One of my favorite country songs (yes, you read that right: there is some country music I actually enjoy) is about a woman's reaction to a recent break-up. Her mother is disgusted by her seeming lack of self-control and tells the daughter:
Go and fetch your make-up.
Girl, it's just a break-up.
Run and hide your crazy
And start acting like a lady...
I love that part about "hide your crazy." I don't hear her singing "you're crazy" but "your crazy." It's a part of her, something she owns. I suspect we all have a little crazy inside. Mine pops out every time I have a baby. And it stays out for a few weeks (okay, a few months).
If you read my previous post Just One of Those Days, you know what I mean. I completely forgot about one embarrassing aspect of that day when I wrote the post. My crazy was exposed.
I am not technologically savvy. I have yet to figure out all the bells and whistles associated with my smartphone. In fact, my smartphone tends to make me feel quite stupid. One thing I hadn't learned was how to lock it so it wouldn't randomly dial people when in my pocket. So all day on that horrific Monday, I was butt-dialing an old acquaintance. And leaving messages. Unintentional, crazy-sounding messages. Of course by the time I realized this, it was always too late. Each message contained some sort of rampage. The last of which I'm sure included me shouting, "No I will not take off my 'grumpy pants!' I was up until midnight last night cleaning this place up only to have you destroy it today. NOW PICK UP YOUR TOYS!" Nice.
What makes it even worse, is the fact that I used to babysit for this person. It was one of Aaron's graduate school classmates. I was working evenings as a counselor for children (ironic, huh?). My mornings were free, so I babysat his sweet son and was friends with his lovely wife. The same wife who was sure to hear my mad ranting and wonder if her own child endured such ugliness under my care. Ugh!
I sent him a text apologizing for the many calls and messages, explaining I didn't know how to operate my own phone, I'd just had a baby, so sorry if I sounded grumpy, blah, blah, blah. He responded with: "That's fine...Who is this?"
When we moved and got new phone numbers, I apparently forgot to alert all my contacts. Why didn't I just lie? "Oops, wrong number. Who is this?" I could have written that. Instead I fessed up. It was me. Crazy me.
I relayed this story to a dear friend (who shall remain nameless). She laughed when I shared my fear that I had crossed some sort of childbearing threshold. Maybe I had too many and there was no way I would ever be able to effectively, lovingly care for all of them...No, she assured me. We [mothers] are all a little nuts sometimes. She has two children, close to Maddie and Parker in age. Her daughter recently told her, "Mom, you're crazy. Not the good kind of crazy. Crazy like the devil crazy!"
I was so relieved when she told me this. It brought to mind a number of adages: Misery loves company. There's safety in numbers (not sure why I thought of this one, perhaps because sometimes I think my kids are conspiring to drive me insane, and banding with other mothers will offer some sort of mental protection). This, too, shall pass. And on and on. My favorite one, however, comes from my MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group: Friends don't let friends mother alone!
I think it's so important for moms (and dads) to have friends to help them along the long, arduous (though eventually rewarding - or so they tell me) journey of parenting. I don't have to hide my crazy from my true friends. They hear me out, listening to my struggles, sharing their own, laughing with me, crying with me, and encouraging me. I am joining with one such friend in a challenge to stop yelling at the kids. It's called the Orange Rhino. If you are a parent who is tired of hiding your crazy, feel free to join us!
8/13/13
8/5/13
Just One of Those Days
It's been one of those days. Not one of those oh-how-I-love-my-sweet-family days. The other kind. The really, really bad I-wonder-if-I could-ship-one-of-my-kids-away-in-a-well-ventilated-box kind of day.
Every person in our house had a full blown meltdown at one point or another. Maddie was first. We were at PetSmart. See, Parker's fish died last night. We performed the funeral [flushing] today. Gross, right? Yes, I allowed my son's dead, decaying fish to remain in his room an extra night because he wasn't quite ready to say goodbye, and I wasn't up for a fight last night. So today, we set out for the pet store. Maddie, whose fish is still living, wanted to know if she could get a seahorse. I explained we were replacing a dead fish, and when hers died, we'd do the same. This trip was for Parker. But please, mommy! Can't we just ask if they have them? Fine. Whatever. I just wanted to survive this outing with 4 kids ages 6 and under.
