Every time

On Father's Day, Daniel was very excited to give Doug his Father's Day gifts. We surprised Daddy in bed with a lie-in, finger painted picture frames, and a little poem with Daniel's footprints included. Daniel was so pleased by Doug's reaction that he jumped into the air and tumbled backwards out of the bed. Yup. You guessed it. He landed flat on his head. I scooped him up and rocked him; Doug wanted to go to the ER. Having lived through this before, I knew that wasn't necessary, but rather I knew what I needed to watch for.

I continued comforting Daniel and I gently explained that jumping on the bed always leads to a bump on the head. Our day went on, Daniel didn't jump on the bed again, and everything was dandy.

A few weeks later, Daniel was taking a wonderful nap in my bed. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and sat up. He looked me right in the eye and said, "Every time I jump in the bed I bump my head. Every. Time." I think the message sunk in!

Birthday cake

Several months ago, my mom turned 58. Daniel and I practiced singing happy birthday to Gram over, and over, and over again. I used the opportunity to teach him about birthdays, birthday parties, birthday cake, and birthday presents. For weeks after Gram's birthday, I would ask Daniel what he wanted to sing in the car and he would answer, "Happy birfday, Gram!!" While he learned the song, he didn't quite get the concept.

Then the birthday season of our playgroup began and we had 5 birthday parties in about a 6-week span. Ding! Ding! Ding! Daniel got it! He understood that birthday = birthday party = birthday cake. He didn't quite get the presents thing as many of our friends requested "No gifts, please." During the birthday season, I asked Daniel what he wanted for his birthday. Without a breath of hesitation, he shouted, "BIRTHDAY CAKE!" Of all the things in the world he could have chosen, he wanted cake. That's my boy.

As the days ticked by, we talked more and more about his birthday, his party, the upcoming birthday visit from Nana, and many other birthday-related topics. When I asked Daniel what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, I was expecting a very emphatic "CHOCOLATE!" What I heard surprised me. Daniel sat pondering for a moment, sighed a little sigh, smiled, and said, "Strawberry," in a very thoughtful tone of voice. I didn't try to talk him out of it, but I wanted to make sure he knew his options. He said he understood and he wanted strawberry.

My strawberry cake - I hate to brag - is excellent. It's from scratch and this year, Daddy, Nana, and Daniel went to the farmer's market to buy fresh, local, homegrown strawberries. This cake rocked. When I went in to Daniel's room on July 4 to wish him a happy second birthday, the first words out of his mouth were, "Eat birthday cake at Monica's house!" We had just gone to a birthday party at Monica's house the weekend before. I guess he was still a little hazy on the details. I explained to him that it was HIS birthday and we were going to eat strawberry cake at OUR house later that day. All day long, Daniel asked about that cake. He helped me make it after breakfast, watched it in the oven, asked about it when it was cooling on the counter, wanted to know where his candles were - that kid was interested! I kept reminding him that his cake had to cool, I had to ice it, and we were still waiting on our family to come over.

As you can well imagine, getting a 2-year-old to nap on his birthday is no small feat. He finally gave up and dozed off at about 4 that afternoon. I cuddled with him while he slept and snoozed a little myself. When Daniel woke up, his eyes popped wide open, he sat bolt-upright in bed, and said, "My cake's ready!!" I couldn't help but laugh. I hope fulfilling his birthday wishes are always so simple.

Alert!

I've decided that several Daniel stories need to be written down and saved forever. I'll be posting them here, just so that the formatting is cute. Please feel free to skip them!

Hormones are fickle things

I walked into Daniel's room today to toss a shirt in the laundry basket and was hit full-force with a memory. It was probably a conglomeration of memories, as this happened many nights when Daniel was still teeny tiny, but man. It was powerful. Daniel was still just a few weeks old. I was still waking up many times during the night to nurse, change diapers, eat snacks to satisfy my ravenous appetite, and of course, to just make sure he was still ok. I suppose it was something about the way that Mars aligned with my left shoulder, but suddenly, I was back there. In Spring, at our old home, with a tiny infant to care for. My senses were overwhelmed with the way I felt at 2:13 am. I could feel the sleep in my eyes and the grogginess in my limbs. I could smell his itty bitty baby smells. I could hear the tick of the clock and the hum of the white noise machine. I could almost see the dim light coming under the door from the other room. I could taste the peanut butter crackers I'd grabbed on the way in. I was all but there.

