Three!

A three year old. Holy smokes. We're living with a dang three year old. Most days I can't even believe it. On the tantrumy, whiny or days peppered with "whyyyy?" I realize very much that we've arrived, but most days, I can't believe you're ours and you're already three. I'm grateful for three - grateful for your language, problem-solving, interaction with familiar friends and your ability to make friends when we're out and about. Your dad and I talked so much about traits we wanted you to have during pregnancy - always settling on adventurous, kind, and funny, and this year you've proved you're all of those things and so so so much more.

Last month, we geared up to head back to the dentist for your bi-annual cleaning, and while you loved the tiny kids' door, the games and the themed rooms, you were apprehensive about going back. As we walked through the doors, you still weren't quite sure this was a great idea, but when the hygienist called us back, you willingly followed, and I fell behind y'all and listened to you chat with her, answering questions about your shoes, your favorite color and superheroes. By the time we got to the room, you climbed right up in the chair, put on the sunglasses to shield your eyes, and let her start in on a real cleaning. I weirdly felt myself quietly falling apart. How the heck did I have a kid that was old enough to lay there so calm, cool and collected a get his freaking teeth cleaned all while chatting with the hygienist? I choked back tears and thought about all the ways you'd proved your independence in the last year - soccer, school tours, park moments and now the dentist. Every time you engage in a "regular" conversation asking questions, answering and carrying on, I find myself a little dumbfounded. I guess this is what growing up looks like - very slowly becoming less of the equation. That night I talked with your dad about your agreeable nature. It's not that you never protest or ask for more time when you're doing something you want to do, but mostly, you go with the flow. You're happily ready to do whatever comes next. You have a definite backbone (which I hope you hold firmly to), but mostly, you're laid-back and easy-going. Three years ago, I didn't know this would be something I'd value so much in you, but it's been firmly added to the list - adventurous, kind, funny and agreeable. Let's hope it sticks.

These past years have been a slow shift from playing around other kids to playing with kids and now to seeking out friends. At the park last week, we were playing when you eyed an older boy, Wyatt, playing one of your favorite games: hide and seek. You immediately rushed over and hid with him while his grandma searched for her boy. When she stumbled upon the two of you, you broke into giggles and quickly suggested, "let's do it again!" You and Wyatt took off in different directions, and when he called after you to come to the tunnel, you yelled back, "No. Come on! I've got the perfect place!" Wyatt was sold (either by your enthusiasm or your assertiveness), and the two of you sat underneath the playground equipment quietly chatting about your awesome spot as you asked him his name and age, told him yours and gushed that you "reeeeally like playing this game." I wanted to sneak in and record every word of your conversation. After that round, you eagerly darted my way ready for a drink as Wyatt called out, "Hey! Charlie! Will you be my friend?!" Turning around with your hands on your hips and face beaming, you happily accepted, and my heart jumped right into my throat. The two of you were thick as thieves for the next hour. Watching you make friends and seeing other little humans appreciate your nature leaves me in total awe. You're magnetic.

In the months to come, you're starting school, bidding adieu to your pacifiers (gasp) and will undoubtedly embark on so many more tiny adventures that feel like gigantic milestones. We can't wait to walk through all of it with you. You fill us with gratitude. Always and forever. You're a real kid. A really awesome little person.

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.