Emily Lenz is Jacelyn's first friend. She was a born a week - to the day! - before Jacelyn. She was four yesterday - I'm off by a day, sorry. Nicole, Emmy's mommy, is me if I lived better and didn't use so much foul language. She is me with better morals, me if I wasn't so lazy. Nicole is my soul sister - we were that rarity of rarities - two mommies who were very different people but had similar, almost identical, parenting ideas. We breastfed, we made our own baby food, talked smack about our husbands, sympathized and cajoled each other about our rotten children. :-)
I miss her dearly for many, many reasons, and if I can ever formulate a good enough excuse I am so going up to visit her. But I digress; I got off subject. Happy Birthday, Emmy! We miss you!
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
My daughter is so cool.....
Sunday was magical, really. It had its' less than splendid moments, just like any other day, but there were lots of downright magical moments:
- Brian's mother bought Jacelyn a stuffed mop puppy and a stuffed bunny in a little gingham dress. I asked her what she was going to name her two new friends. Her response? The puppy's name is 'Meenka' and the bunny's name is 'Geena' (not with a 'geometry' sounding G, with a 'God' sounding G). I was thrilled - no "Fluffy" or "Tiffany" names from my baby, no sir. To me, that signified great imagination.
- We were in the bathroom at Sear's. I was waiting for her to wrap up the business that she was attending to, and was getting annoyed. We had been in the bathroom for going on ten minutes, and she had spent the last five telling the same knock-knock joke over and over (it ended, every time, in 'Jacelyn Banana')at top speed at the top of her lungs. I was getting annoyed, in all honesty, so I stopped responding to the jokes. Finally, she changed the joke and surprised me by making me laugh out loud:
Her: Knock-knock, mommy
Me: Who's there?
Her: Jacelyn
Me: Jacelyn who?
Her: Jacelyn McSaltnPepper
I don't know why, but this cracked me up.
- We bought some flower seeds, and decided to plant them Sunday afternoon. I did the heavy stuff - pulling up the vegetation, moving around soil, putting down top soil, all that stuff. I had worked up a sweat and a backache by the time we were ready to put the seeds in the ground. I was sitting there watching her plant stuff, my hand full of seeds, feeling sweaty and kind of cranky. I happened to look over at Jacelyn and she was kissing every seed before she planted it. Is that not the sweetest thing in the world? It made me tear up, a little, and greatly improved my mood.
We stayed outside all afternoon. We blew bubbles, and then popped them (she did most of that, but I did venture from my lawn chair occassionally to assist). We attempted
a clumsy form of some tennis-like game with an egg-shaped, fabric covered ball and two paddles, but neither of us could really get that going, so we abandoned it in favor of more bubbles and some t-ball. She's pretty good; my stats aren't so hot. I end up whacking the tee into pieces half the time. There was some wagon riding, until a bug crawled into the wagon. She attempted to fix her power wheel (which is suffering from no more than a dead battery) with her toy weedwhacker, a feat which I greatly enjoyed watching. All in all, I would call it a rousing success. I hope everyone's Easter was equally enchanting.
- Brian's mother bought Jacelyn a stuffed mop puppy and a stuffed bunny in a little gingham dress. I asked her what she was going to name her two new friends. Her response? The puppy's name is 'Meenka' and the bunny's name is 'Geena' (not with a 'geometry' sounding G, with a 'God' sounding G). I was thrilled - no "Fluffy" or "Tiffany" names from my baby, no sir. To me, that signified great imagination.
- We were in the bathroom at Sear's. I was waiting for her to wrap up the business that she was attending to, and was getting annoyed. We had been in the bathroom for going on ten minutes, and she had spent the last five telling the same knock-knock joke over and over (it ended, every time, in 'Jacelyn Banana')at top speed at the top of her lungs. I was getting annoyed, in all honesty, so I stopped responding to the jokes. Finally, she changed the joke and surprised me by making me laugh out loud:
Her: Knock-knock, mommy
Me: Who's there?
Her: Jacelyn
Me: Jacelyn who?
