"A daughter is a mother’s gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self. And mothers are their daughters’ role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships."
Happy Mother's Day to my kind-hearted, sweet, quiet, thoughtful, wonderful mama. She taught me to appreciate funny, outdoorsy men who actually help around the house, the exciting world of books & reading (I became a writer thanks, in part, to her), short hair, the value of a secret (though this lesson was a hard one for me), comfortable shoes, chowmein hot dish, the beauty of minimal (usually silver) jewelry, antiques (though not her creepy dolls with the real hair, cracked faces and little white teeth), shopping for good deals, and Hall & Oates. We have the same opinions about religion, politics, certain family members, and Gena Davis (she bugs us). I turn my back while changing in the locker room because I am modest, just like she is. I clear my throat like she does. I have her hair color, skin tone, long fingers, and monkey feet. We like the same books, movies (romantic comedies and Victorian or Renaissance -era flicks), music (we saw Prince together in concert and it was my mom who actually got me hooked on the Dixie Chicks), and food (nothing too exotic or spicy). We both prefer white wine over red, classic over trendy, Robert Redford over George Clooney. We laugh easily when we're together. There are never awkward moments between us. I have never felt annoyed by her, or frustrated, and if we've ever been in a fight, it must've been something silly, because I can't remember it now.
She taught me to have an open mind. "Never use the hurtful word fat," she'd comment. “Say overweight.” She told my brothers not to make fun of overweight kids, rationalizing: “Do you think they want to be overweight? Do you think they wouldn’t give anything to have your metabolism and wear the same size you wear? Do you think they wouldn’t trade places with you in a heartbeat if it meant they could be skinny?” She taught me to accept everyone—no matter their age, race, religion, or sexual orientation. She’d say things like, “Why do people think homosexuality is a choice? Why would you choose a life that’s full of obstacles, a life that's not socially acceptable? That doesn't make any sense.” She taught me that it's not OK when a man talks down to a woman. That if you respect your significant other, you won't degrade them. Ever.
I realized, for the first time, how much I leaned on her when I was a freshman in college suffering from my first (and only) migraine headache, lying in my dark dorm room with a wet washcloth on my forehead (after running down the hall to puke in the community bathroom). At that moment I wanted her there with me. I wanted her cold, soothing hands on my throbbing forehead. I wanted her to calm me with the reassuring phrase that everything would be OK. If growing up meant being sick and alone (and taking care of myself), I didn’t want to grow up. I wanted to stay safe in her world forever.
I wish my mom could see herself as others see her. She's too hard on herself about her weight, her job, her social skills. (She says she's envious of my outgoing personality; while I'm envious of her ability to refrain from gossip and not insert Foot In Mouth). She's so incredibly MODEST, about her natural good looks, her intelligence, her witty sense of humor, her patience, her independent attitude, her strong feminist ideals. There are few people who have that kind of modesty today. She's not only modest, she's a genuinely good person—one of the kindest souls I know—constantly doing for others, never looking for anything in return. Add to her list: good listener, advice-giver, travel companion, cook, gardener, and home-decorator. She's equally adored as a wife, daughter, sister, mom, mother-in-law, grandma, friend and coworker. I know because I've been told as much by my relatives.
My relationship with her entered a whole new level after I became a mom myself. There's this new intensity that comes along with sharing the experience of motherhood. I understand and appreciate the sacrifices she made for us, and I feel this connection with her over how much we love Adam. She doesn't try to tell me what to do, or make me feel guilty, or criticize my mothering skills. She is sincere and positive, supporting me, and taking care of me (all new moms need to be mothered a little), and offering up constructive suggestions—but only when asked for advice. There are so many reasons she's not only my mom, but my friend ... I only hope I can do as good a job raising my children as my mom did raising her own.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Who's so big?
I love this stage of Adam's development. He's not high-maintenance (meaning he still immobile so I don't have to worry about bumps and falls), he wakes up with a huge smile on his face and keeps smiling throughout the day, he still likes traveling and going places and meeting new people (not that he has a choice), he makes us laugh with his animated expressions and his funny faces, and he still likes to cuddle, especially right before bed.
I know some day he'll push away from me when I try to hug him, so I constantly smother him with hugs and kisses and take advantage of the fact that he can't roll his eyes and tell me to "STOP IT MOM."
He does "So big" now (on cue), and babbles all the time and sings along to the radio (in his own language), and sits without support, and rolls both ways, but doesn't scoot or creep or crawl just yet. Aaron has tried to "teach" Adam to crawl by putting him on his stomach, propping him up in the crawling "stance," then holding onto his chubby little thighs and imitating the back-and-forth crawling motion, but Adam isn't really into the lessons. After about 15 seconds, he does a face plant and cries out in frustration and immediately rolls onto his back. We've tried putting toys just out of his reach and he'll ignore the toys and play with his toes instead. I'm not too worried. I figure he'll start crawling when he's ready.
His favorite book is a dog book from Tonya that has soft fuzzy pages he can pet, and now he thinks every book is like this and tries to pet them all.
He loves my mom & dad's cat, Pip, and his face lights up when we say "Where's the kitty?" We do this sometimes when the cat is nowhere near us, and now that I think of it, that's probably kind of mean, like asking a kid "When is Santa coming?" when it's only June. He also loves his Aunt Trish and Uncle Shawn's dog Bella, who is extremely good with him. (Can't say the same for Pip, who is always a split second away from attacking.)
Adam's talent is how fast he can suck down an 8 oz. bottle. He can down a bottle in less than five minutes. I am not surprised. His dad won a beer-drinking contest in college.
He loves eating Stage 1 vegetables, but doesn't like any of the Stage 2 fruits. Isn't that weird? He'd rather eat squash, peas, or carrots than bananas, peaches, or applesauce. I was so excited to give him applesauce for the first time and his face was a look of pure agony. I laughed so hard I cried.
He sleeps through the night, in his own crib. He doesn't always like to go to bed (Ok, almost never) but once he does fall asleep, he (usually) stays asleep from around 8 p.m. to around 6 a.m.
We're finally going to finally have him baptized at St. Mark's. We looked into it after Sunday's service. Better late than never.
Oh yeah, we also had our first Water Babies class through community ed. So far he has learned the backstroke, butterfly, and crawl stroke. He will learn diaphragmatic breathing techniques next week. (If you think I'm serious, I also have some prime Florida swampland to sell you.)
I know some day he'll push away from me when I try to hug him, so I constantly smother him with hugs and kisses and take advantage of the fact that he can't roll his eyes and tell me to "STOP IT MOM."
He does "So big" now (on cue), and babbles all the time and sings along to the radio (in his own language), and sits without support, and rolls both ways, but doesn't scoot or creep or crawl just yet. Aaron has tried to "teach" Adam to crawl by putting him on his stomach, propping him up in the crawling "stance," then holding onto his chubby little thighs and imitating the back-and-forth crawling motion, but Adam isn't really into the lessons. After about 15 seconds, he does a face plant and cries out in frustration and immediately rolls onto his back. We've tried putting toys just out of his reach and he'll ignore the toys and play with his toes instead. I'm not too worried. I figure he'll start crawling when he's ready.
His favorite book is a dog book from Tonya that has soft fuzzy pages he can pet, and now he thinks every book is like this and tries to pet them all.
