The Superman Slide

I have been in need of some adult time and lucky for me, I have a generous group of friends that have come to my rescue.  Last weekend, Hayley came out to check on my mental health and offer some girl time.  However, I think after the weekend adventures she is probably never coming to Long Island ever again.  It all started out rather peaceful but gradually increased in anxiety until poor Hay was having legit panic attacks.  Let me explain:

Hayley, Dad, Wyatt, and I were hanging out in the den.  Wyatt decided to run out of the room, which is pretty normal.  Hay jumped up to chase after him.  About 3 seconds later I heard a definitive thump, bump, rumble, rumble, bump. "He just fell down the stairs."  I knew before I was even there.  My body moved without me telling it to and I found myself at the basement stairs in record time.  Hayley was at the bottom, looking shell shocked and bug eyed, with Wyatt wrapped crying in her arms.  I feared the worst.  The basement stairs are hard wood with concrete blocks all around.  There is no possible way that he made that fall without a scratch.  

Hayley was muttering pretty incoherently about being right behind him, that door is never open and then he was at the bottom.  I swear Hayley was more shaken then Wyatt was.  I calmed Wyatt down with a few ice cubes then stripped him down to check his perfect little body.  Nothing.  He had a slight bruise on his leg and a small cut on his hip but was fine, up and walking in about 3 minutes.  I was astonished, amazed, and thrilled.  Accidents happen and will continue to happen. But even after watch Wyatt laugh, run, eat, and play Hayley was shaken up.  I was seriously considering a sedative.

Then in our families classic style another unexpected event added the icing on the cake.  We were sitting around the dinner table, toasting our good fortune and calming remaining frayed nerves.  Out of the corner of my eye I notices some feathers on the floor.  "Ahh, is there something alive in here?"  Just then Hayley felt something furry glide between her ankles and then began the screaming, standing on chairs, and general mayhem.  Lizzy's crazy cat, Delilah, brought in a bird that was still alive.  The bird started trying to fly, we were all screaming, Wyatt starts crying, the feathers are flying everywhere, and the stupid cat is continuing on the kill.  Dad got the bird out but the damage done to poor Hayley was irreversible.  I think she will have a nervous tick for the rest of her life.

I have analyzed Wyatt's tumble from every angle.  Since no one saw the fall its all speculation but since the only marks he had were on his front we are assuming he slide Superman style.  Or as I like to think of it, he flew like Superman.  I have yet to confront the basement stairs and obsessively check to make sure the door is permanently locked.  I am sure that Hayley will come back eventually once the dust as settled.   Once she has had a good month of detox.  I am just so grateful that after a crazy day everything turned out fine.  (These pictures are from 2 days after Wy's big fall.  No harm, right?!)

Loungin'

Wy's Singing Debut

Every time we sing with Wyatt in our arms he has started trying to sing along.  Well, at least we call it singing.  He is especially fond of "God Bless America".  Please ignore my Dad's singing and try to focus on Wyatt.  I swear he will be destined for Broadway one day.  Although the one career choice that both Terry and I can agree on is Wyatt becoming the next Bob Dylan.  Hey, we can all dream, right?  Enjoy.

.

13 Months

My Little Man, 

These months are flying by.  One morning I am going to wake up and see a 12 year old still sleeping in my bed.  Which might edge on wildly inappropriate.  Hopefully, you won't be sleeping in my bed by then but judging by the last few months you just might.  I have absolutely no will power when it comes to you.  You wake up all lonely in your crib, tears rolling down your cheeks, reaching your arms out for me to rescue you and I will always come to save you.  Then I move over to our glider, intent on rocking you back to sleep and you fling your 25lbs toward my bed.  Eventually, I give in (sometimes it only taking 2 seconds) and you are back sound asleep before your head hits my pillow.  If you wake up again, you roll into me, nuzzling your little head under my arm and we cuddle for the rest of the night.  All is right with the world.  Until I come to my senses and remember I am creating the WORST HABIT and you will undoubtedly become some kind of bed hogging, cougar loving, unable to sleep alone monster.

