My kids talk constantly; I'm think I know where they get it from (but I'll never admit it). If you ask my parents, they have a few stories about me. Like the night I thought a berlesque club had the best barbeque in town or when I came home from school and gave a science lesson on why a fart smell spreads. I have two short stories today. They are probably "You had to be there" stories, but I'll still share them anyway.
Erin's story- We were on our way home from Wal-Mart on Woodruff Road. There is a tax office right there, and every year they have a motorized mannequin dressed like the Statue of Liberty they put out on the curb. On the way there, I had seen her looking at it quizzically, but didn't give it much thought. Apparently it was more that her limited learning could handle. So, as we're coming back down Woodruff Road, she finally speaks up. Except she can't find the right words to express her thoughts. Here's what she said:
"Mommy, did you see that man?"
"Which one?" I wasn't aware her puzzled look had returned; I was trying to turn across traffic.
"That man, wearing the green dress, but not a man...kind of like a man...uh...'cept he lives on batteries."
I missed a perfectly good opportunity to turn across traffic, because I was laughing so hard.
Nate's story- I'm in CVS, getting some cold medicine for Thomas. I had taken Nate and Caleb with me. Nate is being a typical 5 year old, running around nearby and talking about nonsense to himself. I'm in line at the checkout. A couple of ladies are at the register in front of me and several people are behind me in line, including a older man in an expensive-looking suit. I'm trying to keep Caleb entertained when I hear (matter-of-factly like I was keeping a record) "Mommy, I just farted right here." I immediately start shaking my head no and try to tell him quietly that we don't say that in public. I glance up in embarassment to see the women in front of me stiffling giggles. One can no longer hold it and does let out a giggle, still trying to keep it to herself. I glance back over my shoulder. The stoic man in that taylored suit is no longer stoic; he, too, is trying to stiffle his laughter. Then, I find myself trying not to giggle. Nate was oblivious. I don't think he ever realized everyone was laughing at his comment.
These are not the last of funny things my kids will say. And Caleb has yet to start. I have always felt laughter is good, not only for the soul, but for the body too. As my bio says, laughter is good for the human. This is just one way my kids help keep me young.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Happy Birthday, Baby Will!
It's been 11 years. He would have been 11 years old today. My kids affectionately refer to him as "Baby Will". Every year I seem to struggle a little less, but then that bothers me too. How can I grow so tolerant to the loss of my baby? I've heard people say to me they couldn't deal with the loss of a child, much less since he lived through Christmas. Christmas would become unbearable in the years to follow.
First, you don't have a choice really. You can choose to end your life, but you can't choose to not be able to deal with it. Life keeps moving around you; the sun keeps rising and setting. One day, it doesn't hurt as bad, and you can take a walk. Then, you can watch another child play. Eventually, you'll laugh and maybe feel guilty for laughing, but it felt good inside. Like it or not, life pushes on.
Second, I couldn't think of a better 3 months for him to have lived. I got him for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the Y2K New Year! He was my Christmas gift! Santa and Mrs. Claus came to see him in the NICU. He had a stocking so big, he could have fit into it. We sat in the NICU counting down to midnight on December 31, 1999. No parties, no confetti or alcohol (I wasn't even of legal drinking age, as a matter of fact). Just us, a few other parents, and the nurses. It was so very quiet in there, only the occasional alarm. We talked about his "ET toe", his big toe with his oxygen saturation monitor on it, making it glow red. As strange as it sounds, it was really peaceful.
I took my time going through the stages of grief, and to some extent I'll always be grieving. I read one time that a husband that looses a wife is a widow. A child that looses a parent is an orphan. But no word exists for a parent that loses a child. I don't remember where I read it, but it stuck with me. I still cry when I go to his grave.
I learned from all this though. Isn't that the point of life experiences? I learned I am stronger than I thought. I learned to appreciate little things and stop for ordinary moments. I learned my kids are irreplaceable, and I can learn from them too. I learned that two people who don't like each other (not Tommy and me) can work together in a crisis. But most of all, I learned I was far more capable of love than I ever thought I could be.
So, on this, the day of my oldest child's birth, I laugh and cry, remembering all the good and the bad. I secretly sing "Happy Birthday" to my eternal 3 month old angel. For 11 years ago today, was one of the greatest days of my life! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY WILL!
