Mother's Day

There was a time, not so long ago, that I believed being a mom was simply not in the works for me. Not because I didn't want it, because I did. More than anything. Literally MORE than anything. I ached for it, I dreamed of it, and I begged the Heavens for it. But for a time, the Heavens simply said no. I thought I was being told "No, not ever," when really it was just a "No, not right now." Others knew that, but I didn't. Miscarriages will do that to you. Life is funny that way and, at the same time, it can be so very cliche. After all, I can't help but look back on those years of my life and think, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Is there really any other way to look at it? Because while I was grieveing my second miscarriage, someone else was beginning to make a plan for her unborn son - a plan that would answer my prayers. I believed that my miscarriages were the death of my dreams, when really, they were the beginning. So, when I least expected it, the Heavens came through and said, "There he is, the one you have been waiting for. Go get him." And I did, and I have rarely put him down since...even when I unexpectedley started carrying another one, too. The Heavens have a great sense of humor, just so you know. Today I celebrated Mother's Day as a mother of two -TWO! I would like to tell you it has been all cherries and roses, but that would be a lie. A big, fat, lie. Because sometimes there's vomit and sometimes there's screaming and sometimes I am pretty sure I have just said or done something that will inevitably send them to counseling for years. Outside of all that, though, there is HOPE and there is LOVE. Fierce, unbending, life-altering LOVE. Thank you, Heavens, for this life - this exact life - the one I was always supposed to be living. It all makes sense now. It really, really does.

Things I said I would never do...

Before children came, my vision of mommy-hood was clear. And it was really pretty, too. I could see all the future Smiths, lined up in a neat little row, wearing their matching outfits, sitting at the dinner table eating the ONE meal I had prepared, kissing - NOT biting - each other goodnight,and loving every minute of being a part of this family. This pretty, pretty family. I somehow managed not to envision the addiction to Thomas the Train and fruit snacks. Or that matching outfits would only last for two hours of any given day. Or that temper tantrums in grocery stores could only be solved with chocolate-glazed donuts (for him, not me). Or that I would never sleep like a normal person again. Ever. Or that carpet and furniture would be destroyed with boogers and spit and throw-up and pee. Yes, pee. Lots of pee. Oh, and poop too. The things I said I would never do...well, I do them. A lot. Hence the chocolate-glazed donuts. And no one ever told me that once babies came, I would never, ever go to the bathroom by myself again. Not ever. In fact, dropping a load has become a family affair. An affair where one baby unravels the entire roll of toilet paper while the other baby starts sifiting through the gargbage can, toilet brush in hand. So now there are the things I never THOUGHT I would have to do, which brings me to my first-born, my sweet baby boy who one minute is blowing me kisses and the very next is on the floor, in a heap, screaming at the top of his lungs because I dared wipe his nose. My first-born loves ding-dings. Yes, ding-dings. And no, I am not referring to his family jewels this time. This time I mean belly buttons. And this is what I have discovered - hand the kid a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition while we are all crammed into the bathroom and I have at least one of the two not attempting to drink toilet bowl cleaner. And it works. It really, really works. He takes the magazine, sits on the floor, and flips through the pages, pointing out all of the ding-dings he can see. For the record, there are lots of ding-dings in the Swimsuit edition. Lots of them. And ta-tas, too, but he doesn't seem to notice those yet. Thank God. Can you picture it? Reason #513 that I should be named Mother of the Year, people.

And yes, that is Noah eating a rock. Reason #514...

Double-Digits

Yesterday my baby turned double-digits. My Noah is officially 10-months-old, which means that he has now been on the outside longer than he was on the inside, and I for one, think that calls for a celebration. Exactly six days ago, he spouted his first tooth, which was promptly followed by the second the very next day. The two little bottom toothers show a little more each day, relieving all of my fears that we would be spending thousands on teeth implants (I am not even sure if that's real) in the next few years. I was convinced my little man would be toothless, but alas, the universe has once again proven that I am just a little bit paranoid and my children will do things and grow things and be things when they damn well please. Our No-No adores his brother, is unbelievably independent, and is so, so, so, so happy, all of the time. Just a week ago I found him sitting in a pile of his own puke, happy as a clam. And as gross as that story is, he really is so so so happy most all of the time. He entertains himself by throwing a ball and chasing it all around the house and he loves chewing on rocks, big and small. The small ones are kinda scary. Just sayin'. He has also taken up boogying on the dance floor along side his brother and partakes in his very own version of clapping, which kind of looks like a seal on display at the zoo, and is one of the cutest things I have ever seen. He crawls, he climbs, and he even stands by himself for a few seconds at a time. And I'm pretty sure he says "mama," which melts my heart into a million tiny pieces. In just 10 months time, this little boy has fallen right in line with all things Smith, and it's hard to imagine there ever was a time without him. Just like his brother who came before him, he is love and joy personified, and together, they hold the whole of our hearts in the palms of their hands. This is what they mean when they say that time flies when you're having fun...