All sleeping habits aside, life with you has remained perfectly wonderful.  Sometimes I forget how amazingly adaptable you are and will have my doubts about your good mannered behavior.  Then I will bring you somewhere new and am reminded all over again how my doubts are completely unreasonable when met with your charm and mischievous smile.  It doesn't matter where we go.  On our trip to Boston to visit Mia,  I could hardly believe my luck when you slept most of the 4.5 hour drive.   Of course, Kelly's quesadillas, apples, chips and guacamole didn't hurt as a pit stop.  You loved playing with all the new toys at Mias.  Growing especially fond of a baby stroller, some dolls, a play microwave, and the plastic kitchenette.  I am guessing it is because we don't have those kinds of toys at home but I am secretly hoping it is because your inspired inner chef is coming out already.  Oh, to have a cook in the family.  My idea of sheer bliss!  I am going to have to invest in a plastic kitchen set with all the trimmings.

Your personality is shining through more and more each day.  I can see that naked time, once limited to twice a day, will probably become all day over the summer.  You simply hate getting dressed.  The dramatics!!  I let you run around the house after bath time.  It is when you laugh and squeal the most.  When I finally am able to grab you instantaneously you start crying; throwing your little body around trying to get out of my arms.  You squirm on the changing table, never ceasing, until I let you back down.  My reasoning for your torture is the cold weather but when its warm what will stop you?  I will have to be satisfied running around the house with a towel cleaning up after all you pee on. 

You have also started this new little habit that I have yet to catch on film.  When you find something that you know you shouldn't have, such as my glass of water or a candle or a shirt out of the laundry I painstakingly folded, and will begin to run.  You hold the stolen object in one hand while waving your other arm next to you.  I have come to believe it is an attempt at keeping me from grabbing you.  My best description is like a football player running the ball down the field.  Its hysterical.  I start laughing every time you do it.  Surely, not the response you are looking for.  Another habit that I am quite happy about is your love of books.  I feel like I am reading to you all the time and will never forget to throw a book in my diaper bag.  You love The Ten Little Ladybugs and if asked from the den to "Get your Ladybugs" you will march off into our room, all by yourself, to get your book.  Other favorites include I Love You Stinky Face, The Busy Little Train, The Big Green Monster and anything from the Bright Baby series.  I have most of them memorized and I am sure you will too soon.

You never cease to amaze me.  I had thought, by now, some of your novelty would have worn off, like an new gadget or puppy.  But my interest in you has never waned, never faltered.  If anything I have grown more enamored, more intrigued, and more in love something that I never could have dreamed be possible.  Yes, I have my moments where I feel like I need to pull my hair out and I am sure it is reciprocated.  But then you will call your little "Mum" from the other room or bury your head into my pant leg or look at me with pure love on your face and all frustration is erased.  I still cannot believe that I made something as perfect as you.

I love you everyday.

Mum

Sextuplets!?!

It's Not Sausage Casing Day, Today's the Day We Race!

I have been pretty down in the dumps lately. So much so that Mom asked if I was pregnant the other night because I was so emotional. Of course, this sent me into a tailspin of "No!! Wait, I'm not emotional! Why are you calling me emotional? I've been totally normal. You think I'm a failure!" Then I started crying which made me realize maybe I was being emotional. Then beyond all reason because it is physically impossible, I convinced myself that maybe I was pregnant and the only thing that could prove my insanity wrong was a EPT test. I spent $15 on the stupid test, only to see the negative, regain my sanity, shake me head and think "Shit. What just happened? You are going crazy!" All of this over the first real tears I have cried since I can't even remember when.

But I digress. There have been a lot of little things that have been on my mind that have been keeping me stressed out. Couple that with Wyatt not sleeping very well due to the never-ending cold and it keeps me in a pretty fowl mood. Or maybe its just not having a full 6 hours of sleep in over a year. But most of all, I have been feeling overwhelmingly worn out. I can deal with worn out. I have dealt with worn out. But what is different now is there seems to be no end in sight. It is like every week is finals week, with tests, restlessness, late night studying, and caffeine highs for the REST OF MY LIFE. It's the day before a big presentation everyday. It's tech/hell week every week. What makes those times bearable is the light at the end of the tunnel. Eventually, the stress will end and you can get some rest. When there is no light how do you see the end? How do you make yourself not worn out when there is no period of rest? It is totally depressing and makes me a rather snippy, unlikable person.

