One of the pieces of advice I got when we started our family was to never wake a sleeping baby. Even when doctors told me to wake my girls so they got the proper feedings in, I never did. It just didn't seem to make sense. You finally get your little one to go to sleep, why in the world would you chance anything good and wake that child up? Sure, some days I was extremely uncomfortable for a time, as my children drink "mommy milk." Small price to pay in exchange for a happy little bundle.
Fast forward eight years.
Yesterday, I had to wake up my sleeping little bundle. It happens more often than I think I really want to admit.
Naptimes and the schedule for a family of 6 very often don't mix very well. I feel badly that my littlest bundle of hope and baby babble is a carseat napper most of the time. Luckily, we have been blessed with perhaps the most wonderful baby on the planet, right from the beginning with her 2 hour labor.
As my other girls put on shoes and got ready for yet another drive across town for this or that, I tiptoed into the baby's room to rouse her from her nap, once again cut a little too short. She was sleeping on her tummy, her little tooschie pushed up into the air, her left cheek smooshed and puffy against the mattress of her crib. I laid my head down next to the mattress to watch her sleep for a minute, taking in all the baby smells in her room. The diapers. Wipes. The scent of her sheets washed in a baby detergent. The warmth of her sleeping breath.
Gently I stroked her fuzzy head, patted her back. She made a small little cry and I picked her up, hugging her close to me, and carried her downstairs. As I put her into her carseat, she caught sight of all her big sisters, and gave us all one of her famous toothy smiles. Her legs started kicking in her carseat, smiling, ready for another trip in the van!
Tuesday, August 23
Wednesday, August 17
8 Years
I've spent today celebrating. Driving. Eating. Buying. Treating. Eight years of my baby girl, and her amazing smile. And her kindness, selfless cheerleading for her sisters and friends. Her silly dancing and struggles with learning.
Yesterday, we moved her into her own room. Freshly painted in "teenager colors." She is excited. In the matter of one minute, she grew. Suddenly, I am finally excited to see her growing up, being a big kid. Don't get me wrong, I miss her baby-ness. But I am so looking forward to what she is going to become.
What a difference a day can make.
Yesterday, we moved her into her own room. Freshly painted in "teenager colors." She is excited. In the matter of one minute, she grew. Suddenly, I am finally excited to see her growing up, being a big kid. Don't get me wrong, I miss her baby-ness. But I am so looking forward to what she is going to become.
What a difference a day can make.
Wednesday, August 10
I Don't Need Credit
"I give you a lot of credit."
I hear that a lot. When I am out and about running errands, shopping, park-playing, library-ing or basically doing anything with my children. The sight of so many little blonde heads altogether draws a lot of eyes.
Just today, we went to Wal-mart. We passed a woman as we were walking in, and I saw her cursory glance take in all the little bodies (plus an extra that I had picked up for the day, just for good measure), and she shook her head. Another couple stopped to count and then asked, "Five girls?" "This one isn't mine," I replied. (Her dark hair and brown eyes should have given her away! But often my extra head for the day could easily qualify as one of my own.)
The thing is, I don't need credit. It's not a big deal to me to take a gaggle of children lots of places. It simply means they have more fun. Sure, they distract me, and I forget things on my list, or get talked into buying a new brand of cereal. That's really not so bad in the scheme of things.
I don't need credit. I'm just being "Mom."
I hear that a lot. When I am out and about running errands, shopping, park-playing, library-ing or basically doing anything with my children. The sight of so many little blonde heads altogether draws a lot of eyes.
Just today, we went to Wal-mart. We passed a woman as we were walking in, and I saw her cursory glance take in all the little bodies (plus an extra that I had picked up for the day, just for good measure), and she shook her head. Another couple stopped to count and then asked, "Five girls?" "This one isn't mine," I replied. (Her dark hair and brown eyes should have given her away! But often my extra head for the day could easily qualify as one of my own.)
The thing is, I don't need credit. It's not a big deal to me to take a gaggle of children lots of places. It simply means they have more fun. Sure, they distract me, and I forget things on my list, or get talked into buying a new brand of cereal. That's really not so bad in the scheme of things.
I don't need credit. I'm just being "Mom."
Monday, August 1
I Looked Evil in the Eye
On a worn, grassy path through a park meadow in town, I looked evil in the eye. I had known I would be seeing him. Every day as I passed him I made sure to look at the ground, the trees, the sky, my children. Anything to avoid him. But then I thought to myself, isn't that just the same thing as avoiding the car in the parking lot?
So I looked him in the eye. And he smiled at me. And said hello.
