My First Christmas

Dear Meemaw and Grampa,

Mama is so busy right now, so I thought I would help her out by writing you about Christmas.

As you know, this was my first Christmas.  At first I didn't understand what the big deal was. Mama was in the kitchen a lot more and she was busy putting things in her mouth.  The big kids were too and I kept wanting some, but no one would give me anything but puffs. Even though I like those, the brown things looked yummier.

One day Mama and the kids put a lot of things on plates and then we had to drive all over the place (I didn't like that part).  They said something about taking goodies to our neighbors and friends.  Whatever goodies are.

You know my Dad? That hairy guy? Well, he was around a lot more than normal.  Mama seemed really happy about that, but I wasn't. It just means that he holds me more and he isn't soft like Mama and doesn't give me milk, and he is hairy.

On Christmas Eve I was pretty cranky. My mouth hurts so bad and my ears too. So Mama and Daddy keep giving me this stuff in a squirter thing. It tastes okay, but I like to chew on the squirter thing more.

Anyway, on Christmas Eve, I woke up and Mama was gone. I was NOT happy about that. She came back home all sweaty and said something about running, and feeling good, and whatever. I just wanted some boob, so I cried until she gave it to me.  Then we went to a party where everyone ate a lot of food that I couldn't have. I played with my friend Landon, then decided there was too much going on, so I cried until Mama gave me milkers. Then I fell asleep and it was great.

The rest of the day was fun. We opened presents (I loved the wrapping paper), and played games. Our favorite present was the big swing set from Mama and Daddy and you guys. Mom says it will be great after Daddy puts it together and I can swing with my sisters and brother.

On Christmas Eve night we did the Nativity. Mama told us that she did this every year when she was little and that she was always Mary. Amelia and Libby got into a big fight about who was going to be Mary. Amelia ended up being the Angel and Libby was Mary -- only because Mom and Dad promised we could do it again the next night and Amelia could be Mary then.  But, when it was time to do it on Christmas night, guess who threw a fit? Yep, Libby.  Girls. I don't understand them. I know when I am big enough to be someone Seth and I won't fight over who gets to be Joseph. If I knew how to roll my eyes, I would do it right now.

Christmas morning came and while I was sleeping everyone else opened presents. I got two cool wooden toys and a couple books.  But, my favorite toy was a toothbrush. I love to chew on it. After Church, Mama and I had a good nap while Daddy and Seth played Wii and the girls played with their new ponies and art supplies.

We had a really good Christmas. I liked seeing you on the computer that day. It always makes me laugh.

Mama says she misses you but knows you are doing the Lord's work, so it is okay.  I can't wait to get to see you again.

Love you lots,

Elliott

Bonds

Here Amelia, eat this. She looks at him suspiciously, then looks at what is in his hand. Two small rounds of bread with chocolate chips in between. A chocolate chip sandwich!

Reminds me of the concotions I would make for my little brother. Except mine weren't nearly as delicious (or edible). 

Mine consisted of prune juice, sugar, water, chocolate syrup, sprite, salt, pepper and anything else we could find in the cupboard. And he would drink it. Every bit. And love it.

Want to play Beauty Shop? I will let you do my hair and make up this time, I promise. I doll him up to look like the little sister I always wanted. When it is his turn to make me beautiful, I look at him, laugh and run outside. I jump in the pool before he has a chance to get me.

My little brother. I wasn't very nice to him. In fact quite often I was down right mean. That is what I knew though. 

My brothers and sister weren't nice to me, so I thought that was how a younger sibling was supposed to be treated.

He was so patient with me. Never hit me back, rarely yelled back. The angriest he got was when he stuck a pencil in my butt cheek in Jr. High (I still have a blue mark on my bum!).

This little boy, who eventually became one of my favorite people. He can make me laugh harder than anyone else. 

He is gentle and kind and hilarious. He is perpetually late and a bit of a flake, but I love him. My boy.

I think of my little brother and I pray my children can have relationships with each other like I have with him.

Typically when my kids want to experiment in the kitchen I say no. I don't want to waste ingredients and I don't want a mess to clean up. But they are making memories. They are building bonds and that is something I don't want to interrupt.