We find Parker's new fish and head to the check-out. But mommy, what about my seahorse? I suppressed a sigh and asked the cashier, "Do you happen to carry any seahorses that can survive in a regular fish bowl?" No. Shocking. Well, apparently it was shocking to Maddie who proceeded to wail so loudly, customers aisles away leaned out to see the show. Caleb began to stir in his car seat. Jack was heading for the door. People in the line behind us were waiting for us to move. Maddie stood her ground, head thrown back, exercising her diaphragm, "WAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" I knelt, hugged her (perhaps a bit too tightly), and hissed in her ear, "I know you're disappointed. Me, too [slight lie]. But seahorses can't survive in fish bowls, and that's all we have. I'm sorry, honey. We have to go now." "WAAAAAA!!!!!!" She resembled that blond-haired muppet who would throw her head back to sing, hinged mouth gaping open. "WAAAAAA!!!" I pulled her out of the store, threatening loss of television if she continued and woke her baby brother.
So we finally get home and I go to clean out the fish bowl. One problem. I can't find the dead fish anywhere. Oh, I put it in a cup on my dresser. Of course. We say our goodbyes, flush, clean the fish bowl, and deposit our new friend inside.
The day crawls by. Thanks to my immobility while Caleb nurses (all the time), the kids have watched more TV in the past 3 weeks than they have in the past 3 years. I'm pretty sure their brains are liquefying and ready to ooze out of their little ears at any given moment. I decide any subsequent shows will be earned via academics (writing the alphabet, reading books, reviewing sight words). When I announce my new plan, the second meltdown of the day commences. Parker begins to sob about the injustice of it all. Real tears and all. He runs about the room and finally throws himself in a crying, sniveling heap behind the couch. *Sigh* Is it really only 11:00?
Feedings, diaper changes, lunch, and baths. I decide to extend an olive branch to the kids by allowing them to play with food-colored shaving cream in the tub... And that's when all hell broke loose. Jack had taken his bath and was running around the house, diaperless (a dangerous situation). Maddie was in our tub calling to me that she needed some [plastic] princesses. Caleb was crying. Parker was heading for the guest bath where Jack had bathed. Slip, splat, ow! Parker was laid out on his stomach on the bathroom floor where Jack had apparently dumped the majority of his bath water, or maybe it was pee. Who knows? I put Parker to work sopping up that mess while I chased Jack down with a diaper. I swaddled Caleb and called to Maddie that I would bring her princesses in a moment. Parker was in the tub, Caleb stopped crying. Where was Jack? Why was it so quiet all of a sudden?
I peek in Parker's room to find Jack on a stool, hand clutching the fish food container. No. No!!! The bowl is completely pink, the water thick with fish food. Our new fishy friend was no where to be seen.
Enter crazy mommy [meltdown #3].
I have had it. I lay Caleb on the floor and bellow, "Nooooo!" Pulling Jack off the stool, I rush the fish bowl to the bathroom. Commence cleaning...and crying. Followed by a hefty side of yelling. Now Jack has followed us into the bathroom and begun dumping fish food in the tub. "Bad Jack!" I yell and swat his (thankfully diapered) behind - which, by the way, I have never done to him. Ever. His eyes well up with tears, he begins to wail, and he runs from the room [meltdown #4]. Parker is yelling, "Is my new fish gonna die? Is it already dead?" Maddie is yelling about her princesses.
It's just been one of those days. I was pretty ugly today (inside and out). Running on empty. Not enough sleep and definitely not enough time with God. Maddie noticed it early this morning..."Mommy, why don't you take off your grumpy pants and go and pray?" "Good idea," I told her. The only problem is that some days, like today, it can be really, really hard to find the time and energy to pray. Thankfully Aaron arrived home just as I was measuring the cardboard boxes in the garage...Who offers the best rates for shipping children and how long would it take for them to arrive at Grandma's? I passed him the baby and headed for the shower. And I prayed, and cried, and prayed some more.
The result was unsurprising but miraculous all the same. 2 simple truths emerged: I am blessed (if ungrateful at times), and God is good. End of story. Good night!