He loves my mom & dad's cat, Pip, and his face lights up when we say "Where's the kitty?" We do this sometimes when the cat is nowhere near us, and now that I think of it, that's probably kind of mean, like asking a kid "When is Santa coming?" when it's only June. He also loves his Aunt Trish and Uncle Shawn's dog Bella, who is extremely good with him. (Can't say the same for Pip, who is always a split second away from attacking.)
Adam's talent is how fast he can suck down an 8 oz. bottle. He can down a bottle in less than five minutes. I am not surprised. His dad won a beer-drinking contest in college.
He loves eating Stage 1 vegetables, but doesn't like any of the Stage 2 fruits. Isn't that weird? He'd rather eat squash, peas, or carrots than bananas, peaches, or applesauce. I was so excited to give him applesauce for the first time and his face was a look of pure agony. I laughed so hard I cried.
He sleeps through the night, in his own crib. He doesn't always like to go to bed (Ok, almost never) but once he does fall asleep, he (usually) stays asleep from around 8 p.m. to around 6 a.m.
We're finally going to finally have him baptized at St. Mark's. We looked into it after Sunday's service. Better late than never.
Oh yeah, we also had our first Water Babies class through community ed. So far he has learned the backstroke, butterfly, and crawl stroke. He will learn diaphragmatic breathing techniques next week. (If you think I'm serious, I also have some prime Florida swampland to sell you.)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Sometimes you have to sink before you swim
I love our friends, and I love watching our friends become parents. And now that I am also a parent, I love watching HOW my friends parent. Obviously, everyone adapts to his or her new role (because really, what’s the alternative?), but some adapt more effortlessly than others.
Take, for instance, our friends Holly & Kevin out in Green Bay. They have four kids under the age of five (on purpose!) and they make it seem so easy. First came Chloe, then 14 months later came Autumn, then along came Lilly, and most recently Quinn arrived to help balance out all that estrogen. We try to visit our friends at least once a year, and we’re always amazed at how ridiculously well behaved their kids are. I suppose some of this could be luck, or genetics, but I attribute it mostly to Holly & Kevin’s awesome parenting.
A little background:
When Holly was in high school her dad committed suicide. I don’t know all of the details, but I do know he was depressed over the prospect of Holly’s mom leaving him. I don’t know why she threatened to leave, and I don’t know if he had some sort of genetic chemical imbalance that could’ve been helped with antidepressants. I don’t even know the kind of relationship Holly had with her dad. Regardless, I have to imagine that losing your dad in such a tragic way has to affect your personality and your outlook on life, and I wonder if that’s part of the reason Holly is so good (and timely) about telling her friends and family how much she loves and cares about them. She understands better than many the fragility of life—and how fleeting it can be—and therefore takes absolutely nothing for granted.
Holly is also one of the hardest workers I know (and I know some hard workers). She got where she is today by working 60-hour weeks during college summers off—I don’t think she took out a single student loan—and once we were back in those little dorm rooms, she regularly skipped out on house parties in order to study. She never lost sight of her long-term goal to become a pharmacist. She worked harder than any other 18-year-old I had ever met, and still has that strong work ethic today as a night shift pharmacist at a GB hospital.
Kevin was a police officer before an on-the-job accident abruptly ended his career. He was responding to a high priority call when his squad car was hit on the passenger side, flipping the car onto its roof. Kevin, trapped in the car, suffered from head trauma (thankfully it was mild), lacerations, and a fractured rib and pelvis—which are all bad enough—but the worst injury was to his left hand, which was pinned under the car. Surgeons had to reattach a tendon and perform skin grafts in order to get his hand (somewhat) functional again. He needed several months of occupational therapy, but—being a leftie—could no longer shoot his gun, sadly putting an end to his days on the “force.” I think he refers to it as being “medically retired” from his police position. His friends may refer to it as “Lucky SOB gets to collect a disability paycheck without punching a time clock.” He still works, though, just not in uniform. He’s now his own boss as a stay-at-home dad. The setup works for now, but once Quinn heads off to school, Kevin has mentioned trying to get a teaching degree.
Holly and Kevin have been married for almost ten years and their relationship is rock solid. I know they have disagreements about how to spend their money, and I know they argue about stupid shit just like any other normal couple, but there's a certain chemistry there and a certain cohesiveness. They just fit.
Holly is extremely smart (the girl retains everything, she’s like a sponge), naturally beautiful (and modest, too, which makes her even more pretty), kind, outgoing, thoughtful, laidback, generous, and just a little bit on the quirky side. I love her sense of humor.
Kevin is equally smart—though just in different subjects—and handsome, athletic, down-to-earth, likable, social, kind, funny, nonjudgmental (unless you’re a Vikings fan), and always willing to lend a hand. The guy has tons of creative ideas on how to save a buck, whether through conventional means (eBay, discount retailers, coupons, sales racks, cashing in his kid’s pop can tabs) or unconventional means.
Once, when he was going considerably faster than the posted speed limit—with Aaron in the car—they passed a police officer and Kevin smiled and waved enthusiastically.
“Who was that?” Aaron asked.
Kevin shrugged his shoulders. “I just waved like I knew him so he wouldn’t pull me over.”
And it actually worked.
Kevin also shamelessly flirted with the maternity ward nurses in order to get extra formula samples after his kids were born.
And that worked, too.
We love them and we love their kids. Chloe is articulate and bright and funny and sweet and the spitting image of her mom. She radiates energy and confidence, and seems to be strong-willed and independent like Holly, too.
When my good friend Jodi babysat for the girls (while Kevin was recovering from his accident and Holly had to return to work), Chloe insisted on putting on her two-piece swimsuit without Jodi's help. When she joined the group outside by the plastic pool, her suit appeared to have a huge hole in the butt. Weird, Jodi thought, she must’ve ripped it somehow. Since they were in the backyard of a residential area, she didn’t ask her to change. Only later, when Jodi was helping Chloe take off her wet suit, did she realize that Chloe had worn the bottom of her two-piece as the top half, and the top part of the two-piece as the bottom, thus explaining the perfectly circular hole.
Autumn is a total and complete sweetheart. Unlike her go-go-go big sister, she’s about as laidback as they come (the first time she met my parents, she plopped herself down on my mom’s kitchen rug as a signal that she wanted her diaper changed. She didn’t care who changed her and she didn’t care that she was in a strange house. I think she was two at the time). Her charming personality instantly catapults her from a cute kid to the CUTEST KID EVER. She won me over, at the age of 3, when she asked me to paint her toes. She climbed up onto my lap (I was sitting outside at a patio table) and propped her chubby little foot up on the table, liking me enough to:
A) Voluntarily sit on my lap
B) Try to make her toes actually look pretty (anyone who knows me knows I’m not very good with nail polish. Or hair braids. Or makeup, come to think of it.)
Every time I brushed one of Autumn’s miniature toenails with the purple polish, she’d giggle and say, “Tickles!” before nuzzling her head into my neck. Maybe it tickled because I was getting most of the polish on her toes rather than her toenails.
The last time we visited, soft-spoken Autumn took to Aaron. Before he got up one morning, she showed me a Valentine she had made at school, and in a semi-whisper, said to me, “We HAVE to show this to Aaron. He is going to freak out.”
Thankfully Aaron played along, feigning shock and surprise when she approached him with the googley-eyed paper heart with pipe cleaner arms and legs.
