A watched cell phone never texts.

Two weeks? One week too long.

Blog Her Blues, still not gone.

Professional worrying skills, keeps me awake.

Twitter and Facebook: follow suggestions suck.

My new iPhone? Named Potter Jackson.

Morgan, Bailey, Harrison: coming home tomorrow.

Liz, Jenna, Lu: Best friends. Love.

Missing my roomies: Kari, Stacey, iNater.

Want to do six word Friday? Here’s the link.

I saw a post a little bit ago written by Maggie Mason. A letter to her 20 year old self. When I clicked on the link in her post, I found even more posts write by a bunch of other bloggers. They wrote to themselves in their 20s. There is a whole little collection of them over here. I thought it might be worth doing. (I really am becoming an idea thief these days.)

Dear 21 year old Issa,

Congrats on the marriage….he’s a keeper. At least for a first husband. What? I’m not telling anything. Just enjoy okay? Try to enjoy what you have. Stop looking for the next thing. Enjoy your time with him. Soak it up. Live it up. Don’t worry so much about stuff. Stuff, money…it comes and goes. Time is what is important.

Spend less time at work. Spend more time at home. Don’t check work email on vacations. It will still be there when you get back. Use up every second of your vacation time. Use sick days for stay at home and play days. You work too hard. 14 hour days are okay sometimes, not all the time. There will come a time when you will regret this. So try to slow it down some now. The person who dies with the most hours put in at work, does not win.

Take a cooking class. Yes you live in Los Angeles. But honey? You won’t always. Trust me, learn to cook. Learn to bake. Learn these things now and you won’t have friends making fun of you online later for you lack of whip cream making knowledge.

Congrats on the little pink stick with the two lines. I know it’s fast. Hey guess what? You are very fertile. Ahem. I know it’s scary. I also know that it will be okay. Try to stop worrying. You will make a great mother. You are right, it’s a girl. A tiny perfect, little girl. Be prepared early, because she will be early. To everything, every milestone, her entire life basically. That’s just her way. Word to the wise? When your water breaks? PUT DOWN THE PANCAKES.

Before she comes? Eat out. Go spend days at the beach. ENJOY THE SLEEP. Sleep as much as humanly possible. Know that one day? They all learn to sleep. There will be nights where you wonder later if it was the right decision. Starting so young. That’s the hormones and the lack of sleep.

She’s worth it. Every single day, she is worth it. The two that come after her are just as amazing. I promise. Enjoy them. Enjoy the smell of newborn head. Enjoy the way they sleep in the crook of your neck. Enjoy the time before they learn to speak. It comes quick with the first one. Know that once they start talking, they never stop. With the second? Know she will do everything in her own time. Not her big sisters time. It’s okay. It’s all okay. Don’t be in such a hurry for them to get bigger. It happens way too fast.

Don’t sweat the small stuff. Ice cream can be a dinner food. Late bedtimes won’t kill her. Read an extra book. Let her watch an extra show. Buy that toy. That outfit. Sometimes, let her sleep in your bed. She’ll be better off for it.

Learn to love coffee.

Friends come and go. This I know. You need to start learning that now. Look around. Enjoy the friends you have. Just know that later, when things get tough, you will find friends who truly understand you. The good, the bad and the ugly. Friends who you can show your true self too.

No matter what? Andrew’s death wasn’t your fault. You probably couldn’t have kept him from doing what he did. Let go of the guilt.

Find a therapist. Talk. Don’t stuff everything. Trust me, I know. Stop playing the what if game. It will get you nowhere.

Enjoy your grandparents. I know you will, but enjoy them as much as humanly possible.

Don’t listen to dad or his wife. They know nothing. You are beautiful. Amazing. Talented. They don’t deserve you in their lives. They won’t be in the kids lives, so don’t even bother trying. Save yourself some heartache.

Think about what you want to do with your life. When you figure it out, please write 30 year old me a letter. That’d be dam helpful right now. Snort.

Think before you type a little more. Speak your truth a little more to family and friends. Your words? Are just as important as theirs.

Mostly though? Love hard. Live. Be happy. Have fun dammit.

You are amazing. Please to be remembering.

xoxo, 30 year old me

Usually take one last pass through town, Stop the car and touch the ground, Watch those streetlights swayin’ in the breeze, Decorated store fronts, Rusty old gas pumps, Try to fill my mind up, With somethin’ before I go, Picture postcard memories, You know they always make for good company. –Turning Home, David Nail

Picture Postcard Memories. Somehow that line has stuck with me for days. Just a silly line in a song, but I can’t get it out of my head. In a lot of ways, I think like that. In postcard memories. Have you ever seen the movie, Elizabethtown? The girl, played by Kirsten Dunst pretends to take photos of people, of places, just to remember. When I saw that movie, I realized I’ve done that my entire life. Although, I do it in my head, so as not to end up in a round padded room, being asked to find the corner.

