A List of 32

"You got to be careful if you don't know where you're going, because you might not get there." -Yogi Berra

So far, since turning 32, I've been mistaken for the mother of an eighteen year old, thought about a diet, complained endless about the size of my butt, eaten a bunch of junk food, ignored the mess that is my house and laid on the couch.

I've got to get in gear.

I've decided that instead of New Year's Resolutions, I am going to make Birthday Resolutions - 32 things that I will do, change, attempt, embrace before my 33rd birthday. Silly? Yes. But I am a list maker, and lists make me happy, and for heaven's sake, I've got to do something about this life I'm living.

1. I will lose 10 pounds, permanently. My jeans will be comfortable and I will be nicer because of it.
2. I will learn how to cook and season fish. And then I will cook it and eat it and feel holier-than-thou.
3. I will run five 5ks, and I won't complain about them over and over and over and over.
4. I will pick a freaking paint color for my bedroom and paint it. And I won't regret it. I will be committed to my color.
5. I will stick to a consistent work out routine. That should be spelt out - I will work out three times a week, even when I don't freaking feel like it. Even when it's cold outside. Even when Bravo is running a West Wing marathon.
6. I will eat healthier. Translation: I will not live only off coffee and snacks. Fast food? I love you, but I can only see you once a week from now on. Wine? You are my bestest friend, but my liver hates you...we need to slow down.
7. I will learn how to properly fold a fitted bed sheet - right now I basically wad them into balls and shove them in the linen closet. That's my dirty little secret, and now you know it.
8. I will make and keep all doctor and dentist appointments. We pay for insurance for a reason. I will even get my eyes checked (how's that for kicking it up a notch??)
9. I will mop my kitchen floor at least once a week. It will make me miserable and annoyed, and I reserve the right to bitch about it, but I'll do it.
10. I will read more books that don't include animal sounds and learning how to count. I love animals and counting is okay, but my brain is going mushy.
11. I will (just to make my mom happy) become a better flosser.
12. I will make and stick to a budget. This will be much harder done than said. I love Target, coffee shops and book stores...
13. I will complete Addison's year two scrap book.
14. I will start Addison's year three scrap book.
15. I will figure out a way to stay more organized. Pointers? Tips? Ideas?
16. I will get Addie and I on a schedule - less TV and shopping, more classes and fun. We will play outside. We will go to story time. We will be well-rounded.
17. I will clip coupons and use them. Which means maybe I should get a Sunday paper subscription...oooh, now I can clip coupons and do the Sunday crossword. Bonus.
18. I will go on a childless date with my husband at least once a month. We will go the movies, to dinner, to plays, to concerts, to sporting events. We will have uninterrupted conversations. It will be glorious.
19. I will fold laundry and put it away. Weekly.
20. I will remember birthdays and send cards via snail mail.
21. I will return phone calls even when I don't feel like it. And I will sit down and listen, even when I don't feel like it.
22. I will eat breakfast with my daughter at least twice a week (that is a pathetic but necessary goal).
23. I will cook dinner, cook not heat up or reheat, three times a week. Let's be honest, three times is even a lofty goal.
24. I will take a photography class. I will damn it. I WILL.
25. I will frame some of my photos and put them on the darn wall. Then I will stop complaining about said wall.
26. I will go out for at least one really good steak dinner and not even think about the size of the bill. Or how tight my pants will be.
27. I will keep my yard looking good - mulching, mowing, weeding, pruning, planting. I will do it all and I will pretend to enjoy it. And eventually I will enjoy it and I'll be good at it and it will be pretty.
28. I will go somewhere I've never been - Memphis? Nashville? Oregon? Delaware? And I will go there not for a wedding or shower or an obligation. I will go there for fun and because I want to.
29. I will plan and participate in a girls weekend - sans kiddo, sans husband, full of laughter. And martinis. Lots of martinis.

Okay, that's all the brain power I have. I mean seriously, how much self-improvement can one person do??