Her: Jacelyn McSaltnPepper
I don't know why, but this cracked me up.
- We bought some flower seeds, and decided to plant them Sunday afternoon. I did the heavy stuff - pulling up the vegetation, moving around soil, putting down top soil, all that stuff. I had worked up a sweat and a backache by the time we were ready to put the seeds in the ground. I was sitting there watching her plant stuff, my hand full of seeds, feeling sweaty and kind of cranky. I happened to look over at Jacelyn and she was kissing every seed before she planted it. Is that not the sweetest thing in the world? It made me tear up, a little, and greatly improved my mood.
We stayed outside all afternoon. We blew bubbles, and then popped them (she did most of that, but I did venture from my lawn chair occassionally to assist). We attempted
a clumsy form of some tennis-like game with an egg-shaped, fabric covered ball and two paddles, but neither of us could really get that going, so we abandoned it in favor of more bubbles and some t-ball. She's pretty good; my stats aren't so hot. I end up whacking the tee into pieces half the time. There was some wagon riding, until a bug crawled into the wagon. She attempted to fix her power wheel (which is suffering from no more than a dead battery) with her toy weedwhacker, a feat which I greatly enjoyed watching. All in all, I would call it a rousing success. I hope everyone's Easter was equally enchanting.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
It's freaking spring, ok
A little template change, commemorating the change in seasons, and how it's already hot as blazes here. I also thought the change in template would make the blog a little easier on the eyes - particularly MY eyes, since there is something about the color blue on a computer screen that makes my eyes ache. Anything on a computer screen makes my eyes ache these days, though. I am not aging gracefully - I am clunking around in my late twenties, dispiritedly watching 30 looming in towards me. I know that I am not old, and I don't consider 30, 40, or 50 to be old (I shamefacedly confess that I do consider 65 or so to be kind of old - just kind of, but kind of old, nonetheless - sorry). But signs of my aging do bother me, from time to time. My eyesight is in the crapper. My hair has so much silver in it someone needs to stamp "sterling" on my forehead. I am happy that it is a bright, shiny silver - no dull gray for me, nosiree. But there's a lot of it. And time and gravity are taking their toll, and things are drooping.
But you know what? Screw it. It's freaking spring. Jacelyn and I have managed to get some sunflowers to sprout, and even grow a little. They aren't flowers yet or anything - I'm certain we'll do something to kill them off long before they have the chance to become actual flowers, but they are little sprouts that have grown fairly tall. Plants are blooming, birds are singing, we're surrounded by beauty, and I'm just going to enjoy life. Ha! I sounded like an optimist for a second there, didn't I? Don't be fooled or concerned; I am still the deeply negative person you all might know a little and that some love. There's a lot of stress to be found inside; with this weather, and a almost-four year old to show you just how fun it can be, outside is pretty nice. So if you need me, that's where I'll be. Happy Easter.
But you know what? Screw it. It's freaking spring. Jacelyn and I have managed to get some sunflowers to sprout, and even grow a little. They aren't flowers yet or anything - I'm certain we'll do something to kill them off long before they have the chance to become actual flowers, but they are little sprouts that have grown fairly tall. Plants are blooming, birds are singing, we're surrounded by beauty, and I'm just going to enjoy life. Ha! I sounded like an optimist for a second there, didn't I? Don't be fooled or concerned; I am still the deeply negative person you all might know a little and that some love. There's a lot of stress to be found inside; with this weather, and a almost-four year old to show you just how fun it can be, outside is pretty nice. So if you need me, that's where I'll be. Happy Easter.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Welcome, Karma
Not the concept, the infant. My friend Leeann delivered her baby daughter, whom she named 'Karma', yesterday. Sweet little Karma was born six weeks before her due date, has a cleft palate, small lungs, some potential kidney problems, and some issues with bone development in her legs and hips. She is breathing on her own, and is breathtakingly beautiful. She is most assuredly a very, very special little girl, and if you think of it, mention her in your prayers. Or, if you don't pray, think of her fondly and send her happy thoughts. Congratulations to Leeann and Karma, we love you both very much.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
A Post-Script to Part 2
I am on a mission to rid my life of unnecessary clutter. I got rid of things in DROVES yesterday - purses, shoes, belts, clothing. Threw away things that needed to be thrown away. I went through my pitiful, neglected and unused craft stuff and tossed the things that were old. Then I came across my scrapbook and paused. That scrapbook dated back to a few months after Jacelyn was born, when I went through a crafting phase because I thought that was what I should do.