I have been thinking a lot about this lately. When I’m having a bad day, I try to search through my mind for happier times, simple times, just memories that make me smile. I’d like to write some of these memories down. For me to remember, for my kids maybe one day. Just so I never forget. Thought I’d try a few today. Maybe I’ll keep doing it. We’ll see. You all know how I say I’m going to do something and then I never bring it up again. But it’s a thought.

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We told Morgan for months that she was going to have a baby brother. Each time we told a random person and that person said anything to her, she’d say: nopes, no baby bruder. We thought she was just having trouble adjusting. Turned out she was right. Bailey, despite the doctor being SO SURE she was a boy, was born a girl.

She was born near midnight and it was around lunch time the next day, when my mom brought Morgan in to meet her new baby sister.  I can picture her little eyes sparkling and her screechy voice when she came in the room and saw me. HI MOMMY!!!! All decked out in a new outfit from my mom; red shorts and a red striped Dora shirt. She suddenly seemed like a full grown child, compared to her teeny tiny, new baby sister.

She got up on the bed with me and held her baby sister. This Ian, she asked, because we’d told her for months that would be her brothers name. No baby, it’s not, I said. This is…well she doesn’t have a name yet, but she’s your baby sister. No brother. Sorry honey. No Ian? Okay.

A little bit later, she got off the bed and started looking around. She looked under the bed, in the bathroom, heck, she even looked in my bag that was by the bed. When she walked out of the door, I called her back in the room and asked her what she was looking for. I looking for Ian mama. He’s lost. I will find hims for you.

She thought we’d misplaced him. Like he was a shoe or something. A missing item to find.

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The pool was shaped like a kidney bean. We were in Waikiki, Hawaii on the last day of our vacation. In the deep end there was a weird window, about two feet down. We’d been going down and making faces at it for a good hour. My step-mom was in the room with her eighth migraine of the week. My dad was somewhere.

I bet my brothers to moon the window. Told them, I’d pay them a dollar each. I could have offered them a piece of gum, they were easy marks. Eight year olds are easily buy-able. At ten, I could pay them next to nothing, or just dare them to do anything and they’d do it.

They each took a turn, going underwater and mooning the window. Seconds later my dad showed up. He rarely yelled, but he yelled loudly that day. Get out of the pool right now. Come with me.

Turns out, it was a bar. With a window. To the deep end of the pool. Weird, huh?

He made us apologize to a bar full of hysterically laughing people. The bartender gave us each a Shirley temple. Even added extra cherries. Little tiny boy butts are nothing. I’ve got kids at home. You have no idea the things I see, he told my dad. Whoever thought of putting this window in, was smokin something crazy.

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Our last night in Las Vegas. We’d been there for three days. Three fun filled, easy days. Neither of us really wanted to go back to the hotel. It was admitting the end of our trip.

Sitting at the Bellagio. In a back hallway, in comfy chairs, eating gelato for an hour and a half. Talking about nothing and everything. Being shocked that we couldn’t hear a single sound, except the few other people doing the same thing. We could have been anywhere. In fact, from the second we went into that hotel, until we left it, we never heard a casino. It was a perfect end, to a perfect trip.

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I was fourteen. Summer. Camping. Half Moon Bay. I got up at dawn to go to the bathroom. It was cold and foggy and the sun hadn’t even considered coming out yet. I knew I couldn’t get back in the pop-up trailer without waking everyone else up, so I decided to go on a walk. I walked and then sat and watched the fog roll off the ocean. Listened to the waves crash. Peace. I felt more at peace in that moment that I had in years. I sat there alone and watched the sun come up. Then I walked back to the camper, where no one had even gotten up yet.

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Morgan being held by my Grandpa on his 80th birthday. She was only six days old. Perfection she was, full of that newborn awesomness. I can picture everything he wore that day, her too. If I think hard enough, I can even smell them both. I ignored his words that he might not be strong enough to hold her and placed her in his arms. He was pale and shaky, one of the last few times I’d see him standing and walking around. She’s barely six pounds Grandpa, I said. She won’t break. I watched him take a finger and gently run it on her nose, watched him kiss her head. Angel kisses, he whispered. What, I asked him? Those red strawberry marks on her eyelids. Oh those will go away in a few weeks, I said. Or that’s what her doctor said.

Angel kisses, he repeated. This child was kissed by angels.

