I have decided to give up sugar for the month of May.
::Dramatic pause to let that idea sink in::
See, I was originally thinking of doing something even more crazy intense like the Whole 30 diet I recently heard about. (I know, I'm way late on that bandwagon. Apparently it's been around forever, but I only started hearing about it a few weeks ago.) In any case, I was seriously, honestly, truly contemplating attempting the Whole 30. The "whole" problem? (Get it? Hardy har.) I don't eat meat. And, for those that don't know, Whole 30 basically only allows you to eat veggies, fruits, eggs, and meat. Um, for a non-meat eater who also isn't the biggest fan of eggs, that doesn't leave me much as far as calories go. (Also, sidenote: even if I LOVED eggs, can you imagine it being your only source of protein for 30 days. How sick of eggs would you be by the end of the month!? Gag.)
So, needless to say, my thoughts on that died down pretty swiftly. The things is, I wanted to try the Whole 30 because I had read about what an amazing "lifestyle change" it was that helped figure out how your body reacts to different foods. And to help one adopt better eating habits. Both of which sounded VERY useful to this over-tired, low-energy, sugar and carb addicted girl.
About a week ago it dawned on me that I could perhaps do something similar, but not quite as extreme. If I wanted to find out how my body reacts to different foods, instead of giving up grains, dairy, sugar, etc etc etc (ALL THE FOOD) at once, I could do one food "group" at a time.
And because I hate myself, I chose sugar.
No, I actually chose sugar because I have the biggest addiction to it, and it is the most likely culprit to all my low-energy and moodiness woes. Apparently sugar can really be problematic. I know, I know, it's not "apparently" at all. I've known this for a LOOOONG time, I just have never had the desire or willpower to do anything about it. (Sometimes I still don't have the desire because, hello!? Sugar!)
So, starting May 1st (tomorrow! nooooo!!) I will cut out all added sugar and sweeteners. No sugar, no raw sugar, no corn syrup or cane sugar. No pure maple syrup, no honey, no stevia. No nothing. Basically if I want something sweet I'm going to die. I mean, basically if I want something sweet I can only have fruit.
Yes, that even means I will either have to 1. have no coffee or 2. have coffee without any type of sweetener in it. If you know me at all you know that either of these options might be the end of me already.
But I'm committed. At least, I'm committed to trying. Which is why I have told my therapist. And my sister. My husband and my family. And why I am announcing it here. Perhaps then I will keep myself more accountable.
Plus, as far as telling my husband and family... well, let's face it, I'm more like warning them. I have no delusions that this is going to be easy and that my body won't revolt as it suffers sugar withdrawals. I mean, I haven't even started and I already miss it in my coffee.
Oooooh, tomorrow's gonna be a goo-ood day.
Excuse me while I shove cookies, ice cream, candy, and spoonfuls of sugar into my mouth. I've got 56 minutes until May 1st.
xoxo,
christine
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 20, 2017
In Sickness
All joking aside, giving up Caribou mochas for the past two weeks was actually been (mostly) a good thing. Every time I had a craving, I used it as an opportunity to remember to have a conversation with God. Whether it was praying for others, giving thanks, or asking for forgiveness. And because during those two weeks there were many instances I thought about and craved getting my coffee from Caribou, there were many instances (more than in a usual two week period) where I found myself talking with God.
*****
Easter came, and I got my Caribou mocha, and it was delicious. (wink) But what actually made the day so beautiful was the warm sunshine and being with family and friends. Our niece sang in church on Easter morning and witnessing her as part of the children's choir brought tears to my eyes. (Which, to anyone who knows me knows that's not such a surprise. I'm a crier. Especially when it comes to music in church.)
My parents have the perfect yard for egg hunts and the seven kids spent a good chunk of time scavenging the trees and flowers and rocks to find their 20 eggs each. The grown-ups *may* have spent some time searching too. There was only one egg casualty when a purple egg disappeared into the abyss between two boulders. A sweet Easter treat for whatever critter can squeeze in and get to it.