Delicate little Lilly is absolutely adorable, with pinchable chipmunk cheeks and big round eyes. I don't really know her personality (yet), if only because the last few times we’ve been to visit she was just a baby, doing typical baby things. It seems, though, that she marches to the beat of her own drum. And I know she really likes to eat. She even ate a worm once.
We have yet to meet Quinn. He arrived March 1, 2007, five months before Adam’s rent was up on his temporary home, and we just haven’t found the time, or made the time, to head out there for a weekend.
We miss our friends.
I love how Holly & Kevin parent their kids. They have the financial means to spoil them rotten, but they don’t. (I have seen some spoiled kids, and these kids are far from it.) They don’t use control tactics, but rather serve as role models of respect—being firm, setting appropriate limits, and establishing consequences. They know when to step in and when to step back. They don’t always rescue their kids, which, in my opinion, make them better parents than those who constantly interfere and, ultimately, become helicopter parents of either clueless or completely entitled kids (sometimes both). Their kids learn independence. They learn, at a young age, that their parents will always be there for moral support, holding their hand and encouraging them, praising them and kissing them, but they have to take responsibility for their actions. They have to earn their way in this world. Nothing in life is a given.
Once in awhile, when the girls don’t listen, Holly & Kevin step back and let the lesson teach itself. In my opinion, sometimes that’s the most effective method. (Depending on the situation, of course. I mean, they would never put their kids in harms way or act neglectfully just to prove a point.)
Here’s an example: When one of the girls tried to pick a rose from the thorny rose bush in their sprawling backyard, they didn’t swoop in and rescue her. Many times Kevin and Holly had warned her to STAY AWAY FROM THE ROSE BUSH, THOSE THORNS ARE SHARP AND YOU’LL HURT YOUR FINGER. She was like a moth drawn to a flame, she just couldn’t stay away. When they saw her approaching the rose bush AGAIN, despite their warnings, they sat back and let her pick a rose. And sure enough, she pricked her finger. And she cried. And you know what? She recovered. Her finger healed just fine. And she stayed away from the rose bush after that incident.
I wonder how people would describe my parenting style. Aaron is a natural with Adam, but I feel like I have to work at it. And while I might not be one of those naturally maternal types—like Holly, Karla, Kay, Mollie, AJ, Amy or April (my sisters)—I love that little butterball with every ounce of my soul. It’s different than the love I feel toward my immediate or extended family, friends, in-laws, or even Aaron. It’s a type of love I’ve never experienced before, so fierce and intense it feels like I won some kind of lottery. (I guess, in many ways, I have.)
Having a son does limit me from buying cute little girl outfits, and I know I won’t be able to counsel him in the same way I could a daughter (with the whole “I know, honey, I’ve been there” speech) but I also realize having a son gives me an opportunity to instill in him the types of values and morals I appreciate when I meet a decent man—respect, kindness, honesty, courage, perseverance, self-discipline, compassion, generosity, and dependability. Good men don’t just “happen,” they’re raised that way.
I hope to teach Adam to respect his elders, women, and anyone “different” from himself (he’ll grow up with a cousin raised by two daddies, a Korean “auntie,” and friends adopted from Africa & South America, so that’s gotta make some kind of impact, right?) I hope that he learns to love the great outdoors, whether through our examples of camping, snowboarding, softball, kickball, distance running, and long walks around the lake, or through fishing and hunting (following in the footsteps of Grandpa Sarinske & Uncles Shawn & Nick), or, heaven forbid, cruising around on a snowmobile or motorcycle like Grandpa Sorenson & Uncle Josh (only if he obeys the speed limit and wears a helmet). I want him to understand how crucial it is to be good to the environment. I want him to grow up thinking smoking is disgusting. I want him to avoid: that group of mean kids in school, loose girls, religious cults, driving while under the influence, growing a pencil thin mustache, beard, or mullet, derogatory rap music, the close-minded “philosophy” of Ann Coulter, vanity, greed, and sloth. Not necessarily in that order. I want him to be a sweet, affectionate boy who loves getting and giving hugs and kisses (hey, it’s my blog, let me have my dreams). I want him to remember to say “please” and “thank you,” wash his hands after using the bathroom, and cover his nose/mouth when he sneezes (and say “Bless you” to those around him after they sneeze). I want him to be focused and motivated in school, the kind of student who studies and tries his best, even when the subject material seems useless or complicated. I want him to be a thoughtful boy who understands the importance of having a little but giving much more; a generous son, grandson, nephew, cousin, and friend who shovels his elderly neighbor’s sidewalk, pulls over to help stranded motorists, and sends his grandparents birthday cards without being reminded. I want him to be like his daddy. I want him to avoid trouble (please, God, let him be a lover and not a fighter). I want him to remember what’s important in life (friends and family, the blessing of good health, a job that makes him smile in the morning, a genuine appreciation for the simple things, and a never-ending supply of faith and hope). I want him to have the courage to follows his dreams, whatever that means to him. I want him to be happy. And I want him to always remember just how much he’s loved.
After having him a part of me felt, as goofy as it sounds, complete. I mean, I actually relate to this beautifully written quote in the book Eat, Pray, Love:
“To create a family with a spouse is one of the most fundamental ways a person can find continuity and meaning in America (or any) society. I rediscover this every time I go to a big reunion of my mother’s family in Minnesota and I see how everyone is held so reassuringly in their positions over the years. First you are a child, then you are a teenager, then you are a young married person, then you are a parent, then you are retired, then you are a grandparent—at every stage you know who you are, you know what your duty is and you know where to sit at the reunion. You sit with the other children, or teenagers, or young parents, or retirees. Until at last you are sitting with the 90-year-olds in the shade, watching over your progeny with satisfaction. Who are you? No problem—you’re the person who created all this. The satisfaction of this knowledge is immediate, and moreover, it’s universally recognized. How many people have I heard claim their children as the greatest accomplishment and comfort of their lives? It’s the thing they can always lean on during a crisis, or a moment of doubt about their relevancy—If I have done nothing else in this life, than at least I have raised my children well.”
Take, for instance, our friends Holly & Kevin out in Green Bay. They have four kids under the age of five (on purpose!) and they make it seem so easy. First came Chloe, then 14 months later came Autumn, then along came Lilly, and most recently Quinn arrived to help balance out all that estrogen. We try to visit our friends at least once a year, and we’re always amazed at how ridiculously well behaved their kids are. I suppose some of this could be luck, or genetics, but I attribute it mostly to Holly & Kevin’s awesome parenting.
A little background:
When Holly was in high school her dad committed suicide. I don’t know all of the details, but I do know he was depressed over the prospect of Holly’s mom leaving him. I don’t know why she threatened to leave, and I don’t know if he had some sort of genetic chemical imbalance that could’ve been helped with antidepressants. I don’t even know the kind of relationship Holly had with her dad. Regardless, I have to imagine that losing your dad in such a tragic way has to affect your personality and your outlook on life, and I wonder if that’s part of the reason Holly is so good (and timely) about telling her friends and family how much she loves and cares about them. She understands better than many the fragility of life—and how fleeting it can be—and therefore takes absolutely nothing for granted.
Holly is also one of the hardest workers I know (and I know some hard workers). She got where she is today by working 60-hour weeks during college summers off—I don’t think she took out a single student loan—and once we were back in those little dorm rooms, she regularly skipped out on house parties in order to study. She never lost sight of her long-term goal to become a pharmacist. She worked harder than any other 18-year-old I had ever met, and still has that strong work ethic today as a night shift pharmacist at a GB hospital.
