Wordless Wednesday: It's Time for Someone to Get a Job

A Letter to my son on his 18th Birthday

Before my children were born, I decided to write a letter to them when I was pregnant, one when they were born, and one every year thereafter on their birthday.

My Darling Boyo,

Oh, my baby boy.  You are an adult now.  But you are still my baby.  I hope you know that you will always be my lil guy, even as you are picking out colleges and completing your last year of high school.

I thought long and hard about what I want to tell you now that you are 18.  I still haven't quite figured it out.  I am misty eyed as I write this -- thinking about 18 year old you, the adult (who is still in high school, though, so my rules still apply) and comparing the mythical him to the very real 4 year old I dropped off at preschool today.

At four, you have such a determination about you.  Your dad calls it stubbornness.  There is some of that too, but I see it as determination.  I hope you carry that into your adult life -- the determiniation and willingness you have to finish what you start, to see it through, and to do it right.

You are also such a sweet, silly preschooler.  I hope you are still sweet and silly, that you don't lose the ability to laugh with others and at yourself -- but never at others.

You are so delighted to see me when I pick you up, and you are such a social little guy.  Your friendliness and openness, your ability and willingness to introduce yourself to people you don't know, to talk and to play with them, will get you far in life.  PLEASE don't lose that.

The day is coming soon when you will leave.  Where I will no longer be your favorite person, no longer shake you out of bed in the morning, no longer be a part of your day to day life. There will be college and a career, some tramp girl who steals your heart, children, and so much more.  Knowing that our time is limited, I weep.  And I think, "Have I taught you all you need to know?  Have I covered all the bases?  Have I done my job?  Are you ready for this life?"

So as you stand on the cusp of your adult hood, your manhood, I have some advice for you, my son.  

Be smart.  Book smart, yes.  Gut smart -- even better.  If something feels wrong, it most likely is.  Trust yourself.

Say it.  Too often, men are told that to be strong, they must be silent.  I call bullsh@# on this one.  Say what is on your mind and in your heart.  Tell people when they are right.  Tell them when are wrong.  Tell people when you are angry.  Tell people when you are happy.  Tell people when you are sad.  Communicate.  

 Don't be afraid to fight -- but fight fair.  Don't be afraid to apologize first when necessary -- it's a sign of strength, not a white flag of surrender.   I'm raising you to be a strong man -- that means not being afraid of strong women.  Remember, your mom, your sisters, and (someday) your wife are all strong women -- it takes a strong man to stand up to them (remember what I said about fighting fair).  It also takes a strong man to let them take the lead.  Not all the time, but about 50% of the time.  And be a gentleman -- a woman can be strong and still want you to hold the door open for her.

Go big.  Even if you fail.   It takes courage to try when you are facing defeat.  Fail spectacularly.  And then get it right.  But remember -- there is no such thing as perfect.  Challenge yourself. 

Live a creative life.  Be wrong.  Be bold.  Be good.  Be nice to people. Be hopeful.  Be glad.  Be happy.  Be thankful.  Take chances.  Have adventures.  See the adventures in the ordinary -- you could be missing something extraordinary by not paying close enough attention.  Be curious.  Remember you have the freedom to choose -- but you must live with the choices you make.  Make your life matter.  Make the world better than when you found it  -- it matters not if you do this through big things or little things, so long as you do it.  Remember to pray.  Work hard.  Your life is your message to the world -- what do you want to say?

Remember you can talk to me about anything.
And I will always love you,

Love,
Mom 

Wordless Wednesday: My Little Helper

I really want this bottle...

I wonder if this will make the baby shut up... 

Look Mommy!  I'm helping!

To the Man in Seat 17C...

Dear Gentleman in Seat 17C,

Thank you.  You are awesome. 

This past Thursday, I had to fly home to bury my uncle.  I was bringing my two month old along, and I was terrified because she's colic-y.  I couldn't drive because I have 3 other kids at home and a husband who could take only 1 day off. 

So I gritted my teeth and boarded the plane, my daughter shrieking in my ear.  I sat by the window for the extra two inches of space, and over a wing, hoping that the extra noise would calm/muffle my baby. 

You sat down in the aisle and smiled at me.  A geniune smile, not an oh-crap-a-baby-on-the-plane smile.  "How old?" you politely inquired.

"Two and a half months," I replied, flustered by the baby shrieking.

Your smiled broadened.  "Don't worry," you said.  "Babies cry.  She isn't going to bother me.  You are doing great."

I proceeded to rock back and forth like a maniac, since that was the only thing that would keep my daughter calm.  When a woman took the seat between us, you smiled at her as well -- the same geniune smile you had given me.