As soon as drowned my mom with this flood of information she asked if there was anything she could do. She already does so much and here she is offering more. Incredible. Unfortunately, I don't think this feeling is going to go away with a weekend of sleep. Because I know that if I actually did take that time all I would be doing is waiting for when I could come home and be with him. I really hate to complain because I feel like I bring most of this on myself. I am the one the feels guilty if I leave him to do something for myself. Even though I know I am a better mother when I get my required "me" time. I am the one that can't seem to let him cry it out so he will sleep through the night. Hearing him cry and not running to his side goes against every motherly instinct I have. I need to be a 26 year old sometimes but I hate being away from him. How do I prioritize relaxation when everything else seems so much more important?

My make shift solution was to read a book. I haven't made time to pick up a book since I was nursing and it is something I really enjoy. It was our routine, I would cozy up in bed with Wyatt on my chest and a book, reading until he fell asleep. I miss that. So, I thought that a book might help be carve some time for myself. Maybe while Wyatt is watching the Backyardigans trying to unwind and take a nap, I could be quietly thumbing a good book. I could do without waking in the middle of the night humming the horrendously rhymed songs from the Backyardigans (as shown in the title). I picked up the Twilight Series that I have been meaning to read for ages. Well, I am so absorbed that I have been barely able to put it down. Forget eating and emailing, laundry and dishes, I have been caught reading standing in the kitchen, for the entireity of his nap, and waiting for the attendant at the gas station. Literally, I started the book Tuesday night and am already on page 218. Instead of solving my problem, I have added another. However, I am starting regain some of my happiness already. I have to stop forgetting about "me" time. Maybe, sometime in the near future, I will put shaving my legs back on the agenda.

Vitals - Part 4

Wy had his one year check up on Feb 12th.  I have been meaning to write about it for a while but alas time has alluded me.  He weighed in at 24.9 lbs and I totally forget how long.  He was in the 90th percentile for height and 70th for weight.  I guess what that means is he's tall and kinda chubby, which is totally fine by me.  I find it adorable how his belly hangs out over the top of his pants.  There are relatively few times that beer bellies are acceptable.  This just happens to be one of them.

He has 4 top teeth and 3 bottom teeth.   He bit me the other day and I definitely felt something all the way in the back on the top.  I told the doctor and she didn't believe me.  I reiterated that I really thought he has a molar.  Still she didn't believe me.  She actually said "No way."  Then once she checked it out for herself goes "Oh, he does have a molar."  Yeah, I told you.  Evidently, he is very young for molars.  He popped his top molar and similar to his other teeth about a week later popped a bottom molar on the same side.

Lizzy was with us at his appointment because she had an appointment as well.  They took us in together.  Lizzy has often made jokes that Wyatt has giantitis because he happens to be bigger then most kids his age.  I saw a priceless opportunity with Lizzy and Dr. Marie in the same room.  She was giving me his weight update and I said "So, he doesn't have giantitis, right?"  Lizzy shot me her classic stink eye.  Dr. Marie was slightly confused asking why I would think that and of course he doesn't.  I told her that Lizzy thought he had the excessive growth disease.  Thats when she looked right at Lizzy and said "No.  Sorry.  He is perfectly normal."  Take that Lizzy!!  He is perfect and she also added that he has a great disposition.  Practically Perfect in every way is what I always say. 

Rascal

Notes from the Undercroft - Biting the Dust

I am going to start this new series of blogs to write a little more about my job at St. John's Church.  This is going to be more about my experiences at the church then anything that could get me fired.  Some of these stories are too good not the share and I feel like I have a duty to my public because I have such a great outlet.  A lot of what happens is normal but since I am so new to the inner workings of the church most of my daily encounters feel something out of a novel.  I am learning an entire new vocabulary and I'm finding church a lot less intimidating.  I actually have grown to be rather comfortable walking around the empty chapel.  There is something peaceful, reverent, and hopeful.  Sometimes I just sit in a pew and think in the quiet.  But there are those days where I just think that I am getting used to my job and something new happens.

Yesterday, Father Simon and Father Michael called me into the office to be debriefed on happenings around the church this week.  It is kind of a busy time with Shrove Tuesday, Ash Wednesday, and Lent beginning.  They tell me that there is an "Internment" on Friday.  I used my standard response, shaking my head, smiling, and then waiting for someone to clue me in.  They proceed, "In the memorial garden."  Oh, shit, that kind of Internment.  Immediately my mind starts racing to mentally imagine me pulling this off.  I vaguely remember, after I was hired, someone explaining about the memorial garden where peoples ashes are buried and it being my responsibility.   I sent Michael an email saying that grave-digging wasn't in the job description but figured I wouldn't have to deal with it for a while and when I did that I would have found someone to pass it off too.  Well, I was wrong.

