The Gift of Friendship

I do not remember the day we met.  I do not know if it was sunny or rainy, if she smiled or frowned.

I do not remember all that came after.  All the giggles, the tears, the shared moments.

I do not remember all the fights, the disagreements, the yelling.

I do not remember all the jokes, the laughs, the secrets.

I do not remember all the hugs, the kisses, the cuddles.

I do not remember every Barbie escapade, make-believe story, or backyard adventure.

But I know that they happened.  I know that we lived them.

She has been a part of my life for so long, I can not see a future without her in it.  While other friends have come and gone, she has never left.  Sometimes in the front, leading me, and sometimes behind, supporting me.  But she is always here, with me.

I do not know when it happened, but somewhere in my lazy childhood days she became my best friend.  And then in my uncertainty of teenage youth she became my idol.  Put on a pedestal by my very own hands.  But always still my best friend.  And as young adulthood came knocking, and life became messy and scary and real, I brought her back down from perfection, back where she belongs, in my arms.

We have spent years together, years car rides, airplane rides, and oceans apart.  And even though sometimes it doesn't seem like she's there, even though sometimes I wonder if we're drifting apart, she is here, and we are not.  She is a phone call, an email, a text away.  She is a smile, a photo, a memory away.

And no matter if it has been twenty minutes since our last interaction or twenty days, we can more or less pick up from where we left off.

I know that I am lucky, I am blessed to have this friendship.  And I hope that my girls can find such a wonderful gift.

They are already halfway there.

After all, she is, and will forever be, My Sister.

*******

There'll Be Days Like This

I can hear her in the next room, whining.  She has been up twice already and I am mad.  It has been days of tears, frustration, anger.  I am worried.  And mad.

I am lying in the bed and I pray. Please give me patience.  Please give me patience.  Please give me patience.  I try to leave out the What is wrong with me?s and the I am a horrible mother!s.  Just, give me patience.


This is not fair.  I think.  I need my sleep.  I need my rest.  I need a break.  But then I realize (again), it's not about me.  It's not about what I think I need or what I want.  My needs come second.

So I try to let go.  Please give me patience.


But my eyes are tight, my body tense, so I look.  I see my empty and drained body, filling up.  The blue liquid starts at my toes and reaches my head, but I am not drowning.  It is patience, being poured into my emptiness, and when it fills me up it turns a golden hue of hope.

In the morning, I wake up with a different feeling.  I am not refreshed, but I am not mad either.  I take a few deep breaths and jump into the day, giving the girls extra hugs, kisses, and smiles.  Trying to be the patient mother I know I can be.

This is what I want every day.  A full tank.  To give the girls.

To be remembered for the hugs, the kisses, the love (whether it is tough or not).  The good days.  And not the bad.

I close my eyes that night knowing the patience was not of my own doing.  Thank you.

Project 365 Week 4

It was a busy week for our household, filled with baking, gaming, posing, laughing, dancing, lounging, and reading.

Baking

Gaming

Posing

Laughing

Dancing

Lounging

Reading

We did a few other things here and there.  Ate a meal or two plus a couple thousand snacks, slept minimal amounts, and hopefully learned a thing or two at preschool.

My weekly recap?  Filled with children.  I was awed at how big my little girl is getting, declared from the rooftops (or computer screens) that I want more children, and delighted in my favorite little belly.

On the agenda for next week?

Get more sleep.

I Love Her Buddha Belly

Paige is a belly girl.

Unlike her momma, who you couldn't pay today to show off her tummy (and probably never could have), she is all about lifting her shirt and giving a peek.

I'm pretty sure I remember Hope being interested in bellies at this age too.  Lifting up shirts, touching momma's tummy, sticking fingers in daddy's belly button, giving and receiving giggle-inducing raspberries. (Although when she does the giving it's more likely to involve some sort of spitting on the stomach.)

But this girl, she goes beyond the normal belly love of twenty-two-month-olds.

She is obsessed.  With her own belly.

Her little buddha belly.

We can not put a onesie on this girl because she needs all-access to touching her tummy.  The few times I have put one on her (you know, because it's winter, it's cold, and an extra layer might keep her warm) we had to leave it unsnapped and hanging out.

Those cute footie pajamas for kids?  We have about four pair from when Hope was this age.  We tried them with Paige a few times.  She is not a fan.

It is not just her sweet buddha belly that she loves to touch.  She is enraptured with her adorable outie belly button.  Throughout the day you can find her touching, pinching, and pulling on it.

Apparently it soothes her.  She falls asleep with her hand on her belly, pinching her little belly button.

And if she can not get her hand onto her bare belly she gets frustrated and says, "beh-yee, beh-yee, beh-YEE" until she can.

I have to admit, I love it.  I find her little round tummy with her belly button poking out about the most adorable and wonderful thing ever.  And the fact that she loves it, and rubs it, and pulls on it to self-sooth just makes me love it even more.

Like Paige, I can not get enough of her "beh-yee".