Unfortunately by the afternoon the bug I'd been fighting for the past several days over powered my immune defenses and I spent Sunday night and Monday mostly horizontal and mostly miserable. Poor Hope kept looking at me and saying, "I'm sorry, Mom." As wonderful as it is to see her empathy, it's hard as the mother to see your daughter trying to comfort and take care of you, when it feels like your job to be comforting and caring for her.
Health is such an important aspect of our well-being and it is so incredibly easy to take for granted. As my body was overcome with fever and chills, as my muscles ached as if someone was stepping on them and my joints burned as though being lit with matches, I had thoughts of awe and amazement at what our bodies can and do endure, and how many people with chronic and terminal pain suffer so much worse than those few days I did.
Luckily by Tuesday morning my body was feeling a significant difference, but instead of pain and fighting it was exhaustion and recovering. It's been ages since I've worked out, but the overwhelming sensation my body had was that I'd just fought through a marathon without the proper training. Every one of my cells was tender from the fight and I was so weak I could barely stand long enough to shower before having to lay back down again.
By Wednesday I was well enough, but then poor Nora came down with something. And as miserable as I felt when I was sick, I would take it a hundred times over to take away my baby's misery. I was pretty convinced she got whatever I had, but a call from the doctor today informed us it's strep. The one benefit of that is that we can give her antibiotics to help speed up the recovery process instead of just waiting for her body to fight off a virus.
(The downfall being that Paige is now pretty much guaranteed to get strep because anytime there's a whisper that someone she knows has strep, Paige seems to manage to get it.)
Being sick this week, watching my baby be sick the past day and half, I have a renewed appreciation for our health, and the fact that for millions (if not even billions) of people in the world, health is being fought for every single moment of every single day.
My baby is sick, yes, and it tears my mamaheart out. But she only has strep. She will not stay in the hospital. But we have access to a hospital if she needed it. She won't have to take anything stronger than a low-dose antibiotic. And that medication is easily available to us. She will be happy and healthy and running around like herself again within a day or two.
My heart is full of love for those who do not have the same access to the healthcare they need. Who don't have the money or resources, who can't just run to the pharmacy to get medication. And I hold space in my heart for those whose health is not so easily fixed as ours have been. For those who are in and out of the hospital, who are watching their babies suffering and fighting. Who are living every day on the edge, hoping for a cure, praying for a miracle. I'm praying too.
xoxo,
christine
*****
Easter came, and I got my Caribou mocha, and it was delicious. (wink) But what actually made the day so beautiful was the warm sunshine and being with family and friends. Our niece sang in church on Easter morning and witnessing her as part of the children's choir brought tears to my eyes. (Which, to anyone who knows me knows that's not such a surprise. I'm a crier. Especially when it comes to music in church.)
My parents have the perfect yard for egg hunts and the seven kids spent a good chunk of time scavenging the trees and flowers and rocks to find their 20 eggs each. The grown-ups *may* have spent some time searching too. There was only one egg casualty when a purple egg disappeared into the abyss between two boulders. A sweet Easter treat for whatever critter can squeeze in and get to it.
Unfortunately by the afternoon the bug I'd been fighting for the past several days over powered my immune defenses and I spent Sunday night and Monday mostly horizontal and mostly miserable. Poor Hope kept looking at me and saying, "I'm sorry, Mom." As wonderful as it is to see her empathy, it's hard as the mother to see your daughter trying to comfort and take care of you, when it feels like your job to be comforting and caring for her.
Health is such an important aspect of our well-being and it is so incredibly easy to take for granted. As my body was overcome with fever and chills, as my muscles ached as if someone was stepping on them and my joints burned as though being lit with matches, I had thoughts of awe and amazement at what our bodies can and do endure, and how many people with chronic and terminal pain suffer so much worse than those few days I did.