I traipse out to the garden with about 3 shovels of various size, a wheel barrow, a yard stick, and a pocketful of pencils.  I find where the plot is, mark the corners, and feeling rather successful go inside to warm up, get a drink, and pee.  Finding the plot again and I get to work in the 40 degree weather.  Literally, I am standing on the shovel, jumping up and down, trying to break ground completely unsuccessful.  Then I try the different technique of launching a spade at the ground trying to dislodge even a little dirt.   I am pretty strong but no matter what I did, how much muscle, grunting, or wiggling, I could only scratch the surface.  I decided to call in the professionals and headed back inside to collect my thoughts.

My first thought was pots of boiling water should loosen up the frozen ground.   But that might get muddy.  Maybe a heater?  Or waiting for Dad?  I am running these ideas past our parish administrator and she decides to call her husband.  Husband comes with a tool that looks like a huge straightened out crow bar with a point at the end.  He throws it at the ground a few times and presto, grounds broken!  First obstacle: gracefully conquered!  I whip out my post digger and continue my hole.  As my black knee high boots get dirtier and dirtier, I realize that this is probably why the last Sexton wore boiler suits.  Also, I probably should invest in a jacket less expensive and twice as warm.  I just so happened to have on my $500 Kenneth Cole pea coat which is perhaps the most expensive thing I own.  I just break a sweat and the Nursery School kids let out and run to the playground, which I am in eyesight.  I contemplate stopping just to avoid the questions they might ask but decided to finish the job since I was on a roll.

Having no idea how deep the hole should be, I get to about 2.5 feet and decide to stop.  I settled on that number because the dirt that I was picked up was getting wetter and wetter.  Also, I was having trouble opening the post digger and getting any dirt out.  When I stop and look down, water seems to be seeping through the ground.  Two logical choices, either I cracked the sprinkler system or I've hit the water table.  I opt for the water table answer because I am pretty positive the sprinkler has been shut off and drained for the winter.  I settled on the hole being deep enough and then focused on making it a little wider.

I had run into several large rocks but as I am wiggling the shovel around this black, squarish, chunk dislodges and falls to the bottom.  As I pick it up I get this sick feeling that I might have just ran into her husband who passed in 96.  I said a quick prayer, placed the chunk back on the wall of the hole, and called it done.  I have to go back on Friday to finish the job, so to speak, once the funeral service is over.  I know its not really grave-digging but it is still rather creepy.   My question is:  how exactly do you phase this job for a resume?

Musical Adventures

Marking our Territory

I promised an update on swim lessons which there have been two already.  The first one was less successful then I originally anticipated.  Rebecca came for moral support and to help with locker room changing.  I was grateful for the extra set of hands and her presence calmed some of my anxieties primarily since she had done swim lessons before with kids she babysat.  Wyatt was slightly keyed up because Rebecca and I were getting him all excited for his new adventure.  He was doing great until the water hit his belly button.  Then he pretty much hated it and wanted to run to Rebecca sitting on the bleachers.  He was much more content to throw rubber duckies in the pool at me swimming then actually participating.   I did get him in for a while by distracting him with splashes and drawing his attention to the fluorescent lights but mostly he twisted up his face and yelled out his fake cry until I placed him back on dry land.

And so went our first swim class.  He loved running around the pool with Rebecca just didn't enjoy the water so much.  Basically, all we are learning is pool safety, regarding entering and exiting, and getting the kids comfortable with the water.  There is song singing and trying to encourage the beginning of swimming like kicking his legs.  The Y has a policy of no forced submissions, which I was very happy to hear because there was no way I was dunking my child.  The instructor said that it does more harm then good and resulting in more drownings rather then less.  Anyway, I think Wyatt's hesitation was due to the new experience of it all.  There were people doing laps and it was very echoey and hot.  Maybe he was intimidated by the biggest bathtub in the world that he couldn't stand in.  Maybe he was embarrassed by his belly hanging out like the instructor suggested.  Regardless, I shrugged it off and decided we would try again next week.  

