One year ago today I woke up early, showered and dressed, kissed your brothers goodbye, shed a few tears, and headed to the hospital. I checked in, got set-up in a room, met several nurses and doctors, made nervous chitchat with Daddy, and headed to the OR. I waited and shivered while the nurses got things set up and the anesthesiologist did my spinal. I noticed that the radio was tuned to the station I usually listen to. I laid down, listened to the chatter as last minute preparations were done, stared at the blue curtain spread out above me, and held tightly to Daddy’s hand. And then, finally, the moment I had waited for since seeing those two pink lines nine months before arrived, and I heard your beautiful cry for the very first time.

For the first few days of your life I kept referring to you as ‘Little Man’, ‘Handsome’, and ‘Buddy’, but it didn’t take long to get used to having a daughter. You may be too little to talk or even understand what I’m talking about most of the time, but I suddenly felt like I had someone on my side. The boys could laugh hysterically about toots and poop and I finally had someone to roll my eyes at and get a knowing smile in return.

I’ve had lots of fun dressing you. I’ve never been a big shopper… until now. I used to think boys’ clothes were just as cute as girls’ clothes… until now. I’ve never filled the closet with clothing that won’t fit for at least a year… until now.

And although you do have a great wardrobe, I hope I always teach you that inner beauty is far more important than your outer appearance.

There are so many things I look forward to with you. Girls nights, chatting over coffee (or a non-caffeinated beverage for you), doing our nails (but wait! I’ve already started that!!)

Most of all though, I look forward to being friends. I know there will be rocky times when you won’t like me, but I truly hope that we can weather those tumultuous teen years with little to no damage. I hope to be the first one you think of when you have news or heartache to share, and in turn, I hope that after your father, you are the one I call as well.

The past year has flown by, and we are discovering more and more each day what a blessing you are in our lives. That toothy smile, those wet kisses, that little finger that points at everything, those wonderful cuddles, that shrill scream, all the little things I take for granted that might not last much longer before you start to become a little girl instead of a baby. I admit that I hate the thought of you not being a baby anymore, but I’ll concentrate on the fact that there is much to look forward to.

Happy first birthday sweet girl! I love you big big.

Love, Mommy

Today is Mother’s Day. It couldn’t be a more fitting day to celebrate such an occasion because five years ago today, on May 12th, 2008, you came into the world, making my lifelong dream of being a mommy come true.

You are only a day older than you were yesterday, but for some reason, five seems so much older than four. Maybe it’s because I know that five year olds go to school; not just preschool, but real, all day, every day school. And well, I can’t think about that without crying. Every. Single. Time. So we won’t think about it right now because today is your birthday and it’s a day to celebrate!

Your birth, like so many things in life, did not go as planned. Your heart rate began to decelerate during labor, so we had to get to you as quickly as possible. Daddy and I worried that your short term distress would cause long term problems, but we soon discovered that was not the case. You have been a smart little guy right from the start and your mind amazes me on a daily basis with everything it learns and remembers. I love this video of you when you were 21 months old, reciting the months of the year. Your sweet little voice gets me every time.

I have no doubt that that brain of yours will get you far in life, but more than your brain, I love your heart. You are one of the most loving people I have ever come across. Ever since you were a baby, you’ve loved to cuddle. Whenever we’re beside each other, your arm automatically goes around my neck and your fingers wind their way into my hair. I don’t know how many years I have left before you no longer want to cuddle with your mom, so until then I will savor every moment.

Your heart goes far beyond being a cuddle bug though. When I look at you I see a heart like David’s in the Bible. You don’t always do the right thing, but like David, when you realize where you went wrong, you’re quick to repent. Since David was a ‘man after God’s own heart’ I am so thankful to see that trait in you.

It’s been fun to watch your personality develop over the past five years. Sometimes I look at you and wonder how someone so different from me could come from my body: How outgoing and talkative you are, your confidence in every situation, that cuddle bug nature I mentioned earlier, your take charge attitude. All of these are traits that are so far from what I’m used to, but I’m so happy to see that you’ve ended up with them. Some of them will need guidance in order to develop into positive attributes instead of ones that cause you problems, but Daddy and I will do our best to help steer you in the right direction.

You’re personality is not completely foreign to me though. There are other times when I look at you and am amazed at how much like me you really are: Your stubborn streak, the quirky (obsessive compulsive?) way you have to do or say certain things the same exact way every time, your resistance to change and your sentimentality when you know change is imminent. You are part Mommy, part Daddy, and fully YOU, a completely unique person, all wrapped up in one cute little five year old package.