Luckily by Tuesday morning my body was feeling a significant difference, but instead of pain and fighting it was exhaustion and recovering. It's been ages since I've worked out, but the overwhelming sensation my body had was that I'd just fought through a marathon without the proper training. Every one of my cells was tender from the fight and I was so weak I could barely stand long enough to shower before having to lay back down again.
By Wednesday I was well enough, but then poor Nora came down with something. And as miserable as I felt when I was sick, I would take it a hundred times over to take away my baby's misery. I was pretty convinced she got whatever I had, but a call from the doctor today informed us it's strep. The one benefit of that is that we can give her antibiotics to help speed up the recovery process instead of just waiting for her body to fight off a virus.
(The downfall being that Paige is now pretty much guaranteed to get strep because anytime there's a whisper that someone she knows has strep, Paige seems to manage to get it.)
Being sick this week, watching my baby be sick the past day and half, I have a renewed appreciation for our health, and the fact that for millions (if not even billions) of people in the world, health is being fought for every single moment of every single day.
My baby is sick, yes, and it tears my mamaheart out. But she only has strep. She will not stay in the hospital. But we have access to a hospital if she needed it. She won't have to take anything stronger than a low-dose antibiotic. And that medication is easily available to us. She will be happy and healthy and running around like herself again within a day or two.
My heart is full of love for those who do not have the same access to the healthcare they need. Who don't have the money or resources, who can't just run to the pharmacy to get medication. And I hold space in my heart for those whose health is not so easily fixed as ours have been. For those who are in and out of the hospital, who are watching their babies suffering and fighting. Who are living every day on the edge, hoping for a cure, praying for a miracle. I'm praying too.
xoxo,
christine
Apr 14, 2017
Countdown to Coffee
Whose dumb idea was it to give up going out for coffee the last two weeks of Lent when one of those weeks is also spring break. If I thought last week was hard...this week has almost been torture. A shopping day without handcrafted tasty Caribou mocha? A rainy morning sipping a bland so-so drip coffee from home?
My husband, bless his little heart, told me that this two week fast might be good for breaking my Caribou coffee addiction. (It's true, that addiction is a verified medical affliction -- ahem.) After laughing hysterically in his face for a good five minutes, I gently explained to him that no, depriving myself of the life-giving caffeine, that is delivered to me through that critical invention of the drive-thru window, for two weeks will not, in fact, curb my addiction. If anything, I will spend the next week (okay, let's be real, two weeks) binging.
I know. Trust me, I know. #FirstWorldProblems and #SpendingWayTooMuchOnCoffee and #YouAreALittleRidiculousChristine But give me this vice. I don't smoke. I don't drink wine. So I think a *minor* Caribou addiction is doable. (Just please don't ask me to calculate the math on how much I spend going out for coffee...)
Only two more days and I can celebrate Easter with a big fat made-specially-for-this-Caribou-obsessed-girl mocha. Hallelujah. Amen.
xoxo,
christine
My husband, bless his little heart, told me that this two week fast might be good for breaking my Caribou coffee addiction. (It's true, that addiction is a verified medical affliction -- ahem.) After laughing hysterically in his face for a good five minutes, I gently explained to him that no, depriving myself of the life-giving caffeine, that is delivered to me through that critical invention of the drive-thru window, for two weeks will not, in fact, curb my addiction. If anything, I will spend the next week (okay, let's be real, two weeks) binging.
I know. Trust me, I know. #FirstWorldProblems and #SpendingWayTooMuchOnCoffee and #YouAreALittleRidiculousChristine But give me this vice. I don't smoke. I don't drink wine. So I think a *minor* Caribou addiction is doable. (Just please don't ask me to calculate the math on how much I spend going out for coffee...)
Only two more days and I can celebrate Easter with a big fat made-specially-for-this-Caribou-obsessed-girl mocha. Hallelujah. Amen.
xoxo,
christine
Apr 7, 2017
One Year Later
Hellooooo.