Next lesson started off the same way. I sat on the edge, splashing him with water, sitting him on my lap, just trying to get him comfortable.  He continued to scrunch his face and whine (pictured).  After about 10 minutes, I just decided to go for it.  I jumped in figuring he would rather be in my arms in water then on the side of the pool alone.  I was right.  He whined for a bit then loosened up.  I danced with him in the water for a bit getting some smiles and then he was like a fish.  He was laughing, twisting and splashing.  At one point he laid his head on my shoulder, resting in float position, kicking his legs in the water.  The instructor was very impressed with his 100% improvement.  I KNEW he would love it when he gave it a chance.  The rest of the class was spent "swimming" after rubber duckies which he would throw just out of reach.

Back in the locker room, you can only imagine it is somewhat of a task to get him and me out of bathing suits and dressed for winter.  I try to get him done first and work on myself as he explores shutting the lockers.  I had gotten his onesie on and he was naked from the waist down.  He moved past me, in between another woman and child, forcing me to go around the bench we were sitting on.  I guess I was a little too slow and got to him just in time to hear the woman say "Oh, He's peeing!  He's peeing!"  Of course my response was "Yeah, he does that all the time."  Because I do let him run around naked at least once a day and sometimes he pees on things.  Like the laundry basket, or me, or the garbage can, or the den floor. (Yeah, Mom, didn't quite tell you about that one.  I promise, I cleaned it up.)  The woman probably thinks I'm crazy for being so nonchalant and now I have to see her once a week.  My family thinks we are going to get kicked out.  All I can think is 'So, What?! He christened the locker room floor.  It was bound to happen eventually.'

Pucker Up Piggy, it's Valentines Day!!

The Imitation Begins

12 Months

My Big Boy,

It is true what everyone says. Cherish every moment with your children because it all goes by so fast.  I cannot believe that you are a year old.  I think I have said that statement about 200 times in the past three days.  When I took you home from the hospital, I thought you would stay that way forever, all bundled, pink, and new.  Beyond all reason, time seems to stand still.   The first few months go by so slowly in a blur of feedings, naps, and diapers.  Then the months start slipping away with milestones, the beginnings of interaction, and what amazing thing you might do next.  You have grown up, miraculously, before my eyes into this amazingly inquisitive explorer who takes my breath away everyday.  It doesn't feel possible that you have only been in my life for a year.  

You have changed so much from the day that they laid you on my chest, struggling to look at me under the harsh hospital lights.  But yet you are still the same little person that scrunches up his brow and looks at me with questioning eyes.  I watch you sleep every night, watch as you feel the satin edges of your blanket.  You look so perfect and peaceful.  I go into our room just to feel your life hanging in the air, your breath filling the room with promise.  When we were in the hospital, they would wheel you away so I could sleep.  But I couldn't sleep because I always felt like a piece of me was missing.  I am drawn to you.

The night before you were born we all sat around, Gammy and Grandpa, Grams and Poppa T, Auntie B, dreaming about who you would be.  Wondering who you would take after or what your first words would be.  What would make you happy or how your mouth would curve when you smiled.  What your eyes would look like or what you would feel like in our arms.  Wondering how you would look when you walked or the sound of your laughter.  And now we know.  We know that you pick up your legs extra high when you walk so you kinda look like a galloping horse.  We know that you don't smile with your mouth but with your whole face.  We know that when you really laugh sometimes you can't breathe. We know that you stamp your feet and huff when you get excited.  We know that you have 8 teeth, red(ish) hair, and blue eyes like the sea.  We know that you like to cuddle in the morning and eat with the family at night.  There is nothing too small or trivial, every detail is amazing.

Wyatt, I never dreamed that I could hold so much love in my heart for one person.  I would walk on glass for miles just to watch you play in the distance.  You have colored my world in with vibrant reds, greens, blues, and purples that come alive before my eyes where there once where pale muted shades.  I can't even begin to explain how much I love you.  You have changed my world, changed my heart, changed my life.  Basically, what I am trying to say is that I will never get tired of watching you grow, and love, and laugh, and discover.  You are my hope, my strength, my joy.  You are a whole year old.  

I love you everyday,

The Proudest Mom in the World

The Story of the Wyatt's Snowball