Every person in our house had a full blown meltdown at one point or another. Maddie was first. We were at PetSmart. See, Parker's fish died last night. We performed the funeral [flushing] today. Gross, right? Yes, I allowed my son's dead, decaying fish to remain in his room an extra night because he wasn't quite ready to say goodbye, and I wasn't up for a fight last night. So today, we set out for the pet store. Maddie, whose fish is still living, wanted to know if she could get a seahorse. I explained we were replacing a dead fish, and when hers died, we'd do the same. This trip was for Parker. But please, mommy! Can't we just ask if they have them? Fine. Whatever. I just wanted to survive this outing with 4 kids ages 6 and under.
We find Parker's new fish and head to the check-out. But mommy, what about my seahorse? I suppressed a sigh and asked the cashier, "Do you happen to carry any seahorses that can survive in a regular fish bowl?" No. Shocking. Well, apparently it was shocking to Maddie who proceeded to wail so loudly, customers aisles away leaned out to see the show. Caleb began to stir in his car seat. Jack was heading for the door. People in the line behind us were waiting for us to move. Maddie stood her ground, head thrown back, exercising her diaphragm, "WAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" I knelt, hugged her (perhaps a bit too tightly), and hissed in her ear, "I know you're disappointed. Me, too [slight lie]. But seahorses can't survive in fish bowls, and that's all we have. I'm sorry, honey. We have to go now." "WAAAAAA!!!!!!" She resembled that blond-haired muppet who would throw her head back to sing, hinged mouth gaping open. "WAAAAAA!!!" I pulled her out of the store, threatening loss of television if she continued and woke her baby brother.
So we finally get home and I go to clean out the fish bowl. One problem. I can't find the dead fish anywhere. Oh, I put it in a cup on my dresser. Of course. We say our goodbyes, flush, clean the fish bowl, and deposit our new friend inside.
The day crawls by. Thanks to my immobility while Caleb nurses (all the time), the kids have watched more TV in the past 3 weeks than they have in the past 3 years. I'm pretty sure their brains are liquefying and ready to ooze out of their little ears at any given moment. I decide any subsequent shows will be earned via academics (writing the alphabet, reading books, reviewing sight words). When I announce my new plan, the second meltdown of the day commences. Parker begins to sob about the injustice of it all. Real tears and all. He runs about the room and finally throws himself in a crying, sniveling heap behind the couch. *Sigh* Is it really only 11:00?
Feedings, diaper changes, lunch, and baths. I decide to extend an olive branch to the kids by allowing them to play with food-colored shaving cream in the tub... And that's when all hell broke loose. Jack had taken his bath and was running around the house, diaperless (a dangerous situation). Maddie was in our tub calling to me that she needed some [plastic] princesses. Caleb was crying. Parker was heading for the guest bath where Jack had bathed. Slip, splat, ow! Parker was laid out on his stomach on the bathroom floor where Jack had apparently dumped the majority of his bath water, or maybe it was pee. Who knows? I put Parker to work sopping up that mess while I chased Jack down with a diaper. I swaddled Caleb and called to Maddie that I would bring her princesses in a moment. Parker was in the tub, Caleb stopped crying. Where was Jack? Why was it so quiet all of a sudden?
I peek in Parker's room to find Jack on a stool, hand clutching the fish food container. No. No!!! The bowl is completely pink, the water thick with fish food. Our new fishy friend was no where to be seen.
Enter crazy mommy [meltdown #3].
I have had it. I lay Caleb on the floor and bellow, "Nooooo!" Pulling Jack off the stool, I rush the fish bowl to the bathroom. Commence cleaning...and crying. Followed by a hefty side of yelling. Now Jack has followed us into the bathroom and begun dumping fish food in the tub. "Bad Jack!" I yell and swat his (thankfully diapered) behind - which, by the way, I have never done to him. Ever. His eyes well up with tears, he begins to wail, and he runs from the room [meltdown #4]. Parker is yelling, "Is my new fish gonna die? Is it already dead?" Maddie is yelling about her princesses.
