Finding Our Way

In the first few months of motherhood, I started a book. It was fated to be the saddest, most depressing book known to man. I'd unequivocally come to the conclusion that what all bookstores were missing from their shelves was a book that detailed the reality of motherhood in the first few months of baby's life.  I didn't want any more What to Expect or Dr. Sears bull. I wanted real life. I wanted to detail every moment of sleeplessness and sexlessness, the breastfeeding woes, the flubby skin, the inconsolable crying, and all the damn blood. I felt called to let all expecting mothers know. I scolded my sisters for keeping it from me and quietly reevaluated who my real friends were. Did I even have any?! I knew I'd never forget any part of it, but I wrote bits and pieces down daily. I stumbled upon a shell of a book a few months ago and laughed at my blurry, sleepless fueled writing. Nobody tells you the dirty details because nobody really remembers. In the moment, they were my every thought, but even just six months later? A blur. Two years later? Forget about it.

By now, of course, we're sleeping, and all of the early woes, fears, and frustrations have disappeared, but we've hit another stage. That almost three-year-old thing. We whine, we rage, we negotiate. About everything. There's a not-so-peaceful person that resides inside of me that sometimes doesn't know if we'll make it through the day when the whining begins. And that short-fuse-kinda-anger that lives in both John and my bloodlines boils over every now and again. As Charlie continuously jabbed me with a stick while I was driving (a stick he shouldn't have had in the car...I'd clearly picked my battles that morning), and I quietly considered my patience level, he hit me right in the armpit, and I laughed - a real, honest, from my toes, you tickled me, kind of laugh. The situation immediately diffused. He was mad I was going to work; he'd been working all morning to push my buttons. I was stressed; getting both of us ready and out the door to drop him off and make it to work on time has that effect on me. But that laugh made everything disappear. He cracked up in return which only made me laugh more which only fueled his giggles. And then we talked about sticks in the car and poking people's bodies with them and decided it wasn't a great idea. Nobody got mad, he put the stick down, and there was a real understanding.

I spent too much time wishing away infancy. I'm now acutely aware this is all in fact a blip. I probably won't remember him raging about raspberries in his pancakes or crying when he didn't get rice for breakfast, and I might forget him combing my hair with a fork while I was trying to have a real conversation with my colleagues at a work lunch. But I think he'll remember my grace. I know he'll learn more from calmly communicated lessons than my frustration. And I hope we always find a way to laugh.

This Year's Love

As a pants-less Charlie bolted by us in the kitchen, John asked if this was the future I had in mind when I agreed to go on a date with him fifteen years ago today. Well, not quite.

The truth is I didn't see John coming. On Monday we coincidentally walked out the back doors of our high school together, Friday he asked me out, and fifteen years later, we just never quit. John and I finished childhood and leapt right into adulthood together. I didn't know how much we'd struggle or how happy we'd be, and I couldn't have told you John would evolve into my best friend because on the day he asked me out I didn't know his heart, his loyalty and his patience. This past year tested us in ways we couldn't have prepared for, but as we sat down just after the first of the year talking through last year's struggles and this year's goals, we undoubtedly agreed that we've never been a stronger unit. Fifteen years together, and we've hit a really good stride. Here's to a lifetime more.

Soccer Shots

My blurry, overly-fantasized version of motherhood was realized today - soccer started. Part of my vision of motherhood is games on Saturdays and practice during the week. It's cheering and supporting. Just before Christmas, we signed Charlie up for Soccer Shots in hopes of building a small bridge between life as he knows it and school in the fall. The idea of him having a coach, following directions, and sharing seemed like a step in the right direction. And sports? Forget about it. We're kinda obsessed around here. 