Some time in the future you will become a man, find a woman you love, settle down, and start a family. When I think of the way you treat the members of our family, I feel so happy for the girl who will get to be your wife and the children who will get to call you Daddy. You are playful and patient with Annelise and protective of both her and me. Daddy and I love to tease each other, but as soon as you see Daddy doing the teasing, you come running to my defense. I love it! You’re also thoughtful with all of us. You’ve been saving your piggy bank money for as long as I can remember because you want to buy a bike for Daddy, and every time you have spare change to buy something at the store you always think not only of yourself, but also of Samuel when making your purchase. On Christmas morning you could barely contain your excitement, not because of the gifts you were going to receive, but because of the gifts you were going to give. All of these little things tell me that you’ll take your job as protector and provider seriously some day. In the meantime, I’m thankful that I get to be around to watch you grow.

Happy birthday, little man. I love you more and more with each passing year (if that’s even possible!). Thank you for making me a mommy.

Love, Mommy

So when I happened to read two different blog posts within days of each other that had very similar themes, I took note. In a nutshell, they were about the prevailing negativism that confronts new or expecting parents. Instead of the excitement, joy, and encouragement that should be showered on these people, they are instead confronted with comments such as ‘Just wait!’, ‘What were you thinking?’, and ‘You’re in for it now!’.

I believe in going into a new situation with your eyes wide open, so I think it’s important for new parents to know what they’re getting into. But I also wholeheartedly agree that they need all the encouragement they can get. So to all the new or expecting parents out there, here’s a little insight into what you’re about to get yourself into:

• You will be exhausted. People for miles around will see the bags under your eyes. They will make comments about how tired you look and you will want to stab them with whatever sharp object you find lying nearby. However, before you know it, your baby will not be waking up every two hours and you’ll find yourself slightly more rested. Every once in a while you’ll even miss those middle of the night feedings.
• You will spend a small fortune on diapers. Occasionally your baby will pee or poop several times throughout a diaper change and you will feel physically ill for having wasted so many diapers in a five minute span. You will also be shocked and amazed at how far poop can shoot across a room. The clean up might suck in the short term, but think of the stories you can tell later!
• Sometimes babies cry for no reason and/or for long periods of time. It is stressful and annoying. If another adult is in the house, share rocking duty. A baby can sense when you’ve had it and it will only make the crying worse. Babies also laugh for no reason. You make a weird sound and it’s the funniest noise they’ve ever heard. Their laugh will be the sweetest noise you’ve ever heard. Record it. Also record their hiccups. One day when they’re older and you’re having a rough day, you can listen to the recordings and they will remind you why you love your child.
• You will no longer be able to leave the house with only a moment’s notice and just a purse slung over your shoulder. Outings will require time and preparation, especially at first. You’ll make five trips to the car with all the gear you deem necessary. After the second or third kid, you’ll discover that although it’s not wise to leave the house without a few necessities, the travel swing and pack and play really don’t need to accompany you to the grocery store. You will also discover that you can carry an infant car seat (with infant inside), a diaper bag, a purse, and a kicking and screaming toddler all at the same time. You are Wonder Woman (or Superman). Give yourself a pat on the back… after you put all that stuff down.
• Your child will frustrate you in ways you didn’t know were possible. They will also amaze you in ways you didn’t know were possible.
• The times that you’re running late will be the times when your toddler finds a worm in the driveway and wants to follow it’s painstakingly slow progress to the lawn. Take a deep breath, ask yourself if whatever you’re in a rush to get to is that important, and try to see the world through eyes that are experiencing everything for the first time.
• Your child will go through a phase where the only thing he’ll want to eat is chicken nuggets. This phase will directly coincide with your friend posting on Facebook how her kid’s favorite meal is quinoa, raw asparagus, and kale smoothies. Immediately block this friend, give your kid an extra serving of whatever fruit he’s willing to choke down, and know that eventually his tastes will expand and you are not a bad parent if your child won’t touch spinach.
• Remember this: people only share what they want others to know. The friend with the kid who eats weird, healthy food is not perfect and does not have perfect children. You can bet she’s not leaving status updates about how her five year old won’t sleep in her own bed at night or how her two year old’s tantrums are about to drive her insane.
• You will have days when all that keeps you going is the thought of bedtime. And you will have nights when you crawl into bed and cry because you are positive you are a total screw-up as a parent. First of all, you’re not. Secondly, remember this; children have an awesome ability to love and forgive. Take advantage of it. And take a lesson from it.
• You will hold no other job that will fill you with as much self-doubt, second guessing, and guilt as parenting. You will also hold no other job that will fill you with as much pleasure, wonder, and love as parenting. For all of its frustrations, it is very rewarding. Just ask any parent who has had the joy of feeling little arms wrap around their neck or had a head, heavy with sleep, rest on their shoulder.
• Here’s the most important one. Until you are a parent, you will never understand the depth with which you can love someone. You love your spouse, your parents, your brothers and sisters. But the love you have for your child is unlike anything you will ever experience. It is overwhelming, overflowing, and never ending. If every moment from birth onward was awful (which I hope you realize is not the case!), it would still be worth it, just to experience this love.