First, you don't have a choice really. You can choose to end your life, but you can't choose to not be able to deal with it. Life keeps moving around you; the sun keeps rising and setting. One day, it doesn't hurt as bad, and you can take a walk. Then, you can watch another child play. Eventually, you'll laugh and maybe feel guilty for laughing, but it felt good inside. Like it or not, life pushes on.
Second, I couldn't think of a better 3 months for him to have lived. I got him for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the Y2K New Year! He was my Christmas gift! Santa and Mrs. Claus came to see him in the NICU. He had a stocking so big, he could have fit into it. We sat in the NICU counting down to midnight on December 31, 1999. No parties, no confetti or alcohol (I wasn't even of legal drinking age, as a matter of fact). Just us, a few other parents, and the nurses. It was so very quiet in there, only the occasional alarm. We talked about his "ET toe", his big toe with his oxygen saturation monitor on it, making it glow red. As strange as it sounds, it was really peaceful.
I took my time going through the stages of grief, and to some extent I'll always be grieving. I read one time that a husband that looses a wife is a widow. A child that looses a parent is an orphan. But no word exists for a parent that loses a child. I don't remember where I read it, but it stuck with me. I still cry when I go to his grave.
I learned from all this though. Isn't that the point of life experiences? I learned I am stronger than I thought. I learned to appreciate little things and stop for ordinary moments. I learned my kids are irreplaceable, and I can learn from them too. I learned that two people who don't like each other (not Tommy and me) can work together in a crisis. But most of all, I learned I was far more capable of love than I ever thought I could be.
So, on this, the day of my oldest child's birth, I laugh and cry, remembering all the good and the bad. I secretly sing "Happy Birthday" to my eternal 3 month old angel. For 11 years ago today, was one of the greatest days of my life! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY WILL!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Similiar Uniqueness
It has been quite a week. I have spent a great deal of time on an essay paper for my English class, and it nearly kicked my butt! This meant, though, that I spent a good amount of time this week just observing and not participating. Sometimes people need something to come along and slow them down. I am one of those people. I have noticed my children this week. What I mean is instead of just going with the flow, I have sat back and just observed them. We'll start with the oldest.
Erin has matured quite a bit this past year. I am beginning to see a little lady emerge. She has this new sense of calmness about her sometimes. She wants to be the second "mommy" in our house. She coddles Caleb and corrects Nate. She has even started doing laundry, without being asked! I nearly fainted! I was so excited, I bought her a new Webkinz; we made a special trip just to buy one. The reality was, though, all she did was put the wet stuff in the dryer because I had been sick all day. I didn't care; for a 9 year old, I was beside myself with giddy. That cemented that deal for her. Erin has the laundry in the dryer now before I realize the washer has stopped. I think she's secretly hoping to get another Webkinz soon.
It's hard sometimes to watch her, though. She acts just like me. When she gets mad, she acts like me. When she's sad, she acts like me. I know how hard life can be when you are a sensitive soul. Plus, as if I'm not already ashamed of my foolish behavior, I have to explain to my child why MY behavior is unacceptable. I can't correct her behavior, because she so innocently points out, that's what I do when I'm mad. (If only they made blinders for children, I'd invest in three sets! They could be called "Not As I Do-ers".) It's like looking in a behavior mirror! I have learned to breathe before I react.
Then there's Nate. Nate is his own little personality. He wants so desperately to be Erin's best friend. And she wants so desperately for him to "go away." Nate's too big for Caleb's toys. He's too little to play with Erin's, not to mention her's are all girl toys. My heart aches for him; the middle is such a hard place to be. I've been the middle child! Does that stop Nate? No. He likes Barbies. If you ask him, his favorite color is red. But don't stop there. Ask him what other color he like. His answer--pink. This doesn't particularly make Daddy happy. Oh, and when I paint my and Erin's nails, Nate waits patiently in line, watching very intently. He doesn't seem to understand why I won't paint his nails. I'd rather not give Daddy a stroke. If it were up to me alone, I'd paint his nails with some clear polish. After all, haven't you heard of a metrosexual?!
Well, for all the testosterone Nate is short, Caleb makes up for it. He is a man's man. He seems to teem with maleness. At the tender age of two, Caleb has mastered the art of play-fighting. He prefers to watch football. And action movies. He likes anything with wheels and nothing with long, plastic legs. (Buzz Lightyear has short stumpy legs, excluding him from this category.) When he falls down, Caleb stands back up, says "Ow," brushes off, and goes about his way. Sometimes he skips the brushing off step. (Nate will scream for 30 minutes.) Best of all, though, Caleb has figured out in his short two years that men show affection with horseplay. I feel for those girls who are the objects of his first crushes; I hope they are the athletic type!