We got some sporty gear for the cold weather, GaGa and PaPa bought him some cleats (cleats!), and Charlie couldn't have been more ready to get to the field. Charlie-boy's a little obsessed with his clothing lately and always wants to have on just the right outfit for the next activity. Soccer class proved no different. There was a minor meltdown when he realized he didn't have an official soccer shirt (how embarrassing), but he suddenly reminded me he did indeed have one, silly mom...I left out the minor detail that the shirt was actually part of his pajamas and quickly pulled it right over his head. Crisis averted. Our sweet friend Melissa rode over with us, PaPa met us at the field, and just like that Charlie officially had the largest fan club. 

As I got him out of the car pulling his sweatshirt over his head and reminding him to listen to his coach, to ask people their names and tell them his, and to be friendly and kind, I felt myself almost losing it. Here it was. This moment where you hope you're succeeding. Yes, yes, I'm aware it's just soccer, but it was our first let go moment. I wasn't in charge. I wasn't even meant to be involved. It was my first true trust. Trust that I've prepared you for this, sweet boy. It was small, tiny actually, but the significance felt huge. John and I talk a lot lately about the weight of raising a person and who we want our boy to be at his core, and while we certainly want him to be smart and successful, ultimately, we want him to be kind. We want him to be adventurous and enthusiastic. Mostly, we want him to be a friend. And from the little, teeny tiny snapshot I got today, I'd say we're on the right track. He did it. He happily tried something completely new. He was apprehensive at first, but he followed his coach. He made new friends. He helped set out and pick up cones and collected balls at the end of practice. He stayed with Coach Jonathan until the bitterly cold end even though he was dying to go drive the steering wheel at the park. And most importantly he can't wait to go back. My heart's bursting with pride today. I cried thanking Melissa for showing up, for being there with me. And Charlie and I celebrated. We took an extra long bath and read way too much of Black Beauty and screamed GOOOOOAAAALLLLLLLLL! way too loudly way too many times while we laid in bed together.  Undoubtedly, this is just the very beginning, but it feels really great to be here. 

Holiday Cheer

We've officially hit the holiday rush. Thanksgiving week flew right by in Dallas, and we couldn't have had a better time catching up with old friends, laughing with family, and eating way way way too much delicious food. We hit a whole other level of ease with travel this year. We bounced around from house to house staying a couple nights here and a few nights there, and Charlie played his heart out every day with his sweet cousins. I think I saw him for about 10 minutes each day, maybe 14 minutes if you count the Mom-I-need-a-snacks. My siblings are my very favorite people and watching Charlie's love for them and their kids makes my heart explode. Charlie also got everyone dancing to Mr. Mistoffelees at one point or another, and it may be my favorite memory of the week. Well, it might actually be a toss-up between Mistoffelees, and Charlie's first race -the Turkey Trot. He ran his pants off, took a break, and ran his pants off some more. The kid's a natural. As we said good-bye to Dallas on Saturday, we were leaving feeling really worn out but loved and peaceful heading into the Christmas season.

And boom! Christmas crashed into us. The decorations, the tree, Santa and shopping has officially commenced, and it's so fun to have a kiddo that really gets what's going on this time of year. Charlie boy talks about Christmas from morning until night, wants to watch movies and read books purely about Christmas, and has about nine thousand questions about Santa. The story's actually a bit confusing to try to relay to a two and a half year old. We spent Sunday evening with the Wahlers clan picking out trees and Monday night decorating. Charlie's not too big on the whole decorating thing, but he loved the brownies. And every morning he's devastated that we've turned the lights off for the tree. We've been talking and reading and watching so much about Santa that I thought he was going to be more into sitting with Santa this year, but I wasn't prepared for this morning. We had to make the dreaded mall trip to knock some things off our list, and as we rode down the escalator, Santa came striding through a door and over to his big green chair. I thought Charlie was going to lose his mind. "Mom! I don't believe it. I don't believe it. Santa is at the mall!" I told him we were planning on talking to Santa tomorrow, but he had to talk to him right then and there. The vain person that lives inside me dashed into Old Navy, bought him a shirt and jumped in line. We were 10 people back, and it took a freaking hour. They were an elf short, but Santa made up for it by spending loads of quality time with each of the kids. By the time Charlie was up, he literally dashed into Santa's lap and would not stop talking. They talked for a good ten minutes about Charlie's new running shoes, if Santa has running shoes at his house, Santa's boots, Charlie's Paul Bunyan boots, Monster Trucks, Charlie's age (he's 5, by the way - we're really working on numbers over here, promise), and where Santa's sleigh was located. He just kept asking, "Where's your silly sleigh you silly old Santa?" Luckily, it was left in the North Pole, or I have no doubt we would have been on a parking lot hunt for the dang thing. When the lady came over to snap a pic, Charlie turned so serious and then eeked out this awesome smile.