A lot of people will tell you to enjoy every moment, but the truth is, there are plenty of moments you won’t enjoy. You’ll wonder why you got yourself into this, how you’ll get yourself through this, and if there’s any way to get yourself out of this. But trust me when I say that there are many moments that make it well worth the effort and heartache. And at the end of the days in which you’re tempted to give up, you will watch your child sleep, wonder at the fact that you made that beautiful little one, and realize that there is no place you’d rather be.

Today you turn three and move from toddlerhood to being a preschooler. Although I know it’s a necessary part of growing up, I don’t relish the thought that in a few short months I’ll drop you off at nursery school and your journey into independence (and away from me) will begin.

Years before I became a mother, or even a wife, I dreamed of some day having a little boy with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You fit that description to a T! You gave us hints to this impish personality even before you were born.

I remember one particular ultrasound picture in which you had quite the pout going. You carried that with you to the outside world and still use it with a lot of frequency (and varied results). It probably gets you your way more often then it should, but really, who could resist this face?

And then there was your birth, which really started to clue me in to the ride we were about to begin. You were due to be born by a scheduled c-section on a Friday morning. On Wednesday at my last doctor’s appointment, the visit ended with Dr. Benoit telling me as long as I didn’t have you that night, he would be the delivering doctor. I was anxious to have someone I knew and trusted performing such an important operation and I had no doubt you would arrive right on schedule. You, however, must have heard him and decided it would be fun to give mommy a little extra stress because that night (or I guess I should say the next morning) at 12:38 a.m, you, our second son, came into the world.

You haven’t had the easiest time in the three years you’ve been here, and I admit that I worry about you much more than I worry about Eli or Annelise. You seem to be the one in our family who continually ends up with the short end of the stick, health-wise: eczema, food and environmental allergies, cold after cold, possible color blindness. Even the black flies seem to target you each spring and summer!

Thankfully though your trials are minor compared to what many people go through, and I pray that instead of making you negative, bitter, and pessimistic, they make you stronger, more sympathetic to others, and with a greater resolve to beat whatever challenges you come up against. I will work to instill these values in you, but please forgive me for the moments when I will surely fail. As any mom will tell you, it’s not easy to see your child hurting, even if it’s just a runny nose causing the problem.

The happy, healthy moments far outweigh the bad ones and there are so many happy moments I can mention. I love how every morning when you wake up we have to make sure we have your stuffed animal and blanket (Donald and Key) before we go downstairs because they have to come with you. I love to listen to your sweet little voice when you say, “I wuv you”. I love how you kick and karate chop the imaginary bad guys and tell me that “bad guys are mean and go to jail!”. I love how you hold my hand when we cuddle at night. I love that you take your medicine without a bit of complaining. I love how you call our cat ‘Yebby’ instead of ‘Ebs’. I love that you truly believe my kisses can heal your boo-boos. I love how you think “poopy diaper” is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. I love it when, every once in a while, you fall asleep in the recliner with your head resting on Eli’s shoulder. I love how you tilt your head, purse your lips, and start your sentence with, “You knooow…” when you have something important to tell me. I love that you want to be the one to pray before dinner every night. I love how you tease me by telling me, “Eli loves you. I love Daddy!”. I love love love your giggle.

I love all these things about you and so much more, but even if none of them were true, this would still remain stronger than all: I love you. Not for any of the things that you do, but simply for who you are. My baby boy and my big three year old boy.

Happy birthday sweet boy! May you always know how much you are loved.

Love, Mummy

When they arrived at their destination they came upon a guide service that offered mule rides into the Canyon. These tours typically fill up months in advance, but it just so happened that a cancellation had opened up four spots for a tour the next day. They put their names in, got a hotel for the night, and showed up the next day, ready for an adventure.