Numbers 30, 31, and 32 are on the table for discussion. Thoughts? Ideas?

Be gentle, you know I am fragile.

JOY

When he got down on one knee, I was beside myself.
When her heart beat on that sonogram, I was speechless.

When I got to go to both proms, with nice, cute boys, I was pretty dang pleased.
When I walked across those stages and grasped those diplomas, I was relieved.

When she was told she was in remission, I was was overjoyed.
When he was told the scans were clean and the prognosis was good, I was overwhelmed.

When my nephews were born, my heart swelled.
When we found the right house, in the right neighborhood, with the right play set, I was thrilled.

I have known pure joy. Andy. Addie. Mom and Dad. High school drama and growing families...amazing. Loyal friendships and a loving family. I have it pretty darn good.

But I am not sure that I have ever felt quite as good as him.

Pour Salt in the Wound

I was snapping out of it.

Truly, I was. I was turning from 30-boo-hoo to the highly endorsed 30-woo-hoo. I was making a list of the things I would do this year. I was researching diets. I was recommitting to fitness.

And then I brought my sister-in-law to college. That act, in itself, was traumatic. She was my free babysitter. My "sweet treat" delivery girl. She introduced me to the Twilight series and complimented my cooking (most of the time). She entertained me with high school drama and was, in general, a wonderful playmate not just for Addie, but for me.

So, it was with steely resolve that I watched as the cars were packed with her beloved possessions.

It was stoic determination that I made small talk and laughed three hours up I-75.

I knew that I would miss having Nikki around. I knew that our family dynamic would change.

I knew that my husband would feel old with his youngest sibling shipped off to school and that Sunday dinners would be quieter without her.

We unloaded the cars and unpacked boxes and bins. Her bed got made up in lime green and blue. Her shirts and sweaters found a place in the closet. The new futon was assembled and the fancy TV plugged in. Her desk got organized and reorganized. A trip around campus, a few new sweatshirts for the fam, a lunch at BW3s, a quick trip to Meijer for some essentials and it was time to get on the road.

Leaving her behind was hard. Saying goodbye was quick, to avoid all of our tears. But the hardest part of day? That, THAT, was the following scenario:

• Walking through campus. Andy pushing Addie in the stroller, me walking beside them.
• Brian and Nikki strolling behind us. Patty and Kim walking behind them.
• I said some snotty snide comment to Nikki, pretty standard for us. (What? I can't even remember, but I'm sure it wasn't nice).
• Nikki kicked me in the bottom as hard as her huge foot would allow.
• Laughter erupted behind me, repeatedly, and a chagrined young man walked away from us, quickly, toward the dorm.
• Said young man had said (after the painful kick) to Patty and Kim "Man I would never kick my (wait for it)...MOM".

Oh my shit, I was just mistaken as the mother of an EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD.

When we got home, I had a beer and two hefty glasses of wine...but the pain was barely dulled.

Guess which one I am the mother of....

Damn co-eds.

Mmmmm, Wine. Gulp, Gulp, Gulp.

When they grow

Growing up I always knew I had a great, loving family. I had my mom and brother who took care of me daily and are entwined in most of my memories. I had my father, stepmother, sister and brothers who provided me with great adventures to Chicago, full of zoos, theme parks and shopping. I had my aunt, uncle and cousin who always were available for a trip to the beach or a weekend get away. And I had my West Virginia family, who entertained me every spring and summer with trips to the park, camping, going to the pool and general zaniness.

Even with all of that, I was always a tiny bit jealous of people who lived in the same town as their extended family. I never had cousins who played on the same soccer team as me, or aunts who lived around the corner when I wanted to run away. Sundays were not spent at Grandma's house and family gatherings were few and far between.

As I watch Addie and Rylan together I often wonder what their relationship will be. Will they be friends or competitors? Will they have each others' backs or will they pretend not know each other?