For the next hour, I rocked and hummed, fed and burped, soothed and patted.  My daughter still fussed.  You ignored us, content to go about your business.  The lady in 17B kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, sighing in a passive aggressive way that only served to elevate my stress level. 

"I'm sorry," I said, after the twentieth sigh, as I was near tears myself. "I'm doing everything I can." 

"Babies just shouldn't fly," 17B sniffed. 

Tears filled my eyes as a dozen retorts danced on my tongue.  Before I could say anything, you, Gentleman in 17C, spoke up.

"Can I buy you a drink?" you asked 17B.  "Because you really need to loosen up." 

I gave a tear filled laugh.  My baby quieted.  17B started at you, mouth agape.  You went back to your newspaper. 

The plane landed and you smiled at me again.  "You did fabulous," you told me.  "And so did your little one."  17B didn't say a word. 

So thank you, Gentleman in 17C.  You are a hero.  A Knight in Shining Armor.  A Prince Among Men.  You made me feel like an excellent mother, simply by offering to buy a stranger a drink. 

I wish good things for you.  And I hope to repay the favor to another parent some day.

Warmly,

Shannon

Girlie-isms

~

"Mom, can you do this?" she asked as she curled her tongue.

"Yup, see?" I showed her.

"No, no, no.  You have to have spit in the middle of it."

~

After she got smacked in the face by her brother's light saber (which he swears was an accident), I asked her what would make it better.  She sniffed and then said, "New shoes."

~


"Mommy, can I have chicken steak for dinnner?"

"Uh... why?"

"Cuz it has protein.  And I need it."

"Why do you need protein?"  (don't panic, people without a sense of humor.  I know my kids need protein.  I wanted to see what she would say)

"So I can have long hair.  Like Rapunzel."

~

"So I have the little Merida with the blue dress and the little Merida with the green dress.  And I have the big Merida with blue dress.  I need the big Merida with the green dress."

"Kiddo, two questions.  Why do you need four Meridas?  And how did you get three Meridas?"

"Mom.  So they are evens.  And because I'm awesome."


~

"Daddy?  I love you."

Hubs: "I love you too kiddo."

"Daddy?"

Hubs: "Yes Kiddo?"

"I farted." 

~

"When you kiss someone, that makes them your husband.  And Joshua is my husband."

Me (trying to act nonchalant): "Oh?  Did Joshua kiss you at school today?"

"No.  I kissed him." 

Dear Lord.

Wordless Wednesday: My husband is a smartass

This is what happens when your husband's slipper rips and you gave him mustache duct tape as a joke for Christmas

And Now You Are Five

My Darling Girlie,

How did you get to be FIVE?!  Where have the last five years gone?!?

I was thinking of this tonight, when you climbed into bed with me, snuggled up against me, and then stole my phone to play solitaire.  And you won!  How did you learn to play solitaire?  How did you learn to win?

Why are you growing up so fast?!

It breaks my heart that I can only vaguely remember the sweet little baby you were.  One of my most cherished memories is of wrapping you up against me in the MOBY wrap and then lying on the couch and reading a book.  You were two months old and you fell asleep, your milk-sweetened breath puffing gently on my neck.

I think of that now, as you are sleeping at my side, with your bubble gum toothpaste scented breath puffing in my face.

And I can only think -- you look like a person.  I see in you the child you are, the teenager you will become, the woman you will one day be.  And I can only barely see the baby you were.  And I weep.

You are a person.  For so long, I thought of you as a baby, my baby, an extension of me.  You are my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night.  And now I realize that you will always be my baby, but you are becoming so much more.

I realize I am quick to complain that you climb into my bed and kick me all night long.  But when I think about it, how many more sleepless, kicked fill nights are you going to give me? 

How many more days am I going to get of snuggling with you on the couch, watching a show?

How many more colored pages are are you going to create for me?

How many more school pick ups where you coming running up to me, shouting "Mommy!" and give me a big hug?

Each time these things happen, it's a gift that should be cherished as you move further away from me and more into the world.  

My time as your favorite person is limited.  And it's going too fast.

When you are a parent, your days are long.  Interminably long.  But the years... they speed by in a blink of an eye.

I want those five years back.

When I think about how impatient I was for you to roll over,sit up, crawl, walk, run, talk, go to preschool, join a sports team, I could cry.

I wish I had a time machine to go back to that new mother I was and tell her to stop.

To spend more time on the couch with a baby in her arms. 

To Slow down.

To Enjoy. 

Because one day her child will be five, and she will have no idea how it happened.  

I love you so much,

Mommy

Mommy Makes the BEST pasta

Mmmmm... PASTA!

Forks take too long!

Say Cheese!

All done!

I have a new hat!

 

I gotta cookie for dessert!

Wordless Wednesday

Someone doesn't get the point of hide and seek