Sock it to Me

I recently got Gage this awesome collection of stories, activities, and recipes based on the If You Give series. In If You Give a Moose a Muffin, the moose decides to make sock puppets. (After, of course, he ate all the muffins, was going to the store, put on a sweater with a missing button, was sewing it back on, and was reminded of the sock puppets his grandmother used to make, naturally.)

Gage though these seemed pretty cool, so I got some craft stuff (and new socks, because, as you'll understand if you've met me, or just put your feet within 14 miles of me, the thought of decorating and putting my hand into old socks made me throw up in my throat a little.). Moomah came over and we each made a sock puppet. Mark made Mario (as in Brothers), and Gage made a goofy thing with big ears.

My mom's was an alien.

And mine was a hairy spider.

The next night, we created a puppet show with them. As with all little boys, Gage went into destroyer mode, and they are again lonely socks with no eyes to see and no eyebrows to wiggle. Don't worry, Mom. Yours made it through. :)

Mama Bear Goes Shopping

OK, so clearly inspiration is not hitting me as often as perspiration. In over three months to say the least. So, instead of adorable stories about life, I will just write about the things I see and do everyday. I hope you enjoy it. :)

This weekend, I enjoyed a relaxing stay in Peoria with the in-laws. This, as usual, included a LOT of shopping. I went to Arizona Mills (not so exciting) and to the Outlets at Anthem (VERY exciting). Here is the awesomeness I found for Gage.

I got this adorable stuff at Osh Kosh, including a blue jean jacket and those ridiculous bear slippers. The proceeds from the little monkey go to leukemia research, and my Monkey can never have too many monkeys, so I couldn't resist.

I got this stuff at an awesome store I just discovered, Naartjie. Two new summer outfits for next year and cute flip flops.

And here is Gage in his new slippers. He's been playing Bear all night! I knew they were a good buy!

Not so Fast

Gage recently celebrating his 4th Birthday (although his actual Birthday isn't until tomorrow, which he hasn't been able to wrap his mind around) has inspired me. It's honestly a little hard to wrap my mind around his being 4! It's all going by too fast!

To be clear, I no longer feel like he was a baby yesterday. That really does feel lightyears away. Especially those first weeks of motherhood that I was SO not prepared for. The exhaustion, the seclusion. I went back to work at 5 weeks just to have a break and some human interaction. And, whatever you do to describe me during those first weeks, don't put a label on it. I can't stand that. I especially hate the "baby blues." It's not that because he didn't cause it. (Of course, he also isn't the sole cause of my love handles and cellulite but I gladly pin all of that on him.) 

I am now to the point where I look at his baby pictures and can't believe how little and very, very round he was! I play with other babies, and sometimes have forgotten how. But Gage is not going to stop growing anytime soon and it's made me realize that one day, he will be different. He won't want to snuggle anymore. He won't need kisses and hugs for his boo boos. He won't need me to take care of him at all. Which is exactly where I want him to be in time, but it's already breaking my heart that all of our hard parenting work ultimately prepares them to leave us. I often wish I could just freeze time now. Now that he's potty trained and a good deal independent, but still needs us to take most care of him. Now that he's still my baby. 

I know, it's a lot to worry about when he's just turned 4. He'll be dependent on us for a while. But every time he celebrates another birthday it's a bittersweet reminder that he won't be this close forever. All I can really hope is that when he finally leaves us, we did a good enough job that he will succeed. But it can be a tough parenting goal.

The one thing this realization has prepared me for is to completely absorb myself in every stage of my next baby. Not that I wasn't with Gage, but I was always looking forward to the next thing and the stuff in the middle kind of got lost. From now on, I can't wait to live in the moment.

My Wise Son

So I figured my children would be smart alecs, but I never thought they would actually teach me anything. I am the one who is supposed to provide all the wisdom and guidance, aren't I? How much did the education system fail me when my three year old son can teach me something every day?!

Of course, I do not mean that he teaches me math or cooking skills. He teaches me life skills. He has taught me strength, patience, kindness and faith. I am sure all moms have heard this a thousand times, but we also know it is true: I was the best mom before I had kids. I knew how he was going to be raised, I knew how it was going to work, and I was going to force my obedient little children to behave perfectly. And how did that work out for me? Not so much.

When he was injured and we had to take care of him, I wondered every day how I was going to make it. But he would turn those big blue eyes up to me, with complete unguarded trust, and I was able to make it through another day. Seeing the need in his eyes taught me how to trust myself to find the strength to see him through.

Babies require a certain amount of patience, every mom knows. But toddlers require a ridiculous amount more patience than I ever could have imagined. You know those old movies, where the young children sit quietly and eat their dinner, and act upon their parent's every command? I suppose that was all part of the script, yeah? When I say, "Jump!" Gage will boisterously yell, "NO!" and run (very quickly) in the other direction. Or he'll beg and cry for pizza all the way home, asking approximately every 3 seconds for a piece of pizza. But when we get home, do you think he wants any pizza? No! Why would he; how did silly mom get that idea?! A less patient parent may try to hold him and shove the pizza in his mouth. (I, of course, have never tried this... Never.) Gage has taught me the patience we need to realize that toddlers are beings, with personalities and wants, and minds they can change on a whim.

Above all, Gage has taught me kindness and faith. When I see that little person doing everything exactly the way I do everything, it made me sit back and think about who I am as a person. It made me realize that just because I am having a bad day, doesn't mean strangers should get the stink eye, or that he should be taught that. He has taught me to step back and assess the situations that arise every day, and act the way I would want him to learn to act. And when I take this step back, I realize I cannot do this on my own. I need faith in God to take care of and guide me with Gage. He gave him to me, I need to let Him help me. There is not one second of the day when I am no longer aware of God's blessings, help, and love.