Even now as they battle over Grandma's and Aunt Nikki's attention, over Mater, over the guitar, over the sandbox, I am apt to believe that they will be loyal friends. That they will always protect each other. That they will be each others' biggest cheerleaders. That they will offer each other a shoulder to lean on.

She has the best of both worlds, extended family in her backyard and extended family to provide her with adventures.

Lucky girl.

30-Boo-Hoo

I don't know what it is about 32, but it put me in a funk. I was short with my daughter, snippy toward my husband and avoiding everyone else. I haven't been blogging, because (I'll admit it) I have had nothing nice to say. I have been humorless and grouchy.

Thirty-two and pouty, that's me.

On my actual birthday I essentially instituted a phone strike. I didn't want to hear happy wishes or jokes about getting old. I didn't want to be gracious or chatty. I spent the morning at the vet with my cranky cat and her urinary tract infection. Woo hoo. I was practically on the verge of tears all day. POUT.

This is so unlike me that it's ridiculous. I LOVE birthdays. I love mine, yours, hers and his. LOVE them. I think a day that is all about "you" is awesome and important and well-deserved. Growing up, my mom made birthdays magical. We got awesome cakes (seriously, one year she made my brother a Darth Vadar cake, complete with black frosting), and parties and spoiled with presents. Put it this way: on at least one occasion my birthday party included having pony rides in the backyard.
I know, seriously?? Yep.

I wasn't feeling it this year. I don't think a pony would have even cheered me up. Boo Hoo, 32.

And then I went to lunch with an old friend. At one point in time I was her guardian and mentor. But over the past eight years we've evolved into friends or family, or a mix of the two.

When I was fresh out of school I volunteered with AmeriCorps at Girls Hope. There I became a parent-figure, guardian, mentor, rule enforcer and chauffeur to eight tween and teen girls. We lived, with three other staff, in a house just north of Chicago. At 21 years old I was attending parent-teacher conferences, driving a Suburban, making dinners and breakfasts for an entire house. I was checking chores and explaining how tampons worked. There were days when I wanted to run away from the program screaming, but I didn't, I stayed for two years. My life was entwined with the lives, the drama, the goals, the hardship of the girls.

When I did leave my heart broke. I was leaving behind my kids, my girls. What would they do with out me there to make sure their homework was done or that they had new clothes? What would they do without me when their boyfriends broke up with them or they struggled in English? Turns out they would look to a new house parent to deal with the daily drama and slowly allow me to become a friend.

I didn't stay in touch the way I thought I would. Some of the girls are my 'friends' on Facebook. Some I hear about through the grapevine. Two of them, however, call me on my birthday, send me cards at Christmas, invited me to their college graduation and on occasion refer to Addie as their little sister.

One of those lovely "girls " (they're 24 now, but still in my mind they're my "girls") happened to be in town for my birthday. We met up for lunch and hung out until she had to fly back to Chicago. We played Friends Trivia and laughed at Addie and talked about everyone else we had in common. We talked about her future job and school plans. I made fun of her for being such a city slicker, she accused me of becoming a country mama.

Without knowing that I was feeling grouchy and grinchy and pouty, she made me laugh, and that was one hell of a good birthday gift.

It's hard to tell whether summer is coming to an end or just starting here in southwest Ohio. It has been an incredibly mild few months, and now that the temperatures are hovering near the high 80s we are a bit confused about what is going on.

In the past week or two I have found myself questioning whether the air conditioning has been working. I have been sweating while folding laundry and doing craft projects. Therefore, vacuuming and mopping are totally out of the question (at least that's what I say).

Last Sunday while Addie and Ry played in the blow-up pool, Rick, Andy and I had the genius idea of putting the hose nozzel on mist, propping it up on a table aimed at us.

Fabulous. Refreshing. Downright lovely.

Lounging in the sun, drinking beer, talking about dinner.

Perfection.

In the words of Rick (or Andy, seriously, what would I know, I had consumed two beers), our backyard was like "Vegas, but without the sl**ty chicks".