Mommies that I knew could churn out magazine-quality scrapbook pages with perfectly cropped and scalloped photos and whimsical, themed designs. I once spent three consecutive evenings staying up until 3am meticulously cutting and pasting Jacelyn's name (in my defense, it was her FULL name) and birth picture onto a scrapbook page. Three nights with my tongue poking out of the corner of my mouth, sweat beading on my forehead, wielding an exacto knife and alphabet stencil. Three nights, and on the third night, my task finally completed, I held out my finished product and to my dismay, it was crap. The letters of her name were at an angle, her picture was crooked, and the whole thing was just wonky. I promptly tossed the scrapbooking material (including the wonky page I had just created) into a rubbermaid tote and forgot about it, until last night.
I looked at my scrapbooking attempt and waited for the inevitable rush of guilt - if I really loved my daughter, I would commemorate her upbringing with a well documented, thoughtfully compiled scrapbook. And the guilt never came. I peeled the picture off and threw away not only the page I had made but also the entire blank scrapbook. I do not mourn my lack of creativity in the scrapbooking department - the photos of Jacelyn will not mean any less in a regular old photo album. They will not cease to make me smile because they are not surrounded by stickers and gingham patterned paper. She might not have a lovingly crafted scrapbook to remember her trips to the zoo, or the first time she went bowling, but she will remember the nights we sat on the front porch and looked up at the stars - that doesn't require a scrapbook page (although many of the talented scrapbookers I know could certainly make one of it, and it would be breathtaking). My point here is not to knock scrapbooking as an art - it's just to say that I am not good at scrapbooking, and therefore do not attempt it, and I'm ok with that. It doesn't make me a bad mother, or mean that I care less.
It's rare for me to not experience guilt over things like this, so I felt the need to document it. And one day, I promise, part three is coming.
Mommies that I knew could churn out magazine-quality scrapbook pages with perfectly cropped and scalloped photos and whimsical, themed designs. I once spent three consecutive evenings staying up until 3am meticulously cutting and pasting Jacelyn's name (in my defense, it was her FULL name) and birth picture onto a scrapbook page. Three nights with my tongue poking out of the corner of my mouth, sweat beading on my forehead, wielding an exacto knife and alphabet stencil. Three nights, and on the third night, my task finally completed, I held out my finished product and to my dismay, it was crap. The letters of her name were at an angle, her picture was crooked, and the whole thing was just wonky. I promptly tossed the scrapbooking material (including the wonky page I had just created) into a rubbermaid tote and forgot about it, until last night.
I looked at my scrapbooking attempt and waited for the inevitable rush of guilt - if I really loved my daughter, I would commemorate her upbringing with a well documented, thoughtfully compiled scrapbook. And the guilt never came. I peeled the picture off and threw away not only the page I had made but also the entire blank scrapbook. I do not mourn my lack of creativity in the scrapbooking department - the photos of Jacelyn will not mean any less in a regular old photo album. They will not cease to make me smile because they are not surrounded by stickers and gingham patterned paper. She might not have a lovingly crafted scrapbook to remember her trips to the zoo, or the first time she went bowling, but she will remember the nights we sat on the front porch and looked up at the stars - that doesn't require a scrapbook page (although many of the talented scrapbookers I know could certainly make one of it, and it would be breathtaking). My point here is not to knock scrapbooking as an art - it's just to say that I am not good at scrapbooking, and therefore do not attempt it, and I'm ok with that. It doesn't make me a bad mother, or mean that I care less.
It's rare for me to not experience guilt over things like this, so I felt the need to document it. And one day, I promise, part three is coming.
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