Today is a celebration, although not the one we’d all like to be having. Today should be a day of cake and ice cream, of toys that make noise and make parents want to chuck it at the gift giver. (Or re-gift for that person’s birthday the next month. Oh yes, I have.) Today should be a day of hyper toddler squeals and maybe even a sugar induced meltdown or two. Today should be the day a beautiful little girl, named Maddie, turns two. Unfortunately, that day will never come.
Maddie only had one birthday here on earth. Today however a ton of us are giving her the only birthday we can. We are remembering her. On this day, we will remember her. Remind the world of the amazing girl who helped bring a huge community together.
When I was seven years old, I told my Grandpa that I wished I could have met his mother, my great-grandma Annie, my namesake. She passed a year before I was born. He told me, you can meet her, one day. Until then, you remember her, you just keep remembering her by looking at pictures and telling people the stories I’ve told you about her. It’s how we keep people alive. We remember.
I never had the chance to meet Maddie, although I wish I had. I wish I’d gotten to hear that infectious laugh and seen that beautiful grin, in person. I’d of charmed her, no doubt in my mind. Babies love me. It may be the M&M’s I keep in my pocket at all time, but that could just be a rumor.
No matter, really. I will never forget her. I will always remember this amazing little girl, who lit up the world.
I love this picture. Adore it, is more likely. It’s a funny shot. Babies and cake, gotta love it. But more than that, it reminds me of the amazing faces Maddie always had in photos. Special thank you to Heather for letting me steal it.
Today is for Maddie Moo. Happy 2nd birthday angel baby. We all love you and miss you.
Tons of love and hugs to Heather and Mike today. You two have my whole heart, today and every day. For Maddie’s birthday, I’m going to donate money for another Support Pack. If you can, will you please join me in this. It really is for a great cause and it helps new NICU parents.
Much love to Meghan at AMomTwoBoys for putting this linky love party. If you did a post about Maddie, please go over and add a link to Meghan’s post. Also, if you want to comment and let me know, I’ll come take a look at it.
I watch her. More often than not, I find myself studying her. Two months shy of eight years old and I very rarely get glimpses of that baby she once was. I look but I just don’t see it anymore. I have to look at the baby girl on my walls, for even a vague resemblance.
Instead when I look at her, I see glimpses of the woman she will become. The little girl of now, is the woman of tomorrow. That’s a tall order as a parent: to raise good adults.
Tall, lanky, a natural athlete. No misspoken words, no more baby belly. She is helpful. God, she is so helpful. She is independent, opinionated, loud; loving, caring and kind. All of this and so much more describes her.
She walks with me these days. Just in the last few months, I’ve noticed this. She walks with me. Not ahead, not lagging behind, not stopping every two seconds to look at something, touch something. No, she walks with me. We talk about things. Big things. Life things. We talk about the latest Hannah Montana show and who was mean to who on the playground; but we talk about adult things now as well. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I want to go back. It’s hard to explain huge things, bad things to such a small child. Then I remember that she is a child, but she’s become a woman. I won’t lie to her. I just can’t. Plus, she no longer wants me too. She wants truths. She wants to learn. She actively seeks knowledge, constantly.
I don’t have to tell her to look both ways anymore. In a parking lot, she automatically grabs her sisters hand. She keeps her brother from danger…which he easily finds, everywhere we go. She is an amazing big sister, even though she lacks patience with them sometimes.
She walks with confidence. Tall and proud.
She knows what she likes, what she wants and isn’t afraid to tell me. Constantly. However, she tells me, she doesn’t scream it at me anymore. We have gone nearly six weeks without a tantrum over nothing.
She is her own person, now more than ever. She has her own ideas, she knows what she wants to be when she grows.
She is becoming a woman. Slowly but surely. I see it when I look at her.
My baby girl, my first baby love. My big girl. My daughter.
Six months. Maddie has been gone six months. It doesn’t seem possible. Every single day, I see something, whether on the Internet or out in the world that makes me think of Maddie. Sometimes a purple balloon floating to the clouds, sometimes a bright yellow flower in a store window. Yesterday, it was a little girl at my daughter’s school, playing with a wig. It made me think of Maddie and this picture. Click that link if you have a chance, it’s the cutest picture of Maddie. For some reason it’s one of my favorites.
I’ll never ever forget her.
Today, if you get a moment, please go tell Heather and Mike that you are thinking about them and Maddie.