Perfection, in my eyes (beyond a backyard water mister) is summer grilling, and luckily for me, I married a grill master. Yes, I dubbed him that, but so have most of his family and 99 percent of our friends. Grilled pork tenderloin. Grilled shrimp. Grilled Smitty potatoes. He's grilled a frozen pizza and hot wings and peaches. He's grilled juicy burgers, and brats, and metts, and turds (0nly our turds also have pulled-freaking-pork). He truly makes outdoor cooking and eating AWESOME.

He was away again the last few days, but made up for it tonight by grilling tri-tips to go with our corn and salad. And last Sunday, after sitting in the mist and sweating during croquet, he grilled another perfect dinner: Citrus dill/mint chicken and zucchini salad. Yum, husband, yum.

I love the grill, Addie loves the grill, and more importantly, we live with a griller. We have plans the next two nights for dinner, but come Sunday that Webber better ready to work.

Face Lift

Even though I received a phone call this morning, from someone who will remain nameless, saying that when she saw the picture of our Thinking Stool she about peed her pants with laughter, I decided to soldier on. A quick trip to Michael's and things are looking better. Take that nameless, laughing friend.

Please understand

I don't want to raise my voice, but when you go darting out of the shoe section and into the men's underwear section, barefoot and shrieking, I kind of have to. I also have to grab you by one arm and shove you back in the cart. Oh, by the way, that was not a fun game, so stop laughing.

I don't want to use your middle name as a punishment, but you only seem to respond to Addison Evelyn, DO NOT take one more step toward the street. Or Addison Evelyn stop it! If you keep picking your nose it WILL bleed. Or Addison Evelyn, DO NOT put that in your mouth! Where did you even find a blue Froot Loop? We don't have Froot Loops!

I don't want to make you sit on your play stool in the middle of kitchen, but that is the only way I can insure you won't trek through the shards of glass in the entry way. The shards of glass that are there because a) Mommy left the darn Orange & Fennel candle on the stairs one day too long and b) You picked it up by the lid, 100 percent knowing you shouldn't touch it. You knew this because I had said, three minutes earlier, Addison leave that candle be. Addison Evelyn, let it be.

I don't want to put you to bed screaming and crying with snot flowing freely, repeatedly calling my name and breaking my heart, but I have stick to my guns on occasion. When you hit mommy I warned you that if you kept acting not nice there would be no bedtime stories tonight. When you kicked mommy I stayed true to my word.

I know you are just two. I know that you are figuring all out slowly. I know that I am cranky when I haven't slept well and the house is a mess and your dad is drowning in work. I know that you can't always be bluebirds and rainbows and giggles. But I also know that you are starting to figure out right from wrong.

You know to hold my hand in a parking lot and to not go near the street. You know to keep your food on your plate and not throw it on the floor. You know to use both hands when drinking juice from a big girl cup and not go running through the family room with your full cup. You know when I say One more time down the slide and then we head in for dinner that I don't mean one more time down the slide, a quick ride on the swing and a romp through the sandbox.

Starting today, it's time to start thinking. And here is your Thinking Stool*...

*I spent a day and half staining this Ikea creation white. I had visions of two hand prints, in orange and pink, flanking the word THINK (which would have been bright green). But no. You were not interested in hand prints. As I pressed your paint covered hand on to the white stained stool you turned it into a finger painting project - smearing and smacking and having oh-so much fun. So this is what I improvised after smoothing out your smears. Is it what I imagined? No. Can we still pretty pretty up? Yes. Will your butt fit on as well as it would have fit on the white stool? Yep...Welcome to the Thinking Stool, my dear.

Have fun.

Irony

There are mornings, that within 20 minutes of waking up, I am counting down the minutes until nap time. I am fantasizing about sitting on the couch, dreaming about cleaning the house in peace, imagining the joy of thumbing through a magazine uninterrupted, picturing blogging and being able to write an entire sentence without stopping to say something like "Do NOT put your finger in the cat's bottom!".