A year. A year? Has it already been so long? Where does the time go? And yet it feels like so much longer than just one year. When I sit down during the day, or at night, or any time, the thought of getting on the computer hardly a blip on my radar, so long has it been that I have fueled my desire to write.
So many things have come and gone, birthdays, vacations, seasons, and holidays. Scariness and craziness the whole world over. There is so much to say and yet the words feel frozen.
When faced with the realities of the world, of the country, of being a grown up, I find myself with a deep desire to curl up in my bed Rip Van Winkle style and sleep it all away. Which is occasionally overcome by an ignited fire to get out and run for office, start a world-helping organization, sell all my possessions and give them money to people truly in need.
****
Time keeps on slipping...
My baby is no longer a baby, well on her way to being three years old this summer. She is still as spicy as ever (although not so much today as she seems to be feeling quite punk -- hopefully better soon with the help of a healthy dose of Tylenol and a nap). She knows what she wants and what she doesn't and she will tell you with a wild screamy whine and sometimes even body flailing. She adores her big sisters (of course, who wouldn't?) and is constantly copying whatever it is they are doing or saying or wearing.
I'm sure Hope and Paige are tired of hearing about being a good example to her.
Hope and Paige. The two big girls. My big girls. My nine-year-old and just-turned seven-year-old. Have I mentioned how time has kept on going? They are amazing and I know that I have played only a minuscule part in that.
I am so in love with these girls.
****
In recent news, I have given up Caribou for the last two weeks of lent. Well, I should rephrase. I've given up going out to get my coffee. I am still very much drinking it brewed at home. (No need to worry about the safety of my family.) It has only been five days and I'm mostly over it. Sad, I know. Definitely makes my addiction that much more obvious. (Although I never questioned that it was there.) It kinda sucks. But I know it's not that bad. First world problem and all. So every time I think about the sweet creaminess of my favorite mocha, I try to take it as an opportunity to have a conversation with God and to be thankful for what I have.
I've had a lot of conversations with God these past five days.
So, cheers to home-brewed coffee, being a grown-up, writing again, and time.
xoxo,
christine
A year. A year? Has it already been so long? Where does the time go? And yet it feels like so much longer than just one year. When I sit down during the day, or at night, or any time, the thought of getting on the computer hardly a blip on my radar, so long has it been that I have fueled my desire to write.
So many things have come and gone, birthdays, vacations, seasons, and holidays. Scariness and craziness the whole world over. There is so much to say and yet the words feel frozen.
When faced with the realities of the world, of the country, of being a grown up, I find myself with a deep desire to curl up in my bed Rip Van Winkle style and sleep it all away. Which is occasionally overcome by an ignited fire to get out and run for office, start a world-helping organization, sell all my possessions and give them money to people truly in need.
****
Time keeps on slipping...
My baby is no longer a baby, well on her way to being three years old this summer. She is still as spicy as ever (although not so much today as she seems to be feeling quite punk -- hopefully better soon with the help of a healthy dose of Tylenol and a nap). She knows what she wants and what she doesn't and she will tell you with a wild screamy whine and sometimes even body flailing. She adores her big sisters (of course, who wouldn't?) and is constantly copying whatever it is they are doing or saying or wearing.
I'm sure Hope and Paige are tired of hearing about being a good example to her.
Hope and Paige. The two big girls. My big girls. My nine-year-old and just-turned seven-year-old. Have I mentioned how time has kept on going? They are amazing and I know that I have played only a minuscule part in that.
I am so in love with these girls.
****
In recent news, I have given up Caribou for the last two weeks of lent. Well, I should rephrase. I've given up going out to get my coffee. I am still very much drinking it brewed at home. (No need to worry about the safety of my family.) It has only been five days and I'm mostly over it. Sad, I know. Definitely makes my addiction that much more obvious. (Although I never questioned that it was there.) It kinda sucks. But I know it's not that bad. First world problem and all. So every time I think about the sweet creaminess of my favorite mocha, I try to take it as an opportunity to have a conversation with God and to be thankful for what I have.