It's just been one of those days. I was pretty ugly today (inside and out). Running on empty. Not enough sleep and definitely not enough time with God. Maddie noticed it early this morning..."Mommy, why don't you take off your grumpy pants and go and pray?" "Good idea," I told her. The only problem is that some days, like today, it can be really, really hard to find the time and energy to pray. Thankfully Aaron arrived home just as I was measuring the cardboard boxes in the garage...Who offers the best rates for shipping children and how long would it take for them to arrive at Grandma's? I passed him the baby and headed for the shower. And I prayed, and cried, and prayed some more.
The result was unsurprising but miraculous all the same. 2 simple truths emerged: I am blessed (if ungrateful at times), and God is good. End of story. Good night!
8/1/13
Another time around the sun
It is nearly impossible for me to believe you have taken 2 trips around the sun with us. Wasn't it just yesterday you were growing inside of me, and I was writing a love letter to you, dreaming of the day you would arrive?
You are a huge toddler now...not quite a baby but not yet a big boy. There are so many little things about you that I have the pleasure of seeing and hearing every day. I know how quickly these things will change. I want to take a moment to capture my amazing 2 year old boy, just as you are...
You are wild and crazy and full of life and laughter. You jump right in the fray when Parker and Maddie wrestle. You refuse to give up your binky, and when we take it away, you simply suck your thumb. You curl up into my lap and lay your head on my shoulder when you need a cuddle. You insist I sing "Wock a baby!" [Rock-a-bye Baby] when you are hurt. Every night when it's time for family devotions you consistently pray for ants. You substitute "uh" for "I want" when making requests (e.g. "Uh milk!") You demand bandaids for non-existent injuries several times a day. Rain boots are your favorite shoes. You call Parker "Parter" and Maddie "Masin Eclair" (Madison Claire). You are the most polite of all our children, always saying "Fank oo" (thank you) when given anything. You frequently hurt others unintentionally by waving sticks, plastic bats, spatulas, etc. around, but you are quick to apologize ("Forry!") You have trouble with many consonants, including "s" which comes out as "th." It's super-cute when you smile for a picture and say "Cheeth!" You have a huge grin, lots of teeth, and ears I trust you will grown into one day. Your big, blue eyes rimmed with thick, dark lashes are going to make the girls swoon one day. You are still in diapers because my favorite window of opportunity [22 months] for potty-training a child came and went while I was huge and pregnant and too tired to chase you around with a potty seat.
I am in awe of the little person you are becoming. You are smart, funny, energetic, and stubborn as a mule. You will always be my Jacky-Jack, my Moonschoo, my favorite middle son. I love you to the moon and back, Jack.
7/15/13
Dear Baby Caleb
We have a Jessie the Cowgirl toy from the Toy Story 2 movie. You pull the string on her back, and she responds with lots of lively, twangy sayings.
When you were born, it was her voice I heard in my head: "It's you! It's you! It's you! You're here!" That is exactly how I felt. I was ecstatic! All during my pregnancy it was as if I were waiting for the other shoe to drop. I already had three, happy, healthy, wonderful kids. Who was I to try for another? I have had so many friends who have suffered devastating losses through miscarriages or the early death of a child. Even more who have had issues with infertility and have been anxiously waiting for months or years to experience the joys of parenthood.
I will never understand God's ways. I know that I have done nothing to deserve the blessings of my children. I recognize that they are gifts, not promises. The length of time we will have together on this earth is even outside of my control. So, I try to cherish every moment.
And with you, sweet Caleb, it's so easy! Everything about you makes me fall in love with you. Your silky dark hair, skin as soft as velvet. Your very chubby cheeks and cherub lips. Your teeny tiny ears and long toes. The way you take hurried breaths and squeak and sigh. The way your soulful, blue-gray eyes search mine. Your neck that begs to be nuzzled. Even your cries are music to my ears. I am so beyond grateful that you are here safe and sound. Holding you in my arms is absolute heaven.
Hindsight is 20/20. I know I had a rough time transitioning into motherhood. Still, I wish I had known and appreciated the fleeting precious days of a newborn's life when I was a new mom. I am so very thankful God has given me the chance to experience this multiple times. I suppose I am a slow learner. But now that you are here, son, I really, finally get it. And though I am bone tired, I am smiling with tears in my eyes.