My dad was paired up with a mule named Gizmo and Mom was introduced to her companion for the day: Alice, the biggest mule of the bunch. There were a few harrowing moments in the trip (probably having more to do with the four native East Coasters than the mules), but they all managed to stay in one piece and arrived safely back at the top.

Upon my parents return to Maine, however, my mom noticed some neck pain that, even after a couple of months, would not go away. She traced the problem back to her ride into the Grand Canyon and finally decided to visit the doctor. He prescribed some physical therapy and sent her to an office in Bangor called Access Wellness. It was there that she met a nice young therapist named Eric Cormier.

One of the first thing she noticed about him was that he wore Doc Martens, a shoe she knew I was partial to. As she got to know him over multiple visits, she began to notice other things. He shared our Christian faith. He was very close to his family. He enjoyed many of the same activities that my three brothers-in-law enjoyed (fishing, hunting, golf, etc). “Wow,” Mom thought, “he would get along really well with Jeremy, Jeff, and Eric.” And then a light bulb switched on. “He would get along really well with Lauren!!”

Suddenly I began to hear about this physical therapist on a regular basis. But I had just begun my Senior year of college and had things on my mind other than a guy in his late 20′s who my mom thought was a good catch for me. This was my last year of fun before joining the real world and my schedule was full of classes, student teaching, and time spent with friends. Not to mention that Maine, and subsequently the therapist, were 700 miles away. Eventually the PT appointments ended and nothing more was said about Eric.

Until….

November 2004. Over a year had passed. I had graduated from school in Pennsylvania, moved back to Maine, and was teaching fifth grade. My days were full of 10 year olds and my nights were full of lesson plans and grading papers. My social life was non-existent and, let’s be truthful, the pickings in Maine in the winter for a single 22 year old girl are slim.

Dad and Mom hit the road again, this time on a shorter excursion to visit family in Rhode Island. Apparently vacationing is a dangerous hobby for Mom, who tripped in a hole at my aunt’s house and severely broke her arm.

After a surgery that added a good amount of hardware to her makeup, she returned home to begin the recovery process, which of course included physical therapy. She contemplated seeing someone closer to home this time around, but ended up sticking with what (or who) she knew. Two or three times a week she’d make the hour-long trip to Bangor and once again I began to hear about her physical therapist. This time though, I was more willing to listen.

Finally, on December 23rd, 2004 (Yes, I remember the date because it was the last day of school before Christmas vacation. I even remember what I was wearing since I was dressed in my Christmas best… red sweater, wool skirt, and a cute necklace made entirely of tiny Christmas lights), I hopped in the car with my mom and headed to Bangor for her appointment. And on that day I met my future husband. Alarms didn’t go off, lights didn’t flash, we didn’t fall into each others’ arms with the immediate realization of what had happened. But I did notice that he used the term, “Eh?” with some frequency. And since I have a soft spot for Canadians (I don’t know why), I developed a soft spot for this County boy (the County is close enough to Canada for me).

One year, three months, three weeks, and two days later, on April 15th, 2006 (Tax Day; nothing says true love like joint filing!), I walked down the aisle and vowed to spend the rest of my life taking care of and being taken care of by a physical therapist who my mom set me up with. So you see, if she hadn’t met that mule named Alice, my life may have turned out very differently.

Happy 7th anniversary Eric Martin Cormier. I love you more each day (although I’m a little disappointed that you don’t say ‘Eh’ as often as you used to…).

Shannon briefly wrote about having a welcoming home for visitors and it got me thinking. I want my home to be an inviting place. One that people not only feel comfortable in once they get here, but that they also look forward to visiting. So I began to think about what makes me feel welcome when I go to someone’s house. Because there’s a good chance that what makes me feel welcome will also make someone else feel welcome. And if I know what makes someone feel welcome, I can create that environment.

I began by thinking about all the homes I’ve been to. About where I’ve felt the most comfortable. The most relaxed. Where I’ve left thinking, ‘That was actually fun!’. And conversely, the places I’ve been where I’ve felt out of my element. Uptight and uncomfortable. Where I leave and think, ‘I’m glad that’s over.’

As I’ve ruminated over this, I’ve come to a simple conclusion. The homes in which I’ve felt the most at ease have been the homes that feel lived in. They are the ones that are not perfectly clean or perfectly decorated. Now don’t get me wrong; they aren’t filthy either, but a little dust on the furniture and a few stray items cluttering up the counter top almost make me breathe a sigh of relief. The house is inhabited by real people! On the other hand, when I enter a house that looks like a show piece, I spend most of my time holding my breath, worrying about ruining something, especially if the kids are with me! It’s stressful enough to bring your children to someone else’s home without having the added stress of perfection to deal with.