Tuesday morning started off that way at 6:38 a.m.
As she lay with me watching Little Einsteins I was already wondering what time she would take her nap. While I tried to make her blueberry pancakes and answer all 40 bazillion questions she had, I stared at the clock wondering how it was only 8:45 a.m. After her 56th time sitting on the potty just for practice, not with results, I daydreamed of sitting on the patio doing the crossword puzzle.

By 10 o'clock I was ready for her nap. Heck, I was ready for bed.

And then we went to a new story time. And she smiled and shoved her hands in her butterfly pockets and shyly sat next another little girl and looked at a book. She didn't really listen to the story teller, but she did love the parade through the bookstore, the sand-art craft project and, OH MY GOD, the cookies and milk afterward in the cafe.
And then we listened to Hakuna Matata nine times in the car. And we went to Ikea and shared a plate of Swedish meatballs. She picked out a "thinking chair" and three 50 cent zoo animals. We got back in the car, listened to Hakuna Matata another six times and arrived home in time for nap time.

And she cried crocodile tears and said No nap Mama! No ni-night, puhhleasse, no ni-night. But I brought her upstairs anyway. We sat and rocked and read Wynken, Blynken and Nod, around page four, she pulled my arms around her, snuggled into the crook of my elbow and quickly fell asleep.

And I sat there and rocked and rocked, not quite ready for her to leave my lap, oddly not quite ready for the much thought about, highly coveted, nap time.

Moments

I've been playing with that snazzy camera of mine, which I am still far from having figured out, but am falling more in love with. I am amazed at the small moments I have been able to freeze. Yes, there have been thousands of mis-shots. I have hit that erase button few thousand times. But somewhere, in all my fumbling, I have caught a moment or two of sweetness. And silliness. And tenderness. These are two of my favorites from last week:

***Addison was standing in the kitchen, naked but for a diaper, wanting to play with the dirty dishes in the sink. (Oh my god, dirty dishes in my sink? Unfathomable).

I had told her no at least a dozen time and I was frustrated and she was frustrated. I have noticed in the past few weeks when she is uncomfortable or upset or frustrated then something is in her mouth - giraffe, her thumb, her fingers. It is driving me batty, and I have been unable to break her of the habit. But here she is frustrated and trying to not get mad and relying on her thumb to make it all better.

***For the first two weeks of this month Andy was on the road. He travelled to Massachusetts, to Chicago, back to Massachusetts and finally home. While he was gone Addie started stringing together words and making sense. She started to sing Hakuna Matata and the theme to Elmo's World. She became even more loving and affectionate, kissing and hugging and cuddling. She asked about her Daddy every day and really was missing her biggest playmate. I told her that he was coming home on Friday and this is how she spent most of her afternoon, not knowing we were going to pick him up from the airport. Every once in awhile she would shout his name out the window and then look at me questioningly. It simultaneously broke my heart and made me mushy.

And they swam and they swam

When I was growing up my mom would often drag my brother and I outside on some type of adventure or another. She would find state fairs, festivals and craft shows for us to wander through. We would take hikes up to the top of Pleasent Valley, cross country ski through Canoe Meadows, and canoe on Onota Lake or Richmond Pond.
Most of these adventures started off with one or both of us grumbling or complaining. We didn't want to put down our books, or the controls to the Atari, or be stuck, god forbid, with each other. But mom never listened. She shoved us in the car, rolled down the windows and turned up Willie Nelson or John Denver or someone else who then hated, and of course now love.

I most fondly remember our adventures to the lake or pond. I loved our picnics, our canoe trips, our splashing in the water. We would dive and swim and play in the muck. We would lay on our backs and find animals in the clouds. We would stop bickering and, for a minute, enjoy each other.

