I had to share:

Also? It’s laundry day! And my intimate relationship with all-the-unmatched-socks-in-the-entire-world is very fresh. Fresh and frustrating.

Seriously though – I will duct-tape clothing to my kids. You?

No, I’m talking about Boxers vs Briefs and Oliver is officially Team Boxers.

We shelpt all over the place looking for them in his size. Gap (not outlet stores) sells them in 4T … which is his size but they look like they’d fit a teenager. And boxer-briefs are not ok. He needed the real deal, like dad.

Turns out Walmart sells them in 2T-3T size … so I bought every package they had on the shelf. After the Gap ordeal (bought them, but they were too big) there were so many tears about underwear. So. Many. Tears.

You know what? Screw it. I’ve decided to pick my battles as a parent and this one didn’t matter. He wants boxers; he’s potty trained, not wetting the bed, still naps for me every day and is a happy guy. Done.

I also bought a new SD card for new camera and turns out that it didn’t go well.

As you can see I did finally got the photos off the card and we had a great time yesterday celebrating Jessica’s seventh birthday.

She got: money!, a skate board, a wallet, candy, blank shoes and fabric markers (she’s a fashion designer in her spare time), a puzzle, a joke book, some clothes, a sled for school and some accessories. I also hid 7 birthday cards around the house, her school locker, in her classroom and book-bag and in her gifts.

She plans on buying a Nintendo DSlite with her money, she’s been saving for one for more than a year now and she woke up early this morning to go in the basement and practice her skateboarding.

The mermaid cake was fun to do – I freehanded the shapes: there’s a mermaid, crab and a fish. We made a huge batch of white frosting, used sprinkles for the crab and fish then make a peach and a green for the mermaid. Licorice for hair, colored M&M’s for the tail, eyes and “shells”.

We served Tacos at her request but I also made these fish tacos, with tilapia, that were to die for. Mexican pop for the kids and Margarita’s for the adults.

A great night, indeed. I cannot believe I have a seven year old.

But for the kids? It feels like magic for a day. The day to celebrate their entrance in our family, in this story we’re writing as Life. It’s my favorite day to cater to and announce the coming personality of the year.

I try to pay attention to the likes and wants of each child around their birthday knowing their attention span for “wants” is very short. I try to realize as many as I can that also cater to their growing talents and list of interests.

Last year: a tea set and harmonica sent her into a frenzy of giggles. She felt like we “got her” and I so totally do.

When she turned 2 I filled a chunk of our living room with balloons for her so she could wake up and walk through a sea of dangling strings, light bouncing off purple, orange and green helium surprises.

When she turned 5 we took her to Disney world to meet Ariel.

Now at (almost) 7 we’re having a sleepover and talking about getting our ears pierced. Soon to be interested in texting (she already pretends to text her friends), soon to be getting her first video game – she still has room for a mermaid cake. She’s still requesting her favorite, tacos, for the menu and we’re still going to giggle and stay up late, eating licorice and popcorn and sleeping on the floor.

There just might be room for more balloons, a little more magic to celebrate our Artist-Rock-Star-Veterinarian-Poet-Love-Child.

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

She is so amazing.

One of the items on my Life List is to throw a huge party for Aaron’s 30th, 40th, and 50th birthdays. Last year came and went with little to no fanfare and this year? I’m making good on my list. Except the “huge” part of this party is going to be a bunny hill and the bruises on our asses.

When it comes around to his 40th I’m pretty sure he’ll thank me for this because by then I’ll have teenagers and throwing a party will be EXACTLY what I need to do with my time. Throwback to “The O.C” anyone? Anyone?

This is the year of traditions methinks because this is the year I’ve started them. Or repeated them? We got the kids new jammies for story time with the animals at Great Wolf Lodge (slippers included), I baked cookies, we cut a tree down, my daughter decorates it while I string the lights and the boys go to the hardware store.

And last night – we celebrated “fancy” as my daughter would say. Then we broke off and took each kid shopping for the other before bed. A tradition I can’t wait to repeat.