Kevin was a police officer before an on-the-job accident abruptly ended his career. He was responding to a high priority call when his squad car was hit on the passenger side, flipping the car onto its roof. Kevin, trapped in the car, suffered from head trauma (thankfully it was mild), lacerations, and a fractured rib and pelvis—which are all bad enough—but the worst injury was to his left hand, which was pinned under the car. Surgeons had to reattach a tendon and perform skin grafts in order to get his hand (somewhat) functional again. He needed several months of occupational therapy, but—being a leftie—could no longer shoot his gun, sadly putting an end to his days on the “force.” I think he refers to it as being “medically retired” from his police position. His friends may refer to it as “Lucky SOB gets to collect a disability paycheck without punching a time clock.” He still works, though, just not in uniform. He’s now his own boss as a stay-at-home dad. The setup works for now, but once Quinn heads off to school, Kevin has mentioned trying to get a teaching degree.
Holly and Kevin have been married for almost ten years and their relationship is rock solid. I know they have disagreements about how to spend their money, and I know they argue about stupid shit just like any other normal couple, but there's a certain chemistry there and a certain cohesiveness. They just fit.
Holly is extremely smart (the girl retains everything, she’s like a sponge), naturally beautiful (and modest, too, which makes her even more pretty), kind, outgoing, thoughtful, laidback, generous, and just a little bit on the quirky side. I love her sense of humor.
Kevin is equally smart—though just in different subjects—and handsome, athletic, down-to-earth, likable, social, kind, funny, nonjudgmental (unless you’re a Vikings fan), and always willing to lend a hand. The guy has tons of creative ideas on how to save a buck, whether through conventional means (eBay, discount retailers, coupons, sales racks, cashing in his kid’s pop can tabs) or unconventional means.
Once, when he was going considerably faster than the posted speed limit—with Aaron in the car—they passed a police officer and Kevin smiled and waved enthusiastically.
“Who was that?” Aaron asked.
Kevin shrugged his shoulders. “I just waved like I knew him so he wouldn’t pull me over.”
And it actually worked.
Kevin also shamelessly flirted with the maternity ward nurses in order to get extra formula samples after his kids were born.
And that worked, too.
We love them and we love their kids. Chloe is articulate and bright and funny and sweet and the spitting image of her mom. She radiates energy and confidence, and seems to be strong-willed and independent like Holly, too.
When my good friend Jodi babysat for the girls (while Kevin was recovering from his accident and Holly had to return to work), Chloe insisted on putting on her two-piece swimsuit without Jodi's help. When she joined the group outside by the plastic pool, her suit appeared to have a huge hole in the butt. Weird, Jodi thought, she must’ve ripped it somehow. Since they were in the backyard of a residential area, she didn’t ask her to change. Only later, when Jodi was helping Chloe take off her wet suit, did she realize that Chloe had worn the bottom of her two-piece as the top half, and the top part of the two-piece as the bottom, thus explaining the perfectly circular hole.
Autumn is a total and complete sweetheart. Unlike her go-go-go big sister, she’s about as laidback as they come (the first time she met my parents, she plopped herself down on my mom’s kitchen rug as a signal that she wanted her diaper changed. She didn’t care who changed her and she didn’t care that she was in a strange house. I think she was two at the time). Her charming personality instantly catapults her from a cute kid to the CUTEST KID EVER. She won me over, at the age of 3, when she asked me to paint her toes. She climbed up onto my lap (I was sitting outside at a patio table) and propped her chubby little foot up on the table, liking me enough to:
A) Voluntarily sit on my lap
B) Try to make her toes actually look pretty (anyone who knows me knows I’m not very good with nail polish. Or hair braids. Or makeup, come to think of it.)
Every time I brushed one of Autumn’s miniature toenails with the purple polish, she’d giggle and say, “Tickles!” before nuzzling her head into my neck. Maybe it tickled because I was getting most of the polish on her toes rather than her toenails.
The last time we visited, soft-spoken Autumn took to Aaron. Before he got up one morning, she showed me a Valentine she had made at school, and in a semi-whisper, said to me, “We HAVE to show this to Aaron. He is going to freak out.”
Thankfully Aaron played along, feigning shock and surprise when she approached him with the googley-eyed paper heart with pipe cleaner arms and legs.
Delicate little Lilly is absolutely adorable, with pinchable chipmunk cheeks and big round eyes. I don't really know her personality (yet), if only because the last few times we’ve been to visit she was just a baby, doing typical baby things. It seems, though, that she marches to the beat of her own drum. And I know she really likes to eat. She even ate a worm once.
We have yet to meet Quinn. He arrived March 1, 2007, five months before Adam’s rent was up on his temporary home, and we just haven’t found the time, or made the time, to head out there for a weekend.
We miss our friends.
I love how Holly & Kevin parent their kids. They have the financial means to spoil them rotten, but they don’t. (I have seen some spoiled kids, and these kids are far from it.) They don’t use control tactics, but rather serve as role models of respect—being firm, setting appropriate limits, and establishing consequences. They know when to step in and when to step back. They don’t always rescue their kids, which, in my opinion, make them better parents than those who constantly interfere and, ultimately, become helicopter parents of either clueless or completely entitled kids (sometimes both). Their kids learn independence. They learn, at a young age, that their parents will always be there for moral support, holding their hand and encouraging them, praising them and kissing them, but they have to take responsibility for their actions. They have to earn their way in this world. Nothing in life is a given.
Once in awhile, when the girls don’t listen, Holly & Kevin step back and let the lesson teach itself. In my opinion, sometimes that’s the most effective method. (Depending on the situation, of course. I mean, they would never put their kids in harms way or act neglectfully just to prove a point.)
Here’s an example: When one of the girls tried to pick a rose from the thorny rose bush in their sprawling backyard, they didn’t swoop in and rescue her. Many times Kevin and Holly had warned her to STAY AWAY FROM THE ROSE BUSH, THOSE THORNS ARE SHARP AND YOU’LL HURT YOUR FINGER. She was like a moth drawn to a flame, she just couldn’t stay away. When they saw her approaching the rose bush AGAIN, despite their warnings, they sat back and let her pick a rose. And sure enough, she pricked her finger. And she cried. And you know what? She recovered. Her finger healed just fine. And she stayed away from the rose bush after that incident.
I wonder how people would describe my parenting style. Aaron is a natural with Adam, but I feel like I have to work at it. And while I might not be one of those naturally maternal types—like Holly, Karla, Kay, Mollie, AJ, Amy or April (my sisters)—I love that little butterball with every ounce of my soul. It’s different than the love I feel toward my immediate or extended family, friends, in-laws, or even Aaron. It’s a type of love I’ve never experienced before, so fierce and intense it feels like I won some kind of lottery. (I guess, in many ways, I have.)
Having a son does limit me from buying cute little girl outfits, and I know I won’t be able to counsel him in the same way I could a daughter (with the whole “I know, honey, I’ve been there” speech) but I also realize having a son gives me an opportunity to instill in him the types of values and morals I appreciate when I meet a decent man—respect, kindness, honesty, courage, perseverance, self-discipline, compassion, generosity, and dependability. Good men don’t just “happen,” they’re raised that way.