Birthday Wishes

Today my Trevor turns the big 3-6. I reminded him last night that this offically makes him closer to 40 than 30, to which he reminded me that this has been true every single day since he turned 35. Smart people drive me nuts.

A little over five years ago, Trevor and I went on our first date. He showed up to that date with a single red rose and pens in his shirt pocket. Yep, pens. In his shirt pocket. We talked for four hours straight over salads and pizza, and when he pulled out one of those pens to sign the receipt, it wrote in orange. Yep, orange. This is when I knew I would marry him. When you carry around orange pens while on a date with an English teacher - an English teacher obsessed with pens that write in all sorts of different colors - you seal your future. That's the way it works.

I might have mentioned to him that he should be very careful bringing pretty pens around me in the future. Nine days later, on my 29th birthday,he brought me a huge pack of pretty pens, just for me. Two days later I told him I loved him. A week after that, he told me the same. And 16 months later we were married.

The thing is, marriage is no fairytale. Nope. Marriage is real, man, and it's full of all things pretty, all things dirty, all things easy, and all things hard. Marriage sees you through the death of loved ones, and the beginnings of loved ones, too. Marriage sees you through the loss of pregnancies and the birth of sons. In marriage, my Trevor has become the witness of all things Sara, my partner in crime, my protector, my fan, my very best friend.

My only wish on this very important day - this day that reminds me how life is a little bit of chance and a little bit of fate - is that my Trevor knows, to the very core of his being, that the greatest gift SHE has ever been given is HIM.

Happy Birthday, my love. Happy Birthday.

This One

I understand that some day, posting this picture for all the world to see (which really means like five people) could potentially cause a tad bit of embarassment. Or maybe the word is anger. I am willing to take the risk, because this one -THIS ONE - just happens to be a bit opinionated and a bit strong-willed and a bit passionate. And no, he does not get that from me. I will deny it to your face.

THIS ONE has become obsessed with his jewels. Obsessed. So much so, that THIS ONE now sports a onesie under all of his clothes. This is not because I have an issue with his jewels obsession. This is because of what the obsession leads to, which is diapers that are all fumbled and jumbled and tumbled. You do the math. And this messy part of jewels-fondling, I indeed have an issue with.

I have been told time and time again that this is all normal. I know that. I really do. After all, I grew up with a brother who also had a propensity for such things. And now I live with a husband who might occassionally partake in such acitivites himself. I fundametally understand that boys - and men - like their jewels.

So as I gaze into the future of life with boys, I must remember this snapshot of THIS ONE, tongue depressor in mouth, checking to make sure that all that really matters is where he last left it.

And there it is.

Happy Easter!

I love Easter. Love it. I love that is represents rebirth and new beginnings and life and love. And Reeses Peanut Butter Eggs. Love those with a passion. May I just say for the record that in the name of new beginnings and fresh starts, I didn't even have one this year. Not even one. I am just a little bit proud of myself.

While Nico cannot partake in the joy that is peanut butter, he did partake in the joy of all that is chocolate. In fact, every time he slipped a piece in his mouth, he said to himself, "Happy Birthday!" Works for me. And Noah enjoyed some pureed fruit and sweet potatoes. Next year, baby, next year the good stuff will come.

Our afternoon was spent with our besties, who hosted the Easter Egg Hunt of the year, and who remind us again and again that friends are the family you choose. The food, the company, the weather, and the shared joy was PERFECTION.

Happy, happy Easter!

Colorado

We did it. We actually did it. We put two babies on an airplane to Colorado and back and not only survived, but thrived.

I have missed travelling so so so so much. Before marriage and before babies, Trevor and I travelled what now feels like all of the time. There was the three-week road trip through Oregon, California and Nevada. There was Arizona and Colorado and Greece. There was Tennessee and Puerto Rico and St. Thomas. And then there was Vegas to pick up our beautiful baby boy, and while we did manage a trip to Utah when Nico was six-months-old and Noah was on the inside of things making me puke daily, since then, we have pretty much stayed put.

Until Colorado, that is.

It felt so good to be back on a plane, all in order to see dear friends we haven't seen since our wedding, friends who we love and miss dearly. And, of course, to get the boys used to what Smiths do - TRAVEL. Much to our amazement, they flew like champions, making their mama and papa so so so so proud - and relieved. Very, very relieved.

Now the only question that remains is, "Where to next?"