It wasn't the memory or the vividness of the memory that struck me. What struck me was this - I wanted to be there. It's not all that shocking to want to relive the past, but this was different. It was every sense of my self shouting at me that I want to be up in the middle of the night with a new one. I want to remember the way it feels to nurse a newborn. I want to do all of those things again. Right now.

I guess this was my body's way of telling me, "Hey dude. Get ready. 'Cause this is where we're headed." And I guess the craziest thing of all was that my response wasn't, "Ok . . . ?" It was, "When do we start????" Giddy with anticipation. Ready to meet a new Carey. Excited to bring another little life into the world. So come on, little one! Mama's ready for you!

Not me! Monday - Episode 4

Today, it was NOT ME who played gleefully in the rain with my child and his friends. It was NOT ME who willingly (and begrudgingly, if you can attain such a status) went to "the farm," aka, McDonald's. It was NOT ME who actually had mixed feelings about Daniel eating a chicken McNugget. If Daniel willingly ate chicken at other establishments - namely, my home - I wouldn't have cared. But Daniel doesn't willingly eat chicken. Ever. And his first bite of chicken that HE chose to consume was a . . . McNugget? Oh well.

It was NOT ME who spent 30 minutes vacuuming one room in my mother's house because Daniel wanted to. It was NOT ME who happily dozed in and out of consciousness with my little one while he napped a rainy afternoon away. It was NOT ME who gladly dug holes in our back flower bed because Daniel's request after naptime sounded something like this, "Mama! Let's go out there and dig in the dirt!!" Who refuses that?

It was NOT ME who read my most recent blog and felt like smashing my head into a wall for being such a whiny twit. It is NOT ME who writes this blog feeling a tad on the bi-polar side for having such severe blog mood swings. It is most certainly NOT ME who feels like I've somehow turned over a new leaf by having three amazing days in a row. And again, it is NOT ME who sighs a sigh of contentment and wishes I could hold on to days like these forever.

A quick vent

It seems that EVERYONE I know is somehow making time in their lives to leave their children behind and take a much-needed and long overdue vacation. Not us. I'm not asking for Vegas, Napa, Honolulu, or even just the Melting Pot. All I want is 2 or 3 hours alone with my husband to reconnect and breathe and I can't seem to manage that.

I feel like I'm chasing my tail. I feel like no matter how good Daniel is or what a great nap he takes, I'm still just flat out of gas at the end of the day. Regardless of how many times he peepees in the potty or says please and thank you, regardless of how helpful Doug is when he gets home from work, regardless of how helpful my dad is when we're with family - I need a break. Not a big break. Just a little teeny break to take a deep breath and remember what I'm doing. Just a few moments to sit down and not worry about how many more loads of laundry there are to do, how many more tiles need to come off the wall, how many more rooms there are to mop. How much is left to do. I just want a day (or even just half a day) where I don't have to do anything. I could sit on the couch and read. I could tell Doug about my latest idea without having to pause every 30 seconds to ask Daniel to repeat what he just asked for. I could go to the bathroom without help and without having to relinquish my spot on the potty for somebody who needs it more desperately than I do.

So that's all. I know there are no solutions. I know that break isn't coming. I know the best I can do right now is a 3-hour break to go clean someone else's house. But that doesn't make me want it any less. Doesn't make it any easier to pick myself up and keep going. This is one loooong tunnel and I sure don't see any light.

Strangely unmotivated

A few weeks ago, I complained about Doug monopolizing the computers in our home. Now that he's moved on from Linux and we've turned our bathroom completely upside down, I am strangely unmotivated to write. I finally have access to the computer again, I have a list of blogs I'd like to write, and somehow, I'm not writing them.

Since when did Daniel become a full-contact sport?
Love in the in-law sense of the word
Fear (specifically about my mom's upcoming surgery)
Respect (specifically about those who KNOW what they want out of life)

There are others, but those are the blogs that are plaguing me. I keep a note running in my cell phone of blogs I need to get around to. I've even starting writing one or two of the blogs listed above several times. I get a line or two into them and decide I don't like the direction they're taking. I save the title; delete the blog.

I think this was the whole point of the Not Me! Monday and the PSF blogs, but somehow, the point was lost on me (which is strange, because I'm the one who made the point. . . ). The point was to keep me on a blogging schedule. Not just to post something, but to find time in my life to write. Somehow, I've managed to find a million other things to fill my time with. Perhaps when that list does not include drywall repair, tiling, and plumbing, I'll find more time to write.

Until then, that is all. Just know that I have thoughts in my head I'd love to "put on paper," I just can't seem to get going.