we're just fine

let's start out nice and slow, because i've got a toddler boy asleep in a crib 15 steps to my left and there's very little in the world that will pull me to my feet right now. this is it for me, nice. and. slow.

life is streaming through my fingers - tiny, microscopic crystals, sparkling and smooth. life is rushing on huge gusts of wind that come out of nowhere and drag me yards away before i have a chance to brush the unkempt hair from my face. life is sweet, glorious kisses from my two most beloved gentlemen, one hobbles over on unsteady knees, the other is holding his hand. life is this dream of mine that looks enormous, minuscule, terrifying, and extraordinary all at the same time. life is wonder, evolution, love. life - life is fast.

we get home in the evenings, henry and me, holding tightly to one another with our arms full of things. henry's neon green bag and blanket. mommy's purse, keys, and phone. sometimes we hardly make it through the door. most of the time our entrance is henry's body, folded in half so that his dangling feet hang just below his outstretched finger-tips, mother holding on for dear life. all the things fall, henry's head brushes the hard-wood floor. it was a close one, but we made it. we're just fine.

henry is upright, dashing towards the opened closet where we store coats, shoes, winter hats, toilet paper (too high for henry to reach). the shoes are great fun at 16 months old - henry can reach the shoes.

"oosch?"
"oosch?!"
"mama?"

he wants me to put on his shoes. the shoes he has in his hand are 10 sizes too large for his thick, baby feet. he loves shoes. he has 15 shoes outside of the closet now (dirty shoes. shoes i would have never let him touch in my other life.), piled on top of his legs. none of them have a match. it doesn't matter. "oosch!"

the shoes are cleaned up, neatly piled high on top of each other again in the closet. none of them have a match. it doesn't matter.

i have one minute to unpack henry's neon green bag, full of dirty clothes from daycare and a white, copied report that tells us what henry did all day. it's identical almost every day. i glance at it to be sure we're not out of any supplies - diapers? wipes? sunscreen? we're not. i have thirty seconds left to throw the dirty clothes into the washing machine before henry's hands skim the toilet seat, before he's found the cupboard he's not allowed to open, before he's got a hand/nose full of potting soil. damn, the potting soil. it's all over him. his clothes, his hair, the floor. damn the pretty plants - the bright, splashes of color i have in my home that remind me i am a woman, a person, i can keep a plant alive. henry's eating its soil.

his clothes are off, he's in the sink. his hands are spreading black dirt onto the formerly cream colored wall above the sink. the sink is now full of all the dishes left to dry on the counter beside the sink. they're dirty again. i throw them into the dishwasher. it's okay, we're doing it. we're just fine.

he's out of the sink, spread out on the kitchen floor, sobbing. he didn't want to get out of the sink. clear, thick snot is flowing from his nose, his tears are wetting the tips of his freshly cut hair. his cheeks are red, further highlighting their round fullness. he's got the most doughy cheeks. he's mine. he's a miracle. he's loud.

three things sit snug in my arsenal, ready for launch: 1.) tomatoes, 2.) cheese, 3.) bath-time. options 1 and 2 are most often used interchangeably and/or paired to steady a mad, red henry. in this moment, i choose to pair 1 and 2. to lure him into his high chair is an art i want you to know has taken months to craft. it's still not perfect. henry will remain on the tear-stained kitchen floor while i sing-talk calmly about how nice it would be to have a snack with mommy. tomatoes. cheese. all lovely things to ease the pain of evacuating the sink before henry was ready. i will cut up the tomatoes and cheese. i will have a bite. oooh, delicious! the first offer to henry is calculated, precise. not too pushy. nice and easy. denied. he wants nothing of it. that's okay, it's not over yet. i keep eating. i have an affinity to cheese and tomatoes myself, i think that's where he gets it. i place two slices of bursting, baby red tomatoes on his high chair tray and hand him a bite of cheese. he takes it. internally, streamers are falling from the rafters. he's 40 seconds from sitting calmly in his chair like a gentleman. he's in my arms, his face is glistening with every trace of transparent liquid his body has just expelled. it doesn't matter. we're just fine.

we spend the next 13.5 minutes in the kitchen together, chatting over the goings on with old mcdonald and his farm, the various noises mr. mcdonald's farm animals tend to make, the wheels on the bus - we have lots of hand motions for this one. i'm beaming with pride. this kid, he's a blessed genius. he's mine. we're just fine.

the door slams hard, rattling the door knocker. joey always lets the door slam. it's okay. we're just fine.

henry's face shoots to the location of the sound. the door?! dad!

"hi!"
silence.
"da!"
silence.
"dada!"
silence. excruciatingly l.o.u.d silence.

joey and henry have this game together, it involves a lot of creeping, sneaking, tickling, and high, screechy giggles. henry is reaching far from his perch in his high chair, neck craned, fingers taut. silent. beaming. he's like a enormously overflowing water balloon, every piece of him is stretched. the anticipation is starting to seep out of his finger-tips.

