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...