Belated Thanks

Admist the chaos of hosting Thanksgiving, of sick babies and a home that weathered the storm of many house guests and an enormous feast, there has seemingly been little time to really reflect - like really, really reflect - on all that I am thankful for. My life is so unbelievably blessed, it is so much better than I ever pictured, and there is much, much to be thankful for.

For beautiful baby boys whose eyes and smiles and babbles I am wholly addicted to. Like seriously addicted to.

For a husband whose patience never runs dry and who at the drop of a hat will run out and buy me a Blizzard just because he loves me.

For a sister and a brother who hold all my stories - the good, the bad, and the ugly - and who despite the stories, or maybe because of them, still love me and support me fiercely.

For my nearest and dearest friends who do things like talk me gently through labor, bring me Chai at work, spend Fridays off with me and my babies, bring me and my family dinner (especially plates of sinful brownies), and remind me everyday that "this too shall pass."

And perhaps most poignantly of all, for my mother, who exactly 50 years ago today boarded a plane at the age of 15, leaving behind her parents, her home, her school and friends, her language, her food, her pet bunny, and her childhood beaches, all for a chance at education and free thought; who never looked back at what could have been and instead always looked forward at what could be; who despite loss that would paralyze most of us, forged ahead and modeled resliency, optimism and passion; whose love of teaching lives on in her daughters, and whose love for her children and grandchildren knows no bounds...I am so, so thankful.

This is for you, mom, to remind you of what you started exactly 50 years ago today by stepping on that plane, by taking a chance, and by believing in the GOOD in EVERYONE. Your GOOD lives on in your babies and your grandbabies. Don't ever forget it.

Poetry

Yesterday afternoon I realized I was stuck - stuck in between units at school and no idea what to do with a day and half of time before sending my students out the door for Thanksgiving Break.

Instead of jumping head first into teaching the ins and outs of satire, which happens to be right up my ally, I decided to create an activity based on those word magnets people often keep on their fridges. You know, the ones you can move around to say stuff like "She likes it in her ear" or "Big daddy loves fish" or "Want to jump me?"

So I sat down at my computer and came up with a list of words (all appropriate, although I was tempted by the dark side) for students to cut out and then arrange into a poem - a Thanksgiving poem. I was so excited because I just knew my students were going to LOVE it. They were going to be enthralled from the beginning of class to the end. They were going to ask to do it again and again and again...

...and then I hand out the assignment and the snarky girl in the back (who is the perfect example of why I am paid lots and lots of money) says, "Is this supposed to be fun?"

"No, butthole," I say (inside, of course). "It isn't."

"Yes," I say, for reals. "It is supposed to rock your world."

After all, it rocked mine. See...



And as I looked across the room at my other students, it appeared to rock theirs.

So kiss it, snarky girl. Kiss it. Mrs. Smith is a genius.

Where's my award?

Inspired

I am feeling sentimental. And tired and overwhelmed and a little bit nostalgic. And in the midst of all that, I am also feeling a bit inspired. Admist this exhaustion that comes from a baby who will not sleep for longer than two hours at a time, I am feeling a sense of appreciation for all those who have done this before me and I have been inspired to just say this...

There lies deep within every woman the instinct to nurture, to raise, and to protect.

I am inspired by MOTHERHOOD, literally and figuratively.

…by my grandmother, who placed her children on a plane to escape the terrors of communism on her little Caribbean Island, not knowing if she would ever see them again, but knowing their freedom was worth dying for.

…by my mother, who was my father as well, who raised her three children with the core belief that wealth exists in experiences not materials, whose love continues to guide, carry, and inspire me today.

…by my sister, nine years my elder, who was always more than she ever had to be, and whose unwavering love, commitment and resilience now shines in the blue eyes and golden hair of her daughter.

…by my best friend, who shared her babies with me when I was so desperate to have my own, who models selflessness and patience and has proven family has never been about DNA.

…by my students, who made me a mother before my sons were born, who taught me the power of innocence, curiosity, and laughter.

…and most importantly, by my boys - one who I carried in my heart, the other who I carried in my belly - who despite the different paths were always meant to be mine, and who remind me to be better, to do more, and to live with purpose because everybody is somebody’s baby.

I am inspired by MOTHERHOOD in every sense of the word. For the mother that lies within us all, and for the children who so desperately need our care and praise, I am INSPIRED.

Nico's new favorite word...

...and how he really feels about his mama.

I'm "Falling"...

...and I can't get back up.

Fall is indeed here.

The leaves are changing.

I am back to working.

My babies are growing, growing, growing.

I am still not sleeping.

And most days I find myself crying.

What is a woman to do???