I hope to teach Adam to respect his elders, women, and anyone “different” from himself (he’ll grow up with a cousin raised by two daddies, a Korean “auntie,” and friends adopted from Africa & South America, so that’s gotta make some kind of impact, right?) I hope that he learns to love the great outdoors, whether through our examples of camping, snowboarding, softball, kickball, distance running, and long walks around the lake, or through fishing and hunting (following in the footsteps of Grandpa Sarinske & Uncles Shawn & Nick), or, heaven forbid, cruising around on a snowmobile or motorcycle like Grandpa Sorenson & Uncle Josh (only if he obeys the speed limit and wears a helmet). I want him to understand how crucial it is to be good to the environment. I want him to grow up thinking smoking is disgusting. I want him to avoid: that group of mean kids in school, loose girls, religious cults, driving while under the influence, growing a pencil thin mustache, beard, or mullet, derogatory rap music, the close-minded “philosophy” of Ann Coulter, vanity, greed, and sloth. Not necessarily in that order. I want him to be a sweet, affectionate boy who loves getting and giving hugs and kisses (hey, it’s my blog, let me have my dreams). I want him to remember to say “please” and “thank you,” wash his hands after using the bathroom, and cover his nose/mouth when he sneezes (and say “Bless you” to those around him after they sneeze). I want him to be focused and motivated in school, the kind of student who studies and tries his best, even when the subject material seems useless or complicated. I want him to be a thoughtful boy who understands the importance of having a little but giving much more; a generous son, grandson, nephew, cousin, and friend who shovels his elderly neighbor’s sidewalk, pulls over to help stranded motorists, and sends his grandparents birthday cards without being reminded. I want him to be like his daddy. I want him to avoid trouble (please, God, let him be a lover and not a fighter). I want him to remember what’s important in life (friends and family, the blessing of good health, a job that makes him smile in the morning, a genuine appreciation for the simple things, and a never-ending supply of faith and hope). I want him to have the courage to follows his dreams, whatever that means to him. I want him to be happy. And I want him to always remember just how much he’s loved.
After having him a part of me felt, as goofy as it sounds, complete. I mean, I actually relate to this beautifully written quote in the book Eat, Pray, Love:
“To create a family with a spouse is one of the most fundamental ways a person can find continuity and meaning in America (or any) society. I rediscover this every time I go to a big reunion of my mother’s family in Minnesota and I see how everyone is held so reassuringly in their positions over the years. First you are a child, then you are a teenager, then you are a young married person, then you are a parent, then you are retired, then you are a grandparent—at every stage you know who you are, you know what your duty is and you know where to sit at the reunion. You sit with the other children, or teenagers, or young parents, or retirees. Until at last you are sitting with the 90-year-olds in the shade, watching over your progeny with satisfaction. Who are you? No problem—you’re the person who created all this. The satisfaction of this knowledge is immediate, and moreover, it’s universally recognized. How many people have I heard claim their children as the greatest accomplishment and comfort of their lives? It’s the thing they can always lean on during a crisis, or a moment of doubt about their relevancy—If I have done nothing else in this life, than at least I have raised my children well.”
Thursday, March 20, 2008
The only constant in life is change. And Bon Jovi.
I am officially old. Aaron and I went to Bon Jovi last night & had a great time. Jon Bon Jovi jumped around more than a hyperactive 5-year-old, energizing the crowd and belting out classics like "Bad Medicine," "It's My Life," and "Livin' on a Prayer." I'm not a huge fan, but he looks—and sounds—damn good for 46. Richie Sambora also did not disappoint. He not only rocked the guitar (and a long purple jacket) but sang solo on one of my favorites: "I'll be there for you, these five words I swear to you ..." Even the opening act, Daughtry, was decent. One of the highlights for me (besides watching a wasted woman go from obnoxious dancing drunk to passed out cold in her chair) was when Chris Daughtry asked that the sound & light crew temporarily "kill the lights" and instructed everyone who had a camera to take a picture on the count of three. At "three," hundreds (thousands?) of flashes popped off at once. The special effect was really, really cool. For a minute or two it was like watching popcorn lightbursts in all areas & corners of the X. Pop, pop, pop.
In other news, two of my close friends are facing uncertainties in life (a serious break up & job insecurity) - and while they're both strong women and I know things will work out eventually, my heart breaks a little to know that they're hurting. Time heals all wounds, but getting to the healing part isn't always easy. So, in the spirit of a big fat "F YOU!"to those who made them hurt, here's a little rockin' anthem of hope (courtesy of the 2007 second place winner of American Idol):
"Over You"
Well I never saw it coming
I should've started running
A long, long time ago.
And I never thought I'd doubt you,
but I'm better off without you
More than you, more than you know.
I'm slowly getting closure.
I guess it's finally over.
I'm finally getting better,
The day I thought I'd never get through
I GOT OVER YOU.
In other news, two of my close friends are facing uncertainties in life (a serious break up & job insecurity) - and while they're both strong women and I know things will work out eventually, my heart breaks a little to know that they're hurting. Time heals all wounds, but getting to the healing part isn't always easy. So, in the spirit of a big fat "F YOU!"to those who made them hurt, here's a little rockin' anthem of hope (courtesy of the 2007 second place winner of American Idol):
"Over You"
Well I never saw it coming
I should've started running
A long, long time ago.
And I never thought I'd doubt you,
but I'm better off without you
More than you, more than you know.
I'm slowly getting closure.
I guess it's finally over.
I'm finally getting better,
The day I thought I'd never get through
I GOT OVER YOU.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Professional Party Planner
Last night I hosted a baby shower for a co-worker/friend, Jenny, who is due at the end of April. There were 17 of us in attendance and it was a great success. My only complaint is the lack of help from her department and others who consider her a close friend. I don’t know if people think we can expense work baby showers (we can’t), if they’re simply naïve about the amount of work and expense involved (I don’t think you truly “get this” until you’ve co-hosted a shower of some sort) , or if they’re simply as cheap as dirt. It would’ve been so nice to spread out the costs. Even with Kirsten helping out, I spent $15 on plates, napkins, forks, and decorations; nearly $20 on prizes; and about $35 on groceries (lil smokies in BBQ sauce, a cheese and artichoke dip with two loaves of artisan baguettes, and carrots and ranch dip, purchased at Byerly’s). That’s $70 out of my pocket. And trust me, I am not exactly made of money.
I know I should stop bitching about it, since I volunteered to host the shower, but with so many coworkers in attendance, you’d think more than just Amanda and Tabitha would have offered to help out. It was discouraging.
On the plus side, Courtney & Rachel stayed late to help clean up/do dishes, and I thought that was really sweet.
I was thinking about it last night, and I should start a side business as a bridal shower/bachelorette party/baby shower hostess. In the past five years, I have co-hosted five bridal showers, eight baby showers (four for co-workers), and three bachelorette parties. They have all been fun in their own way. And as wonderful as it is to acknowledge an upcoming wedding with an elegant bridal shower, or celebrate an upcoming birth through a baby shower, my favorite parties are the bachelorettes.
