Firsts

Last week we celebrated a first--Ryan's first birthday.  It was a beautiful day-blue skies, warm temperatures, great friends and family.  Ryan was a trooper too, being held by lots of people, hardly fussed, and ate his cake (and hamburger patty) pretty well.  More than likely it will be our last first birthday party.  We are pretty sure we are not having any more children--of course God may tell us otherwise--and so I hope I can savor the memories for a lifetime. 

Preparing for the party was fun.  I had a blast buying green and blue plates, decorations, the food for the party, and making the cupcakes.  I even made "homemade" icing and tinted it myself, then used a pastry bag and tip to decorate the tops.  Not too bad if I say so myself.  I've never made the cake for any of Braden's parties, so I've given myself an imaginary pat on the back for that one.

Tomorrow, we'll celebrate another first--registering our first child for his first year of school--kindergarten.  I knew this day would come, but I'm surprised at how quickly it arrived.  Surprisingly enough, I actually have all of the paperwork needed to get him registered.  Braden will do well in school; me, I'm not sure how well I will handle the next 4 months.  That first day of school makes me want to run in the opposite direction and cradle my "baby" at home in the rocker.

Oddly enough, I remember my first day of school.  It was at Marvin Elementary and I was in Mrs. Slater's class.  There was a kiva in the classroom.  I remember kids crying left and right, but I was determined to be brave.  I remember not wanting my mom to leave, but I was not going to cry.  That year ended up being miserable.  It started with the school making my class "Hispanics only".  I did not speak Spanish, although several of my classmates only spoke Spanish.  I remember my teacher leaving the classroom for long periods of time, and leaving me in charge, with a stack of books for me to read aloud to the class.  I also remember this woman locking me in a closet and calling me an "Indian giver" because I let a girl borrow my beads (back then the cool thing to do was string beads on safety pins and make long chains.  My mom was awesome and made me some pretty cool chains.) and I asked for them back.  The girl claimed I let her have them and I was in turn punished. 

Surely, he'll have a better year, right?  I mean, if I remember my first day of kinder, he might too.  Will he be liked?  Picked on?  Will the teacher like him?  Will she think he's "that" kid?  I guess teaching for 10 years has twisted my view of things on THIS side of it all.  I am now the parent.  And I'll probably be THAT parent. Now for the "a-ha" moment, because I now am starting to "get it". 

I've held several jobs throughout my life, but this momma gig--by far the hardest. So many gray areas and not enough black and white.  Too many "what ifs" and not enough certainties.  I suppose, though, that this one certainty is enough--God knows the answers to these questions.  There is nothing in the world that I can do to ensure anything, but knowing that God is there before we are is comforting.  He knows, and He loves my children more than my brain can fathom.

But even still, these firsts are exciting yet scary, inevitable yet unexpectedly here.  Happening NOW.  Whether I feel ready, or not.

Bottlenecking

Today was definitely challenging.  There is a wreck everywhere I turn.  Kitchen? Wreck.  Bathrooms?  Double wrecks.  Living room and bedrooms?  Let's not even go there.

Why can't I stay on top of things?  Sure, I work full time, have two boys, a husband...but what keeps me from staying on top of the laundry?  The toys?  I'm not really sure.  Most days it bothers me.  I mean, REALLY bothers me.  I'll get something picked up, turn to another thing, and wham!  It's as if I never cleaned up in the first place.  I don't see how people like my mom did it all.  I wish I could ask her where I've gone wrong.  Honestly, I think it has something to do with the time period.  30 years ago there was no email, iPhones, Facebook, or even Twitter.  The most exciting night out was a Tupperware party every now and then. 
I wish I had a knack for keeping things immaculate.  Will that come one day?  Who knows.  The only thing I can do is keep on trying...

In search of fluff

Another attempt at restarting my blog. Will it be the last attempt? Probably not. Between taking care of two active boys, trying to keep up with housework, staying on top of my full time job I have from home, and everything in between it is just difficult to keep up with the fluff.

My baby will turn a year old in 8 days. Yes, single digit. How in the world did that happen? Wasn't he just born? It makes my head spin just thinking about how quickly this year has flown. When I think about Braden's first year and Ryan's first year, there are several differences. I think I paid more attention to the fluff when Braden was a baby. We had professional pictures at 1, 3, 6, and 12 months of age. We've yet to have any done of Ryan. I took naps with Braden when he was tiny. Today I think my brain has forgotten the meaning of the word. And it doesn't end there.

Does this mean I love Ryan any less than Braden? My brain tells me of course not, however my heart feels guilty. I know, he'll never remember. He's a boy and won't really care. I care. I am so much busier now than when Braden was a baby. Does that make me a bad mom? I don't think so at all. But I do realize I need-and want-to have more fluff moments.

Toys are scattered everywhere, Cheerios are stuck to the high chair, that mountain of laundry in the middle of my room keeps growing. When I close my eyes and focus on the important things, it's the fluff: playing a game with Braden, tickling Ryan, snuggling with them both in the recliner. My kids won't remember that I had all of their clothes always folded neatly in their drawers. They won't remember if mom and dad's bed was made every day. They'll remember the trips to the circus, the picnics in the front yard, the wrestling matches in the living room on rainy days. They'll remember their mommy tucking them in at night and whispering "I love you more" in their ears. They'll remember daddy hoisting them on his broad shoulders and feeling as if they're the most important person in the world--and they are. They'll remember feeling loved and cherished and they'll remember how important they are to their parents.

Fluff. It's what memories are made of.