Friends of Maddie was created in memory of the beautiful, amazing Madeline Alice Spohr. If you have anything to give, please, please think of donating to Friends of Maddie.
Today, my lovely beautiful friend Renee, known to all of you as But Why Mommy, is 40 years old. This is a reason to celebrate. Every birthday should be celebrated, but the big ones especially. I thought that since I can’t actually take her out, I’d do the next best thing…I’d throw her a blog party. It’s like a block party, except that the block is the entire inter-web. Friends can post about Renee today, tell her how amazing she is and how much we all hope she has a great birthday. Best part is, no one has to bring anything made of jello. Because really, who still eats jello?
I met Renee the first day of the BlogHer conference this summer. Funny but people had previously said, do you know But Why Mommy and I’d go, no who? They’d tell me her blog address and I’d file it in the, I will get over there one day file. Somehow I never got there. I found myself going out to dinner with her (and about nine other people) that first night and the rest is history. Renee is amazingly awesome, she’s funny, sweet and kind. We hit it off right away. Literally we spent the rest of the conference hanging out. All of my best conference moments had her in it. I may have tasked her as my bodyguard one night. What man? She’s tall, she can protect short ass me.
This picture is from the Cheeseburger party at BlogHer. From left to right is Kirsten, me (enjoy it peeps, it may never happen again), Matthew, Kari and Renee. See, did I not tell you that the girl is beautiful. Even with Cheeseburger hat. And tall, the brat is tall. As tall as I wished and hoped I would be. *sob*
Renee, I wish more than anything that we all lived close together and I could have set up a surprise party for you. More than that, I wish we could have coffee dates and dinner dates and that we could hang out in person. Internet hugs just aren’t quite the same, although they work pretty well most days. This however, was the best I could do.
I made a cake for you. See? Sadly, it was kinda tiny and a smallish boy attacked it on his first birthday. Shrug. You’ve got to be faster about these things, my friend. Okay fine it was his cake…but still I made a cake.
I hope you have a great birthday darlin. I wish I could be there to do something for you, but I hope this makes it a little bit easier. I hope this helps you not be sad. Even though we aren’t there, we are all thinking about you today. Today is your day. Today, you should be celebrated, even if it’s just online. We are your friends and we love you, even if we don’t see you today.
Love, Issa
ps. Renee, Scott emailed me. Sweet email too. Made me all happy. Possibly made me cry. I was going to do something for you today, but this? Everyone doing this for you? He helped big time. It was because of his email, that I thought of having a blog party. That’s a great guy you’ve got there. Truly.
pps. This is the Mr. Linky for all of Renee’s birthday posts. Told you, it’s a blog party. 
Please go and check them all out. Make sure to say hi while you’re there.
DUDE!!!!! This linky thing isn’t showing how I thought I did. More than likely I did it wrong. Hi, I has no idea what I’m doing. Anyway, if you click on it, it will show you everyone who has posted for Renee. EDIT: never mind, Mommy Geekology fixed it for me.
September 7th, 1994-
First day of my freshman year, third period English is when I first met him. Tall, gangly, wild hair, handsome. When I saw him, I leaned over to my best friend and said, I’ve got dibs on that one. He walked in late so our teacher made him tell the class about himself. Name’s Logan, just moved here from Denver, goal in life is to learn to surf. Oh and today’s my birthday.
She sat him right next to me. He’d not even fully sat down when I handed him a note. I’m Issa, wanna ditch with my friends and I after lunch? I’ll teach you to surf. A big smile and a nod was his response.
I taught him to surf that day. I also gave him shit for the entire afternoon when he told me he’d lied. His birthday was actually the 5th. It was just something to say, she put me on the spot was his response to me.
There was something about him. It was like I’d known him forever, even though we’d just met. He was the nicest, sweetest, funniest guy I’d ever met. We dated from that day forward.
September 5th, 1998 –
At the beach in Santa Monica, sitting on the swings at midnight. We’d spent the day together. We’d had dinner with his family, cake with mine and coffee later on with friends. What else would make this the perfect birthday, I asked him? Not sure anything could top it, he said. Hmm, what if I asked you to marry me, I asked?
Are you serious?
Yes, I am. I am dead serious. Logan, will you marry me?
You know it’s supposed to be the guy who asks the girl to marry him right? I had it all planned.
We’ll that’s fine, you can do that. But answer me first. Will you marry me?
Of course I will. I’ve wanted to marry you from the day we met.