Welcome, Caleb.
Born 7/10/13 at 2:42pm
9lbs 9ozs
21 inches long
When you were born, it was her voice I heard in my head: "It's you! It's you! It's you! You're here!" That is exactly how I felt. I was ecstatic! All during my pregnancy it was as if I were waiting for the other shoe to drop. I already had three, happy, healthy, wonderful kids. Who was I to try for another? I have had so many friends who have suffered devastating losses through miscarriages or the early death of a child. Even more who have had issues with infertility and have been anxiously waiting for months or years to experience the joys of parenthood.
I will never understand God's ways. I know that I have done nothing to deserve the blessings of my children. I recognize that they are gifts, not promises. The length of time we will have together on this earth is even outside of my control. So, I try to cherish every moment.
And with you, sweet Caleb, it's so easy! Everything about you makes me fall in love with you. Your silky dark hair, skin as soft as velvet. Your very chubby cheeks and cherub lips. Your teeny tiny ears and long toes. The way you take hurried breaths and squeak and sigh. The way your soulful, blue-gray eyes search mine. Your neck that begs to be nuzzled. Even your cries are music to my ears. I am so beyond grateful that you are here safe and sound. Holding you in my arms is absolute heaven.
Hindsight is 20/20. I know I had a rough time transitioning into motherhood. Still, I wish I had known and appreciated the fleeting precious days of a newborn's life when I was a new mom. I am so very thankful God has given me the chance to experience this multiple times. I suppose I am a slow learner. But now that you are here, son, I really, finally get it. And though I am bone tired, I am smiling with tears in my eyes.
Welcome, Caleb.
Born 7/10/13 at 2:42pm
9lbs 9ozs
21 inches long
6/26/13
Mommy Tantrum
"Please stop making messes! Please stop making messes!" I shouted/sobbed, as I frantically rocked a screaming one year old a bit too vigorously on the couch. Tears streamed down my cheeks. The older two children stood timidly at the edge of the living room, watching mommy fall apart.
Yeah, I'm sure it's totally realistic for me to beg a 6 year old, 4 year old, and almost 2 year old to not make messes. May as well request they stop breathing.
Rewind 1 hour. Sweep the kitchen floor for the 3rd time today. Warn eldest son not to walk about with a pop-up tunnel over his head. "But mom, I'm just..." Crash! Tiny shards of glass from the glass he just knocked off the counter sail across the floor. "Don't move anyone!" Sweep again.
Mop the floor. Attempt to be a fun-loving, spur-the-moment mommy. Allow kids to choose dinner and help cook (since Daddy called at 3:30 to say he wouldn't be home until after bedtime. Um, did I mention I'm due with our fourth child in 2 weeks? Just sayin'.). The kids want pancakes with sprinkles? Fine. When we finish, a fine layer of pancake mix covers the counters and floor.
Sweep floor again. Turn back back to rinse dishes in the sink. "Mommy, Maddie used too many sprinkles!" [Read: Mommy, Maddie dumped an entire jar of sprinkles on our plates, the table, the floor...].
Sweep floor again. Sit to eat. Jack finishes first. "Oops!" He's climbed out of his chair and taken the lid off his sippy cup, spilling an entire cup of milk on the floor and into the pop-up tunnel (still in the kitchen for some reason).
Mop floor (alternating between ranting and praying aloud). Jack slips on wet floor and lands flat on his back, smacking his head on the tile. Screaming ensues.
And now we have arrived at the mommy tantrum. Screaming, crying, rocking a crying child. I can't blame the kids. They are just being kids. Even the pregnancy plays a role in the fatigue/raging hormones/mood swings, etc.
I decided to write this blog post tonight because I want my kids, heaven forbid they remember this time, to at least understand a bit about why their mommy seemed so crazy and moody. I love you kids so much it hurts, and I'm on my way into your rooms now to kiss your sweet (sleeping) faces!
Yeah, I'm sure it's totally realistic for me to beg a 6 year old, 4 year old, and almost 2 year old to not make messes. May as well request they stop breathing.