I couldn't help but think of my mom today when I wasn't at a lake. I wasn't eating a picnic and there were no clouds to look at in the incredibly blue, hot sky. Instead, I was sitting in a baby pool, surrounded by a chain link fence, splashing with Addie. She traipsed across the pool confidently. She splish-splashed at Rylan. She giggled and laughed and kicked her legs and laid on her belly just barely keeping her head above water, but smiling.

I picked her up, put her on my lap, and bounced her and swished her while singing :
Down in the meadow in an itty bitty pool
Swam two little fishies and their mommy fishie too
Swim said the mommy fishie, swim if you can
And they swam and the swam right over the dam.

Addison screamed and giggled and clapped and said over and over:
Please, mama, fishie. Fishie, mama, PLEASE.

And while I didn't really want to sing it again, and my arms were really tired from finally working out, I sang and sang.
And I swished and bounced her, and she clapped and giggled and screamed.

And I remembered feeling that exact way on the shores of Onota Lake and Richmond Pond. I remember the cold water splashing up around us and hoping and wishing and begging for Mom to do it again. And even though, most of the time she was undoubtedly exhausted, and probably wanted to be sitting under a pine tree reading a magazine or dozing behind her sunglasses, she always bounced me and swished and threw me right over the dam. And I always giggled.

Good taste

I often find myself trying to track Addison's quirks and traits back to Andy or I.

Her dramatics? Uh, Me.

The fact that she taps her big toe independently of her foot? Definitely him.

Her love of the colors orange and purple? Me again.

The endless hours of sleep that she can accumulate? That would be him again.



I try to be careful to not take all her quirks and make them ours. There are things that are uniquely and wholly her. She loves to dance. She believes that all food is better if dipped in a sauce (her latest creation - scrambled eggs dipped in grape jelly). She adores the outside and just about every animal on the earth. She has an amazing memory for names and faces. She is truly her own person.



But that doesn't mean we aren't influential.



On our way home from the beach, she chowed down on sushi. She ate rolls, maki, and pickled ginger. She loved it all and kept asking for more "fishie", showing no interest in my chicken stir-fry. The love of sushi? That's him.



The night we got home we ordered in a pizza. Our family staple is a pepperoni pizza with half green pepper (me) and half sausage (him). He dips his in ranch, I dot mine with yellow mustard. Yes, you read that right, yellow mustard and pizza - delish! She helped herself to some pepperoni/sausage pizza and then requested some yellow mustard. Her culinary good taste? That must be me.

2:59 a.m.

Repeat of early hours of yesterday morning.

Grouchy to the tenth power.

Worst part of it? Coffee pot is in the dishwasher.

Apparently there IS room at the Inn

There are days that I have a hard enough time keep the three of us and the cat alive...and now I have to worry about keeping you comfortable too??

If you look closely, in the middle of my beautious blooms there is the head of a morning dove peering out.

I went to water my hanging baskets on Monday and was greated with a very loud flapping of wings. After restarting my heart, I looked in the basket - mama morning dove was gone, but itty-bitty baby morning dove was comfortably nested in.

I few months back I may have accidentally smashed an egg I found in my flowers. Apparently that act of birdie murder didn't thwart my doves' desire for a lovely pink home.

So, due to my guilt of murdering their first attempt, I will let my doves stay...

My Natural Disaster

I wasn't sleeping well.
I tossed and turned and groaned and checked the clock 42 times. I couldn't find a good 'cold spot' and the duvet felt too heavy. I was miserable.
Finally, somewhere after 2:30 a.m. I drifted off to sleep. Ahhh, sweet sleep. I love you sleep.
And then, somewhere before the four o'clock hour, BAM, I was awake.

Mommmmeee!
Aa, Mommmee!
Mommmmmeeeeee, Poo. Mommy, poo!
Mama? Mama? The zoo? Zoo, mama?
Pool, Mommeeee? Go pool?
Light ON! Mama, light ON!
Mooommmmmeeee, UP. UP Mommmmeeee.
Mama?