*The rest of this story has been edited, because this is a family blog. Please feel free to think what you’d like. Actually don’t, that’s gross. Forget I said anything. About a month later he proposed to me.
September 5th, 2001 -
Laying in bed, after having a huge birthday dinner with family and friends. He’d spent all day go-carting with our brothers, while I purchased every single baby pink outfit in the world. What do you think she’ll look like, he said as he patted my belly? We’d just found out Morgan would be a girl.
I don’t know. I hope she’s tall and athletic like you, I said. I hope she has the shape of my eyes, but your nose and mouth for sure. And your mother’s ability to cook, I added.
With your sense of humor and kindness, he said. We both laughed at the thought of her coming out a mini chef.
I just want her to be happy, he says to me. I don’t care what she does in life, just promise me we’ll raise her to be happy. We will love, we will. I swear to you. We’ll make sure she has a great life. That’s my birthday promise to you.
Can I ask you for another birthday gift, he asks me, right before I fall asleep. Of course honey, what? I’d like her middle name to be Elise, after my cousin. We can name her Maya* like you want, it’s a beautiful name. But instead of Olivia, as her middle name, I’d like to honor my cousin. Can we do that?
Yes babe. We can. Maya Elise it is.
*Yes, this is Morgan’s real name. Shrug. Elise was Logan’s cousin who died from cancer when she was seven years old. He was nine when she died.
September 5th, 2008 –
September 2nd, 2009 -
Late Wednesday night, in bed.
Me: I’m sorry my plans for your birthday didn’t work out so well.
Him: Meh, it’s okay. You know?
Me: Babe, it’s your 30th freaking birthday, it’s supposed to be HUGE. I’ve kind of failed on the HUGE part.
Him: I’d rather be here with our moms and our babies and celebrate that way. If I’d had the choice, I’d of said that.
Me: Hmm, I guess I didn’t really ask you what you wanted did I?
Him: No, not really. It’s okay. I wouldn’t have minded two days away with you. This is just better. It’s like the universe intervened for me.
Me: I’m sorry.
Him: Don’t be my love. Don’t be. One birthday request?
Me: Of course, anything you want. Within reason, I add…because I saw that evil glint in his eye. LOL.
Him: On my birthday, I’d like us to have a sleepover with the kids. One night only, but all my babies in one room.
Me: Okay. That I can do. And hey, it’s even free. It’ll be crowded you know?
Him: Crowded is good sometimes.
Me: Okay then. Birthday wish granted. Do I still have to make you a cake and buy you a gift?
Him: Only if you want one next year for your birthday.
Me: Point taken. Guess I’ll be buying making a cake tomorrow.
*I got so lucky. I don’t know what I did to deserve this man, but I’m glad I have him. Whose 30th birthday wish is to let the kids sleep in their room? He doesn’t want a party, he didn’t really want to go away for the weekend, he just wants a weekend with his family. There’s nothing better than that.
Happy 30th birthday tomorrow babe. I promise to wait at least a month week day to mention that you are now older than me.
Love, me
Two days from now, there will be a beautiful wedding on the tip top of a mountain. A small wedding; only 50 invited guests. There will be dresses, new shoes and tons of flowers. A photographer has been hired, a DJ given an obscene amount of money and there will be more food than 50 people could possibly consume in 6 hours of partying. There will be cake; beautiful, tasty cake.
Two people, one of whom is my sister in law, will vow their love for each other, in front of family, friends, god and whatever animals live at 14,000 feet elevation. After four years of dating, they are ready for this major step. They share a love that most people will hope they find one day. One that I’m lucky enough to have as well.
It will be a gorgeous ceremony, a beautiful start to their new life together. We’ve all been looking forward to this for over a year. Planning, organizing and dreaming about this day.
There’s just one catch. It’s not legal. To them, they will be married. To us, their family and friends, they will be married. The courts and our government disagree.
My sister in law, Audrey is marrying her soul mate. But Lexi is a woman. They are lesbians. Proud to be lesbians. Committed to each other, soul mate type peiople. However, they are lesbians. Which means, this beautiful union of two of my favorite people, isn’t legal.
If something happened to Audrey and a medical decision needed to be made, the hospital would have to turn to her parents for the decision, instead of her wife. Because it’s not legal.
I’m conflicted. I’m thrilled beyond belief that this day has finally come. Logan and I knew they were perfect for each other the day Audrey introduced us to Lexi. I’m also sad, because they are not given the same common courtesies in this country that my husband and I are. The rights that Logan and I have, as a married couple, don’t exist for gay couples right now.
