Snails and puppy dogs tails… with a little sugar and spice on the side

Owen? Is a boy. Through and through. He keeps me on my toes and chances are good that at least one person is in danger at any given time due to his lack of ability to contain his inner monster. He loves trucks, and tractors, and dinosaurs. He ‘builds’ with his tools and will take off your head with his hockey stick. I’m constantly gasping with anticipation of a gash on his head, or a broken bone in his little body.

He spends his time on his grandparents’ farm ‘driving’ the tractor. Or throwing rocks into the pond. He will constantly alert you of his ‘big farts’ but at least has the courtesy to say ‘scuse me!’ His clothes never stay clean, and his feet always stink. He’s seen flying ‘high in the sky’ yelling “BUZZ LIGHTYEAR TO THE RESCUE!” and never misses the opportunity to ‘SMASH’ his cars into oblivion.

He’ll climb as high as he can and tease you that he’ll fall. He takes stairs with no hesitation, and more often than not forgets to look where he’s going. His favorite shirts portray motorcycles and his favorite shoes, Lightning McQueen.

But there’s also this soft side. One where he ‘baby talks’ to his brother. Or picks flowers for his Nana. Or wants a wipe to wash his hands after being in the sandbox. And you best believe that boy will know how to cook and clean (and do LAUNDRY) for his future wife.

ThankFULL

Pardon the hiatus, but I was thoroughly basking in thankfulness and filling my belly for six days straight. This year, more than any other, I really started to understand the meaning of Thanksgiving. It’s always been my second favorite holiday (because Christmas Eve is just the greatest day ever invented) and I’ve loved spending time with my two favorite things, family and food. But this year? This year I made myself take it all in. I looked around and truly saw meaning in every little thing. I found millions of things to be thankful for, from my children, to our home, our family, and blessings.

I slowed down a bit and enjoyed things. Who cared that the house was a mess and that I didn’t get to sleep…. again. We made memories and spent quality time together. We saw fishies and turtles, and most importantly, sharks! There were lunch dates and dinner dates, sometimes with children, sometimes without. There was Christmas shopping, movie watching, and just plain nothing.

We cuddled on the couch, we played outside (hello, perfect fall weather!) and shared many many kisses between mommy and son. I didn’t worry about rushing through our activities, thinking ‘I need to prep for tomorrow!’ or ‘Holy Lord there’s so much laundry!’ I simply enjoyed the time I had.

 

Instead of getting everything done myself, I shared them with Owen, asking him to help with everything I thought he could. We cooked, we cleaned, we took care of his ‘baby brudder’. Things that I tend to get done quickly took forever, but were more fun than I could have imagined because I was sharing them with this little kid that seems to have grown up in a matter of months. I threw caution to the wind and allowed nap times to occur sporadically, meals to consist of nothing more than dessert, and pudding to be mixed with a toddler’s wavering hand.

But most importantly, I was thankful. I made myself be thankful for those things I so easily forget I should be thankful for. We have such a tendency to think about the here and now. The stresses of day-to-day. The bills, the lack of sleep, the inability to prevent our hair from falling out. Instead of ho-humming about the things that truly aren’t that bad, I focused on the things that are truly great. My two amazing little boys. A husband who is not only willing to do anything I ask, but is a better father than I could have ever wanted for my babies. Family who is close enough to see weekly and family who took the time to travel from far and wide.

As our week off drew to an end, I was happy that routine would soon run our lives again, but was also glad I got to take some time to refocus my energy to the positive…. to breathe again, if you will. And seeing this face light up, time and time again, certainly reminded me to be thankful.

When did this happen?

I’m at a bachelorette party tonight. My own sister’s. Should be ripping it up. Party all night like it’s 1999 or all that jazz. Instead I’m staring at my clock. Sipping water because, jeez people, I gotta get up and feed a baby, and man, my kids wake up at 5:30. I’m watching young girls dance thinking they seriously need to go home, what a scene they’re causing!
I’m having fun, don’t get me wrong. But I’m also praying for someone to say, okay, it’s getting late. I’m not going to be that person.
But man, my bed is sounding pretty darn perfect right now.
When did I get old?

