-The way he looked at me and said: mama, I pway wain? He cocked his little head and gave me the dimple smile, just hoping I’d say yes. Sure bubs, I said. Go play in the rain. He took off outside, running and jumping and kicking a soccer ball in the pouring rain. After a bit he came in. You wet enough yet smoosh, I asked? He patted his shirt, his shorts and his cheeks before saying: no,  I pway moar wain and running off again. All boy. This kid is all boy. He likes to be dirty. He like to throw balls. Play with trucks. Run in the rain. I adore him.

-The way she comes in at 2am. I hear her coming from down the hall. (Oh the joys of being a light sleeper.) She comes in my room, lifts up the cover and sneaks in. She gets as close to me as possible, some nights even lifting my arm up over her. I listen to her breath. I wait as she falls back asleep. I kiss her head and play with her hair. I smell her shampoo mixed with the smell of little girl. She won’t always want this. She won’t always want me. She will one day decide she is too big to come into bed with me at night. For now? I enjoy it.

-We went and played mini-golf, just the two of us a few weekends ago. She kept writing down one less number for herself than she should have. Most days I won’t let her cheat. I know for her, being called on it, is generally the way to go. Her competitive nature gets the best of her. That day though, I let her cheat. That day, I played worse than I would have on purpose. We laughed and told each other jokes. I watched her watch the teenage girls in front of us play. I watched her listen to their conversations. Watched her watch them joke around with each other. I silently thanked them for being seemingly nice, polite, well behaved girls. When Morgan said on the way home, when I’m big, I’ll be like those girls, I said, yes my love, I’m sure you will. Then I stopped and bought her a Slurpee at 7-11. Just because. At the check out, since she didn’t ask, I offered to buy her a bag of Silly Bandz. Just because.

I admit, I stole this idea from my friend Emily at Wheels on the Bus.

Smoosh,

Today you are 18 months old. A year and a half. In some ways it seems like you were a tiny newborn yesterday and in other ways, I’m already beginning to forget what you were like then.

You are so big. Truly. You look about two and a half years old already. You are tall and sturdy and already loosing the baby look in your face. Women always look at me all weird when they see you with your binky and blankie in the middle of the day. Don’t take it personally son, they just think you are too old for it. If you were actually two and a half, maybe. But not yet. You are still my tiny little baby boy. You hold onto the bink for as long as you want. The other day we were in Target and a woman asked you a question about a toy. I laughed as you said HI!!!! She I think expected more of a response. Then you showed her your Mater truck and said YUK MAYER!!!! I had to tell her that you were not yet 18 months old and that you really had no idea about Batman yet. She was surprised. I am starting to think this will be a trend.

You are a pretty good toddler, if not completely destructive. There is not a table you won’t stand on, nor a plant you won’t over turn. You can destroy the living room in 2.5 seconds. I wonder why I even bother picking up all the toys, when you systematically go from room to room taking all toys out of the bins. Not that you play with many of them, you just believe they should be free. You love destroying anything that your sisters are playing with. You hide just about everything. Seriously son, where is the dogs Frisbee? I’ve cleaned this house from top to bottom and two months later, I still haven’t found them.

You are addicted to the movie Cars. I think I may be staging an intervention one of these days. You love all cars, but OMFG MAYER!!!! You adore Mater. You have about six Mater trucks. You literally sleep with a stuffed MAYER!!!! Each and every time you say Mater, you say MAYER!!!! He may be your favorite. Just a guess.

You have tantrums which I could have done without. It seems a bit young too me. But you know, third kid, you have to be advanced at this, right? I am a tantrum ignorer, which annoys the ever loving shit out of you. You throw yourself on the floor and scream and flail about. When I get up and leave the room, you get up all quietly and follow me, and then throw yourself at me again, screaming and flailing. It’s really kind of funny.

You eat. You adore food. I have never had a child that liked to eat anything besides air before. It’s new and strange for me. You will eat absolutely anything. Your favorites are hot dogs and yogurt though. You’d eat a hot dog for every meal if I let you. You ask for one each meal. When I say, sorry bud, no hot dogs, we’re having french toast this morning, you say, otay mama. As long as I feed you often, you are a pretty happy boy.

Wah dat mama? Is your new term. You say it often, as in all dang day. You are still a yes boy, although you do say no often. You are loud. I am constantly telling you, shhhh baby, inside voice. You think I’m very funny. Also most likely that I’m talking to hear myself talk.

You do this funny thing that we call, Bub’s adventures. You take us by the finger and make us follow you and then you force us to sit or do or see whatever it was that you wanted. Sometimes, you want me to sit in a different chair, so you can have mine. Sometimes you just want to show me what you’ve destroyed, or to have one of us retrieve MAYER!!!! from wherever he has gotten stuck this time.

Son, you are amazing. You are kind and gentle and super sweet. Your sisters and I adore you.

Happy 18 months.

Love, mama

I keep thinking that I should be doing better by now. That somehow I should be able to make myself feel better, be less sad, stop feeling as if my life has completely crumbled. I am constantly reminded by others that it is okay. Okay to be sad, okay to cry, okay to grieve. It’s okay. It’s not been long. It’s really only been two weeks. Tomorrow.