But for all their differences, they all share one thing. My kids are sweet. They will share their things and are concerned for others. They love passionately and feel deeply. They will protect and defend each other to the end, but that's part of being siblings, I'm told. To me, though, my kids are pretty special!
I look forward to seeing who they become. I somehow feel I have really only begun to know who they are.
Erin has matured quite a bit this past year. I am beginning to see a little lady emerge. She has this new sense of calmness about her sometimes. She wants to be the second "mommy" in our house. She coddles Caleb and corrects Nate. She has even started doing laundry, without being asked! I nearly fainted! I was so excited, I bought her a new Webkinz; we made a special trip just to buy one. The reality was, though, all she did was put the wet stuff in the dryer because I had been sick all day. I didn't care; for a 9 year old, I was beside myself with giddy. That cemented that deal for her. Erin has the laundry in the dryer now before I realize the washer has stopped. I think she's secretly hoping to get another Webkinz soon.
It's hard sometimes to watch her, though. She acts just like me. When she gets mad, she acts like me. When she's sad, she acts like me. I know how hard life can be when you are a sensitive soul. Plus, as if I'm not already ashamed of my foolish behavior, I have to explain to my child why MY behavior is unacceptable. I can't correct her behavior, because she so innocently points out, that's what I do when I'm mad. (If only they made blinders for children, I'd invest in three sets! They could be called "Not As I Do-ers".) It's like looking in a behavior mirror! I have learned to breathe before I react.
Then there's Nate. Nate is his own little personality. He wants so desperately to be Erin's best friend. And she wants so desperately for him to "go away." Nate's too big for Caleb's toys. He's too little to play with Erin's, not to mention her's are all girl toys. My heart aches for him; the middle is such a hard place to be. I've been the middle child! Does that stop Nate? No. He likes Barbies. If you ask him, his favorite color is red. But don't stop there. Ask him what other color he like. His answer--pink. This doesn't particularly make Daddy happy. Oh, and when I paint my and Erin's nails, Nate waits patiently in line, watching very intently. He doesn't seem to understand why I won't paint his nails. I'd rather not give Daddy a stroke. If it were up to me alone, I'd paint his nails with some clear polish. After all, haven't you heard of a metrosexual?!
Well, for all the testosterone Nate is short, Caleb makes up for it. He is a man's man. He seems to teem with maleness. At the tender age of two, Caleb has mastered the art of play-fighting. He prefers to watch football. And action movies. He likes anything with wheels and nothing with long, plastic legs. (Buzz Lightyear has short stumpy legs, excluding him from this category.) When he falls down, Caleb stands back up, says "Ow," brushes off, and goes about his way. Sometimes he skips the brushing off step. (Nate will scream for 30 minutes.) Best of all, though, Caleb has figured out in his short two years that men show affection with horseplay. I feel for those girls who are the objects of his first crushes; I hope they are the athletic type!
But for all their differences, they all share one thing. My kids are sweet. They will share their things and are concerned for others. They love passionately and feel deeply. They will protect and defend each other to the end, but that's part of being siblings, I'm told. To me, though, my kids are pretty special!
I look forward to seeing who they become. I somehow feel I have really only begun to know who they are.
Friday, November 12, 2010
My Love Story
Tomorrow is our 11th wedding anniversary. Wow! That's a long time, especially considering that's over a third of my life spent with the same person. It hasn't always been roses, either. We've have our share of tragedies, hardships, and fights. There have been times we weren't sure we'd make it as a couple. But, there have been plenty of great times, too. For the biggest part, we're an awesome team.
Thomas is an incredible husband! He loves me so much. He works very hard to provide for our family. He can see my great qualities, even when I can't. He is funny and loves to goof around. He is a big kid at heart and loves to cut up with the kids. And even though he won't admit it, he's a big softie! (Sorry, Babe, but you are!)
From the beginning of our relationship in high school, we have always said we wanted to grow old together, hand in hand in the rockers on our front porch. To be honest, I'd probably follow him off a bridge or into a burning house. He is my best friend! Well, he's more than just my best friend; he's my better half, my lover, my calm in the storm, my rock, my confidant, my soul mate, and all those other cliches. But to me, they aren't cliche; they are very real!
Thomas spilt a little of his aftershave in the sink the other day. It drove me nuts all day! In a good way! I just wanted him to come home from work all day long. I love the way he smells. I love the way his arms feel wrapped around me. I feel safe, protected, and secure.