Who knew Gage was such a smarty-pants? It will surely help him get through Harvard Law School. Good for him!

Just by a Little

Often in the evenings, when weather and lighting permit (which most nights they do, the reason I live in Southern Arizona) Gage and I spend until dark playing in the backyard. We play lots of games, like "racing" down the slide (I make the beeping noises from Mario Kart, and Gage races down the slide on his swingset), and tickle monster.

But my favorite game is racing back and forth across the yard. It's a very long yard, and it makes for a long and arduous trek between the walls. There are treacherous "holes" to trip on, "opponents" that knock us over, and imaginary "freeze" spots (which honestly took me quite some time to get what Gage was doing). It starts at one end of the yard, both of us poised, then the announcement: "On your mark, get set..." and Gage is off before I can say "GO!" Whether this is due to pure excitement or poor sportsmanship, I haven't quite figured out.

"You cheater!" I exclaim as I run after Gage, easily catching up to him, then dropping back. "Cheetah!" squeals Gage with delight as he looks back to watch me eat his dust. I am certain this means he thinks I am swift like a cheetah. Certain. We run across the yard, me getting ahead of Gage, then letting him get ahead, and so on, until he barely reaches the wall before me, allowing him to win, just by a little.

It is so amazing to see that little imagination at work, those little legs moving as fast as they can, the beautiful sound of his squeals and laughter as I catch up to him. The game is so much fun, I find myself giddy and giggling until my laughter is coming out bubbly, and in staccato rhythm with my strides. Both of us running, laughing, like we're just two toddlers having a playdate.

At the end of the night, when my legs (and lungs) have had their fill, I tell Gage, "Just one more time," as I huff and puff along behind him. And like when he falls and I pause for him, Gage now assumes the patient role, waiting for me to catch up, then running ahead, and waiting for me. Then he reaches the wall before I do, allowing himself to win... But just by a little.

The Smell of Home

I remember when I was in junior high and a friend came to my house before school. She stood in the doorway and inhaled deeply through her nose. She loved the smell of my house. I had never paid much attention to this before, but ever since that day I have always been grateful for the smell of home.

It is this smell that is a part of my story. The lingering scent of the cooked foods that has soaked into the wood of the kitchen cabinets. The mix of soap, fabric softener, and after shave. And the well placed reed diffusers and Wallfowers. It's not just the scent that means so much, but the memories the scent conjure: of childhood innocence, of first loves, first babies.

I remember the first time I came home from college for the weekend, and I opened my bag and the scent of my home came out. Not the one I had been raised in, but my current Tucson home. Even in my dorm, all of my possessions still smelled like Mom and Dad's. This was so foreign to me, to be in the home I grew up in and realize that will never be the smell of home to me anymore. That Sunday when I went back home to Tucson, it was so much more comforting to walk into that tiny apartment. It was the first time I felt like Tucson was home.

I remember when my parents moved to Tucson, and I was visiting their house in Phoenix and sudden sadness overcame me: what if their new house didn't smell the same? What if this was the last time I would experience the scent of my childhood? I buried my face in a blanket and just stayed there, breathing in the scent, trying to make a map of it in my brain so I might never forget it. (Gladly, their new home smells like their old home. My old home.)

Now, when I'm not home, I will open my suitcase and wait for it: the scent of home to remind me where I come from, where I belong. And when I come home, there is no better feeling than putting our well traveled luggage down and laying on the sofa, cuddling with a pillow that smells like the home that will always be waiting for me.

Yuppie Fish

So, I told Mark I started a blog, and he just rolled his eyes and gave me the "you're so lucky I married you" look, which is both annoying and endearing. I didn't know why, so I asked (makes sense) and he called me a yuppie! I'm not sure how I feel about this.


I suppose there are worse things he could have called me. But he said it like it was an insult, or at least undsireable. I don't really think I'm a yuppie. I have my fair share of red neck in me, which he also never lets me forget (like he doesn't have any red neck in him...), and I'm not gonna lie: I'm a little proud of that.



I had some guy in a parking lot call me a Yankee once. I apparently took his spot (there were, like, 16 available... whatever) so he waited for me to get out of my car and yelled at me, ending it with "you stupid Yankee *****." I think he meant yuppie. Either way, I ignored him, only a little satisfied he meant to call me a yuppie.


Whether or not he meant it in a kind way, I suppose it's mostly true. Either way, the orchid is still alive, so it must be a good balance of yuppie and red neck. Just don't call me late for dinner!

Wailing Orchids

Up until today, my week has felt like a string of very long Mondays. Which honestly seems a little unfair. I know I just had almost two weeks off, but most of it was riddled with stress, so I think I deserved a Tuesday and a Wednesday. But this is life.

Today we took Gage back to the pediatric surgeon who said she is pleased with the way his head looks (pat on the back) and will take the stitches out Monday. Gage was very relieved there was no touching of the head. We will be going back to UMC to place him under general anesthesia again to remove the stitches, which does make me feel better. It may seem extreme to everyone else, but I am tired of holding him down while he screams. It's exhausting.

In other news, Mark got me an orchid to kill for Valentine's Day. I understand this likely wasn't his original intent (I am hoping that was love) but I have no doubt I will be the death of the orchid. I apparently have to water it every Friday, so it's less maintenance than... most things in life. I used to say the only reason I ever remembered to feed Gage was because he cried. Let's hope the flower doesn't cry.