It’s bittersweet. We thought it would be legal in California, but that boat sank in November. Which is why the wedding is here, instead of California. They always wanted to get married on some god for saken mountain top, but they would have married in California, the state where they live, if it was going to be legal.
On Sunday, I will go celebrate a joyfull occasion with my family. I’ll drink and be merry. I’ll cry, because I always cry at weddings. They just may be tears of sadness mixed with those of happyness.
My first bittersweet post is HERE, if you care to read it.
Even over the smell of the food, I smelled him as he walked in the door. You don’t think you will ever forget the smell of a man once they are gone forever, but sadly one day you do. Until it walks into a restaurant and gets in line behind you. I breathed deeply twice. I bit my lip to stop the tears, as I turned around to see who it was that smelled like that.
He was probably about 70 years old. Little bit shrunken, like older people get. Nice looking guy, glasses, old guy cap on his head. But that smell, he smelled just like my grandpa. I just smiled at him and turned back around. The baby cooed at him once, possibly waved, as it is his favorite thing to do. I am pretty sure he said something to Harrison, but I couldn’t tell you what.
I wish I could have asked him what cologne he used. Wouldn’t have mattered though, as I know it was a combination of things. His Cologne, Zest soap, Listerine, Certs breath mints. Grandpa; he smelled like grandpa.
************
Where are we going this week, he’d ask me. Where do you think silly, I’d say. Let me guess? How about Paulie’s, you know Paul would love to see you? No grandpa, no Mexican food, Hamburger Hamlet. Oh how could I have not known that, he’d say, sighing.
Every other Tuesday night for two years, that was my dinner choice. Every time, we had the same conversation. Their hamburgers and fries were to die for, their shakes couldn’t be beat; but best yet, they let you draw on the table. At five years old, there is nothing better than drawing on the table while on a date with your grandpa.
You know, Melissa Annie, he’d say; one day you are going to want to go to a real restaurant and then I will be the one wanting to draw on the table and we always have to come here.
Grandpa, even when I am eighty-ninety-two years old, I will always want to come here.
************
I was six, maybe seven the first time I got fresh with him. You better watch it girl, or I will snatch you bald headed. He growled a bit as he said it. I apologized instantly and he was fine after that.
What that exactly meant, I never knew. But he said it too all of the grandchildren when they got smart mouthed or said or did something rude. What I did know was I didn’t want to know what it meant.
I heard someone else say that their grandfather used to say that. Not sure where I was, nor who said it, but it didn’t bother me. I bet their grandfather didn’t growl when he said it.
*************
At ten, he taught me how to shift the gears in his car when he was driving. As I got better at it, he’d say every time I got into his car, you shifting or am I? Well that was a silly question to ask a ten year old. I always shifted. He’d tell me when and I got to where I could do it without even looking.
At twelve, he took me into a school parking lot on a Sunday and let me have my first attempt at driving. You tell your dad about this and I’ll snatch you bald headed, he’d say.
Grandpa if I told dad about this, he’d make you stop. I want to drive, this is between you and me.
Not many twelve year old children can say they know how to drive a stick shift.
************
In the summer, when I was fourteen, I ran away from home. I tried to go to Mexico with some friends. We had parental issues, or so we thought in the moment. Everything would be better in Mexico. At the border, they made us call someone to come and get us and I called grandpa. He drove the two and a half hours to get us. Let us have it too, how dumb we were, how badly it could have ended, how disappointed he was in me. That last one hurt the most.
He told us all that you can’t run away from small problems and you shouldn’t run away from the big ones. Told us our secret was safe with him this time, but next time he’d not be so nice. I never forgot his disappointment that day.
**********
At sixteen, I made an off handed comment about the AC not working great in my bedroom. I came home the next day from school and he was installing a ceiling fan in my bedroom. My mom just shook her head at me and said, I wish I had someone who would drop everything for me like this.
*********
From him, I get my love of good red wine, fresh seafood and great salsa; the joy of storytelling, reading a good book, the love of movies and the ability to cut a person down with my words. That last one, he could have kept.
