The Van of Dreams

We bought a Suburban. We freaking bought a Suburban.

 

It's pretty. Super pretty.

 

And it's fun to drive. Like I sort of want to cruise Clearwater in it and relive my high school years.

 

 But I have kids now. And speaking of the kids, we can fit all three kids and their car seats in one row. This makes Gabby very, very happy. She doesn't like to be alone. She gets that from me.

 

 

And yet, as we drove away from the minivan - the minivan I had professed I would drive into the ground - I cried. Like seriously cried.

 

 

I tried to pull off our family sticker, but realized it wasn't budging. This made me cry even more.

 

The thing is, as my Melanie so eloquently put it, that was our Field of Dreams van. We bought that van before we were officially married. We bought that van in preparation of babies.

 

We bought that van so the babies would come.

 

And while it took longer than we had hoped, and while there were losses we hadn't accounted for when we bought The Field of Dreams van, the babies did indeed come.

 

And the van brought all of those babies home. In such vastly different ways.

 

Nico was 10-days old when he and I flew home from Las Vegas. Trevor and the grandparents and Melanie were all waiting for us.

 

So was the van.

 

Noah was 24-hours-old when we left the hospital. . We picked up Nico at the babysitter's and the four of us drove home. In the van.

And then there's our Gabby. Sometimes it felt like we would never get to take her home. But we did. She was 53 days old and just shy of five pounds. And we put her in the van and drove home.

We bought that van so the babies would come. And they came. On their own time and in their own way. And the van drove each of those babies home.

 

It's always been hard for me to say goodbye. To family. To friends. To pets. To failed relationships, even if they sucked.

I can add "To my van" to that list now. The van that didn't suck. Not at all.

I loved that guy. Seriously loved him. I didn't even know it was a him until I had to say goodbye. But he was.

And I will miss him.

 

 

 

Transitions. Again.

I think it's time to enter the acceptance stage.

Acceptance of summer coming to an end. Acceptance that my 9-month stint at home has come to an end. Acceptance that these babies are like their own people. Like seriously their own people. With opinions and wishes and talents and attitudes. Oh, the attitudes.

I suck at transitions. I loathe them. Some people transition like ballerinas. So graceful, so seamless. I'm like a bull. In a china shop. It's not pretty. Ask my husband.

 I'm like Stella, people. I like my groove. I just do. And I was grooving being home.

But mama and papa have bills to pay, so transition it is.

The thing is, our summer was good. So, so good. And I didn't want it to end.

There was our annual "Family Smise" trip to the beach. 

And someone turned 4. A whole, whopping 4. How did that happen? He is a riot. A serious riot. And he thinks he is Russell Wilson. And he tells really long fabricated stories to his Melly about squirrels and stuff. We're rolling with it. Because he is perfection. It is what it is.

There was a birthday party to prepare for. A Captain America piñata was deemed a necessity.

There were outings to parks. Outings that sometimes seemed like so much work. Loading up three children is a lot of freaking work. But then Thing 1 and Thing 2 started to take over and we never looked back.

Feet were found. They were found and grabbed and chewed on. All. Summer. Long.

Parties were thrown. Enormous parties with friends and family and bouncy houses and lots of food. And Captain America piñatas and super hero cake, of course.

The World Cup was enjoyed. Perhaps even obsessed about. So. Much. Soccer. Trevor was in heaven. And Gabby was his good luck charm.

And selfies were had. Lots and lots and lots of selfies. It was the summer of selfies. I hate selfies. Seriously loathe them. But I did it. Anything for the children, people.

Oh, and there was sleeping in a crib. You have no idea how hard we worked to get here. Crib-sleeping is hard stuff when you've rarely been put down since the day you were brought home, but it's good stuff. We've come a long way, little one. A super long way.

There were hours and hours spent at the pool. Swim lessons and afternoons with grandma were quite possibly the highlight of their entire summer. Grandma was incredible. Incredible. They have her wrapped around their little fingers. And they know it.

Some of us, however, just hung out poolside. With our shades on. You've gotta do what you've gotta do to look good and stay cool.

The one in the middle turned 3. Three going on 30. I wish I was exaggerating. I'm not. The words that come out of his mouth never cease to amaze me. Sometimes they are of the potty variety. Like poop. And pee. And all sorts of really pretty words like that. I have no idea where he gets it from. I speak soooooo nicely all of the time. God I love him. Desperately.

Sometimes this happened. Maybe more than once. But whatever.

Cousins came.

Dairy Queens were visited.

Brawls were had.

Soccer was played.

And soccer was watched.

Babies slept.

And babies played.

Sometimes we even played dress-up.

And sometimes we brought mom flowers. To butter her up. And it works. Every time. 

While the boys camped for the first time ever...

...the girls played.

Oh, the girl. My sweet, crazy, feisty girl. She eats now. She eats and she sits and she swings. She has me mesmerized. She has all of us mesmerized. I am pretty sure she is the boss now. We'll have to hash that out a little later. In the meantime, she's in charge. And we all know it.

And just this week, preschool started. The second year for Nico and the first for Noah. It's all happening a bit too fast for this mama's heart. And yet, I wouldn't want it any other way.

These babies. These babies who are so their own people. They are my world. And damn, I suck at transitions. At leaving them every morning, even though they love to be left. They love to go to school. They love to see their friends and their Sandy and to have their own time to become their own people. Because they can. Because unlike their mama, they are little ballerinas.

And singers too.

Oh, how I love them.

Let's just hope Stella gets her groove back.