at night unless he's cold, teething, sick, or scared from a bad dream. And when that happens, it's usually well into the early hours of the morning, waking us all from deep sleep, jolting us upright in bed in panic.
But tonight, Nick awoke around 10:45pm...just as I was turning off the tv and putting down my phone for the evening. I checked the monitor to see him standing in his crib, crying out softly. I could tell it was either teething or a bad dream. So I went in to comfort him and give him some orajel to relieve some of the pain (he's currently cutting his eye teeth on top). The orajel didn't help and he continued to cry, while reaching up to put his little arms around my neck - begging to be picked up from the crib and pulled into our room and bed for the night. But being that it was so early in the night, I couldn't bear the thought of none of us getting any sleep all night, seeing as Nick is a terrible co-sleeper (tossing, turning, kicking, and generally laying awake talking to whinnie, me, daddy, the ceiling fan, etc. etc.). So I tried to hug him until he was content, but he refused to lay back down and continued to cry.
So I pulled out the secret weapon...Dora.
See, Nick is in a bit of a Dora phase. And by "bit" I mean completely and totally in love. And seeing as I'm a sucker for anything that makes my kid sublimely happy, I purchased him a stuffed Dora pillow a few weeks ago. But up until now, Dora has been an "awake" toy only.
So tonight, as he continued to cry, totally un-soothed by mommy hugs, I asked "do you want mommy to get Dora?". Instant silence. The tears ceased and he nodded a slight "yes". I sprinted downstairs, scooped Dora up, and ran back into Nick's room. As I handed her to him, I whispered "but you have to go ni-night with Dora". And he squeezed her with all his tiny 30+ pound might, laid down right on top of her, and went back to sleep. Just like that. Pure sweetness.
And now, here I am, blogging about how I got my kid to go back to bed, so that I too could get some sleep, and instead I'm staying awake to watch him snuggle with Dora, occasionally reaching out and rubbing a soft foot of his teddy bear across his face, as if to reassure his bear that he hasn't been completely replaced. Man, toddlers are the best. I love this little boy. And tonight, I love Dora, too.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
At 30...
I turn 30 on Saturday.
To me, 30 seems like much more of a milestone -- almost "epic" if you will -- than 18, 20, 21, or 25 ever did.
Maybe it's because I'm in that so called "prime" of my life.
Maybe it's because I'm more secure in my life - happier about my day-to-day - than I was at any of those previous age milestones.
Maybe it's because at 30, I finally feel like I know who I am.
At 30, I will have been employed by the same company for a solid 8 years. The better part of a decade. A company that has taught me growth, responsibility, and far more communications skills than I could have ever even imagined learning in my 4 years pursuing a BA in Communications.
At 30, I will have been married for 3 years. A solid 3 years. To a wonderful man. A man who restored my faith in the ability to have a solid, loving, successful relationship. A man who surprises me daily with his strength and commitment to our growing family. A man who loves me no matter my age, weight, or amount of days I have gone between hair-washes.
At 30, I will have been a mother for 19 months. To the most incredible, beautiful, intelligent child I have ever encountered. A toddler than tests my patience and my mothering skills by the hour, but softens my heart and brings me to my knees in prayer and gratitude with every kiss and every hand-hold from his tiny little fingers.
At 30, I will have been a daughter, sister, granddaughter, and niece for 30 years. As part of an amazing family - built on solidarity, loyalty, and above all unconditional love. A family that has always stood by me and supported my decisions. A family that would give their lives for each other. A family that I only wish I had appreciated my entire life, as much as I do now - at 30.
At 30, I will look towards the future with anticipation, excitement, and gratitude, for everything and everyone that has helped to shape my past 30 years, and everything and everyone who will be cheering me on through my next 30 years.
And at 30, I will spend more time being grateful, and less time being jealous. I will spend more time with my family and less time only wishing I had done so. I will be more patient, more respectful, more mindful, and more punctual. I will be more forgiving of myself if I stumble on any one of these. And I will finally love me for who I am -- and for who I will become.
30 already sounds awesome.
To me, 30 seems like much more of a milestone -- almost "epic" if you will -- than 18, 20, 21, or 25 ever did.
Maybe it's because I'm in that so called "prime" of my life.
Maybe it's because I'm more secure in my life - happier about my day-to-day - than I was at any of those previous age milestones.
Maybe it's because at 30, I finally feel like I know who I am.
At 30, I will have been employed by the same company for a solid 8 years. The better part of a decade. A company that has taught me growth, responsibility, and far more communications skills than I could have ever even imagined learning in my 4 years pursuing a BA in Communications.
At 30, I will have been married for 3 years. A solid 3 years. To a wonderful man. A man who restored my faith in the ability to have a solid, loving, successful relationship. A man who surprises me daily with his strength and commitment to our growing family. A man who loves me no matter my age, weight, or amount of days I have gone between hair-washes.
At 30, I will have been a mother for 19 months. To the most incredible, beautiful, intelligent child I have ever encountered. A toddler than tests my patience and my mothering skills by the hour, but softens my heart and brings me to my knees in prayer and gratitude with every kiss and every hand-hold from his tiny little fingers.
At 30, I will have been a daughter, sister, granddaughter, and niece for 30 years. As part of an amazing family - built on solidarity, loyalty, and above all unconditional love. A family that has always stood by me and supported my decisions. A family that would give their lives for each other. A family that I only wish I had appreciated my entire life, as much as I do now - at 30.
At 30, I will look towards the future with anticipation, excitement, and gratitude, for everything and everyone that has helped to shape my past 30 years, and everything and everyone who will be cheering me on through my next 30 years.
And at 30, I will spend more time being grateful, and less time being jealous. I will spend more time with my family and less time only wishing I had done so. I will be more patient, more respectful, more mindful, and more punctual. I will be more forgiving of myself if I stumble on any one of these. And I will finally love me for who I am -- and for who I will become.
30 already sounds awesome.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Back on the wagon
The weather has finally cooled off in northern VA and Saturday afternoon was absolutely gorgeous. Seeing as the wagon has been parked in our dining room, loaded down with Nick's abundance of Pillow Pets (seriously, if you're thinking about buying Nick a present, please do NOT send a pillow pet...we have plenty), we decided it was about time we dusted it off, and took it for a spin.
Little man was so excited, he sat with his hands clasped and feet crossed the whole ride...
well, at least until he remembered he brought snacks along...
silly boy
I could just eat him up!
On Sunday, the weather was cruddy, rainy, and overcast most of the day, but fortunately still cool. After a nice long walk around Burke Lake that morning (which ended in us getting soaked RIGHT before getting in the car to go home), I figured we hadn't had quite enough of our fill of fresh air, and figured we'd take another wagon ride after dinner.
And of course, what wagon ride is complete without snacks?
Cookies and milk in the wagon...possibly the best day ever!
On Monday, Nick had his very first visit to the dentist, and then joined Gramma, Great-Gramma Ardie, Great-Grampa, and Great Aunt Lauri (GAL) for lunch and an afternoon of being plain old spoiled with love, attention, and hugs & kisses.
When he got home, it was so nice outside that I said "hey Nick, want to take a wagon ride up to the playground?" Homeboy was a little cranky from a serious lack (read: NONE) of napping all day, that he just wanted his pacifier. So I let him have his paci, plopped him in the wagon, and off we ventured towards the playground. Only, I decided to go the long way around -- which apparently was just too long for Nick. Little dude passed out.
Of course, I couldn't pass up a fantastic opportunity to catch it on video...
This wagon is proving to be our ultimate fall accessory. Thanks Gramma & Boss!
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