**********
He told me stories about flying in the Korean war. He told me about growing up with his brother Paul, how Paul never matured past the age of three, even though he lived to be twenty-seven. He told me about the mistakes he made in parenting when my dad and his siblings were kids. He told me about working as a radio guy back in the early sixties. Told me about his granddad, who took them (his daughter and grandchildren: my grandpa and his baby brother Paul who were six and one at the time) and escaped Poland right before it was invaded by the Germans. He told me how much I reminded him of his mom; my great-grandma Annie.
************
The best compliment I ever got in my life was from him. I can’t share it, it’s too sentimental, but I never forgot it and I never will.
***********
He was a grouchy old guy, but he always had time for me. When email was new, he and I both had an email account. I used to get emails that had “Yippee, Squeee, Happy” as the subject. That was how much he loved email. It was a joyous event for him each time.
***********
He’s a grouchy, pain in the ass curmudgeon and I’m never speaking to him again, I said to my dad on the phone. I was 18 years old and had just had the worst lunch date in my life with Grandpa. I’d told him that Logan and I were getting married and he spent the next half hour telling me how I shouldn’t do that, I’d forever regret it; before I finally got up and left the restaurant.
I called him an old fool as I left and told him he was not welcome at my wedding. And Daddy, I mean it, he’s not welcome. I was seething as I said this to my dad.
Oh you don’t mean that, honey. You are angry, you have every right to be angry, but you have to see his side of view.
No, I can’t. He’s wrong about me and he’s wrong about Logan. I am not mom, Logan is not you. We won’t wake up and regret this one day. If I’m wrong and we do, then whatever.
I know that and you know that, but grandpa doesn’t. Time will change things. Don’t worry about it Melissa, he’ll come around.
I am not rushing into this. I love this man, he is my soul mate.
I know. I support you in this and one day your grandfather will too. Just remember you are his first grandchild and the only granddaughter. (At the time this was true, although two years later, my Aunt and Uncle gave him is sixth grandchild, the second granddaughter.) To him, you are like his child. One that he did right by. One that he didn’t make the mistakes with that he made with us.
Dad, you are my father, not him.
Dad just sighed and tried to calm me down. He swore it’d go away, that in a few days I’d forget it.
I never did though. The things he said and the things I said changed our relationship from that day forward. He didn’t know me like I thought he did, if he’d say those things to me. I always loved him, but our relationship was never the same. I never really let him know me again.
************
Then came the call. July 2003. Grandpa’s been in an accident, my brother said. In those words my heart stopped for an instant. He was coming home from Aunt K’s and he got hit by a semi-truck. He’s in the middle of nowhere Oregon. Dad is on his way up there now.
The semi didn’t kill him. He got so lucky that day. A few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and some bruising from the seat belt. But the scans they did of his abdomen looked off. They thought they saw something in his liver. The doc told him to go home and have his primary care physician do an MRI.
He put it off, going in. He never liked doctors. Didn’t like enclosed spaces, since he’d been hidden in a trunk off and on for days as a child, when they escaped from Poland. Eventually my dad made him go see the doc. Mid-August maybe.
Stage four. Colon cancer. By the time they find colon cancer, it has generally spread to all of your organs. It was in his liver, his pancreas, his lungs. Nothing they could do except send him home with a script for pain meds and the number for hospice. Three to six months if you are lucky.
**********
October 20th was the last time I talked to him. He was doing okay, better than expected. He still got up and left the house every day. Still went to my uncles shop and gave everyone hell. Still went to his favorite restaurants and flirted with the waitresses.
We all had plans for Sunday brunch. We’d started doing it again every week, just like when I was a small kid, since his diagnosis.
Out of the blue, my phone rings. For a second I didn’t realize it was him. The cancer had gotten into his stomach, so he had stomach acid that was damaging his vocal cords and his esophagus. His voice was changed, a strangers voice.
I am so proud of you, of the woman you’ve become, he said. I want you to always know that. To remember this forever, that I’ve always loved you. That I’ve been proud of you since the second you were born. I need you to know that I’m sorry for doubting your and Logan’s love.
I know grandpa, I told him. it’s okay. You don’t have to do this now. I will see you in three days. We can talk then.
I was busy with Morgan in that moment. Trying to get her to stop climbing the walls, to take a nap, something. The day to day stuff with a 22 moth old child.
No Melissa he said, you never know how much time is left. I may be unable to talk by Sunday. I want you to know this now, just in case. I need you to know that I love you and I love Logan and I adore that spitfire of a girl you gave me as a great-grandchild.