It’s only been 6 days since I realized this is permanent. I didn’t know that for sure until then. Six days. I lost all hope that day. Not sure why I still had some, but I did. Six days isn’t long, it’s not even a full week.

I wanted today to be the day that I stopped crying the second my kids go to bed. Or the second I drop them off with their father. The day that I stopped wanting to cry all day. The day that I’d start feeling like I may be capable of doing this.

I wanted today to be the day that I didn’t dread my day from the second I woke up. The day that I could see something good in my future. I wanted today to be the day that I answered all of the sweet emails and comments from all of you.

I wanted today to be the day I started actually reading posts again and engaging on Twitter. Doing more than opening and closing Facebook. Emailing people again.

Today is not that day. I am just not there yet.

Instead, this is what I know I can do for today:

Today I will remind myself that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to not be okay. That there is no timeline on grief.

I will remind myself this afternoon, when my kids go to their dad, that they need him as much as they need me. That I will get used to this new schedule. That they will be home for bed.

Today I will rejoice in the fact that Bailey ate an entire donut and drank an entire glass of milk for breakfast, instead of worrying about the fact that she hasn’t eaten in a week. I will remind myself that she’s five and it’s been a week. They’ve only known for a week. That as long as she eats something, she will be okay.

I will call and un-enroll Harrison in toddler class. The last thing he needs right now is more change.

I will make more blueberry cobbler, because it made Morgan happy.

Today I will send you over to the Babble Top 50 Mommy Blogger list, which someone added me onto. Whoever did that, I adore you. To each of you who voted for me, I adore you too. Now, will you all do me a favor? Please go over and vote for Mamaspohr. Please. For me? Thanks.

Today I will thank each of you right here and now, for your sweet emails and comments. For offers to talk, for sending me your phone numbers. For text messages, Tweets and DM’s. Truly, you have no idea how much it means to me. I’ve read it all. I just haven’t found the energy to respond yet. Just know, you have made me feel so supported and loved and that is priceless.

Today, I will be realistic in my goals for myself.

-All in all we had a great Thanksgiving. However, there was some family drama as their always is. I have a cousin who believes the world revolves around her. She always seems to get her way. She is the biggest asshat. Even bigger than her mother, which we all thought wasn’t possible. She didn’t want me to see her daughter (long story, but her oldest kid lives with her dad and step-mom in Colorado, about five hours away from us, but they were in Texas visiting family as well) and made it impossible for me to see her while we were in Texas. (Until this time last year, the girl practically lived at my house and I miss her.) On the drive home yesterday though, we ended up driving behind them and they called us when they noticed it and we all stopped and had lunch together and I’ve invited them to my house for Christmas. Take that, cousin.

-My great-aunt passed away on Wednesday night. She’d had a stroke the previous Friday and I decided not to mention it. It just didn’t feel right. Anyway, we didn’t stay for her funeral, which was yesterday. I did help plan it. It put a slight damper of the holiday. We decided to celebrate her life by doing it all anyway. She would have wanted us too. It did change the mood of the week though.

-We saw the world’s smallest skyscraper. Seriously. See?

It’s four stories high. It’s all small and tiny and cute. The story is this: at some point, lets say 100 years ago, although it may not have been that long ago. What? It’s my story. Anyway, this great businessman came to town. He told the town that he could build them the greatest, highest skyscraper in all of Texas. They looked over the plans, which looked amazing. He told them it would bring people from all over the world to see it. They could charge admission. They agreed and paid him his rate. He built it. They were outraged at how tiny it was. He told them that they’d signed the contract, they’d approved the plans, it wasn’t his problem. He left town. Turns out, the plans were exactly how he said they were. However, the town folks had not noticed that he’d used inches instead of feet in his measurments. It was clear as day on there, but in the excitement, they’d failed to notice it.

-We took roses to put on my grandparents and great-grandparents graves. Took us about 30 minutes to find them. Good thing we did too, since my grandpa’s middle initial is wrong on there. Nobody had noticed it when grandma passed last December.

-Football is a fierce subject in Texas. Doesn’t matter if it is the NFL or college. They don’t care where you live, if you are in Texas, you are a Texas fan. The end. To have a little fun, I pretended not to know a thing about football. I like seeing that vein in my uncle’s neck pop out.

-As a family, we all went and saw Blind Side on Saturday. See that movie. Trust me. It is phenomenal. I am now a Raven’s fan. I had to ask where they played and I don’t even care that I’ve never been to Baltimore. I am now a Raven’s fan. Everyone had a favorite line of the movie. We spent the following two hours at dinner discussing it. My favorite line? Tim McGraw plays the dad and he turns to his wife, played by Sandra Bullock, and says, “who’d of thought, we’d of had a black son, before we’d met a democrate?”  Cracked me up.