This sweet boy has my whole heart. He's kind and funny and wonderfully talkative. We still have a lot to do before Christmas gets here, but gah! I can't wait.

Paul Bunyan

June 28th, 2014 may have forever altered your life, sweet boy. A day trip to Paul Bunyan Land, and poof, you're obsessed. You came back from our annual Minnesota pilgrimage in love with the giant lumberjack, and when I told you we could probably call Paul Bunyan on the phone, the love simply escalated. I, of course, called the one person I knew could jump instantly into character, your uncle Kevin, and the rest is history. We call Paul Bunyan probably weekly - we talk about calling Paul every dang day. God bless your Uncle Kevin and all his random knowledge of Mr. Bunyan and the forest.

As Halloween approached, there was never any question what you would be - Paul Bunlyan (you always add the "L"). You've been walking around pretending to be him - with an awesome deep voice - for months. We just needed the gear, and as the mailman delivered each new piece, your excitement increased exponentially. When he brought the boots? Shoot. They haven't left your feet. The neighbors loved you. And me? Well, I could have just eaten you up. Joy bounces out of you, and it's wonderfully contagious.

Our hearts were so full tonight watching you (each new house was a new adventure), and the church carnival we ended up at was perfection - friends, games, a band, candy, and a playground. We couldn't have asked for anything better. Life's better because of you. Happy Halloween, bud.

Back to Center

Five years ago, I was bawling my eyes out watching the only storm of the summer roll through the hill country certain our day was ruined.

With the ceremony moved inside and my dad promising the florist he'd buy an entire freaking field of flowers if that's what it took to decorate the new space, John and I took a moment to come back to center. Because this day wasn't about venues, flowers, or the weather. It was about us. It was about all the people who'd made it a priority to be there for us. To support us. To love us. 

September 12th will forever remain my favorite day - the day we committed to being a forever family. The day I became a wife. Every year at this time, John and I take some time to come back to center. Come back to where we started. It was such a beautiful beginning.  And while we're not Greek, this quote motivates our yearly centering. 

"We Greeks get married in circles, to impress upon ourselves the essential matrimonial facts: that to be happy you have to find variety in repetition; that to go forward you have to come back to where you began." - Middlesex

I'll always be grateful to those who stood with us on the day we began. I've never felt more loved. Here's to a million more, Boss. There's nobody better than you. Nobody crazier. Nobody funnier. Nobody that loves me better. 

Magic

Our days have been filled with magic the last couple of weeks. Maybe it's because summer is winding down or maybe we've finally hit the deliriously hot portion of the year, and we need these little bits of magic to keep us sane. Whatever the reason these moments are firing rapidly at us right now, I'll take it. And cherish every single bit.

Your oldest cousins and aunt Jen came to visit last week, and the magic began. Having those two kids around is good for my soul. They're kind and smart and really (really!) funny. They're always up for an adventure and make our days so sweet. You're completely smitten with both of them, and they play with you oh-so well. If they'd just move in next door, we'd really have it made. Jackson taught you a bit of magic while he was here. After eating breakfast, the three of you climbed in your crib (one of your latest obsessions is to pile your bed full of people) and talked and laughed for a good 30 minutes. Jackson started pretending to grab his eyeballs with his hands, close his eyes, put his "eyeballs" in his mouth and chew them around and then spit them back into his hands, push them back into his eye sockets and open his eyes. Magic! He was certain you were duped. I was too, actually, until the day after they left I looked back in the car and you, with closed eyes and a chomping jaw, said, "Look, Mama! I ate my eyeballs!" Maybe you're magic too.