At AJ’s bachelorette party, we golfed during the day (my first time on the links and I had a blast. Of course, I didn’t keep score—and I was drinking—so that helped), shared a bland dinner together at the Hilton Garden Inn in Shoreview (where we stayed), played some obnoxious/funny games involving paper bags, dressed up in old bridesmaid dresses (some more outrageous than others), took a party bus to see male dancers at Sharx Night Club in Fridley (hilarious), almost got beat up at a hole-in-the-wall bar off Highway 10 (a combo of liquid courage, our out-of-the-ordinary attire, and “townie” girls jealous of the competition), and then finished off the night at a dance club hosted by 93X DJs. At this point we didn’t care that we were wearing ugly satin gowns and we danced, danced, danced until bar close.
We traveled to Las Vegas for Karla’s bachelorette, where we had a swanky dinner at Wolfgang Puck’s Spago; drinks at JC Wooloughans Irish Pub (Meg, Money and I enjoyed some authentic Irish-brewed beers while venting about one of our travel companions), on the balcony of the Ghost Bar (55 feet above the Palms Casino), Rumjungle at Mandalay Bay (Studio 54 was closed), and Hard Rock (I think each one of us met a strange dude here). We shopped the strip, sipped foo-foo cocktails by the pool, and divided into three camps: Karla, Sara, pregnant Deb; Lisa & Rem; and me, Meg, and Money. When Becky arrived from San Diego, Sara & Deb flew home, so it was me, Karla, Becky, Meg, and Money. Lisa & Rem did their own thing most of the time (mostly consisting of relaxing by the pool and wandering into the casino to play the slots.)
For Megan’s bachelorette, Money and I put together a “memory book” and presented it to Megan at Zelo, where we had dinner with a big group of friends. The book was Money’s idea and design-work. I edited the entries (and harassed everyone to send in photos and memories.) We then moved the party to the Crown Plaza Hotel, where we had drinks and appetizers in our room before going to the Local and Lyon’s Pub. I was pregnant with Adam and so felt a bit left out as I watched my best friends have the time of their lives on the dance floor, all buzzed up and carefree in their alcohol-induced “happy place,” but I was one damn good purse and coat holder/drink watcher/seat warmer.
I have been to small, intimate bachelorette parties and wild rowdy bashes (my own was no exception, there were 24 of us up in Duluth. Some of us snowboarded one day while others toured the area; at night we got crazy and—eventually—got kicked out of Grandma’s Saloon). I have partied on a boat on Lake Pepin, rocked out on party buses that bar-hopped along St. Anthony Main, downtown Minneapolis, Stillwater, and Wittenburg, Wis. (talk about small town!), and one time puked in a McDonald’s cup on the way home from the bar. I went to a b-party on a Wednesday night, when the nightlife downtown was less-than-exciting, and could hardly control my excitement when I traveled to La Quinta, California with three of my best friends (Karla, Meg, and Money) to celebrate Becky’s bachelorette while staying at the second home of the Phillips vodka heirs. That was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I still can’t wrap my head around how the “other half” lives in such extravagant wealth.
So, anyhow, to make a short story really long, I must enjoy the planning, or I wouldn’t volunteer. And with at least nine close friends either newly engaged or unattached, it looks like I’ll have plenty of showers to keep me busy throughout the next decade!
I know I should stop bitching about it, since I volunteered to host the shower, but with so many coworkers in attendance, you’d think more than just Amanda and Tabitha would have offered to help out. It was discouraging.
On the plus side, Courtney & Rachel stayed late to help clean up/do dishes, and I thought that was really sweet.
I was thinking about it last night, and I should start a side business as a bridal shower/bachelorette party/baby shower hostess. In the past five years, I have co-hosted five bridal showers, eight baby showers (four for co-workers), and three bachelorette parties. They have all been fun in their own way. And as wonderful as it is to acknowledge an upcoming wedding with an elegant bridal shower, or celebrate an upcoming birth through a baby shower, my favorite parties are the bachelorettes.
At AJ’s bachelorette party, we golfed during the day (my first time on the links and I had a blast. Of course, I didn’t keep score—and I was drinking—so that helped), shared a bland dinner together at the Hilton Garden Inn in Shoreview (where we stayed), played some obnoxious/funny games involving paper bags, dressed up in old bridesmaid dresses (some more outrageous than others), took a party bus to see male dancers at Sharx Night Club in Fridley (hilarious), almost got beat up at a hole-in-the-wall bar off Highway 10 (a combo of liquid courage, our out-of-the-ordinary attire, and “townie” girls jealous of the competition), and then finished off the night at a dance club hosted by 93X DJs. At this point we didn’t care that we were wearing ugly satin gowns and we danced, danced, danced until bar close.
We traveled to Las Vegas for Karla’s bachelorette, where we had a swanky dinner at Wolfgang Puck’s Spago; drinks at JC Wooloughans Irish Pub (Meg, Money and I enjoyed some authentic Irish-brewed beers while venting about one of our travel companions), on the balcony of the Ghost Bar (55 feet above the Palms Casino), Rumjungle at Mandalay Bay (Studio 54 was closed), and Hard Rock (I think each one of us met a strange dude here). We shopped the strip, sipped foo-foo cocktails by the pool, and divided into three camps: Karla, Sara, pregnant Deb; Lisa & Rem; and me, Meg, and Money. When Becky arrived from San Diego, Sara & Deb flew home, so it was me, Karla, Becky, Meg, and Money. Lisa & Rem did their own thing most of the time (mostly consisting of relaxing by the pool and wandering into the casino to play the slots.)
For Megan’s bachelorette, Money and I put together a “memory book” and presented it to Megan at Zelo, where we had dinner with a big group of friends. The book was Money’s idea and design-work. I edited the entries (and harassed everyone to send in photos and memories.) We then moved the party to the Crown Plaza Hotel, where we had drinks and appetizers in our room before going to the Local and Lyon’s Pub. I was pregnant with Adam and so felt a bit left out as I watched my best friends have the time of their lives on the dance floor, all buzzed up and carefree in their alcohol-induced “happy place,” but I was one damn good purse and coat holder/drink watcher/seat warmer.
I have been to small, intimate bachelorette parties and wild rowdy bashes (my own was no exception, there were 24 of us up in Duluth. Some of us snowboarded one day while others toured the area; at night we got crazy and—eventually—got kicked out of Grandma’s Saloon). I have partied on a boat on Lake Pepin, rocked out on party buses that bar-hopped along St. Anthony Main, downtown Minneapolis, Stillwater, and Wittenburg, Wis. (talk about small town!), and one time puked in a McDonald’s cup on the way home from the bar. I went to a b-party on a Wednesday night, when the nightlife downtown was less-than-exciting, and could hardly control my excitement when I traveled to La Quinta, California with three of my best friends (Karla, Meg, and Money) to celebrate Becky’s bachelorette while staying at the second home of the Phillips vodka heirs. That was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I still can’t wrap my head around how the “other half” lives in such extravagant wealth.
So, anyhow, to make a short story really long, I must enjoy the planning, or I wouldn’t volunteer. And with at least nine close friends either newly engaged or unattached, it looks like I’ll have plenty of showers to keep me busy throughout the next decade!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Waiting in the snow
I should have known today was going to be one of THOSE days when I fell on the ice while taking out the recycling. A light dusting of snow covered the sidewalk, covering a slick layer of ice underneath, and instead of treading with caution, I walked too fast and fell—extra hard—on my butt. After I got up and brushed off the snow, I looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed my humiliation. Lucky for me the coast was clear. I was glad I wasn’t carrying Adam in his 500-pound car seat, and relieved that only my pride was bruised.