And yes, now I was awake after my 75ish minutes of sleep. I trudged down the hallway, I picked up my noisemaker, I stumbled back to my room. She nuzzled me and snuggled the pillows and giraffe and drifted off to sleep.

When she was an infant this was on of the things I loved best. I loved snatching her out out of the crib and tucking her in our big bed between us. I loved how she would snuggle close and mumur in her sleep. I loved how she would drift off quiety and happily, practically with a smile dancing on her little lips. I loved those night and mornings when the three of us were snuggled in bed.

I had a fleeting, futile thought of those days this morning. I thought, maybe she'll just snuggle and sleep. Thinking this, I fought to fall back into the magic world of dreams that I enjoyed for a few moments.
Finally, after about ten minutes - sleep - ahhh, sweet sleep.

And then, BAM, I was awake.

Sleeping, not peacefully, next to me was a pinwheel. A cyclone of feet and arms and legs and elbows. A boa constrictor that sucked up every imaginable inch of bed space around me. I was relegated to less than 14 inches of the bed. I was kicked repeatedly in the face, the ribs, the hip. I was elbowed and pushed. This was my sleep. This was my time to rejuvenate. Ahhhh.

So am I a tiny bit cranky this morning?
Uh, yeah.

You probably would be too, if you found a tiny foot with chipped purple nail polish smashed against your cheek when you woke up. You probably would be too, if you realized your mini-me had all the pillows and most of the bed. You probably would be too, if when your mini-me tapped you on the forehead to say good morning you saw her diaper leak pee all over your sheets.

Coffee? COFFFEEE? Where is the coffee?

Sweetness

Much of the past month or two seems to have rushed by in a blur. Travel. Car. Sit. Parent. Travel. Car. Sit. Parent. Lion King. Car. Clean. Cook dinner. Playtime. Story time. Travel. Doctor visits. Car. Sit. Clean. Temper tantrum. TIME OUT.

Most of the moments that I have strung together have been punctuated with what the world calls The Terrible Twos.

There has been spitting and kicking. There has been hitting and shrieking. There have been endless, unnecessary tears. There has been a non-stop chorus of No and More and Mine, all mushed together in a cacophony of whines.

There have been many moments where I have looked at my gray-eyed, sweet-faced little girl and wondered Will I ever survive this??

That has been the past month or so. And then there have the past few days.

In the past few days I have gazed at my gray-eyed, sweet-faced little girl and thought How lucky am I? How sweet and marvelous is she?



She has been doling out hugs and kisses. She has been flinging her arms around my neck and nuzzling me and whispering Mama, pretty.
She has gone running to her grandmothers, to her aunts, to me arms outstretched, begging for hugs. She has eaten her meals with minimal coaxing and hardly a complaint. She has woken up with smiles and laughter. She is chitchattering all day ~ naming colors, animals, places, people. She is asking questions and sharing and taking turns. She is a freaking rainbow.



And I know that it isn't going to last. I know that the chaos is just being hidden behind the cuteness. And I. DON'T. CARE. These past few days have made me think:

Maybe, just maybe, I will survive this.

Maybe, just maybe, I am a little good at this.

Maybe, just maybe, my gray-eyed, sweet-faced little girl is here to stay.



I just jinxed it, didn't I?

Introducing...

A mildly unfortunate incident involving my left eye and a decorative stick has rendered me a little blog-less lately. My eye is healing nicely, and really only sustained enough damage to make you laugh, but staring at a computer screen or being outside without sunglasses equals sporadic, twingy pain. Therefore, I have been laying low both on the blogging and on being outside.

HOWEVER, I felt today's events were too monumental to ignore. A milestone has been reached. Ignore her half-pony-tailed head. Ignore the piece of mac'n'cheese popping in and out of her mouth. Pay no attention to the piece of deli ham in her her hair or the filth smeared across her face.

Just listen...

Addie can FINALLY say her own name.