So, I know this is all so sappy. But it's all true. I believe I have the best husband on Earth! And no one is going to convience me otherwise. Well, except Thomas, when I'm mad at him. But I get over it eventually, and I'm back to loving him to pieces. (Hahahaha.)
So one day early, I'll begin celebrating the best thing that has ever happed to me. Happy anniversary, Baby! I LOVE YOU MORE!! How'd I get so lucky?
Thomas is an incredible husband! He loves me so much. He works very hard to provide for our family. He can see my great qualities, even when I can't. He is funny and loves to goof around. He is a big kid at heart and loves to cut up with the kids. And even though he won't admit it, he's a big softie! (Sorry, Babe, but you are!)
From the beginning of our relationship in high school, we have always said we wanted to grow old together, hand in hand in the rockers on our front porch. To be honest, I'd probably follow him off a bridge or into a burning house. He is my best friend! Well, he's more than just my best friend; he's my better half, my lover, my calm in the storm, my rock, my confidant, my soul mate, and all those other cliches. But to me, they aren't cliche; they are very real!
Thomas spilt a little of his aftershave in the sink the other day. It drove me nuts all day! In a good way! I just wanted him to come home from work all day long. I love the way he smells. I love the way his arms feel wrapped around me. I feel safe, protected, and secure.
So, I know this is all so sappy. But it's all true. I believe I have the best husband on Earth! And no one is going to convience me otherwise. Well, except Thomas, when I'm mad at him. But I get over it eventually, and I'm back to loving him to pieces. (Hahahaha.)
So one day early, I'll begin celebrating the best thing that has ever happed to me. Happy anniversary, Baby! I LOVE YOU MORE!! How'd I get so lucky?
Monday, November 8, 2010
How time flies, whether you're having fun or not!
My goodness! It's almost Thanksgiving. I'm ready, too. For all the hustle and bustle, and people on top of more people in Wal-mart, I LOVE the holidays! Within a month's time, you are reminded of all you should be thankful for and how blessed you really are. Then, it's the biggest and oldest birthday part of the year! Think about it a moment...who else in history has had more birthdays celebrated than Baby Jesus? I want to make shirts that say, "Happy birthday, Jesus! 2039 and holding!" (If you do the math, 33 years old when He was crusified and rose again and 2010 years since then makes 2043.) I'm afraid I might offend some people, though.
I don't get it really. I'm told He is my closest friend, my best ally. But I'm also supposed to treat Him as the best Sunday china. I wouldn't treat my best friend as "Sunday china". I prefer the first name basis! I want to talk to Him and with Him like I do anyone else. Isn't that what a "personal relationship" means? I think people get stuck thinking of Christ as a 2043 year old Savior. I know He died, but He came back from the dead, remember? And He knows our trials and our temptations. All that makes me think, in some celestial way, He has aged with us. I think He would wear jeans and t-shirts with the rest of us. He would have a nice haircut that was stylish and fit in with everyone, not just one or two cliques. In 2 BC, Jesus was one of the people. I think He's the same today, one of the people.
So, not to offend anyone, but I'm sticking to my view of the holidays. (God's greatest gift to us, besides the One on the cross, was free-will, which means, you don't have to agree with me.) I'm looking forward to the upcoming festivities. I'm looking forward to another holiday season to make great memories with my children.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS!!!!! 2039 and holding! Man, you look good for your age!
I don't get it really. I'm told He is my closest friend, my best ally. But I'm also supposed to treat Him as the best Sunday china. I wouldn't treat my best friend as "Sunday china". I prefer the first name basis! I want to talk to Him and with Him like I do anyone else. Isn't that what a "personal relationship" means? I think people get stuck thinking of Christ as a 2043 year old Savior. I know He died, but He came back from the dead, remember? And He knows our trials and our temptations. All that makes me think, in some celestial way, He has aged with us. I think He would wear jeans and t-shirts with the rest of us. He would have a nice haircut that was stylish and fit in with everyone, not just one or two cliques. In 2 BC, Jesus was one of the people. I think He's the same today, one of the people.
So, not to offend anyone, but I'm sticking to my view of the holidays. (God's greatest gift to us, besides the One on the cross, was free-will, which means, you don't have to agree with me.) I'm looking forward to the upcoming festivities. I'm looking forward to another holiday season to make great memories with my children.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS!!!!! 2039 and holding! Man, you look good for your age!
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