Life is a Little Rosie

Probably the hardest of all of these to write is for you, Miss Rose. You are my first child, and as such, you are an everyday experiment. My little laboratory of life. And what a life! It’s always a little Rosie when you’re around.

As a first-time parent, I was (am?) overly cautious with you. Yes, you’re the baby who got a new binky each time the old one dropped. Like so:

“What? Dropped the binky? On the newly mopped floor? Eww! Burn it! Buy her a new one! Can’t. Possibly. Sterilize. It. Enough!”

By the time we got to Baby Boo it was:

“What, dropped a binky? What binky? That ratty old thing? Wipe it off. Rub some dirt on it! Plug him back in.”

I hope, in time, you will forgive me for all the mistakes I’ve made raising you. Hey, as a rookie in baby-rearing, I didn’t do too bad. At least you didn’t die. Just ask your older brother!

I do hope you forgive me, but even if you don’t, your life has been a blessing to mine. For every silly game, late bedtime, terrible meal and boring ride there’s this - every time I see your face, my heart fills with joy! Every time I hear your voice, it fills me with pride! And every time I dry your tears, my heart, that was broken for your sadness, fills with undying love and gratitude that I get to experience that, too; because that is you.

You have many qualities - some good, some bad. We can't all be perfect, right? Sometimes you can be a real grouch - like Oscar on roid rage - but you always come back to earth.

I admire you for your courage in the face of adversity. I admire you for the depth of your faithful love. I admire you for always being there for others, even if they aren't always there for you. I admire you for your simple wisdom and kind-hearted charity. And I am thankful for every day that you are in my life!

I admire your artistic ability. I adore your musical gifts. I'm in awe of your dedication and determination in the face of (sometimes) overwhelming emotions. I love that you love to write. I'm excited for your enthusiasm for anime. I'm jealous of your big heart. I'm proud of all that you are, and all that you aspire to be.

My darling Rose, as you grow into the full flower of your adulthood, I hope you remember that Daddy loves you.

That I’m here for you.

That I always will be.

And that your love is the most precious gift of all.

Love Always,

Daddy

Magic Lives Here

There's a magical place in my house.  It is the source of love, comfort, and peace.  It heals wounds and broken hearts.  It makes time slow down and giggles erupt.  Somehow, there is always room for one more person, despite the limited space in the magical place.

It is the one, magical place my children long to be...on Daddy's lap. None of them are immune, they crawl up (or down in Baby Boo's words) to snuggle in his strong arms. When I entered the room this morning, Miss 11-year old Rosarita was awkwardly perched on the magical spot.  Not really fitting, having to lay back to put her head on his shoulder, but positively glowing as she felt her Daddy's peace surround her.  She's been longing for that peace for weeks.  She was home and happy in that moment.

With our bellies full from dinner, Daddy sits down at his computer.  It is finally fixed after a year of problems and he sure does love some PC gaming time.  Little boy can't resist getting his dessert and "waa" and calling "dow" and "u-pup-pup" so he can watch the screen with Daddy.  My heart grows 3 sizes as I watch him mimic Daddy's movements and points excitedly at the screen.  They ooh and aah over the videos, games, and the occasional bird or dog.  He leans over to nibble at his brownie, but never takes too long.  He doesn't want to miss a second of watching his hero.

It's always tough to decide which game to play; but with prodding from Mom and Baby Boo, Daddy settles on Don't Starve.  The opening music is a siren's call to 4-year old Doodlebug. It's her and Daddy's game.  It doesn't matter that Baby Boo is already firmly ensconced on Daddy's lap.  She clambers up on the other leg, leaving Daddy a 4 inch viewing space between two little heads.  But that's okay, Doodlebug watches the screen for him.  It is her job to provide the non-stop game narrative.  "OK, Daddy, what did we do last time?", "Daddy, you need wood.", "Daddy, where's Chester?", "Oh look, Daddy, there's an eye bone.", "You need to eat, Daddy", "Daddy, it's getting night, you need to build a fire.".  It's her time;  her time with her Daddy and their game. They laugh and giggle and try to define 'distinctive'.  He cannot convince her that it doesn't mean stinky.  Daddy sets Doodlebug to the task of watching for rocks.  It is the most important task in the world right now...because Daddy needs her help and it's their game.