"da!"
"hi henry!"

such glee. such perfection. henry's face is dripping with tomato juice. his hands are speckled with cheese, the floor around his high chair is littered with clumps of tomatoey cheese. he is happy, eating, and talking loudly about daycare? shoes? the monkeys that are always falling off the bed? who can be sure? joey and i watch in wonder, busily making a supper we will both stand to eat. this is life. this is us. they are mine. we're just fine.

it can't be this good. but it is.

have you ever listened to the sound of your voice after it was recorded in video or, maybe worse, as your phone's voicemail playback? if it sounds anything like mine, and it surely can not possibly come close!, it's this horrific screeching sound that turns any semi-intelligable substance of a thought into nails on chalkboard garbage (my husband would argue this is where my true confidence is going to start to shine brightly). the sound i hear in my head every time i write a new blog post and read it back as i skim it for errors (upon errors, upon errors that i sometimes find and fix weeks later because it drives me bananas) is that sound. that same piercing voice going on, and on, and on. and that's not what this was supposed to be about. this was a henry thing. this was a 'my family and me thing'. because it's this incredible period in my life where i wake up every morning and thank the good lord for the miracle that is my life, and darn it i want to remember this time. that's what this space is.

do you know that i am literally living, every single day, the very fantasy that i created in my head and as i played as a little girl? and what's even more astounding is that it's even better than that little pig-tailed girl had imagined. because my son, he's got this really great personality that levels me daily. and my husband is so good. do i need to stress that more? you know how people casually throw out the word "good" to describe the things that aren't bad, giving them the minimal amount of credit, because, well, it wasn't bad? and unfortunately, somewhere along the line we turned the word "good" into "almost bad". but look it up. we've morphed the word from its true meaning. but now when i tell you that my husband is this word, you know that he's everything. he's t.h.e. husband in the books, you guys. he's really, really good.

and as my life has turned into this crazy version of itself, where all my dreams came true, i still find myself wanting, hoping for more. and that's just nuts! absolutely crazy. and because of that burn in me that's constantly convincing me i "need" more and urging me to seek out the other side of the fence (because it's greeeeeeeen, you guys!), i forget all that i have right here. right here!



it's these guys. i have these guys. they're mine. by law. by blood. and they're in love with me back. that's the breathtaking piece, that's where all of this really gets good!

i hope you're good too. i hope you're staying warm in this mid-january cold, because sometimes, even next to the fire it's impossible to stay warm, you know what i mean? don't lose your warmth. i'm really working on that these days :)

adios, 2014

2014 was one of those sneaky kinds of years that comes on highly anticipated and takes off in the night without so much as a lipstick smear on the mirror. i craved 2014 like a sleep deprived new mommy craves an ambien and a night nanny - hard! henry was tiny, healthy, and perfect, but soooo demanding of my time between the hours of 24/7 that i really thought i was losing every stitch of remaining sanity i'd held on to through his pregnancy. joey and i saw eye to eye approximately 2ish days of the week, and the other 5 (or was it 10?) were spent battling over important things like 'your coat is on the couch, again!', 'the pillow doesn't go there!', 'you'll never understand, your boobs aren't taking over y.o.u.r. life!'.

2013 saw shades of me that were straight hideous and confusing, and i looked into 2014 with love-sick, rosy goggles. and she shined. she really did. even when we were in it, neck deep in blown-out diapers and daycare drop off. it never got boring. 2014 was full of the kind of glamour and riveting excitement reserved for the tired and weary. our curtain call every morning was henry's squirmy bottom in the monitor as he vocalized his ripe entrance, and every night the lights dimmed with henry's stage right exit, his companions (bottle and lucky parent) wrapped snug around his pinky finger.

we said goodbye to 2014 at 11:15 (although huck blew a precious kiss to the old year at 6:27 on the nose, because he's nothing if not ornery on less than 12 hours of beauty sleep), and we were ready. because every new day is a better one, and every new year promises so much to look forward to. blindly optimistic? rarely. naive? always! we'll take it 2015, throw us a good one.

as it is

we spend a lot of time cleaning at our house, because everything is made to eventually land in the destructive hands of our (almost) one year old. we've got a lot of ripped pages, stained couch cushions, and barely-together shelving units. most of our spare time is spent chasing after huck as he races towards the nearest cable box to rip it from its television set. it's life with a one year old, and it's sweet. bitter sweet in its purest form.