I've had a lot of conversations with God these past five days.
So, cheers to home-brewed coffee, being a grown-up, writing again, and time.
xoxo,
christine
Apr 6, 2016
Six
In the wee hours of this morning, at exactly 1:54am, she is exactly six years old.
The birth stories might all be blending together, memories turning a little fuzzy around the edges, but the love I have for each one of them, there is nothing blended or fuzzy about it. It continually amazes me how the more children you have, the more your time may have to be shared and split, but the love isn't shared or split at all. The love for each individual child is there, distinct and unique, just like the child. My heart just grows bigger and bigger and sometimes I wonder if it will burst wide open, yet it doesn't. Not in that way, anyway. It just grows and expands and feels like a big fuzzy blanket surrounding us together.
Today is her birthday.
Six years on the sixth.
My sweet Little P, who sits in the middle. Her older sister on one side, her younger sister and angel brother on the other. This dainty little girl, with her love of accessories and fashion and high heels, who hates getting her hair brushed but likes having it styled nicely. She is the most tender-hearted six-year-old I know. Almost always the first to share, she sometimes bases her decisions on what she knows her sister would want. She is kind and thoughtful and has a delicate heart.
Paige, who was only three when we lost her brother, she is the first to bring up his name, to talk to him, to draw for him, to remember her baby brother in every family thing we do. She cries for him and misses him and is the most vocal about his absence.
My darling middle daughter, who wears her feelings on her sleeve. Whose entire body radiates joy when she's happy, dancing and skipping and singing with smiles. And alternately it is clear when she is not happy, her emotions unable to stay contained, she can yell and stomp her feet and slam doors with the best of them.
She needs her sleep like her mommy, and will actually sleep in unlike her sisters. She is not a morning person and needs time to wake up before rushing into the day.
She is creative, and loves to draw or paint or do any type of art activity. She frequently asks if she can use my phone, not for a game or video, but because she wants to plug her headphones into it and listen to music.
I still sometimes think of her as my baby, partially because each of my kids will always be my baby, but also because she was the littlest for so long. She can be quiet and hesitant, especially in new situations, but she has also gotten more confident and sure of herself this past year. But she can also be loud and silly, especially trying to make her family laugh.
Oh, Pega Ninnie. My dearest Little P. My Paige. You are such a beautiful little girl. Your beauty radiates from the inside out, and I am so proud to be your mother. Happy, happy, HAPPiest of birthdays to you, my big-little six-year-old. May you dream of joyful things always.
Love forever and ever,
Mom
The birth stories might all be blending together, memories turning a little fuzzy around the edges, but the love I have for each one of them, there is nothing blended or fuzzy about it. It continually amazes me how the more children you have, the more your time may have to be shared and split, but the love isn't shared or split at all. The love for each individual child is there, distinct and unique, just like the child. My heart just grows bigger and bigger and sometimes I wonder if it will burst wide open, yet it doesn't. Not in that way, anyway. It just grows and expands and feels like a big fuzzy blanket surrounding us together.
Today is her birthday.
Six years on the sixth.
My sweet Little P, who sits in the middle. Her older sister on one side, her younger sister and angel brother on the other. This dainty little girl, with her love of accessories and fashion and high heels, who hates getting her hair brushed but likes having it styled nicely. She is the most tender-hearted six-year-old I know. Almost always the first to share, she sometimes bases her decisions on what she knows her sister would want. She is kind and thoughtful and has a delicate heart.
Paige, who was only three when we lost her brother, she is the first to bring up his name, to talk to him, to draw for him, to remember her baby brother in every family thing we do. She cries for him and misses him and is the most vocal about his absence.
My darling middle daughter, who wears her feelings on her sleeve. Whose entire body radiates joy when she's happy, dancing and skipping and singing with smiles. And alternately it is clear when she is not happy, her emotions unable to stay contained, she can yell and stomp her feet and slam doors with the best of them.