Of course, it’s not just the surroundings that create the atmosphere in a home. The hosts play a big part in how comfortable I feel. The people I like the most are the ones who are the most real. They’re not trying to impress me with their expensive furnishings or their gourmet snacks. Instead they’re the ones who plop down on the living room floor to play with the kids and who offer us chocolate chip cookies that may have eggshells in them because of the 5 year old baker’s apprentice. Sure, I might take a rain check on the cookie, but at least I’ll know that I don’t have to put on airs to try to impress them.

So if that’s my ideal, how do I measure up when I am the one to play host? I will readily admit that I tend to stress out before people come over about my less than perfect surroundings. I want everything in it’s place, even though I know that nothing stays where I put it for very long. I want things spotless, even though there are more marks on the walls than I can count. I plan to get everything organized, but end up praying our guests don’t ask for a tour of the house because I didn’t have a chance to clean up any room on the second floor.

And how do I behave once my guests arrive? Unfortunately, I think I spend a lot of time trying to keep up appearances. For example, the appearance that my kids are perfectly behaved and always clean up after themselves. Let’s face it; they’re good kids, but they’re not well behaved all the time and they rarely clean up after themselves. Or how about this one: The appearance that I’m always calm, cool, and collected. That one’s kind of silly because trying to appear calm, especially if you’re stressed out, usually makes you appear anything but.

After thinking all this through, it’s interesting to me that even though I know that no one demands perfection from me, I still feel like I need to pretend to be that way. I think part of it is this: Even when other people claim that their house is a mess or that mine is really nice, I don’t truly believe them. I figure they’re exaggerating in order to spare my feelings. It’s a simple matter of being self-centered and caring more about how I come across than how I can put my guests at ease. In order to have a welcoming home, I need to shift my focus from myself to my guests and what makes them feel comfortable.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Obviously we all have different personalities, likes, and dislikes, but I’m hoping there are some common themes when it comes to what makes us feel welcome. Give me your ideas and a few weeks to implement them, and then maybe I’ll have you all over for coffee. And if I truly mean what I’ve written, then I might even give you a tour of the house!

6:00 a.m.: The alarm rings. My mental to-do list immediately begins to run through my head. It’s a bit longer and more urgent than usual because today is the last day I’ll be home for a week.

Early tomorrow morning, my 10 month old and I will say goodbye to Eric and the boys and board a plane with my sister, Allison. Fifteen hours later we’ll arrive at our destination: Washington state. Our sister, Jen, moved out there with her family last year. The last time they were home for a visit, Annelise looked like this:

At that point she was two months old. She could sleep, nurse, poop, cry, and smile occasionally. Eight months later she can sleep, eat real food, poop, cry, smile, sit up, crawl, stand, walk if she’s holding onto things, ‘talk’, and a bunch of other things I’m forgetting. This is how she looks now:

Eight months in baby time is like 18 years in adult time for all the changes that take place. So needless to say, Jen and I are pretty excited to get some good visiting time in.

7:55 a.m.: Eric calls while dropping Eli off at school to inform me they forgot his snack. During our conversation he mentions that four kids are out sick with the stomach flu.

Now let me just stop here for a moment and explain something. I have a weird paranoia when it comes to puke, especially the contagious kind. Stick me in a crowded room with dozens of conversations happening at once and my Supersonic Sickness Radar will pick up any mention of the following phrases and words, even if they are whispered from across the room: “throw up”, “puke”, “got sick”, “stomach bug”, “vomit”, etc. Once I’ve caught wind of one of these words or phrases, I begin to obsess. “Are they talking about someone throwing up? Who got sick? Was I around this person recently? No? Well then, was this person recently around someone who I was recently around? How long were they sick before the next person got it? Okay, so if the incubation period is three days and I was last around the friend of the sicko two days ago and this year is a leap year… Oh no, I feel a little queasy.” You get the idea. I could be institutionalized. And while I am fully cognizant of how ridiculous my freak out session is, I truly have a hard time getting my out of control thoughts back under control.

So anyway, you can imagine that Eric’s news on the eve of my departure is not very well received. My stress level jumps several notches and instead of checking the weather report every couple of hours for updates on the snowstorm, I switch to my crazy line of mental questioning mentioned above.

