Your Birthday Card

Dear Melanikis,

This is what your birthday card - the one I told you I had grandiose plans of writing - would have said:

Happy Birthday, my friend.

You are the peas to my carrots, the cheese to my mustard (your mom's kind).

You are the calm to my storm. Seriously. Like no joke. Seriously.

You are the Oprah to my Gayle, 'cause let's be honest - as much as I wish was Oprah, you are soooo her and I am soooo not.

You have taught me that soul mates don't just exist in romance, 'cause you and me = no romance - we don't even hug - but you're my soul mate. My girl one.

We met 15 years ago now and I often have to remind myself that you haven't been around for like my whole life, 'cause it feels like you have. You are my friend, my confidante, my sister from another tit-ster (I just made that up), and I love you.

Happy Birthday, my friend. Happy, happy birthday.

Love,

Me

Maybe a New Me

Here I am. I am alive and well and still kicking and screaming and rejoicing and crying - sometimes all in the same day.

I have had fabulous plans of blogging all about our holiday adventures - our first holiday as a family of four - and that has been just a big fat fail.



I wanted to write all about our fabulous plan to take both babies up into the Blue Mountains to cut down our Christmas tree, all in the name of family tradition, and about how Noah layed flat on his back on the sled like the jolly, old man that he is, and about how Nico wailed at the top of his lungs when his papa disappeared into the forest for at least half an hour while I just stood there, staring at my friend Alissa, who kept telling me everything was going to be okay. AWESOME.





I wanted to write about how good it felt to stay home this year, to host a Christmas Eve dinner for family and besties, to wake up on Christmas morning in our own bed, to carry our babies down our own stairs, and to eat cinnamon rolls made in our own oven while opening Christmas presents under our own tree. Nico and Noah loved the wrapping paper more than life itself, Trevor has yet to put down his Nook Color, and I was shocked my husband had somehow remembered that I said I wanted a pair of Toms. But while those things were nice and lovely and oh so fun, nothing compares to crashing on your own sofa in front of your new fireplace while your beautiful babies sleep upstairs and your beautiful husband lets you do just that. HEAVEN.





I wanted to write about time with family in Seattle over the New Year and about how every time I leave my brother and sister and their families, I miss them terribly. We gorged on an incredible Cuban feast made by my sister and played a few games on my niece's new Wii...I might have even accidentally smashed her head with the controller while playing a rousing game of tennis, but hey, no blood, no foul. We walked the zoo with family and dear friends, which with an 18-month-old is soooooo much fun! He ooohed and aaaahed at every living being while his brother slept peacefully in the stroller. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was my dear friend's
5-year-old son profound discovery (said while sitting on a sculpture of a nest of eggs):"Hatching an egg really hurts my privates!" AMEN.





So now it is 2012 and I find myself ready for a new me. In a measly 18 1/2 months, I have been blessed with two baby boys - boys I dreamed of and prayed for and, let's be honest, begged the heavens for. In the end, I find myself at times feeling blissfully happy, yet excruciatingly exausted; completely redefined, yet a little bit lost. And after fertility drugs, miscarriages, adoption, and then pregnancy, I also find myself packing around 30 pounds that at one time, weren't there. It happened slowly but surely and I hate it. LOATHE it.

I used to look like this (the third one from the left)...



The funny thing is, this picture was taken at hands-down the worst time of my life. WORST. I was barely hanging on and it was time to celebrate the marriage of my baby brother to my beloved sister-in-law Dianna. So I stuffed myself into the bridesmaid dress and referred to myself as "The Walking Sausage," when clearly I was not.

I was cute and 30 pounds lighter. And I was miserable. Absolutely miserable.

For once and all I want my outside to match my inside. And the thing is, despite the exhaustion and confusion and self-doubt, I really am so, so, so happy. This is the life I always dreamed of. This is the husband I pictured in my head and these are the children who are even better than my dreams. I have a cheering section that any professional sports team would die for. It is time to do something about this outside, for what it is worth, and so the journey of eating better and moving more begins. NOW.

Maybe, just maybe, a new me is just around the bend.

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?