Rewind 1 hour. Sweep the kitchen floor for the 3rd time today. Warn eldest son not to walk about with a pop-up tunnel over his head. "But mom, I'm just..." Crash! Tiny shards of glass from the glass he just knocked off the counter sail across the floor. "Don't move anyone!" Sweep again.
Mop the floor. Attempt to be a fun-loving, spur-the-moment mommy. Allow kids to choose dinner and help cook (since Daddy called at 3:30 to say he wouldn't be home until after bedtime. Um, did I mention I'm due with our fourth child in 2 weeks? Just sayin'.). The kids want pancakes with sprinkles? Fine. When we finish, a fine layer of pancake mix covers the counters and floor.
Sweep floor again. Turn back back to rinse dishes in the sink. "Mommy, Maddie used too many sprinkles!" [Read: Mommy, Maddie dumped an entire jar of sprinkles on our plates, the table, the floor...].
Sweep floor again. Sit to eat. Jack finishes first. "Oops!" He's climbed out of his chair and taken the lid off his sippy cup, spilling an entire cup of milk on the floor and into the pop-up tunnel (still in the kitchen for some reason).
Mop floor (alternating between ranting and praying aloud). Jack slips on wet floor and lands flat on his back, smacking his head on the tile. Screaming ensues.
And now we have arrived at the mommy tantrum. Screaming, crying, rocking a crying child. I can't blame the kids. They are just being kids. Even the pregnancy plays a role in the fatigue/raging hormones/mood swings, etc.
I decided to write this blog post tonight because I want my kids, heaven forbid they remember this time, to at least understand a bit about why their mommy seemed so crazy and moody. I love you kids so much it hurts, and I'm on my way into your rooms now to kiss your sweet (sleeping) faces!
6/22/13
Waiting
Dear Caleb,
I'm sorry I haven't written to you sooner, little one. Believe me, you are on my mind all the time! Much has happened in our family since we discovered you would be joining the circus...birthdays, a move to Texas from Kentucky, a trip to Virginia, you name it! Even with all of that activity, YOU are the most highly anticipated, main event in our family. We simply cannot wait to meet you!
All of your siblings are excited about your arrival. Even Jack lifts my shirt and pats "baby Cay-wib." While Maddie was initially disappointed she would not be having a baby sister, she quickly settled into her role as our "only pretty princess," and now she can't wait to push you in the stroller (since Jack screams bloody murder whenever she attempts to wheel him around). Parker is convinced you will come out ready to wrestle and join "the boys' team."
From the moment we knew you were growing inside of me, I've felt as if our family was complete. I get tearful just thinking about holding you in my arms. Precious child, you are so loved already!
See you soon, Caleb!
I'm sorry I haven't written to you sooner, little one. Believe me, you are on my mind all the time! Much has happened in our family since we discovered you would be joining the circus...birthdays, a move to Texas from Kentucky, a trip to Virginia, you name it! Even with all of that activity, YOU are the most highly anticipated, main event in our family. We simply cannot wait to meet you!
All of your siblings are excited about your arrival. Even Jack lifts my shirt and pats "baby Cay-wib." While Maddie was initially disappointed she would not be having a baby sister, she quickly settled into her role as our "only pretty princess," and now she can't wait to push you in the stroller (since Jack screams bloody murder whenever she attempts to wheel him around). Parker is convinced you will come out ready to wrestle and join "the boys' team."
From the moment we knew you were growing inside of me, I've felt as if our family was complete. I get tearful just thinking about holding you in my arms. Precious child, you are so loved already!
See you soon, Caleb!
5/30/13
Happy Belated Birthday
Dear Parker,
This post is exactly one month late. So much has happened in the last 30 days with our move to Texas, I've not had time to catch my breath and write about your special day. But believe me, son, I've been composing this in my head for a long time.
I want to tell you about your birthday but also about who you are as a six year old boy. Let's start with your party. Technically, you had 2. One on the weekend, so all your friends and family could attend, and the other on the actual day, at Chuck E Cheese, with one of your best buddies, Jack.