11:15 a.m.: Time to pick Eli up from school. I peek through the window into his classroom and notice what a small group of children are there. When his teacher opens the door she informs us that seven kids are out with a stomach bug today. SEVEN KIDS. Are you kidding me?!?! How is that even possible? Almost HALF of his class got sick at the same exact time. Did someone bring a spray bottle of germs to school on Friday and assault the kids with it? Stress level jumps several more notches. As soon as we make it to the car I squeeze half a bottle of hand sanitizer into his waiting palm and squirt the rest of the bottle into my own hand. I give him strict instructions: “Stay away from Annelise!!! Do NOT get in her face!!! Actually, that goes for everyone. Samuel, you stay out of her face too! I need this girl healthy. Eli, as soon as we arrive home, strip off all of your clothes, wash your hands, and put on clean clothes!!!”

The afternoon passes uneventfully. I continue working on my to-do list. The kids all eat a good lunch and play as though they feel fine. I call Eric and he assures me that Eli will remain healthy. I yell at the boys to stay out of Annelise’s face anytime they get within three feet of her. I call Jen to get her take on the situation. She says she’ll pray for us and tells me to keep her updated.

6:00 p.m.: Eric returns home from work and we sit down for supper. Eli doesn’t want to eat what I’m serving. He claims to have a stomach ache. I’m 99% sure this is a ploy. He’s a lot like me; the mere mention of a stomach bug can make him feel sick. Plus, at the age of four, he already knows me well enough to know that I won’t chance forcing him to eat a big dinner if there’s the possibility that I’ll see it again later. We compromise. He eats his noodles and sauce, but leaves the chicken and broccoli on his plate.

8:00 p.m.: Bedtime. As Eric cuddles with Eli, Eli tells him he doesn’t want me to leave tomorrow. He’s a sensitive little guy and the thought of either of his parents being gone for any length of time makes him pretty sad. Eric and I switch places and Eli informs me that his belly hurts. This time I’m 80% sure it’s his nerves more than an actual stomach ache. He falls asleep within minutes.

8:30 p.m.: Jen texts to see how everything is. I tell her ‘so far, so good!’.

10:00 p.m.: As Eric and I watch TV, we hear a noise upstairs. I go to investigate. Eli is sitting up in his bed with a strange look on his face. Crap. “Eli, are you going to be sick?” A nod. I grab the waste basket and sit next to him. He gives a couple of gagging coughs, but nothing happens. And then I realize. There’s something all over the bed. Oh, and my pants are wet. He’s already been sick. Thoughts about my trip disappear as I take care of my poor sick baby boy. Eric takes him down the hall to clean him up and I strip his bed. I bring the pile of blankets downstairs and see that I’ve gotten a text from Allison. It begins, “Hey, all set for tomorrow?” Ugh. I text Jen. “Eli sick. Call soon.”

10:20 p.m.: I call Allison. She suggests that we see how the night goes.

10:45 p.m.: Eli gets sick again. I call Jen. We both agree that I need to stay home. My son needs me. Not to mention the fact that all the next day I would be terrified that Annelise or I would get sick on the plane. I call the airline. They’re experiencing ‘heavier than normal call volumes’. They will keep my place in line and call me back in 3-4 HOURS. Oookay, that will be between 2 and 3 a.m. Eric suggests that I go to bed. He’s going to stay up for a while and do laundry (Have I mentioned yet how amazing my hubby is when the kids are sick? He’s amazing most of the time, but he really steps it up when something like this is going on. Probably because he knows how much I loathe it.). He’ll keep the phone in case the airline calls.

Tuesday

1:00 a.m.: I wake up to Annelise’s cries over the baby monitor. I groggily walk to her room to reinsert her pacifier. She’s throwing up. Well, at least I made the right call by cancelling our trip. Eric and I switch places. He goes to bed and I sit on the couch holding my baby girl. I try the airline several more times with the same result.

5:00 a.m.: I finally get my call back. Thankfully, I’m still able to cancel my reservation, despite a hefty fee. We’ll figure out if our travel insurance covers that fee later when I’ve had some sleep and can actually function on a semi-intelligent level. I put Annelise back in her crib and crawl into bed.

7:30 a.m.: Our family slowly stirs to life. We all sit in the living room as though we’ve been drugged. Allison boards the plane and begins the 15 hour journey to Washington all alone. I begin apologizing to everyone involved in the trip. Everyone begins to send their “I’m so sorry” messages to me.