Okay then. Well I love you too grandpa I said. I’ve been proud to be your granddaughter my entire life. And Grandpa, I’m sorry too. I was a young fool. Not about marrying Logan, but in thinking that your opinion didn’t matter. In not listening and explaining and instead going all defensive.
I love you baby girl, was the last thing he said.
*******
The next day my uncle found him on the floor of his apartment, unconscious. He never again gained consciousness. The last nine days of his life were spent on a vent in the ICU at UCLA Medical Center. He passed away October 30, 2003.
********
I remember all of this and a million other things while eating my dinner. Who knew one smell could bring it all back? The sadness has passed in some ways. Five and a half years does that too you. You are supposed to lose your grandparents, it is the natural progression of life. Doesn’t make it easy when it happens, but you know it is going to happen. He was my first. I’ve lost the other three since then. The sadness of the two I lost last year is too fresh. When I think of them, I only remember the end.
But with him, I remember the laughs. The dates. The movie marathons. The trip to Vegas in his RV, with my dad and brothers when I was five. Week trips to the Grand Canyon. Days spent looking at boats in the Marina, looking at animals at the zoo, exploring Grifith Park. The letters I have from my weeks spent at summer camp; letters full of jokes and stories about home. The man who taught me to tie a cherry string with my tongue at four years old. The curmudgeon who I respected and loved more than most people.
One smell and it all comes back. The smell of a memory.
He crawls away from me, until he gets to the edge of the door which will lead him out of our kitchen and into the den. There he stops, turns around, looks at me and comes back to play with the Tupperware again. He hasn’t found his baby wings yet. He hasn’t realized that we are not one yet. I am still his person. At not yet eight months old, I am his world. He lights up when he sees me in the morning and cries when I walk out of the room without him.
This is the way it should be. Yes, he will get over his separation anxiety soon. Yes, he will one day leave the room I am in on purpose. But not yet. I will savor the time until then.
Logan: Iss, I think we need to eat at home this week. He reaches for another hot wing from the container in the middle of the table.
Bailey: Daddy, we are eating and we are at home.
Logan: Did you coach her to say that?
Me: Nope, she got that one on her own. Babe, I’m doing the best I can. Dinner is still dinner, as long as we all eat together.
Logan: Pause. I never thought of it that way. So, okay, dinner at home, no restaurants this week. But I don’t care where the food comes from. One week, lets just try it for one week, okay?
Me: That sounds like a plan.
Morgan was as sick as a dog last week; food poisoning from some treat at the school. I’ve never seen her that sick in my life. Her long thin body, curled up on the bathroom floor in between retching. I sat with her, me and Harrison hanging with her on the floor until I finally decided to take her to Urgent care. I have been scared in my life; scared of many things. But nothing is scarier than watching your baby go as limp as a noodle from exhaustion and dehydration as you carry her too the car to take her to Urgent Care.
At 2am that next morning, she came into our room and said, mama I can’t go to school today. I know bug, I do. But it’s only 2am, I told her. Then I did something I rarely do, I pulled her into bed with us. She slept curled into me, nestled in between Logan and I for the rest of the night.
When I was in California, she slept with me two nights in a row. The two nights following my losing the baby. Those two nights, I felt guilty for, because she was there to comfort me. Now I know it works both ways. It’s okay for her to be a comfort to me on occasion, just as it is for me to be that for her. That’s what makes us family. Yes, she is seven years old, my first baby. But she is getting so big too. Big enough that we are starting to become friends in some way.
I want that, to be friends with my kids. Their mother first? Always. But friends too.
My Mom: So, Papa** and I are coming out mid-June. We’re hoping to find a house to buy while we are there.
Me: Really? That soon?
Mom: Yeah. I’ve already started working on my book and he’s pretty much finished with the practice. Jordan has a handle on it, he’s been there for nearly two years. The practice runs itself these days. We’re ready for the change. Ready for the new chapter in our lives.
Me: Mom, you know there is a house for sale down the block from us.
Mom: You’d want us to look at that? It wouldn’t be too close?
Me: No, not at all. We’d love it.
Mom: Oh I’m so happy to hear that. Ok, well pull the phone number, so I can call on it, okay?
Me: I will call them for you.
Mom: You know it’s funny, but so many people don’t get to say that their grown daughter is one of their best friends.
Me: I know, that’s just sad. God, I hope the girls and I are like that one day.
Mom: I know it will be like that for you.
**We call my step-dad, papa. Have since they got married when I was eight.
Kate: Are you guys sending the girls to summer day camp?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe? We go back and forth on it. Morgan wants too, but Bailey doesn’t at all.