How dare he? This person who so literally, intentionally, selfishly and cowardly pursued a change in so many people's lives?
My gaze did not waver. I put forth everything I had to tell him. He may have changed my life, but to the dismay of many he did not destroy it. So many, many things have been made better.
I looked evil in the eye. He looked away first.
So I looked him in the eye. And he smiled at me. And said hello.
How dare he? This person who so literally, intentionally, selfishly and cowardly pursued a change in so many people's lives?
My gaze did not waver. I put forth everything I had to tell him. He may have changed my life, but to the dismay of many he did not destroy it. So many, many things have been made better.
I looked evil in the eye. He looked away first.
Wednesday, July 20
A "Birthday"
Today's date does not escape me. You could be one today. The year of "what-ifs" and milestones don't go unnoticed.
I think of you daily, though I must admit that I do not cry anymore. I guess time really does lessen the pain now and then.
I still feel the pressure of the hand that held mine on the day we sent you away. But more so I can feel the strength of the arms that held me up when I finally fell under the weight and the pain of the realization that you were gone.
As I work so hard towards forgiving others, I hope you can forgive me, and know that you will always be remembered.
I think of you daily, though I must admit that I do not cry anymore. I guess time really does lessen the pain now and then.
I still feel the pressure of the hand that held mine on the day we sent you away. But more so I can feel the strength of the arms that held me up when I finally fell under the weight and the pain of the realization that you were gone.
As I work so hard towards forgiving others, I hope you can forgive me, and know that you will always be remembered.
Wednesday, July 6
Summer Breeze
Sand in between
Fingers and toes
Splashing water, rivers
in the sand.
Sand covers bottoms
Hair streaked with sun
A shout, a laugh, a cry
Too much beach?
A grain of sand in
a bite of sandwich,
a piece of
watermelon.
A breeze in the air
to topple umbrellas,
flutter the towels
carries with it
A memory.
The scent of charcoal
lighted with a
strike...
A match and lighter
fluid.
Comfort in the memory
Comfort in the breeze.
Fingers and toes
Splashing water, rivers
in the sand.
Sand covers bottoms
Hair streaked with sun
A shout, a laugh, a cry
Too much beach?
A grain of sand in
a bite of sandwich,
a piece of
watermelon.
A breeze in the air
to topple umbrellas,
flutter the towels
carries with it
A memory.
The scent of charcoal
lighted with a
strike...
A match and lighter
fluid.
Comfort in the memory
Comfort in the breeze.
Saturday, July 2
It's a Mom Thing
On Monday, I went to a funeral for a person I didn't know.
Last week, emails and phone calls spread like wildfire one early morning. Sadness on the day before summer vacation.
For all my criss-crossing of town and school, I had met her only once, though I'm sure I'd seen her dozens of times. She was an every mom: Soccer, ballet, camp, PTO. Our daughters were in the same class.
My husband asked me why I wanted to go to the services for someone I didn't know. But that is also a question I am sure was raised in other houses, other minds last week. "It's just a mom thing," I replied, as I looked at my oldest daughter. "It's just something I need to do."
She could have been me. Young, pretty, blonde, wife, daughter, friend, mom. Taken too soon by a heart that didn't work quite right.
Yesterday, I talked with her husband. I am so impressed by him, though I am sure shock is driving him right now. Celebrating the end of school and the start of summer with his young children at the BBQ at their teacher's home. You would not know to look at him that 8 days before his world had ceased as he knew it.
For the last 8 days, I've hugged and kissed and pinched little bathing-suited booties a little more than I did before (if that is possible!). It's just a mom thing.
Last week, emails and phone calls spread like wildfire one early morning. Sadness on the day before summer vacation.
For all my criss-crossing of town and school, I had met her only once, though I'm sure I'd seen her dozens of times. She was an every mom: Soccer, ballet, camp, PTO. Our daughters were in the same class.
My husband asked me why I wanted to go to the services for someone I didn't know. But that is also a question I am sure was raised in other houses, other minds last week. "It's just a mom thing," I replied, as I looked at my oldest daughter. "It's just something I need to do."
She could have been me. Young, pretty, blonde, wife, daughter, friend, mom. Taken too soon by a heart that didn't work quite right.
Yesterday, I talked with her husband. I am so impressed by him, though I am sure shock is driving him right now. Celebrating the end of school and the start of summer with his young children at the BBQ at their teacher's home. You would not know to look at him that 8 days before his world had ceased as he knew it.
For the last 8 days, I've hugged and kissed and pinched little bathing-suited booties a little more than I did before (if that is possible!). It's just a mom thing.
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