Part of the hopeless-romantic side of me longs for habitual, sturdy and repetitive family memories because as a child there are few for me and as a mom I hope there are many.

SO – Happy Birthday Aaron! I love the way we dream together.

xoxo!

My life often looks like this – I see it as beautiful chaos. There’s a little bit of all of us on this table – bright colors, papers and cords notwithstanding. This is the heart of this house, a table with 2 extra leaves. Chairs for dinner, homework and a quiet cup of tea.

A place to hang our coats and bags. To set our favorite lovies down for a rest. A place to get the glue out, paint all over and leave our scraps for the imaginary bears.

Art-work. Home-work. Work.

I give myself (and my daughter) extra time together on the days my son is in daycare. On these days we have a cushion of precious minutes to spend together. Just the two of us. A needed remedy to a life of overlapping forgetfulness. Nomadic folks that we are, we often squish everything we can into any moment and having unplanned and open hours to spend how we’d like? Gold.

This was today – these moments. The moments I could sit and stare at her smile, even better? The moments she freely did.

There are entirely too many cut outs of pills and medication type bottles on this little school craft. Also some weird looking food items, apparently we’re thankful for only the tips of people’s boots and well, Susan Sarandon?

1. The pills and Fish Oil. Neither of which she takes, ever. Once in a while we have kid vitamins and she doesn’t see Aaron or I taking pills daily either. I am so confused. Maybe she’s thankful for health?

2. Shoes (tip of a boot). I’m thinking that the school needs more magazines.

3. This is a Turkey. And when you don’t know it’s a turkey it sure does look like a talking penis.

4. A boy and girl about to make-out. With almost no clothes on. This is where we’ll be able to point one day and know, for sure, that this was where we went drastically wrong. According to her – she’s thankful for Mom and Dad. (Points to this picture.) So I guess we need to be more careful about making out near bodies of water in our swim suits. On the plus side: affectionate naked people = mom and dad. So ….

5. Susan Sarandon. I just. I don’t know. With a milk mustache, no less. She pointed to this and said “I’m thankful for mom”. Susan, you are every child’s mother apparently. Because I don’t drink milk (never have, not once.), my hair is dirty blonde and very straight and I’m well on this side of 50. I do smile though, I’m glad she saw those eyes and thought … hmmm, my mom is happy and I like my mom. (I’m taking a liberty there.)

She’s also very, very thankful for pizza. Berries, flowers, oranges and water.

And motorcycles.

She has a dream of motor-crossing some day. Her dad did inline skating, so of course she chooses a hobby with bigger wheels and an entire motor.

Yep, that’s my girl.

Who remembers this? The awful day in kindergarten, almost exactly one year ago, that I forgot to show up for my kid.

I hadn’t been thinking about that because lately I’ve made it a priority to change my calendar in order to be there consistently for both of my kids. Helping in school and on field trips, involving each other in their siblings classroom. Snacks! Treats! Signing up to volunteer!

And you know what? I really like it. Like, I love it-like it.

I ran to a fabric store this morning because I had this idea to surprise my daughter with a special shirt for The Turkey Bowl at school before Thanksgiving break. I kind of fell through on the “50′s” themed day with a poodle skirt and I refuse to be the mediocre reason my kid never expects a higher standard from me.

Problem is on my way to check out I ran through the days in my head and felt my stomach drop when I realized today is Thursday and the Turkey Bowl is on Thursday.

I can’t even explain to you the colors of red I saw at that realization. Completely disappointed in myself for not being on top of this.

I bought the supplies any way. I needed to. I was proving something to myself and buying that fabric and the blank t-shirts meant I would be ready the next time.

***************

So when I picked her up this afternoon and she announces that TOMORROW IS THE TURKEY BOWL {!!!!!!!!!!}, I had redemption.

I was planning on staying up late to sew this together after my mom and {step}dad went home (we had them over for dinner tonight) but then got to talking to my mom about it and excitedly showing off my fabrics when she told me of a short cut. (Iron-on no-sew. I am in love. I even had some, miraculously, saved from all the moving and purging.)