a few weekends ago, we drove to gaithersburg, md in search of pumpkins at their annual oktoberfest. but although the place was covered in scads of pumpkins, not a one was for sale. so we trucked along, enjoying sausages and pretzels the size of our heads. somewhere along our stroll henry lost a shoe, and then we decided it was time for his first professional hair cut. so when we got back to the car, we had a half inch less hair, approximately one missing shoe, and no pumpkins. those kinds of things are just the way our weekends crumble around here, and if it's not a missing shoe it's a broken garbage disposal, which is what our sunday morning is shaking out to look like this time around.

i hope your weekend's been full of sunshine the way ours has. last night, joey and i entrusted the sleeping life our our hucka to a stranger named janesse who we met off care.com, and stole away for a fancy georgetown dinner. we walked the busy sidewalks without a stroller or a henry in our arms and relished in the company of just the one we married, which was a refreshing change of events and certainly worth every college savings account we depleated along the way (childcare is e.x.p.e.n.s.i.v.e!)

happy halloween week!

happy day

i hope your father's day was special. henry and i tried our best to show joey how much we love and appreciate him, because he really is the best daddy.

it's amazing to me how revealing it is becoming a parent. it's like all of your vulnerabilities and strengths come pouring out like lava, displayed on the ground around your feet while ashes of your former, composed self speckle the air around you. when henry was born, my vulnerabilities came out in droves, pushing aside any strengths or bits of composure i had left and trampling them to the ground. it was ugly, and probably still is. 

when joey became a daddy, when he held henry is his arms for the first time - up against his bare chest - he looked so natural. he looked at peace. joey was born to be a daddy. he has a nurturing spirit that dispels all worry, soothes any pain. and more than that, more than the incredible way joey molded himself so perfectly into the phenomenal daddy he is, he somehow finds a way to become a better husband and partner ever single day. he is our hero, and we are so very very lucky to call him ours.

on saturday, henry woke up a little before six, so we let joey sleep in while we played together downstairs. henry is so giggly in the mornings - he and i share a love for early mornings that joey doesn't quite understand. although, henry likes his mornings a little earlier than even i can understand... we're working on that!

my early bird:

and, our day at the pool on saturday:

side note: henry's hot pink floaty was the very last on the shelf when we stopped by target the other weekend. h didn't seem to mind a bit, and we celebrated that our son was happy as a lark and his head was safely above sea-level. (although joey had his eye on that purple and green identical floaty beside the pool (top left), and just about asked the little girl who owned it for a swap out. he wisely maintained restraint).

we sick

there’s something you should know about me before we move any further, because if you’re in agreeance with my husband, this flaw could be a make or break obstacle for us. among a host of other things i do not shine at, you should be warned that i have a very small level of sympathy for people who are sick. i really can’t nail down a solid reason for it; i don’t have a ton of memories of being sick growing up, but i was always well cared for when i was. tomato soup was my nutrients of choice, not that you asked, and i was prone to sore throats that occasionally flowered into an annoying case of strep throat that radiated into my ear drums and turned me into a wickedly unhappy little angel. but i usually recovered quickly and rarely missed school over the deal, and life really did just meander on as usual.

so when we first met, and joey came down with a mini cold that sent him to bed for two days, i was terribly confused and probably as nurturing as a yard ornament because it was just a cold, for goodness sake. but joey takes his sicknesses a bit more seriously than i do, and he also requires quite a bit of attention, to my surprise, and so we learned early on in our relationship that we disagree on very few things but the level of attention and coddling one needs when down with a cold is certainly one of the larger sources of disagreements for the two of us. and while i will honestly say i’ve been doing some self-reflecting over the whole deal, i do still have a ways to go before my nursing status is adequate. but joey, bless his aching heart, has made major strides in the direction of adult behavior whilst ill, and has only rarely missed a day (much less a week!) of school/work over the common cold since i met him.

and now that you know the back story, i will tell you that joey was sick all last week. and like the gracious wife i try to be, i made a genuine effort to inquire about his aches and pains throughout the week and rub his back a time or two to really send home the feeling that i love and support him through his illness, because of course i really do. and as i proceeded to shower him (or more likely sprinkle him) with sympathy, i must have sat a little too closely, because this week henry and i are down with the same symptoms, gol darn it. so today daddy and h are doing their best to cuddle away the barking cough and runny nose, and hopefully by tomorrow huck’ll be feeling a little better, because my poor little man has not a single smile to spare**.

 

**to clear up any misconceptions – and to keep the child protective service folks at bay – my dearest huckleberry, on a good day, can just never seem to get a minute to himself without his mother up in his grill, so when his airways become obstructed and his poor little voice sounds as gruff as a grizzly, he has to beg me to detach from his person long enough to spend any amount of one on one time with his favorite toy the big yellow ring. because somehow when it’s your baby who’s down with the sickness, your heart just bleeds as if the end of the world has come.

(update)
henry took this selfie after he read this post because he wasn't sure anyone would know what his yellow ring looks like. now you do.