Your dad had a conference to go to for work, and this time we got to tag along. It's the first time we've taken a trip truly just the three of us. And it was your first time at a hotel. Your dad headed up early to get registered and checked in, so we road tripped down to San Antonio after nap, and while it was so nice of your dad to get everything settled for us, I wish we could have all arrived together so someone else could have first-hand witnessed your excitement. The only thing you know about hotels is that your cousins Jake and Hudson stay at one when they come to Austin, and you think that's cool, but you have no idea what the word hotel really means. When we drove up to this place you were shocked. "That the hotel, Mama?!" I tried to explain to you that not all hotels are that gigantic (or have waterslides), but I'm pretty sure this is your status-quo now. We stepped off the elevator (or the alligator as you called it all weekend), and you shouted, "OH. MY. GOSH. Mama, this is a hotel!" I think it might have been the carpet that got you so excited, but I really can't be sure. You hit the ground running wondering if every brown door was our brown door. We headed immediately for the pools, and it was a little fish's heaven. There were pools and water slides and a lazy river, and I think you could have just moved right in. You went down the water slides without hesitation and were so enthused by every little thing. We swam way past your bedtime and then headed up for bath and room service. You thought it was down-right hilarious that some man came in your room with a cart full of dinner, "Oh thank you, man. Thank you for my dinner!" He wasn't sure quite what to do with the pants-less child running after him. You slept like a champ on a roll-away, and my absolute highlight was finding you standing by my bed in the morning. I said, "Hi, buddy. You're awake. Wanna jump in my bed?" to which you immediately hopped up and started repeating, "Thank you, Mama. Thank you for saving a pillow for me in your bed. I love it." Every part of our mini-vacation was filled with so much love and excitement, and I cannot wait to take you back there someday, especially when your dad can really hang with us. We had way too much fun.

Yesterday we ran into Santa at the grocery store. Sorry to bury the lead. I guess I should have started the magic there. We were waiting in line to use our "Buddy Bucks," and this plump, white-bearded, jolly fellow walked up and gave you and the girl ahead of you five extra Buddy Bucks. You couldn't believe it. You said, "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" about a million times, and when he went back to grab his groceries from his cart in line you continued to shout, "THANK YOU!" across the aisle to him. He walked back over and pulled out a drivers license-looking card that had a picture of him dressed as Santa and his North Pole address. You were a bit confused until he handed you a coin and read aloud the inscription, "I caught you being good." You were so excited that Santa thought you were a good boy. And I was so thankful he reinforced your sweet behavior. The girl in front of us grabbed the buddy bucks out of his hand while her mom looked on annoyed. He didn't give her a coin. And we got to have a really good conversation about manners because of it. Magic, sweet boy. We're surrounded by magic.

And last, but certainly, not least - you asked to call your GiGi and then later your dad to tell them about your Santa encounter, and after we got off the phone with your dad I asked if there was anyone else you'd like to call and tell before we started bedtime stuff. You said, "Paul Bunyan." What??? I kept my cool and called your uncle Kevin, of course. He played right along talking about his blue ox, Babe, and chopping down trees. You were wide-eyed and glowing the entire conversation. You asked him how his cave was (no idea what you're talking about here) and used every moment possible to say Paul Bunyan, "Hello, Paul Bunyan. I'm Charlie, Paul Bunyan. You live in your cave, Paul Bunyan? Goodnight, Paul Bunyan." I'm certain we'll be calling Paul Bunyan on heavy rotation now that it's an option. Your uncle's gonna have to do some serious research. He's got the voice down pat though, so that's a good start. I'm pretty sure you think this is exactly how the world works - joy, love and laughter. I wouldn't have it any other way. It's magic.