Wednesday

9:30 a.m.: Eli and Annelise seem to be on the mend. Eric, Samuel, and I are still healthy. But let’s see. If the incubation period is 3 or 4 days and I was around the sicko on Tuesday…

I’d like to introduce you all to Cassie ‘Seabass’ Bosley. Cassie and I met during our freshmen year of college. She lived (still does) in Pennsylvania, but was born in Maine, so we hit it off right away. In the nine years since we’ve graduated we’ve stayed in fairly close contact despite the 700+ miles separating us.

Our lives have paralleled each other’s in several ways. We both earned our teaching degrees in college. Our birthdays are only a couple of weeks apart (she turns 31 TODAY so everyone should tell her HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!). She got married a couple of years before me, but we have been pregnant together four times. Both of our first pregnancies resulted in miscarriages that happened almost simultaneously. The next time around, Eli was born in May and her oldest daughter, Colby, was born in October. Our second children (both boys) were scheduled to be born on the same day, but my little man decided to arrive a day early. And finally, our third children (both girls) were born a week apart.

To make things fun, I asked Cassie some Would You Rather questions. Remember that game? You’re given two options and you have to choose the more appealing (or the least disgusting) of the two. So without further ado, I give you Cassie Bosley’s Would You Rather:

1.Would you rather be stranded on a tropical (but deserted) island with no hope of rescue for at least 5 years or be stranded in the frozen (and deserted) tundra for only 3 months?

Hmmm… we’ve watched a lot of Bear Grylls… think I’d have better luck living off of the tropical island, but it might depend on the time of year to be stranded in the tundra

Probably a new car would be more helpful for our family… now that I’m almost 31, I’m ready to be a van mom  plus we have a lot of places we can go for free with the fam.

I have definitely thought about this one before!!!  I love reading and taking pictures… so definitely think I would rather be deaf. Plus I have a head start with baby signing

Not really interested in being famous… but if I had to pick, not sure my voice is that great (despite the fact that I bust out in song constantly… mostly putting different words to a tune to match what I’m doing… maybe that comes from teaching preschool?) so I’d go with reality star

Slow motion!  Even though they drive me crazy a lot of the time, not ready for my little ones to grow up yet!! Glad Colby doesn’t make the Kindergarten cut-off… means I get an extra year of fun before she goes off into the real world

25!  If it weren’t for 3 c-sections already… and an uncooperative husband… I’d be on my way to becoming Michelle Duggar #2

This realization has hit me several times over the past few years and for whatever reason, it usually occurs as I’m rocking one of my babies at bedtime. It’s probably because it’s one of the few times in my day that I can sit quietly with no interruptions and no multi-tasking. It’s one of the few moments when I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed, and so are everyone else’s. So I find myself in a beautiful house with my beautiful child in my arms, and I think, “I own a home. I have children. I have a husband. I’m an adult?!?!”

I’ve heard people in their fifties say that they still feel like they’re twenty, and although I didn’t doubt their sincerity, I rolled my eyes a bit at the thought. I’m starting to get it though because now that I’m in my thirties, I keep having to remind myself that I’m not a teenager anymore.

Age is such a strangely relative thing. I remember being in kindergarten, riding the bus with the eighth graders, and marveling at how mature they were. As I entered my teen years, my perspective began to change… slightly. ‘Elderly’ changed from 60 to 70. I no longer pictured people in their 40′s as having one foot in the grave, but I certainly didn’t consider them young either.

Allow me to illustrate my teenage point of view. Our high school had a study hall aide who I thought was cute. My friend thought he was far too old to be considered attractive, so he ended up with the nickname ‘The 40 Year Old’. Do you see the perspective a 16 year old has? Forty isn’t exactly ancient, but it’s ‘up there’.

Interesting side note: ‘The 40 Year Old’ wasn’t THAT old because I ended up marrying a guy the same age as him. Moral of the story- Watch out; you might get what you’re after! (Thankfully, in my case, that was a good thing!)

I now have a problem with my 16 year old point of view however. This year I have one sister, two sisters-in-law, and four brothers-in-law turning forty. Just this year alone! And if you add in next year, the total jumps to two sisters, two sisters-in-law, four brothers-in-law, AND MY HUSBAND. I don’t care how impossible it seems; I’m going to be married to a forty year old (a real one). What once seemed so far off suddenly seems quite near (and young).

So those of you who have a few years on me, I want to know… can you tell me? When I’m 40, 50, 60, how old will I feel? Will my body feel the passage of years, but my mind stay solidly in its twenties? Will I still think of myself as a teenager, even though every time I see a teenager I’m shocked at how young they are? I have a feeling that some day in the not so distant future, as I rock my grandbabies, a familiar thought will run through my mind. “Well, how did I get here??”