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I can’t live these memories a second time. I wish I could, but it’s just not possible. But the stories in my head? Are something I’ll never forget.

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

In July, on the first night of BlogHer, I met someone I’d never “met” online. I met the lovely Renee, also known as But Why Mommy. After a bit, I found myself sitting across the table from her, at a not so great pizza joint in downtown Chicago. I felt a bit weird because it seemed like I was the only one at the table who didn’t know who she was. The thing that made me feel better, was I didn’t believe she knew who I was either. (Watch, I’ll be wrong about that.) We started talking about our kids. I told her how sad I’d been that morning to leave 10 month old Harrison and how Bailey had been really upset, until Logan had offered her donuts. Yes, my child traded me for a donut. Renee told me all about Bunny, her then three year old; about her love of dinosaurs, how smart she was, how amazing an artist she was at such a young age. When she talked about Bunny, her face lit up. I remember that, even now.

Then I asked her if Bunny was going to be an only child or if they’d have another one day. Renee then said, well we adopted Bunny from China and we’d like to say we’ll one day give her a sibling, but it seems unlikely right now. She told me that they were in the process of adopting a son from Ethiopia, but it seemed like it just might not happen. That the process didn’t seem to progressing at all. That she was unsure if they would continue to move forward or give up. She was sad about that and trying not to be. Trying not to show it. We barely knew each other and I wanted to hug her. I know that feeling, the wanting to expand your family and thinking it will never happen. But all I could say was, oh I really hope it all works out for you. I’d only known the girl for an hour.

That was eight months ago. Eight months is a long time, but also not such a long time. Long enough to make a great friend. Although truthfully, I felt like Renee was a great friend after four days.

Today though, eight months later, my amazing friend is very, very close to bringing her son Lion home. What I mean is, they could literally be going to get him in a few weeks. He is for sure their son. They got that news about ten days ago. Now they just wait for all the paperwork to come in. Then? They go bring their boy home, where he belongs. With Renee and her husband; with his big sister Bunny.

I wanted to do something for my friend. Something big, something amazing. Something to show her how much I love her and how thrilled I am for her. I wanted to throw her a baby shower. Maybe an adoption shower? However, this is the Internet. And? Renee and I live three states away from each other. We have amazing friends, but they are scattered all over the country. It doesn’t make for easy parties. I did the next best thing, I put together an Internet baby shower. There are no brownies, or little cakes, but it has something better than that, tons of friends and love. Which really is more important than little cakes. (Oh how I’d take a little cake right now.)

Anyway…Renee, welcome to your baby shower. **hands over silly hat and little cake** Make yourself comfy, you have a bunch of reading to do today.

I thought about what I could share with you, Renee. What could I possibly tell you that is helpful. I figure I can give you a few pointers on parenting boys. You know from my vast knowledge of the past nearly 17 months. Snort.

1. Boys pee. They pee upwards. This was new for me. Here is my helpful hint. Something I still do to this day. Take a wipe and throw it on the dang thing, the second you open the diaper. Just trust me on this one. Harrison hasn’t peed on me in months, but he still could. It’s something I fully believe to be true.

2. Boys are loud. Not screechy loud like little girls, but volume loud. Very, very loud. Invest in ear plugs.

3. Boys like things that move. Cars, balls, trains, toys that move. They don’t generally care much for toys that don’t do something. Unless it’s tupperware, 100 DVD boxes that can be thrown on the floor or you, when you are sitting. You are a jungle gym. I hope you knew that.

4. Boys are dirty. I have a daughter who is dirty too. Truly, we call her pig pen sometimes. But Harrison is very little and he’s always dirty. Always. I always wonder how he can get dirty playing with his train set in my basement. But he can.

5. Silver wear is a joke. Only give it to him, if you like things chucked at your head. Harrison will eat anything and everything. I do mean everything. But he’s not so big on forks and spoons. He prefers the whole hand as a shovel method.

6. Boys are sweet and cuddly and absolute joys. Parenting a boy, after girls gives me more joy than I could even put into words. I melt each time he gives me that little impish grin. He knows it too, little brat. Ha.

You are a great mom my friend. I have no doubt that Lion is one lucky, amazing little boy. I can’t wait to meet him.

Below is a Mr. Linky. Our friends who had the chance, will be linking posts for you throughout the day. We just wanted you too know that you are loved and that we all love your tiny boy, even though we haven’t met him yet.

ps. I sent you a box. A bit late, but yeah…I’m me. Stuff I said I’d send. Some gifts I bought and a little something for Bunny. Love you sweetie. I could not be more thrilled about you bringing Lion home.