So, yeah, I've discovered that real magic exists and my children have limitless access to it.  I thank God every day that I have this man and that he shares his magic with my babies.

Of Princesses and Pistachios

Dear Doodlebug,

Sometimes I feel like my family is just a bag of mixed nuts. This is especially true after the holidays, where we get to visit with extended family and the associated parental terrors of cousin comparisons – nervous breakdowns, anyone? You can find them at the nearest all-family meal! Indigestion comes free of charge, too!

But I digress.

What we all know about mixed nuts is that some are especially delicious. You spy them in the holiday-themed bowl. You carefully choose a precision handful that captures as many as possible without seeming indulgent. You eat around the handful, scarfing the less appetizing ones first. You fall in love with your favorites (pistachios!) and sing them sweet lullabies while they tantalize you with their delicious aroma. You set them aside for savoring. Finally, that moment comes when you give in and lose yourself in the best the bag has to offer.

Or, if you’re my Doodlebug, you just pick out the tastiest ones and let the other suckers have the dregs.

That’s my girl. She’s not one to mince words or stand politely aside when there’s something she wants. She’s more of a “shoot first and ask questions later” type. And I love every delicious, delirious moment of it!

This holiday, one of the greatest gifts I received was a chance to spend some time with this beautiful girlie. She is definitely a stand-out in the whole handful of us “nuts”. She’s always been an observant little one, but she has lately sprouted into a precocious pistachio all by herself. She reminds me of Shirley Temple in the way she often spouts off in the vein of “from the mouths of babes”-type observations.

We knew we had a special kiddo with this one. When we started our family together, my wife and I had a pair of “only-children”, and weren’t planning on having more. But life happens, and when Doodlebug came along, she became our third “only-child”. But really, she’s the sparkling ball of glitter-glue that holds us together.

Like many little girls this age, she's in love with princesses, too. Oh, and she likes Super Hero Squad. She's a Ninjago freak, and she loves Barbies. She says what she hears (we're hoping she doesn't say 'freakin' too much, or worse!). I don’t know what we’d do without her. Although we might have some quiet, I don’t think we’d find peace to match. Even in the midst of familial whirlwinds, fits of crying and fits of laughter, her presence brings a light of love to the room. We just couldn’t get along without her smile, her spirit, or her sweet disposition.

So, I love you, little Princess Pistachio. I love you so. Keep on being the precocious, stubborn, and sweet little thing you are - because you’re good at it!

With Love,

Daddy

They're never too old

Every year on this day, a line from a song plays over and over in my head.  "She's coming home this Christmas day...". 

It's the day that my oldest baby girl comes home to spend Christmas with me.  Of course, it also happens to be one of the snowiest days of the early winter and brings the longest 5-7 hours of worry of the entire year.  Aren't you supposed to be done with the stress and the worrying after they turn 18 and move out?

Somehow, Old Man Winter knows that my baby is driving across Wyoming and TWO mountain passes and gives us a whopper of a snowstorm.  He even decided that he should start the storm in the middle of the night so that, as soon as Baby Boo woke me up at 6 am, I could look out the window and start to worry about her travelling in the snow, in Wyoming, in the middle of winter. 

I could have handled the worry that always accompanies this day, had I not read "Chain Laws in effect from the Utah border to Rock Springs" on Facebook. I don't know how I ever survived before the days of the internet, road sensors, and cameras taking pictures of road conditions every 2 minutes.  My entire morning has been spent pressing CTRL+R to refresh the page. 