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Okay, now the fun part! You may have noticed that my writing has been a bit awkward today. There’s a reason! Throughout this post I’ve hidden a ‘theme’, for lack of a better word. It may be obvious to some of you and to others, even when I reveal the answer, you may have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s your job to figure out the secret theme. If you’re the first one to do it, I’ll feature you in an upcoming post.

So here are the rules:

1. If you have no intention of being featured in an upcoming post, DON’T GUESS!

2. All guesses must be made as comments on this blog post. Don’t comment on my Facebook page or anywhere else. Only comments here will count.

3. If more than one person guesses correctly, the winner will be whoever has the earliest time stamp on their comment. All decisions are made by me and are final. No complaining allowed!

4. If no one can guess it, I’ll start giving more and more obvious hints until someone does.

5. My sister and my mom are not allowed to guess since I used my sister as a guinea pig to see if she knew what the heck I was looking for and my mom was nearby when she gave the correct answer. (By the way, for unknown reasons, my mom’s guess was that I was pregnant…. That’s not even on the same radar as the right answer!)

6. Have fun!

AND THE WINNER IS…. Cassie Bosley!!

What was my hidden theme? I sprinkled a bunch of Talking Heads lyrics throughout my post. Cassie guessed Once In a Lifetime by Talking Heads and although I didn’t use only that song, I think she’s close enough! Yay Cass!! I’ll be getting in touch with you about my next post.

And in case you’re wondering, here are all the quotes I used:

‘Well, how did I get here?’

‘Letting the days go by.’

‘When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.’

‘find (myself) in a beautiful house.’

‘Watch out; you might get what you’re after.’

‘I don’t care how impossible it seems.’

‘I want to know. Can you tell me?’

Many years have passed since that evening and although my tastes have expanded somewhat, I would still say that I’m a bit of a picky eater. I won’t touch seafood, there are many vegetables I turn my nose up at, and I’d rather eat a slice of pizza than a turkey dinner. I’m what is called a grazer and unfortunately, my grazing leans towards the cookies and potato chips side of things more than the carrot sticks and carob chips side.

My poor eating habits have a problem though. Three actually. Their names are Eli, Samuel, and Annelise and, as their mom, I’m supposed to model healthy habits for them to emulate. To compound the problem, I don’t like to cook and have maybe a dozen meals that I rotate through our mealtime repertoire. So I fear that I’m not only drawing them into my snack loving ways, but also dooming them to a life of boring pickyness, leaving them with only a tiny list of acceptable foods on their mental menus.

It’s not all bad, I suppose. They’ll eat carrots and broccoli most of the time (although Eli’s favorite broccoli comes smothered in alfredo sauce). They’ve grown up on venison and moose meat which are both much leaner than beef. They love lots of different fruits, and in the summer you can count on finding Samuel’s mouth and shirt stained red from a raid on our strawberry patch.

But they’re developing their fair share of bad eating habits as well. I think they would eat lunch at Burger King every day if I let them (I don’t), they prefer cookies and crackers to almost any other food group (just like their mom), and dinner time is a perpetual struggle (“Sit down! Eat your food! Don’t spit food on the floor! Mommy and Daddy finished half an hour ago and you still haven’t taken one bite!”).

I have a feeling a lot of this is the age. Eli ate pretty much anything until a year or so ago, and I know some of the struggle is a simple assertion of his will as he becomes his own little person. But at the same time, I would hate to ingrain negative behaviors that stick with them for the rest of their lives.

I know I’m not the only parent who struggles with feeding her kids. I’m not the only one stuck in the lunchtime rut of PB&J. I’m not the only one who wonders what the heck I’m going to put in Eli’s lunchbox next year if he’s in a nut free classroom and a cold grilled cheese sounds less than appealing. I’m not the only one who has let it slide when her kids opted to skip the banana on their breakfast plate in favor of a little extra pancake syrup. I’m not the only one…. am I??

I had good intentions when I started my parenting journey, I really did. And I think I still have good intentions, even if the wear and tear of parenthood has weakened my resolve a bit. But I could use a little help and encouragement. So tell me… What are your struggles? What are your successes? Any tips or tricks to expand your children’s limited tastes? I figure that we’re all in this together and none of us want to contribute to our nation’s growing health crisis, so let’s help each other out and start raising a healthy generation. Just remember though: I have limitations, so please don’t ask me to give up my sweets!