Kate: Yeah, Aidan doesn’t want to either. If we send him, you know he’ll fight me every single morning. It’s almost not worth the trouble.
Me: Yeah, I know. I want the time with them, the freedom to sleep in. Ha. But the reality is, I don’t know that I want to entertain them, or listen to them fight all day every day for the next 10 weeks.
Kate: Well what if we share the kids? Take turns on certain days? Split them up on certain days and then have a day a week where we all do something together? Then we can both say, have a day a week free and the rest will work itself out.
Me: That is awesome. I’m in for sure. Can I have Friday off?
Kate: I knew you’d ask me that.
Me: At least I’m consistent.
Kate: Um huh. Consistent, pain in the ass maybe.
I wake up late/early one night to the bed shaking. He’s sobbing, all 6’4″ curled up around a pillow, with his hand shoved in his mouth to be quiet. I comfort him and calm him down and then ask why he is so upset. I wanted that baby. I wanted that baby so bad that it hurts. I wanted you to never have to go through this again. I couldn’t fix it and I wanted too. You needed time to grieve, I had to be the one to not fall apart.
Well now it’s your turn I tell him. Babe, we will have another baby, I tell him.
I can’t even tell you how much I wanted to have another baby, he says. That baby, our baby.
We will. That one wasn’t meant to be. But there will be another try, another chance. If not through us, we’ll adopt. We’ll find our baby. The one that is meant to be in this family.
There will be another baby. I know it. I feel it. Not yet, I need time. But sooner than one might think, I’d bet.
It’s a crazy life, it keeps me on my toes, but it’s my life and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
Harrison,
Six months, in the span of a life time isn’t really that long. You’ll know this one day. Today however, you have been here for six months. And that, my tiny friend, is a lifetime; your life time. It’s funny, but the memories of my life, of our families life before you, don’t seem quite real. I mean, I remember them (I may be crazy, but I’m not senile), but it seems unreal that I lived this long without you in my life. Six months and I can’t imagine life without you.
You’ve done a lot in the last six months: you’ve learned to sit up, eat with a spoon, to roll around, to bat your eyes at me when you want something. You babble all day long. I fear that when you start talking, you will out talk your sisters, which is going to be a hard feat. You sing, which is one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.
I’ll tell you a secret, you sleep. Don’t tell anyone, because a sleeping infant is not something to brag about, but you have slept through the night since you were about six weeks old. I’d feel slightly bad about this, except your sister Bailey didn’t sleep for the first, oh two years of her life. So I feel even. Like somehow you sleeping is a gift that the greater forces of the world gave me. Between you and me, I’m glad you love to sleep. I’m getting a bit old for the non-sleeping gig.
Last week during an unfortunate incident with sweet potatoes (dude, I’m sorry, truly), you cried and cried and cried. I realized something that day; it had been weeks since I’d heard you cry. Weeks, seriously. You are not a crier. You get fussy when you are tired or hungry, but you don’t really cry. It broke my heart to listen to you that day. Even when you rolled under the dog yesterday and she stepped on your hand and you cried for a second, it hurt me. Although, dude, you did roll right under her. Note to you, when you are three and having a fit, it won’t break my heart when you cry. But right now, it still does.
You are fascinated by music of any kind. You think the coolest thing in the world is the firetrucks that pass the house. You adore your sisters; you light up when they enter the world. You think the dog is awesome, you love it when she licks your face. You believe your daddy is the greatest toy in the entire world. But I am still your favorite.
Son, you light up my life. I can’t imagine how you could be any more awesome than you are. One thing though? The backwards crawling thing you keep trying to do? I’ve told you a dozen times at least that crawling is not for tiny six month old babies. It’s a house rule. Crawling is not to be attempted until eight months at least. You are too tiny to your mom and you would be good to remember the crawling rule. Because I’m about to start docking your future allowance if you keep breaking this rule. Don’t laugh at me, I will do it, I will. Stop batting those big brown eyes at me, it’s not going to work.
Ok, fine. Crawl. Whatever. Happy six months.
Love you, mama
Eight years ago, Logan and I decided to stop using birth control and see what happened. We had grand ideas about being parents. We’d been married two years, we were both on our second to last year of college, we owned a condo and we were ready. Ready to be parents. Ready to change our lives forever and make a family. Really if you think about it, or well, if we think about it, it was an excuse to have lots of unprotected sex. Lots.