My day continued to improve at the bus stop while I waited … and waited … and waited for my bus. An hour later, my bus finally came. It was a long, cold wait, and I was glad I was wearing not only a hat, but two pairs of socks.
While on the bus, I had the privilege of sitting next to a woman with breath so bad it could kill a moose! (Seriously, what did she have for breakfast? Raw minnows, Limburger, and garlic? And why oh why did she have to keep breathing through her mouth? Why couldn’t she breathe through her nose like the rest of us? I was never so glad to be wearing a scarf, so I could pull it up over my face without being too obvious that I was simply trying to survive the stench.)
My only other complaint today (why stop when I’m on a roll?) is that my lunch was freezer-burnt. On the bright side, this terrible, horrible, no-good issue is out the door. Thank God.
This winter seems to be dragging on FOREVER. I live in Minnesota and I’m usually all about embracing winter (this winter I went snowboarding at Trollhaugen, snowtubing at Eko Bachen, and sledding in Forest Lake), but right about now—after three solid months of cold and ice and white-knuckled driving and road salt eating my car and cycling through a wardrobe consisting of pants, sweaters, and turtlenecks—I’m ready to break up with Winter (and maybe even let the door hit him on his way out) and welcome Spring with open arms.
Enough is enough.
Even if I can’t break out my sandals, capris, and sunscreen quite yet, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. In a few weeks, the average temps will be in the 40s and low 50s, in May, we’ll be hitting the high 50s and low 60s, and by June—a mere 12 weeks away—we’ll be sitting pretty in the 70s. I cannot wait.
In addition to warm weather, we have so much to look forward to this spring/summer (some people might grumble about a full social calendar this early on, but I absolutely LOVE it!):
Aaron and I celebrate three years of wedded bliss April 16. I fall a little deeper in love with him every day. He is good, kind, generous, smart, reliable, loyal, thoughtful, funny, sensitive, and always, always true to himself. He’s a loving husband and daddy, and even when we’re fighting about tacos vs. burritos, I know how lucky I am. (Can you tell I'm his biggest fan?) * Four friends (a co-worker, one of the college crew, a member of the “group,” and my sweet sister-in-law April) are due in either April or May. Bring on the bambinos! * Two friends are getting married in May (one is a friend from volleyball—second marriage, this time to a wonderful guy—and the other is a friend—and one of the nicest guys I know—from Aaron’s softball team). I love, love, love a good wedding. * A dear friend is celebrating her wedding reception in June following a destination wedding (another Lillian ties the knot! Long live the friendship of C.A.K.E!) *Adam’s adopted cousin Max turns one in June * July = annual Fourth of July party on the lake (bocce, beer, and boating, not necessarily in that order) *We’re going to Bozeman, Montana for BP’s wedding in July (yes, he’s my ex-boyfriend, and yes, his mom does daycare for us, and no, it’s not weird at all!) *One of my very best friends, one of my “girls,” Megan, is due in July and I can’t wait to meet her little one, see her as a mom (she’ll be a natural) and experience the crazy adventures of parenthood along with her and her hubby. It seems like only yesterday we were in 6th grade guitar class together, and now we’ll be discussing kids instead of chords?! In the words of Blink 182, “Well I guess this is growing up” *Our niece Morgan turns one July 20 *If all goes as planned, my soul sister, T (my maid of honor) will fly home from Idaho for a much-anticipated bridal shower/bachelorette party before her wedding this fall. It will be crazy, and I’m ready for some crazy. *My baby, Adam, turns one in August!!! *My immediate family is vacationing at Lutsen Resort for a week, sea kayaks and all. I am fortunate to consider my family some of my closest friends and look forward to this getaway with much anticipation. *September is shaping up to be a fun month, too, with a trip to Coeur d’Alene for Tonya & Sam’s wedding (my closest friends will be traveling to the wedding as well), and Aaron’s cousin getting married in Wisconsin.
In Adam news, he’s teething or something, because he’s up anywhere from two to four times a night, crying and fussing. It makes for a very long day at work. Somehow, though, his teething hasn't affected his regular daytime activities. He’s a happy, smiley baby with a very sunny disposition.
On my bus ride home from work, just about when we get to the turn that signals how close we are to the park & ride, I start anticipating my time with him and I start feeling really excited. When I pick him up from dayare, my heart swells as his little face lights up with joy and recognition. “Hi baby!” I say. “Mama’s here!” and his smile just about melts me. Aaron and I have fun reading to him (“Big A, little A, what begins with A? Aunt Annie’s Alligator, A, A, A”), playing with him (he’s into grabbing, and toys that make obnoxious noises, and anything with bright colorful lights), encouraging him (sometimes we sound like we’re talking to a dog: “Roll over! Come on, you can do it! Good boy!”), laughing at his hilarious sounds and expressions (I call him Darth Vader), doing whatever it takes to make him dissolve into those best-sound-in-the-world uncontrollable giggles, kissing (and kissing, and kissing) his fuzzy head, watching him splash (and pee) in the tub, and cuddling with him at the end of the night.
This quote makes me smile:
“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”
This one makes me laugh:
“My friend has a baby. I'm recording all the noises he makes so later I can ask him what he meant.”
This one makes me nod in agreement:
“People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one.”
My day continued to improve at the bus stop while I waited … and waited … and waited for my bus. An hour later, my bus finally came. It was a long, cold wait, and I was glad I was wearing not only a hat, but two pairs of socks.
While on the bus, I had the privilege of sitting next to a woman with breath so bad it could kill a moose! (Seriously, what did she have for breakfast? Raw minnows, Limburger, and garlic? And why oh why did she have to keep breathing through her mouth? Why couldn’t she breathe through her nose like the rest of us? I was never so glad to be wearing a scarf, so I could pull it up over my face without being too obvious that I was simply trying to survive the stench.)
My only other complaint today (why stop when I’m on a roll?) is that my lunch was freezer-burnt. On the bright side, this terrible, horrible, no-good issue is out the door. Thank God.
This winter seems to be dragging on FOREVER. I live in Minnesota and I’m usually all about embracing winter (this winter I went snowboarding at Trollhaugen, snowtubing at Eko Bachen, and sledding in Forest Lake), but right about now—after three solid months of cold and ice and white-knuckled driving and road salt eating my car and cycling through a wardrobe consisting of pants, sweaters, and turtlenecks—I’m ready to break up with Winter (and maybe even let the door hit him on his way out) and welcome Spring with open arms.
Enough is enough.
Even if I can’t break out my sandals, capris, and sunscreen quite yet, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. In a few weeks, the average temps will be in the 40s and low 50s, in May, we’ll be hitting the high 50s and low 60s, and by June—a mere 12 weeks away—we’ll be sitting pretty in the 70s. I cannot wait.