Fall is a perfect reminder that everything does change. My three and a half months at home with the boys is done and I am not quite sure what to do with myself. Nico is a little boy full of opinions that are usually expressed by pointing and screaming. He takes after me. He is obsessed with birds, planes, choo-choos, dancing, reading books, and being outside. His vocabulary grows everyday and it melts my heart into tiny, tiny pieces when he walks around saying "Noah, Noah." I should probably not mention that slapping Noah on the head tends to be one of his favorite pasttimes, but we are working on acquiring the meaning of "gentle."

Noah is our rolly, polly ball of fuss. Again, he takes after me. The boy has our number and screams,well, most of the day...and night. And yet the moments when he is kicking those legs and flapping those arms and flashing that smile make the sleeplessness seem trivial. Despite the occasional pinch and bite from his older brother, he is mesmerized by him and watches and watches and watches everything he does. He is our Lunch Box, our Cheeks, our sweet baby boy.

Fall is here. The leaves are changing. My babies are growing.

Could it all just slow down a little, little bit?

Week in Review

My sister left today and I can't stop crying.

I am completely cracked out on pregnancy hormones and I seriously can't stop crying. I had my sister and my niece here for a whole week, and while they just live in Seattle, I cannot remember the last time we have had a whole week together.

It was HEAVEN. Complete and total heaven. And let me be clear - this week was not easy.

First there was the projectile vomiting brought especially to us by our two-week-old. It started last Monday and ended with a four-hour stint at the hospital that included a very nice but really stupid blood lady trying to take blood from my infant son's arm and an ultrasound of his belly that thank goodness confirmed everything is okay with Mr. Noah anatomy-wise. Apparently we have another case of acid reflux, and as I stated with Nico not so long ago, I HATE acid reflux. I loathe it. I want it to go far, far away from here. The good news is that with a little medicine and some smaller feedings closer together, Noah has not projectile vomited in almost 72 hours. He is thankful and every crevice of my body that has now been officially covered in vomit is also thankful.

But that's not all. There was also the 4 a.m. change of Noah's diaper in which I accidentally knocked off the plastic ring placed on his hoo-hoo after his circumcision. Can you say "Kill me now"? Apparently I have not caused any permanent damage and I am happy to report that his hoo-hoo is currently looking mighty fine, but at 4 in the morning, I was a wreck.

For the record, feeling like your son is starving and his manly parts may forever be damaged and it is clearly all your fault is not real fun. Nope, not fun at all.

And then the Mister (a.k.a. Nico) officially threw his first full-blown temper tantrum, and Trevor and I just sat there and stared at him and at each other because we had not idea what to do. We are pretty sure it was a fit meant to express his displeasure at yet again gaining a couple more teeth (I loathe teething almost as much as I loathe acid reflux) and also his displeasure at having to share the limelight with his baby brother.

Here is some math I actually understand:

Projectile Vomit + Possible Deformed Hoo Hoo + First Temper Tantrum = GUILT

Just so I don't leave anything out, some neighborhood teenagers with clearly too much time on their hands and no imagination exploded firecrackers on our front doorstep on Thursday night and then egged our house on Friday night. With sleeping babies, I wanted to KILL PEOPLE. No joke. KILL. PEOPLE. Do not mess with women who have recently given birth.

In short, the events of the week were a bit hellish but having my sister here to process with and laugh with was pure heaven. This week reminded me that if Nico and Noah find in each other what I have found in my brother and sister, then I will know I have done my job well.

To my Noah...

Dear Noah,

It has taken me ten days to gather my thoughts about the day you entered the world and my heart doubled its size. Ten days ago, I held you in my arms for the very first time and I haven't wanted to put you down since. Just like your brother, you have me captivated. I am addicted already to you - to all of you.

You came into this world surrounded by immense love. Your papa was on one side, your aunt on the other, cheering both you and me on. Your grandma, in true fashion, held my head high, and your Melanie captured every single moment while yet again providing a calm that both you and I will forever fall back on. This is your starting line-up, my love, the ones who will always love you fiercely, completely, and unconditionally.

Your brother is in awe of you. At only 12 months old, he greets you every morning with an enormous smile and a "hi," and every time you cry (which is not very often)he looks for you and will not stop until he can see you are okay. He loves you so much he wants to eat you, which can be a bit of an issue. You made it very well known that you didn't appreciate him biting your foot. I cannot wait to see your relationship grow, and my hope is you always take care of each other and that you are more than just brothers - that you are each other's very best friends.

I also hope that your current peace and calm stay with you always, that you never doubt how deeply we love you, and that you never tire of me staring at you endlessly. You and your brother are our everything - you are our living and breathing dreams come true. I cannot wait to see all that you become.

I love you immensely...

Your mama