Overnight, it happened.
Or rather, while I was out for a run. It happened.
My baby grew up. He decided he wasn't a baby anymore. He was a big boy.
Gone was the baby who would choke on a little baby food poofie. Gone was the baby who pushed away noodles. Gone was the baby who was content to cuddle with mommy and nurse to sleep. Here to stay was the baby who wanted a cup full of milk. Here to stay was the baby who wanted to eat the same food as his big sisters.
Mommy wasn't ready. Mommy looked forward to those quiet moments holding her son and caressing his chubby cheeks as he fell asleep. Mommy took far longer than needed most evenings to nurse her baby and rock him to sleep.
I tried. Oh, I tried, to convince him every day, not to give up on Mommy. But, he's simply just ready. Ready to be a big boy.
Thankfully, I've clued in to a lullaby to sing to him at bedtimes so I can get his little cuddly body to snuggle in to me a few more times. I will cling to that song for as long as I can. For as much as Mommy is ready, Mommy isn't ready.
Thursday, August 22
Wednesday, August 7
Roller Coasters
Roller coasters are entirely different when your baby girl is sitting in the seat next to you.
That thought didn't hit me until we were seated in the car, getting ready to ride the fast and long wooden roller coaster.
On our walk over to the ride, I held her hand. We talked and were silly, excited that it was just the two of us. There was no wait for the ride. She was excited. So was I.
Settled in our seats I turned to look at her. The ride started moving. And then, the thrill was gone, replaced with concern for my baby. Would she get hurt? Be too scared? My gaze was intent not on the twists and turns, but her beautiful face.
She was quiet for the ride. Not a single scream from her. Her face was tightly clenched as I tried to alert her of each dip, turn and hill. At the end of the ride was a booth of photos taken during the ride. We laughed at the face of the man in front of us.
"Mommy," she said as the ride slowed down, "I do not want to do that ride again."
It was too much for my dare devil little girl. And, I have to say, it might have just ended up being too much for me.
That thought didn't hit me until we were seated in the car, getting ready to ride the fast and long wooden roller coaster.
On our walk over to the ride, I held her hand. We talked and were silly, excited that it was just the two of us. There was no wait for the ride. She was excited. So was I.
Settled in our seats I turned to look at her. The ride started moving. And then, the thrill was gone, replaced with concern for my baby. Would she get hurt? Be too scared? My gaze was intent not on the twists and turns, but her beautiful face.
She was quiet for the ride. Not a single scream from her. Her face was tightly clenched as I tried to alert her of each dip, turn and hill. At the end of the ride was a booth of photos taken during the ride. We laughed at the face of the man in front of us.
"Mommy," she said as the ride slowed down, "I do not want to do that ride again."
It was too much for my dare devil little girl. And, I have to say, it might have just ended up being too much for me.
Thursday, July 25
Monday, July 22
Five Minute Nightmare
We went through the worst nightmare. For five minutes, we could not find our little girl.
There are a few gut wrenching memories that will never leave me. This will be one.
As we ran through the park screaming her name and looking for her platinum blonde head riding her bike around the loop, my mind went so many places. None of them good.
A family playing soccer offered help as I ran past, some directing my husband to one location in the park, others joining up behind me. I kept running toward the exit, thinking she would pedal her little legs all that way. I ran past a murky pond, thinking that I wouldn't know, I just couldn't see her bike wheels in the pond. The water seemed calm and undisturbed. I kept running.
I reached a crest in a hill and saw a distance away another pavilion and party going on. Then I saw a woman in a teal shirt, walking with my blonde little girl, holding her hand and carrying her bike. I kicked off my sandals. I never ran so fast in my life.
"I got lost!" Our baby was crying big deep sobs. She thought we'd left her, too. The woman offered her cell phone to call my husband. I took it, looked at the phone, and handed it back. I couldn't focus on what to do but just hold my girl.
My husband came up, followed by my father. Hugs and tears and we made our way back to our cars. I carried my daughter for a bit, reluctantly putting her down when she simply became too heavy to carry. "Mommy, you're squeezing my fingers." It was a struggle to loosen my grasp.
Later, as we were leaving the park, we passed the woman walking down the park road to the entrance and a larger parking lot. We stopped to express our gratitude again. She emotionally relayed a similar story with her own children years ago. It is then when I cried. Two women who had never met, bonded over emotions and words not said, both woken from a nightmare that's hard to forget.
There are a few gut wrenching memories that will never leave me. This will be one.