She needs her sleep like her mommy, and will actually sleep in unlike her sisters. She is not a morning person and needs time to wake up before rushing into the day.
She is creative, and loves to draw or paint or do any type of art activity. She frequently asks if she can use my phone, not for a game or video, but because she wants to plug her headphones into it and listen to music.
I still sometimes think of her as my baby, partially because each of my kids will always be my baby, but also because she was the littlest for so long. She can be quiet and hesitant, especially in new situations, but she has also gotten more confident and sure of herself this past year. But she can also be loud and silly, especially trying to make her family laugh.
Oh, Pega Ninnie. My dearest Little P. My Paige. You are such a beautiful little girl. Your beauty radiates from the inside out, and I am so proud to be your mother. Happy, happy, HAPPiest of birthdays to you, my big-little six-year-old. May you dream of joyful things always.
Love forever and ever,
Mom
Mar 1, 2016
I Don't Lean In
Why is it that when life gets busy or crazy or overwhelming or just changes that one of the first things to go is anything I enjoy doing for myself? You'd think that when things are overwhelming or changing that I'd need those interests and hobbies and passions even more. That I would lean into them instead of turning away.
But the thing is, I'm not a leaner-iner. I'm a shutter-downer. When time management changes and there are shifts in our normal, well, the things that get dropped are things that are not necessities. Yes, one could argue that my interests are most definitely necessities for me and my well-being, but unfortunately when it comes down to it, there are other necessities that take much more precedence.
When I'm submerged in trying to juggle and balance change, well, I sort of shut down. Doing something for myself takes time and energy and more energy. And even though I know that I could totally find the time if I really tried, it just requires way too much energy to try. It's too hard. I can't do it. I don't want to do it. There just isn't the internal motivation pushing me toward anything. Well, except for my bed. I always have motivation pushing me in the direction of my bed.
I'm pretty sure I've always been a low energy person. Or at least, ever since I've had kids. But I don't think I can really blame it on them. My body needs more than the average amount of sleep to function well, and any task requires a high volume of energy. If even activities I enjoy are "work" for me, think of how much extra energy I have to muster up if it's something I don't enjoy.
All of this to say, adjusting to part-time work is still in process.
I do realize I am only working twelve hours per week. Trust me, the pitifulness of it does not escape me. But, the truth of the matter is that it still is something that requires a lot out of me, and because of that other areas of my life have been put on the back burner. (Namely, my own personal interests. Sigh.)
As with everything in life, I will adjust. I am adjusting. And even though it feels scary and hard and overwhelming a lot of the time, there is so much that makes me excited and happy and love-filled.
These three joys, most definitely.
I'll get there. I will. I just need to give myself forgiveness and time.
xoxo,
christine
But the thing is, I'm not a leaner-iner. I'm a shutter-downer. When time management changes and there are shifts in our normal, well, the things that get dropped are things that are not necessities. Yes, one could argue that my interests are most definitely necessities for me and my well-being, but unfortunately when it comes down to it, there are other necessities that take much more precedence.
When I'm submerged in trying to juggle and balance change, well, I sort of shut down. Doing something for myself takes time and energy and more energy. And even though I know that I could totally find the time if I really tried, it just requires way too much energy to try. It's too hard. I can't do it. I don't want to do it. There just isn't the internal motivation pushing me toward anything. Well, except for my bed. I always have motivation pushing me in the direction of my bed.
I'm pretty sure I've always been a low energy person. Or at least, ever since I've had kids. But I don't think I can really blame it on them. My body needs more than the average amount of sleep to function well, and any task requires a high volume of energy. If even activities I enjoy are "work" for me, think of how much extra energy I have to muster up if it's something I don't enjoy.
All of this to say, adjusting to part-time work is still in process.