So in less than 15 minutes I had this shirt made for my daughter. It’ll be waiting for her with a big breakfast for the athlete tomorrow morning.

You guys???? YOU GUYS!

I’m being the mom I want to be and there’s something incredibly freeing in knowing how.

These are the tests that proved our daughter was on her way.

And I knew when we heard “It’s a girl!” and the moments that followed that I had just given birth to the best parts of myself.

This little whisper of love. The beauty in innocence formed. She was our miracle.

This morning in church she sat with us, which is half normal and half coincidental. We listened to our pastor teach to us about the words we speak – and their power over others, ourselves … and in God.

It’s been a long time since I’ve talked openly about this kind of thing because, to be completely honest, I’ve been struggling.

But words get me. Talking about how words work – that speaks to me. And it was really nice to feel connected this morning, but it gets better.

Later on this evening I sat down with my daughter and asked her what she thought of this morning. She was pretty interactive throughout the service, raising her hand and announcing that SHE WAS A KID IN THE AUDIENCE when asked. She was her, which is always amazing.

Our pastor touched on the death in words – and how we probably all have a pinpointed moment in our lives when we could tell you when negativity was spoken to us … that we ended up believing. Or struggling with. Or carrying around for the rest of our lives.

I have many of those moments, from others, myself … strangers, I carry daily. I beat myself up and I measure myself against the apparent failure in the statements meant to cut me. Problem is, I’m still bleeding.

I asked my daughter if she had any of those moments in her life, knowing full well I probably have been one of the mouths in the lineup of her little life.

Ashamed and angry for knowing this before asking and hurt when she confirmed it, not for myself -but because I know the power of a parents words on your life. Healing and yet at times they’re a life sentence to the person you’ll never be.

She got serious and completely, beautifully honest and said to me: I try to tell you but you won’t listen; you have to be careful with words because they’re just like tooth paste – when you say them, you can’t put them back.

Broken. I probably carry around more of the words I’ve ill-spoken to my kids in frustration, anger, impatience than they do but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still carrying them, too.

Parenting is. not. easy. Or cute or always fun. It’s not a hobby, it’s not something I’ll do for just today. It’s forever. It is a dedication. It is selflessness to it’s core. It’s never about you, always about them. It’s what you are for the rest of your life. It’s often painful and unrewarding. It can break relationships – even the ones it fosters and it can be a death of it’s own right.

But it’s sacred and honorable. It’s beautiful in all the wrong places. It’s raw. It’s human. It’s viral, at times.

At the end of it all, the memories I know I carry are words. Moments. Phrases.

The most impactful life moments have a picture and a smell but more-so they have a sentence spoken into me. Over me. For me. By my parents, the teachers I trusted, friends who truly loved me (some who never did) and the trail and error of finding out what love really was and is.

It’s a Charge to become a parent and I’m amazingly blessed to be one to this girl. This girl who, against all odds, loves me for me … all of me, even the rotten, crabby and sometimes mean-spoken me. She adores it.

I’m not worth even that but I’ll go forward trying to meet the mark.

Love,
Mom

Like her mama, she’s an early adapter to all things emotional. The girl loves to feel in-love. At 6. This scares the shit out of me. So one day I’m going to tell her these things:

It’s ok to fall in love and please fall freely and without holding back. Do not, however, compromise yourself in doing so.

If you don’t respect your own body, mind and soul you’ll be teaching everyone else that there’s no need for them to either.

True love does last and if he’s not willing to fight for you, it was never real.

Know your boundaries and by all means take good care of them.

You might find what you’re looking for on the first go around with love – the first being when you’re 30. Ehum.

Take advantage of learning how to really live to your fullest while you can.

Without communication you might lose something you’ll never get back.

If he loves you like your Daddy does, you’ll be a princess for the rest of your life.

Most importantly: when it hurts … and one day it will … I will be here, waiting.

Love,
Mom