She sends me the standard Wyoming traveling updates:
  "Leaving Laramie"
  "Rawlins :-)"
  "Rock Springs"
  "Almost to the Sisters"

This is how we measure time and distance in Wyoming.  Nobody really cares about how many actual miles there are between towns.  We know it takes an hour and a half and when you make it to Rawlins, you've passed Elk Mountain safely.  We know it takes an hour and a half and when you make it to Rock Springs, you've passed the dreariest stretch of I-80 and blowing snow and head winds. We know that it takes an hour and when you are almost to the Sisters, you have 30 minutes and your baby will be home. 

Of course, it also means that you pray the snow plows and semis have had time to clear up the roads and that they haven't decided to close the last mountain pass before she is home.  You pray that everyone else out there remembers how to drive over mountains on wet and slick roads.

But that moment...

The one when you hear the door open 5 hours after the first message...

She's walking in and the world is right again.

The Last Shall Be First

Dear Baby Boo,

Yes, I'm writing to you first. You're my only son, my youngest child, and are currently experiencing your toddler years in their fullest. I can't believe how much you grow every day, how much you love your family, and what a true blessing you are to us all!

From the first day, you were so obviously the puzzle piece that completed our family portrait. You are the epitome of a bouncing baby boy! In a family full of girls, and with parents that have spent countless hours perfecting (pshya, right) the art of raising little ladies, your arrival heralded a change in the whole dynamic. We have bonded ever closer, marveling over you and watching you grow every day.

Until you came along, we were a family full of ‘only children’. With Tibug grown and on her own, Rosie approaching her tween years (and visiting every few weeks), and Doodlebug developing into a sweet and sassy preschooler, we had our hands full of kids at all different stages of development. Not that much has changed, except now we get the joy of raising two kids full time. Actually, I call it 3.5 full-time kids, when you throw in Tibug’s beau, considering how often they come to see you. There is just something magical that you bring to the mix that seems to permeate the family – a joyful, loving smile and a sense of wonder that we all need reminded of at times.

Not that all of this growth is easy. In fact, it is often painful – both literally and figuratively, sometimes especially so to your sister’s hair. And that’s where the title of this blog comes from, a saying that your grandparents used with your mother and her siblings. When things don’t go your way, and you can’t tell us what you want, you’ll often pull Doodlebug’s hair to get the world to stop and turn its attention toward you. And while we know many ways to get girls to work through problems and have helped them with many frustrations, this behavior has really taken us aback. You don’t seem to care if you’re put on the rug, get a little slap on the hand, or really anything (although the threat of being put in the crib DOES seem to work) – so the best we can come up with is to have you “Give your sister a kiss and tell her you love her.”

And, really, it’s good advice for all of us.

The love of family is a binding force in our lives, and you remind us every day, in new ways, why this is so.

Little dude, I’m so proud of you that I can’t even explain it in words. So I’ll just leave off with using the recommendation above, and give you this –

XXX,

Daddy

When snow isn't bad

Let me preface by saying I hate snow. Right about the first through the last storm of the year, I question my own sanity at living here.  It's winter 8 months out of the year, for hell's sake!  Waking up to 2 feet of snow this morning started me off a bit cranky.  A couple of cups of coffee and an hour of quiet time at least make me able to ignore the windows.

Yet, something changed when I went in to wake Doodlebug up because today is Tuesday, mama.  On Tuesday, we have preschool.  Little Missy woke up and her eyes grew so very large as she looked out the window.  "Look, mama, it's snowing.  Can you believe it? I watched it snow yesterday night and I can go out and play in the snow, mama.  Can you believe it?"  It's pretty hard to be irritated when you are graced by those shining eyes and beautiful smile.  Yet I persisted, damn it!  I hate the snow.