I do realize I am only working twelve hours per week. Trust me, the pitifulness of it does not escape me. But, the truth of the matter is that it still is something that requires a lot out of me, and because of that other areas of my life have been put on the back burner. (Namely, my own personal interests. Sigh.)
As with everything in life, I will adjust. I am adjusting. And even though it feels scary and hard and overwhelming a lot of the time, there is so much that makes me excited and happy and love-filled.
These three joys, most definitely.
I'll get there. I will. I just need to give myself forgiveness and time.
xoxo,
christine
Jan 8, 2016
Eight
We are eight days into the new year and she is eight days into being an eight-year-old. I'm not sure where the time has gone, and I can remember her birth day as if it were yesterday, and all the old clichés of time going to fast and children growing up.
About a month before her birthday I already started thinking of her as an eight-year-old and even had to correct myself a few times. Strange for me to rush her age considering I am usually holding back tears at the thought of them getting older, yet in this case when the day actually came, it felt right. Probably because I was already referring to her as eight in my mind.
Since having a New Year's Day baby eight years ago, the first day of the New Year does not feel as renewing and fresh and calling me to make resolutions and goals and to start my year with pep and zest. Although maybe I was never that way and now I'm just more aware of it. The New Year is fun, of course, but mostly I am thinking about my oldest and how it is HER day because that's what birthdays are.
This was the first year we let our girls (the older two anyway) stay up until midnight, and they did. And when the countdown to midnight came to an end instead of, "Happy New Year!" my husband lifted his glass and said, "Happy Birthday, Hope!" And my heart skipped a beat and I was mostly just happy that he thought to do something so special (and I didn't let myself focus on feeling sad that I hadn't thought of it too).
I am continually amazed at what a beautiful young soul this child of mine is. And I am continually scared that I am going to completely mess up raising her in some significant way. I will never have all the answers and I will never do everything single thing right, but I will promise to do the best that I can and to be there for her, however she needs.
On January 1st eight years ago, she came into this world with big, blue eyes that stayed open for hours. She came into this new place and immediately wanted to see it all. She has been that way ever since. At one day, at five weeks, at eight years. Her eyes are open and they are taking it in. She does not want to miss a moment of anything. And she won't.
Happy Birthday to my beautiful, intelligent, caring, sweet daughter! May this year be as silly and joy-filled and magical as you. I love you, Hopey!
xoxo, mommy
About a month before her birthday I already started thinking of her as an eight-year-old and even had to correct myself a few times. Strange for me to rush her age considering I am usually holding back tears at the thought of them getting older, yet in this case when the day actually came, it felt right. Probably because I was already referring to her as eight in my mind.
Since having a New Year's Day baby eight years ago, the first day of the New Year does not feel as renewing and fresh and calling me to make resolutions and goals and to start my year with pep and zest. Although maybe I was never that way and now I'm just more aware of it. The New Year is fun, of course, but mostly I am thinking about my oldest and how it is HER day because that's what birthdays are.
This was the first year we let our girls (the older two anyway) stay up until midnight, and they did. And when the countdown to midnight came to an end instead of, "Happy New Year!" my husband lifted his glass and said, "Happy Birthday, Hope!" And my heart skipped a beat and I was mostly just happy that he thought to do something so special (and I didn't let myself focus on feeling sad that I hadn't thought of it too).
I am continually amazed at what a beautiful young soul this child of mine is. And I am continually scared that I am going to completely mess up raising her in some significant way. I will never have all the answers and I will never do everything single thing right, but I will promise to do the best that I can and to be there for her, however she needs.
On January 1st eight years ago, she came into this world with big, blue eyes that stayed open for hours. She came into this new place and immediately wanted to see it all. She has been that way ever since. At one day, at five weeks, at eight years. Her eyes are open and they are taking it in. She does not want to miss a moment of anything. And she won't.
Happy Birthday to my beautiful, intelligent, caring, sweet daughter! May this year be as silly and joy-filled and magical as you. I love you, Hopey!
xoxo, mommy
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