Your party was everything Lego. And I mean everything. Anyway, your plates had Lego faces drawn on them, you had a Lego piñata, the cakes were giant Lego blocks. You name it, it looked like a Lego. Mommy was up very late the night before the party, grumbling in the kitchen as she iced the half-marshmallow pieces that sat atop your cake. But when you stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, to see why the lights were still on, smiled in wonder at your cake, and stated, "I love you, Mommy!" it made it all worth it.
You got tons of Lego sets at your party. You started working on them immediately, barely noticing as your guest left. We saved the big sets for Dallas, so you could build them while mom, dad, and Grammy unpacked boxes.
On your actual birthday, we met your friend, Jack, and his mommy at Chuck E Cheese. You had a blast! The trip ended with you engaging a beefy teenage worker in an arm-wrestling match to see if you could win the 1,000-ticket Spiderman toy behind the counter when you only possessed 10 tickets. You won, of course, and left the restaurant with the biggest grin on your little face.
Now on to you, little man...I hardly know where to start. You are wiry and can climb anything, just like a monkey. You just learned how to ride your bike without training wheels. You lost your first tooth just days before your birthday and your second tooth two days ago. You are bursting with energy all day, every day. You are still very sensitive when you feel left out, but you put on a brave face until you are alone with mommy. When you cry, I want to punch someone in the face, but I'm trying to teach you (and me) to love your enemies. The tooth fairy, Santa, and the Easter bunny are still very real, though I've had to field some tough questions about Santa's surveillance capabilities lately. You have a love/hate relationship with your sister that brings tears of joy to my eyes one moment and makes me want to ground you until you're 30 the next. Your baby brother idolizes you. You begin talking the moment you wake up, and you don't stop until your head hits the pillow. You still actively seek out cuddle-time with mom and dad at night. You talk to God. You have trouble with your "r's" and pronounce them "ah-wuh." You have stolen my heart.
I love you, six-year-old Parker. I'm so very proud of you, son.
This post is exactly one month late. So much has happened in the last 30 days with our move to Texas, I've not had time to catch my breath and write about your special day. But believe me, son, I've been composing this in my head for a long time.
I want to tell you about your birthday but also about who you are as a six year old boy. Let's start with your party. Technically, you had 2. One on the weekend, so all your friends and family could attend, and the other on the actual day, at Chuck E Cheese, with one of your best buddies, Jack.
Your party was everything Lego. And I mean everything. Anyway, your plates had Lego faces drawn on them, you had a Lego piñata, the cakes were giant Lego blocks. You name it, it looked like a Lego. Mommy was up very late the night before the party, grumbling in the kitchen as she iced the half-marshmallow pieces that sat atop your cake. But when you stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, to see why the lights were still on, smiled in wonder at your cake, and stated, "I love you, Mommy!" it made it all worth it.
You got tons of Lego sets at your party. You started working on them immediately, barely noticing as your guest left. We saved the big sets for Dallas, so you could build them while mom, dad, and Grammy unpacked boxes.
On your actual birthday, we met your friend, Jack, and his mommy at Chuck E Cheese. You had a blast! The trip ended with you engaging a beefy teenage worker in an arm-wrestling match to see if you could win the 1,000-ticket Spiderman toy behind the counter when you only possessed 10 tickets. You won, of course, and left the restaurant with the biggest grin on your little face.
Now on to you, little man...I hardly know where to start. You are wiry and can climb anything, just like a monkey. You just learned how to ride your bike without training wheels. You lost your first tooth just days before your birthday and your second tooth two days ago. You are bursting with energy all day, every day. You are still very sensitive when you feel left out, but you put on a brave face until you are alone with mommy. When you cry, I want to punch someone in the face, but I'm trying to teach you (and me) to love your enemies. The tooth fairy, Santa, and the Easter bunny are still very real, though I've had to field some tough questions about Santa's surveillance capabilities lately. You have a love/hate relationship with your sister that brings tears of joy to my eyes one moment and makes me want to ground you until you're 30 the next. Your baby brother idolizes you. You begin talking the moment you wake up, and you don't stop until your head hits the pillow. You still actively seek out cuddle-time with mom and dad at night. You talk to God. You have trouble with your "r's" and pronounce them "ah-wuh." You have stolen my heart.
I love you, six-year-old Parker. I'm so very proud of you, son.
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