It is also impossible for almost two year old boys to sleep through such excitement and soon Baby Boo had crawled up the ladder into his sister's bed so they could both look out the window.  Man, that boy's smile could melt the Grinch's heart faster than any little Who can.  They could  not have been any happier at that moment...until I told them Daddy was out snow-blowing the sidewalk and if we went into the living room they might be able to see him.  With four little legs moving as fast as they could, we found our way to the living room.  Squeals of delight filled my ears as they pushed up the blinds and saw Daddy.  With snow stuck to his beard, hat, coat and gloves, he was more amazing to them than any prince on the big screen.  For the next 15 minutes there was racing back and forth between the bedroom and the living room to find Daddy out the window.  Then it happened, Doodlebug tried to walk away and Baby Boo grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the window.  He wanted to watch for Daddy, but only with her watching too.  Life is good when you have your big sister by your side. My heart really did melt at that moment. There was no hair pulling, no pushing, no whining and no squealing.  Just a little brother and a big sister watching for Daddy.  I can still see two little bodies facing the window holding hands.  I hope I never forget that image. Snow isn't so bad, after all.

My day somehow changed and didn't seem like the drudgery that I often feel during the winter.  I still put on my boots and my hoodie and my coat and my gloves to take Doodlebug to preschool, but a new thought started niggling inside my head. We could go out and play in the snow, huh, mama? 

After naps and rests, we suited up.  We even got 10 fingers into 9 holes in Doodlebug's gloves. (I must have a serious discussion with whoever made gloves instead of mittens for 4-year olds...this is a bad idea!)  The snow was all soft and powdery and completely terrible for building snow forts.  We (mostly that means I) persisted and started a snow fort. I was completely terrified of the little ones trying to climb over the edges.  Not that they might get hurt, no, no, no.  The soft snow wouldn't pack down and even a little of their weight would make my walls look like Stonehenge. 

Daddy soon joined me in shoveling snow onto my walls while Doodlebug crawled around "building" her princess room next to my snow fort.  Baby Boo had Auntie Em pulling him around on the sled like the king of the Mardi Gras parade.  Finally, Daddy decided that the cheeks and noses were red enough and it was time to go in.  I'm not entirely certain who was more disappointed, me or the kids.  With promises of going back out tomorrow, we trudged into the warm, cozy house and de-bundled. All toes were warm and fingers were only a little cold.  (I must have a discussion with the whoever made those boots, they ROCK!)

Who'd a thunk? I guess there are times when snow isn't bad.

 

A late beginning

I supposed this encapsulates the majority of my life.  I have lots of beginnings, but they're mostly late.  I don't want to procrastinate, but there you have it, late beginnings.  I've been meaning to do this for a couple of years but only just got started five days ago.

I would like to say "I don't know how time got away from me. How could it take five days to start a blog?", but I know the truth.  I "procrastinate" because every time I sat down to set up the blog or write, something happened that drew me away.  Oh yeah, I don't know what to call this blog, that took 2 days for us to decide. Then there are a plethora of issues that crop up as soon as I sit down.  Tibug texts me, Doodlebug needs help going potty, Baby Boo is into..."No, no, no, baby.  Give me the knife you climbed onto the counter to get"...well, he's into everything.  Finally kids' bedtime rolls around (my favorite time of the day) and I am too pooped to do more than sit and watch dust lint floating around the room. It's curious just how interesting dust lint can be.

Despite the job, the game store, dinner, preschool, shopping, tiredness, and the countless excursions to get Baby Boo out of everything, I have it good.  Not all of the time, mind you, but I still have it good.  That's what I want from this blog...to write down the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful so that when my kids are at their wit's end with their kids and jobs and life, they can see that I was there once upon a time.  I want to express  my thoughts and feelings that I keep forgetting to tell them.  I want my Tibug, my Rosie, my Doodlebug, and my Baby Boo to feel how special and how crazy they were when none of us remember the little things.  I hope I can capture the feelings I have as I watch them grow.  (I know, I know, I'm late beginning this since Tibug is 24, Rosie is 11, Doodlebug is 4 and Baby Boo is 21 months)

One day, (HA, can you see the procrastination coming on like a freight train?) I plan to re-type and/or scan the amazing letter my mom sent me last Friday.  She hand wrote a letter to tell me her memories of my birth and childhood.  That baby was 12 pages long and I started crying as soon as I saw her handwriting.  I didn't stop crying until I finished reading and rushed out the door.  It was really special to read and I decided that I wanted my kids to have that. So here we are...a late beginning...