More than that though, I always knew I wanted to be a mother. From a very young age, I knew I wanted kids. We argued about how many we’d have, but we both knew we wanted kids.
I’m not exactly sure we thought it would happen so soon; the getting pregnant part. They say a year at the very least when you’ve been on the pill for a while. “They” are morons, whoever they are. I was pregnant within a month.
We planned and organized as we got ready for our baby. Our baby girl who we were so thrilled to be pregnant with. We painted our second bedroom, bought little onesies and sockies, baby proofed our entire condo and went through a name book, name by name. We dreamed big dreams. For her and for us. For our family, the little family we were creating. Huge dreams about what she’d be like. I don’t think this is so out there, I bet there are tons of first time mothers who dream about what their children will be like. We hope for the best and pray for the amazing. We envision perfect lives for them. Lives without fear, hatred, uncertainty or loss. Lives that are full of sunshine and flowers.
I had an idea about what kind of a mom I’d be. That, I’d be spontaneous, fun and never impatient. I didn’t believe being a parent would be all sunshine and roses, but I had a bit of a skewed idea of motherhood. I wouldn’t be big on bedtimes, schedules could be made up as we went along and I’d never force my kid to eat when they didn’t want too. If the food of choice was hot dogs, I’d go with it. The things Logan and I would do with said child, danced in my head. We wanted to travel the world, take our baby with us. Travel the US, see everything and anything. Just get in the car and go. I had great plans for the way my child would be, as well.
Then I was handed this teeny baby. And she was teeny, having been born a month early. She was also nothing like what we’d imagined. Not at all. Don’t get me wrong, she was ours and she was perfect in our eyes. Our beautiful baby girl. God we adored her from the second she came into the world.
She was also great birth control, for tons of other people. Morgan is the kid that makes people go, maybe we’ll start with a fish. She was a screamer, from pretty much birth on. She had colic so bad that we literally had to massage her stomach after every time she ate. She wouldn’t breast feed, so I gave up within a week. It was okay, because I was open to whatever, but also because I needed to be able to give her to other people to feed. She had to be held at all times, non-stop. But only a certain way, which changed often. She wanted her way, all the time, from a very young age. She was a good sleeper at night, I will give her that. She started sleeping though the night at six weeks. She wasn’t a good napper. She was not an easy baby, nor an easy toddler. In fact, nothing about her was or is easy.
My grandiose plans went right out the window. Our ideas of traveling the world with her as a baby, were dashed by the second day of her life. Morgan, even now at, seven and a half years old, is a child that needs a strict schedule. Bedtimes are a must, meals need to be at the same times, changes from the schedule must be explained over and over, for it to go off okay. Even then, it doesn’t always work out for her. She has trouble with transitions, change, deviations from the way she knows it to be. Or wants it to be. We talk about what will happen in her day tomorrow at dinner every night. Over the past few years it has shrunk to: this is the basic plan type of a thing. It used to include great detail: you will wake up, you will eat breakfast, you will get dressed; a full timeline of her day. It wasn’t for us, it was for her. We did it because she needed it.
This is just how my daughter is. It’s a part of her, a part of her that frustrates me to no end some days. I also love it about her. She has changed my views of the world. She has shaped the mother I became. If Bailey had been born first, or even Harrison; I’d be a different mother than I am today. I might be that mother that I thought I’d become. The care free mom.
I am not that mother. I am not the mother I thought I’d be. I am a better mother than I would have been. I know this to be true. I have the rest of my life to travel the world, to see the sites, to live moment to moment. I may not be the mother that I wanted to be. However, I am the mother they need me to be. A mother with rules, who enforces bedtimes, a mother who makes them read half an hour out loud a night, one who makes them eat vegetables and brush their teeth. I don’t make up elaborate art projects, nor do I cook from scratch. But I’ve found people who will do that stuff with them. I am not as patient as I thought I’d be….but I’m more patient than my mom was with us, so that’s an improvement.
I can be spontaneous; the fun mom, who can let rules go for a night. I can run around and play at the park with them, pretending to be a fairy princess; build complex mazes out of pillows on my floor, to avoid the hot lava monster. I can let them go wild in a candy store every now and again. But the next day, I become mom again. Their mom. Morgan, Bailey and Harrison’s mom.
I may not be the mom I thought I’d be, but I’d not give up the mom I am to them in a heart beat. It’s the thing I’m most proud of in this world.
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