-My youngest cousin is seventeen years old. He’s a great kid. Funny, sweet, easy going. His girlfriend made him go see the Twilight movie on Friday night. I guess there is a part where the one buff guy rips off his shirt, when the girl is bleeding? Anyway, D stood up in the theater and said, WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?? Then he said to his girlfriend, H, don’t worry ALL GUYS look like that. I’m not sure D still has a girlfriend. If so, he owes her big time. He’d already been texting his dad and my husband for scores to the Texas vs. A&M game. Ha. Then again, a smart girl would have gone with her friends, not her boyfriend. Seventeen year old boys don’t care which vampire is hotter.

-The twelve hours in the car on the way to Texas was not so bad. Girls played nicely, read books, watched movies and listened to music. The boy managed to notice every, single bird that flew by; he napped for hours; he watched Cars and was generally a happy little dude. The way home to Texas took thirteen hours, but it felt like twenty-seven hours. The girls fought; with me, with each other. Batteries in iPods died. Movies were toooooo boring. This song is stupid, I don’t like this candy. On and on and on, it went. At 7am, the questions about how much longer started. The answer of ALL DAY AND STOP ASKING was only met with tears. Instead of napping, Harrison screamed and hit people. We had Cars on constand loop, just hoping he’d stop for ten minutes at a time. Then the last three hours, he choose to sob. Non-Stop. For three hours.

-Mostly though, we ate too much, we slept too little and we had a great week. How’d you guys do?

Alex,

Today most people would say that you are one years old. Your sisters have been trying to get you to hold up one finger for over a week now. Your daddy keeps asking you how old you are and you laugh at him.

Me? Well here’s the truth son. I’m not going to admit that you are one. If I say it, it’s real. Instead I came up with a brilliant idea. I will tell people that you are just 12 months. After today, I’ll tell them, oh he’s twelve months and change. It should work for a while.

Yesterday you had shots. You know… for your 12 month visit. Anyway, the shots gave you a fever in the afternoon and you spent the majority of it, laying on me. You weren’t crying, you weren’t interested in doing a single solitary thing, except laying on me. It made me happy. I know, I shouldn’t say that, but it did. Even though you are no longer that 8.6 pound butterball that we brought home. Even though you are now a 22 pound brute of a boy, it made me happy to have you laying on my chest, like you did for the first few months of your life.

Every day, every single moment,  for the past 365 days, I have been grateful for you. You are one of the three shining lights in my life.

As a third child you have done and been given certain things that your sisters had to wait for. What can I say? You get tired by the third kid.  *shrug* Let’s just put it this way dude. You love to eat Cheetos that I um…possibly put on the floor for you. You’ve had more dairy in the past month than your sisters had by the time they were two. We have, as of last week weaned you of bottles, but I honestly may let you keep those binky’s until college if you want. I don’t mind if you suck on my phone, empty all the Tupperware or jump on the bed. You get the joy of a third time mama. A tired mama.  A mama who knows that none of this will harm you. A mama who knows that 10 minutes of peace, is worth the mess.

You love to eat just about anything (I wish you’d stop trying to eat Lil’s food. She’s a dog. You are a boy. Enought said.) and I have this problem with not giving it too you. You don’t scream if I don’t, but you look at me with those puppy dog eyes and your little bottom lips quivers a bit. I hand you whatever it was, that I had just told you I wasn’t going to give you. Don’t get used to it, okay? I can be a hard ass. Just not yet.

Moving on…you have been the baby that makes people say, oh I should have a baby. You daddy likes to say that had you been first, we’d be like the Duggars by now. He’s delirious, but it is funny. For the first six months of your life, I was afraid for you. I was afraid that you were too perfect. That I’d lose you somehow because you were too perfect. Then you turned six months old. You learned to crawl. You stopped sleeping well. You learned how to get into everything. You learned how to annoy your sisters to no end. I think at that point, I stopped worrying about you a bit.

We call you baby Destructo. It’s very fitting. You are all boy and all toddler these days, which is normal. You are very, very, very destructive. Nothing is safe. Nothing. You love to tear apart papers, unload drawers, over turn plants and pretty much you leave a trail of destruction wherever you go. If I lose you in the house (not that I’ve ever done that. ahem) I can easily find you, by following the stuff. The remotes, magazines torn to bits, your sister’s shoes, tampons; all leave a trail to wherever you happen to be wreaking havoc in the moment.

However, you are easily entertained by two matchbox cars. You can sit for an hour and toss the dog a tennis ball down the hall. She loves you best by the way. This is new for me, this ability to entertain yourself. You are better at sitting and entertaining yourself that either of your sisters are at five and nearly eight years old.You sisters both adore you as well. Most the time at least.

You are quiet and serious. Your dad and I have spent literally hours (possibly days) trying to make you smile. You like to laugh at us, but you are not so quick with the smiles. You are a thinker. I don’t mind that. One drama queen and one comedian is enough for one family. I’ll take a serious thinker. The truth is, you are just like your daddy. I ddin’t realize how much until your grandma told me so. She said, eh, he’s nothing, he’s just fine, don’t worry. We didn’t think Logan liked us until he was two. We kept expecting him to walk out and find a new family. Your grandma’s a funny lady.

Smooshy, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Your daddy and sisters feel the same way. I can not believe that you’ve been here an entire year. If feels like you were always here. Always one of us.

Happy first birthday Smoosh.

Love you to bits,

Mama