Something’s…… missing

What’s wrong with this picture?

Nothing, you say? A precious memory snapshot of the first time my son met Santa? He’s even looking in the direction of the camera. What could be better?

What you don’t see is that below Santa, below the sight of the camera (unfortunately) is my other son. Protesting by laying flat on the floor, squirming around and going limp with any attempts to stand him up. There was hope going into this, that at least I’ll get them both in the shot, even if one of them was crying. And to my surprise, Owen walked right up to Santa, happily showed him his tractor, and even exclaimed that he wanted a blue bicycle for Christmas (sorry, kid, you’re getting a red one). The moment we attempted to place him near the jolly old soul, he hit the floor, and that’s where he stayed until I said we could leave.

Fail.

This is the more appropriate picture:

At least he’s staying true to expectations.

**disclaimer: Normally I put much more effort into my photoshopping. However, I’ve been spending the last 3 hours putting my child back in bed in an attempt to get him to nap. Unsuccessfully.

Release me

I need an ugly cry.

The kind where you’re curled up in the shower, water flowing over your face, waving your metaphorical white flag. When you can’t hide the obvious sounds of emotion, and the hyperventilation sets in between deep breaths. When every emotion that’s been building explodes through your eyes…. and clenched hands.

The kind where you wake up in the morning, eyes swollen, head pounding. Where the comfort of the warm blankets over your head makes you feel safe, segregated from the world that you’re trying to escape.

It seems the times we need this type of pure release are the times when we just can’t allow it. The chaos around us forces us to remain sane. As sane as an insane chaos can be. No time to be weak, no time to let go. No moment of privacy to truly be who you need to be.

It’s at these times when I pray I can hold it in, but pray at the same time to find that release.

True to form

A not-so-wordless Wednesday. An attempt at a nice Christmas jammies photo for my mom. Instead, a nice “I’m throwing a tantrum and ripping these jammies off” photo. And she’s going to use it just like this for her Christmas card, because, well…. this is exactly what we expect from him.

The simplest things make the best places

I’m cheating a little today and using the prompt, too much going on at work and in my head to clearly think of a good topic for today. However, today’s prompt is extremely fitting. Since Sunday, I have wanted to write a post about visiting my Grandmother’s house this weekend (a boring post about visiting your grandmother?). Yes, because visiting my Grandmother is a wonderful, sad, challenging event, and it just so happens that her house is also one of my favorite places on earth (Next to Disney and Hawaii I suppose).

Since I was born, vacations were always in that dirt road town, hidden deep in New Hampshire. Where everyone knows their neighbors, and cell phone service just recently became existent.

Her little one-bedroom house on the lake had everything we needed; grass for running, sand for building, and even a waterslide that I don’t think should have been deemed safe. We’d all pile into one attic room in our sleeping bags, waking every morning to the smell of bacon and coffee. At night the smells were replaced by vats of spaghetti sauce, or meat on the grill.

Days were spent racing through the water, my dad would make it a point to hit every wave with the speedboat. We’d learn to ski and by the end of the afternoon we could barely move from the exercise. Evenings were spent rocking with my dad in the screen house, more often than not watching a passing storm over the lake. Lightning would inevitably touch down in the yard, I would scream, and we’d hear endless stories of the times people have been hit.

We still go there from time to time. Less and less. We bring our own kids for visits now, never overnight. I still dream that it will be where I teach my boys to ski, where we can rock at night, drinking beers when they’re older, laughing about old stories my dad used to tell.

Except now when we go, it’s sad. It’s the same place, but there is so much missing. Her memory has faded to the point where she doesn’t remember day to day activities, and repeats herself often. Those big meals we’re used to are now provided by us, usually sandwiches prepared that morning and packed in a cooler. The boat is on the shore, probably never to be used again. And that slide, sits abandoned, looking out to the water.

This favorite place is still a favorite, but it’s someplace I never want to go. The reminders of happier days torment me, and the sadness of the loss that we’re all going to feel is constantly upon us, weighing down the quality time we should be spending.