I will always remember her toddler love and need for a bare tummy.

Let's just hope that belly shirts don't make a come back when she's a teenager.

I am Not Done

Note: Today, I really am pouring my heart out here.  So please, be nice.  And know that I am not trying to upset anyone or start anything.  That is not how I roll.  It is not who I am.  This is just me.  And my feelings.


****

I read an amazingly awesome post the other day from Momastery.  It was so well-written, so thought provoking, so "YES" inspiring.

Here is an excerpt from:  2011 Lesson #2: Don't Carpe Diem

Every time I write a post like this, I get emails suggesting that I’m being negative. I have received this particular message four or five times – G, if you can’t handle the three you have, why do you want a fourth?

That one always stings, and I don’t think it’s quite fair. Parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it’s hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she’s not doing it right? Or that she certainly shouldn’t add more to her load. Maybe the fact that it’s so hard means she IS doing it right…in her own way…and she happens to be honest.

So, this was not the main point of her post.  And it certainly is not the only thing I took away from her words, but I did shout a big, resounding YES (in my head) when I read this paragraph.  And it pertains to my thoughts here.

I am tired of feeling like I have to explain my desire for another child.  Yes, I have two wonderful children, and yes it is sometimes quite hard with these children, but why in the world does hard end up being equated with being a bad idea to add to the family?

It is frustrating, when I tell people I would like a third baby and they look at me like I just told them I signed up to have my arms removed.  But hey, it's not how everybody feels so I can get over that.  It's when later, in the middle of one kid peeing on the floor, the other screaming at the table because there's something green (a vegetable) on her plate, they bring it up and say, "So, Christine. [chuckle, chuckle, chuckle] Do you still want a third?" that starts to bother me.

I don't care when the question is asked, the answer for me is always yes.  Yes, I want a third.  I want a third when my two act like angels.  I want a third when my two act like... not angels.  Because parenting is going to have hard moments whether you have one, three, or thirteen.

I probably can't explain it very well.  And the best I can say, is that I don't feel done.  My heart does not feel done.

When (and if) we will have another, I can't say for sure.  Will it be hard?  That I am sure of.  But please, just don't look at me like I'm crazy.  Please, don't antagonize me by bringing it up during a difficult parenting time.  And I promise to never look at you with pity or judge you for choosing to have one.  Or six.  Or 26.  Or none at all.

****

(By the way, you should totally go over to Momastery and check out the real main point behind Glennon's post.  And while you're at it check out her other posts too.  I have only read a handful of them, but so far they are all equal in their amazingly awesomeness.  Glennon has no knowledge of me, or the fact that it feels like she took some jumbled thoughts from my head and used the perfect words I never could have to get them to make sense.  I just think her words are wonderful and that is all.)


****


Pouring my heart out with Shell

She is a Big Little Girl

My little girl is growing up.

Even though it has only been 23 days since she turned four, I've already noticed a difference in her.

I have heard that three is the hardest age and, thus far, I agree.  I do, however, know that we have another 343 days of her as a four-year-old in which things could drastically change.

But right now, I see that my little girl is maturing.

I see that she is learning how to remain calm, how to feel upset or disappointed without throwing herself on the floor in a fit.  She is able to take deep breaths to help herself relax.  She will go into a time out without a word and tell me when she is ready to follow the rules.

Often, she will say, "I'm four now.  I'm a big girl, Momma.  I'll be a good listener."

And when I tell her "no" her initially reaction is no longer to cry and whine.  Most of the time she will either say, "Okay, Momma" or "Oh man!"

(This is not to say she doesn't still have her non-listening and fit-throwing moments.  After all, she has only been alive four years.)

I'm not sure what changed.  Sometimes I wonder if part of it is a difference in my mindset and attitude, but really, I think it is Hope.  I want to give her credit for her four-year-old maturity.

Of course, I wouldn't exactly say she is mature. She does still have her potty humor.

But she is maturing.

She is growing.  And with her, I am too.  We are growing, together.

And I am so proud of her.  She is turning into such a big little girl.

This is just one of my favorite things about motherhood.

Project 365 Week 3

Here we are at the third week of Project 365.  Trying to take a picture a day for the year of 2012.

I spend a lot of time with this apple

This week I attempted to take my camera out of Auto mode and into Manual.

Relaxing on the couch

I'm no where near getting things right, and I put it back into Auto for numerous pictures, but it's a step in the right direction.

Yes our Christmas stuff is still not put
away by January 17

  I also took several with my oh-so-quality phone camera.

Playing indoors when the cold finally came

Because sometimes it's just inconvenient to bring my big camera everywhere.

Watching Sesame Street with her big cousin

The only problem is, if I don't have the big camera, I don't always remember to take a picture with my phone.

Attempting a photo of holding hands
Paige was not cooperating

Which is why we end up with a lot of randomness from my week.

At the end of a long, napless day
Girls didn't have energy to get off the floor

But I'm going to pretend that this is the point of Project 365.  Because I know you all want to see the randomness that is my life.