In addition to warm weather, we have so much to look forward to this spring/summer (some people might grumble about a full social calendar this early on, but I absolutely LOVE it!):
Aaron and I celebrate three years of wedded bliss April 16. I fall a little deeper in love with him every day. He is good, kind, generous, smart, reliable, loyal, thoughtful, funny, sensitive, and always, always true to himself. He’s a loving husband and daddy, and even when we’re fighting about tacos vs. burritos, I know how lucky I am. (Can you tell I'm his biggest fan?) * Four friends (a co-worker, one of the college crew, a member of the “group,” and my sweet sister-in-law April) are due in either April or May. Bring on the bambinos! * Two friends are getting married in May (one is a friend from volleyball—second marriage, this time to a wonderful guy—and the other is a friend—and one of the nicest guys I know—from Aaron’s softball team). I love, love, love a good wedding. * A dear friend is celebrating her wedding reception in June following a destination wedding (another Lillian ties the knot! Long live the friendship of C.A.K.E!) *Adam’s adopted cousin Max turns one in June * July = annual Fourth of July party on the lake (bocce, beer, and boating, not necessarily in that order) *We’re going to Bozeman, Montana for BP’s wedding in July (yes, he’s my ex-boyfriend, and yes, his mom does daycare for us, and no, it’s not weird at all!) *One of my very best friends, one of my “girls,” Megan, is due in July and I can’t wait to meet her little one, see her as a mom (she’ll be a natural) and experience the crazy adventures of parenthood along with her and her hubby. It seems like only yesterday we were in 6th grade guitar class together, and now we’ll be discussing kids instead of chords?! In the words of Blink 182, “Well I guess this is growing up” *Our niece Morgan turns one July 20 *If all goes as planned, my soul sister, T (my maid of honor) will fly home from Idaho for a much-anticipated bridal shower/bachelorette party before her wedding this fall. It will be crazy, and I’m ready for some crazy. *My baby, Adam, turns one in August!!! *My immediate family is vacationing at Lutsen Resort for a week, sea kayaks and all. I am fortunate to consider my family some of my closest friends and look forward to this getaway with much anticipation. *September is shaping up to be a fun month, too, with a trip to Coeur d’Alene for Tonya & Sam’s wedding (my closest friends will be traveling to the wedding as well), and Aaron’s cousin getting married in Wisconsin.
In Adam news, he’s teething or something, because he’s up anywhere from two to four times a night, crying and fussing. It makes for a very long day at work. Somehow, though, his teething hasn't affected his regular daytime activities. He’s a happy, smiley baby with a very sunny disposition.
On my bus ride home from work, just about when we get to the turn that signals how close we are to the park & ride, I start anticipating my time with him and I start feeling really excited. When I pick him up from dayare, my heart swells as his little face lights up with joy and recognition. “Hi baby!” I say. “Mama’s here!” and his smile just about melts me. Aaron and I have fun reading to him (“Big A, little A, what begins with A? Aunt Annie’s Alligator, A, A, A”), playing with him (he’s into grabbing, and toys that make obnoxious noises, and anything with bright colorful lights), encouraging him (sometimes we sound like we’re talking to a dog: “Roll over! Come on, you can do it! Good boy!”), laughing at his hilarious sounds and expressions (I call him Darth Vader), doing whatever it takes to make him dissolve into those best-sound-in-the-world uncontrollable giggles, kissing (and kissing, and kissing) his fuzzy head, watching him splash (and pee) in the tub, and cuddling with him at the end of the night.
This quote makes me smile:
“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”
This one makes me laugh:
“My friend has a baby. I'm recording all the noises he makes so later I can ask him what he meant.”
This one makes me nod in agreement:
“People who say they sleep like a baby usually don't have one.”
Monday, January 21, 2008
I still can't believe he's OURS!
Adam is now over 5 months old and continues to amuse and entertain us on a regular basis. Since I last posted, he's grown considerably (over 18 pounds), adjusted to a daycare routine, learned to roll, learned to sit unattended, learned to grasp objects (including my hair and hoop earrings), and learned that bedtime is 7:30 rather than 11:30. He still doesn't sleep through the night, but that's mostly my fault for not being more vigilant about enforcing the rules. He has a very good-natured personality and is typically either smiling or laughing, and he's as cute as a button. (I might be biased, but total strangers have stopped me to tell me how cute he is, so I can't be totally wrong, can I?) He loves it when people talk to him, whether it's the 17-year-old cashier at SuperAmerica or the 60-year-old mechanic at Saturn (he's not picky). He also loves it when we sing to him (even off-key). He's not afraid of new people and has yet to cry when I've handed him over to an unfamiliar person. Maybe that whole stranger anxiety thing will elude him?
I enjoy being back at work, as much as that makes me sound like a Terrible Mother Who Doesn't Love Her Son. The overwhelming majority of new moms must dread returning to the working world, based on the comments I received upon my return, "How ARE you? Was it just tearing you up inside to drop him off at daycare? Are you sure you're doing OK?" Don't get me wrong, I missed the little guy, but it was also a relief returning to the Land of Adult Conversations, and it felt good returning to a schedule I knew and liked: deadlines and meetings and word counts and lunches with friends and colleagues and interviews with clients and writing stories - things I know I'm good at, things that give me a sense of accomplishment - rather than a schedule consisting of breastfeeding, naps, cooking, cleaning, and trying to fill the time with mostly productive activities (I confess, we did watch "What Not to Wear" and "Oprah" on a regular basis) When Aaron returned home from work at 6 p.m. it felt like the heavens opened. Part of the problem is that I don't do well with excessive amounts of "alone" time; part of the problem is that I felt like I always had to entertain Wee One; part of the problem was that I felt guilty ever setting him down. I even brought him into the bathroom with me.
I have girlfriends who love being stay-at-home moms, and I have nothing but utmost respect for them (it's the hardest job I've ever had), but it's not my gig. Maybe someday I'll have the luxury of working part-time. Until then, I'll try to make the best of the arrangement. Until then, I'll look into those big blue eyes, pinch those chubby cheeks, and kiss those sweet little lips and wonder how such a beautiful, perfect specimen is ours. This past year I fell deeper in love with Aaron (he's an amazing hands-on daddy) and head over heels with a little boy named Adam. I am truly blessed.
I enjoy being back at work, as much as that makes me sound like a Terrible Mother Who Doesn't Love Her Son. The overwhelming majority of new moms must dread returning to the working world, based on the comments I received upon my return, "How ARE you? Was it just tearing you up inside to drop him off at daycare? Are you sure you're doing OK?" Don't get me wrong, I missed the little guy, but it was also a relief returning to the Land of Adult Conversations, and it felt good returning to a schedule I knew and liked: deadlines and meetings and word counts and lunches with friends and colleagues and interviews with clients and writing stories - things I know I'm good at, things that give me a sense of accomplishment - rather than a schedule consisting of breastfeeding, naps, cooking, cleaning, and trying to fill the time with mostly productive activities (I confess, we did watch "What Not to Wear" and "Oprah" on a regular basis) When Aaron returned home from work at 6 p.m. it felt like the heavens opened. Part of the problem is that I don't do well with excessive amounts of "alone" time; part of the problem is that I felt like I always had to entertain Wee One; part of the problem was that I felt guilty ever setting him down. I even brought him into the bathroom with me.
I have girlfriends who love being stay-at-home moms, and I have nothing but utmost respect for them (it's the hardest job I've ever had), but it's not my gig. Maybe someday I'll have the luxury of working part-time. Until then, I'll try to make the best of the arrangement. Until then, I'll look into those big blue eyes, pinch those chubby cheeks, and kiss those sweet little lips and wonder how such a beautiful, perfect specimen is ours. This past year I fell deeper in love with Aaron (he's an amazing hands-on daddy) and head over heels with a little boy named Adam. I am truly blessed.
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