As we ran through the park screaming her name and looking for her platinum blonde head riding her bike around the loop, my mind went so many places. None of them good.
A family playing soccer offered help as I ran past, some directing my husband to one location in the park, others joining up behind me. I kept running toward the exit, thinking she would pedal her little legs all that way. I ran past a murky pond, thinking that I wouldn't know, I just couldn't see her bike wheels in the pond. The water seemed calm and undisturbed. I kept running.
I reached a crest in a hill and saw a distance away another pavilion and party going on. Then I saw a woman in a teal shirt, walking with my blonde little girl, holding her hand and carrying her bike. I kicked off my sandals. I never ran so fast in my life.
"I got lost!" Our baby was crying big deep sobs. She thought we'd left her, too. The woman offered her cell phone to call my husband. I took it, looked at the phone, and handed it back. I couldn't focus on what to do but just hold my girl.
My husband came up, followed by my father. Hugs and tears and we made our way back to our cars. I carried my daughter for a bit, reluctantly putting her down when she simply became too heavy to carry. "Mommy, you're squeezing my fingers." It was a struggle to loosen my grasp.
Later, as we were leaving the park, we passed the woman walking down the park road to the entrance and a larger parking lot. We stopped to express our gratitude again. She emotionally relayed a similar story with her own children years ago. It is then when I cried. Two women who had never met, bonded over emotions and words not said, both woken from a nightmare that's hard to forget.
Friday, July 19
Sometimes, You Just Gotta...
Breakfast of Champions...
Times four, yesterday.
Because, sometimes, you just gotta...
Times four, yesterday.
Because, sometimes, you just gotta...
Friday, July 5
Written Proof
Often I will go through the pages of journals and notebooks that my girls leave lying around. They write some funny stuff. Maybe they take after mom?
I found this a few weeks ago in a notebook. It's now hanging on the fridge. It may be two years old, but now I have written proof. Someday it may even be true!
I found this a few weeks ago in a notebook. It's now hanging on the fridge. It may be two years old, but now I have written proof. Someday it may even be true!
Wednesday, June 19
Almost There ...
I'm sitting waiting for the school bus to come. The littles are asleep. The house is quiet. In two days, school is done for 9 weeks. I'm looking forward to it.
I'm done. We're done.
The last few months have taken a lot out of us in this little yellow house. Since March, we feel like we haven't been able to catch our breath.
(Perhaps that's a feeling we need to get used to, with 5 little "us-es" in the house....Just sayin....)
We've had problems with bullying. Problems with teachers. Problems with friends. Problems with other parents. Problems with the house. Problems with each other. Pick a category. We've filled it.
I've lost a tremendous amount of respect for one of my children's teachers. And for some of the staff within their school as well. I don't feel as though we were treated as parents should be, and I'm not the only one in town feeling this way. I'm ready to have a break from dealing with this, though I know it will be waiting at the end of August. I'll be fresher, and more ready to fight.
I've thought long, hard and often about leaving the PTO part of my name. It's sad that grown ups can act more like children at times than children actually do. I'm staying a part of the organization, if only to not leave a friend without the support she's given to me. That's what friends do. But I've already taken a big step back into the shadows. I like it here. I think I'll stay.
We have no set plans for the summer. No camps, no daily schedule. Just my girls, and boy, a swimming pool, playdates, tutoring, a few classes, and a hopeful trip North. Bring it. Two more days.
I'm done. We're done.
The last few months have taken a lot out of us in this little yellow house. Since March, we feel like we haven't been able to catch our breath.
(Perhaps that's a feeling we need to get used to, with 5 little "us-es" in the house....Just sayin....)
We've had problems with bullying. Problems with teachers. Problems with friends. Problems with other parents. Problems with the house. Problems with each other. Pick a category. We've filled it.
I've lost a tremendous amount of respect for one of my children's teachers. And for some of the staff within their school as well. I don't feel as though we were treated as parents should be, and I'm not the only one in town feeling this way. I'm ready to have a break from dealing with this, though I know it will be waiting at the end of August. I'll be fresher, and more ready to fight.
I've thought long, hard and often about leaving the PTO part of my name. It's sad that grown ups can act more like children at times than children actually do. I'm staying a part of the organization, if only to not leave a friend without the support she's given to me. That's what friends do. But I've already taken a big step back into the shadows. I like it here. I think I'll stay.
We have no set plans for the summer. No camps, no daily schedule. Just my girls, and boy, a swimming pool, playdates, tutoring, a few classes, and a hopeful trip North. Bring it. Two more days.
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