eight

Eight years ago today

I had my smallest baby. 8 little pounds and 9 teeny ounces.
I gained a daughter.
I spent that day studying her, as I did every day for the next few weeks.
I wrote this down in my journal:

You have my hair.

May you let it down more than I did.

You have my eyes.

May you always see yourself the way I see you.

You have my hands.

May you accomplish all you dream with them.

You have my feet.

May you always walk on solid ground.

You have my ears.

May you only hear the good things people say about you.

You have your own thoughts.

May you always share them with me.


You have your own heart.

May you always keep mine close to yours.



Eight years later as I re-read that I said,

"Amen."

Dear husband III

It's almost Christmas! I know we don't do gifts for each other, but I think we should start. I mean, stuff is cool. And if you felt so inclined, the following stuff is the coolest:


#1  Sleep. The uninterrupted kind. The kind childless people get. Remember that? [insert nostalgic sigh here]

#2  A door that closes for our master bath. Because I am a fan of closed bathroom doors. Especially when I am in them.

#3   A ticket to the 21st century so I can get something fancy like a phone that is more than just a phone. It's got the Internet! A GPS! A gaming system! A personal chef! A maid! The list goes on and on.

#4  A time waster that comes in the form of an ipad. Because I am a fan of wasting time.

#5  Another home phone. Why in the crap do we have one home phone in this 3000+ square foot house? And why can I NEVER find it?

#6  A set of children that actually knows what a garbage can is and how to use it.

#7 A pair of slippers to complete my whole, "I don't get dressed anymore" look.

#8 A trip to the spa for an eyebrow wax. (have you seen me lately?)

#9 The Dogwhisperer, but for toddlers. The toddlerwhisperer. Someone to tell me what that kid wants already. ( I am so over the screaming, aren't you?)

#10 A treadmill to serve as a constant blaring reminder of my failures.

 Okay, nix number 10... I already have a mirror.

But really what I want most is for you, my dear overworked and underpaid husband to relax and enjoy this holiday season. You deserve it.

Oh and P.S. While you are relaxing and enjoying, could you make good use of your hands and give me a back rub?I mean, hey, there is a limit to my generosity.

At the table

I love family dinners.
I don't love cooking it and I certainly don't love cleaning it all up. Especially when you have a child like Porter who can, in a matter of minutes, make the kitchen floor look like it threw up and make his face, clothes and body look as if he has been slimed by one of the ghosts on ghost busters.

The real reason I love family dinners is the conversation. For example, Caleb the other day, over a dinner of baked chicken and new potatoes, announced to us that he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. We have heard some interesting announcements of his future in the past so we all perked up to hear what this would be.

"You know those guys that knock down stuff they don't like?"
"Um, Nope." I said.
"You know the ones that get in the big machines and they swing the big ball at the stores they don't like?"
"Do you mean a demolition man?"
Caleb, nodding and grinning, "Yep. That's what I am going to be."

This sparked a "Career day theme that night".
We talked about what we wanted to be when we grew up (or what we thought we would be when we were little). Then we started speculating on what Porter will be, using what we know of him now.

We thought a professional wrestler, because of his love of tackling and wrestling and mildly injuring his house mates.
We thought a food critic, due to his devotion to food.
We thought a shoe designer stemming from his OBSESSION with shoes.
We thought a sanitation engineer thanks mostly due to his over enthusiasm about throwing anything he can pick up in the garbage.
We thought impersonator, mostly due to his constant and consistent growling.
On top of whatever he actually ends up being, he will surely be a father. That we have no doubt of thanks to his supreme baby fascination.

When dinner was over and only the ghost of dishes remained, I washed them with a goofy smile on my face because...

Well, how could I not? These kids are the best dinner theater anyone could ever have.

Totally worth the price of crusty dinner dishes.

This time last year...

I had a baby:

A bald, slobbery baby who couldn't get around much and who spent his time being cuddled and biting things and drinking bottles.

Today, I have this:

A toddler.

He cries, he screams, he bites, he throws himself on the floor, he demands, he makes messes faster than all three other children combined. His idea of a good time always involves destruction in some form.

But when he is getting his way,

he is sunshine. 

He is laughter. 

He is superbaby. Supertoddler.

And we are ever thankful for those times.

No matter how rare they are occure lately.

my mind...

Today I have wondered,

- Why Oprah has a show about Michael Jackson like once a week.

- If anyone else has realized that having a toddler is like a mirror image to their idiocynracies.

- When I am going to actually get some Christmas shopping done.

- What happened to radio. Remember when there were lots of stations that played lots of music as opposed to lots of stations playing 6 six songs over and over and over.

- I also wonder who it is that likes those 6 songs.

- I wonder where my baby Jesus is. He gone and run off again. (explanation here if you are confused)

-  How people bake frequently and manage not to resemble a beached whale.


What's on your mind?