Running

I dreaded the mile run in elementary school.  I was never good at it, and always one of the last kids to finish.  It was as if my lungs and my legs just couldn't coordinate enough to let me go faster.

Junior High came and I decided to join the track team.  I found I was really good at hurdles and sprints.  Let me go a short distance really fast and I was great.  But, I preferred swimming and diving, so when high school came, I quit track and followed my true love, the water.

It has been 21 years since I have run. Sure, I have chased my kids and I have tried to do the couch to 5K several times, but I have never really stuck with it and ran.

That is changing.  Starting today, I am in training for the Zooma 1/2 marathon.  Yes folks, you read that right. I am going to run 13.1 miles on March 31.

Zooma has a new program this year, the Texas Girlfriend's Program.  They took 15 women who don't run, haven't ever run, used to run but haven't in a long time, and paired them with a mentor. Their mentor is someone who knows a thing or two about running and will help them achieve this lofty goal.

For the next 15 weeks I will be running, strengthening, and stretching my physical as well as my emotional muscles.  I know that much of my training will be mental. I tend to talk myself out of things before I even give it a good chance.

I can do this though. I am strong. I have had 4 babies AT HOME, I can run a half marathon, right?

Today is day 1. The biggest hurdle is going to be getting out the door. My plan was to take the baby with me and hit the trail while the kids were at the YMCA child care center.  Well, it is cold and rainy today, so I have to come up with plan B. Treadmill? Running on sidewalks/street? I am not sure yet.  This is all part of the adventure.  

Ready or not, here I go.

Sometimes

Sometimes you get a picture that so accurately depicts each of your childrens' personalities it would be a crime not to share it.

This is one of those times.

Happy Sunday friends!

She is 9.

Finishing up my trip at Target I heard a Mother say, "Greta, Emma, come over here".  As I always do, I turned to see how old this Emma was.  My eyes met those of a little girl, brown hair, blue eyes.  I asked how old she was. Her Mom responded she just turned 9.  My heart sunk a little.  I put on the smile I always do.  The one that is intended to be sure no one feels bad by what I am about to say.  I have an Emma also.  She would be 9 tomorrow but passed away as a baby.  Her Mother tears up.  I look into these beautiful blue eyes and tell her she is very special.  She has a very special name.  Thank you, her Mother mouths to me.

I walk away and cry.

I miss her so much it hurts. I miss her so much I want to punch things and cry, and eat away my pain.  I want to write over and over how desperately I wish she were here, as if my words could bring her back.  As if my tears and words could erase the last 8 years I have lived without her.  I don't want her here as a baby. I want her here as an almost 9 year old.

I want to know what a sassy 3 year old Emma would have been like.  I want to know what she would have worn her first day of Kindergarten.  I want to know if she would be as boy crazy as her little sister.  I want to know what music she would like, what movies, what sports, what toys.

I wandered the aisles of Walmart recently searching for something a 9 year old girl would like.  Up to this point I have felt pretty confident in buying her gifts.  First baby toys, then toddler, then preschool.  Next we entered the school age phase; dolls, barbies, books, board games.  Now though she is entering the tweens.  What to buy for this little girl who is not a little girl and not a teenager yet?  I called my dear friend Nicole to ask what her daughter (who is 3 weeks older than Emma and is Seth's best friend) would like.  She didn't answer so I was left to my own devices.

As I searched the aisles, I came upon the craft section.  Make your own jewelry kit, make your own cards and stamp kit.  Yes. Yes, that is what she would like.

I wish I knew. I wish she were here. I wish I could have the struggle of separating Christmas and her birthday.  I wish I had the challenge of making sure her day was so special and not just another day in the hubub before Christmas.  I wish, i wish, i wish.

My darling Emma....

Happy birthday baby girl.  9 years ago today you made your entrance into the world.  You were so determined to come feet first and have given me my Emma tattoo - my c-section scar.  You taught me so much about being a Mother, balancing Motherhood and being a wife, about myself.  You helped me to realize I am stronger than I ever thought possible.  I credit you for me finding my voice in writing.  It is through your life and death that I have learned to love your siblings so fiercely and intensely.

I miss you so much.  I wish you could blow out the candles today.  I wish I could know your mischievous side, your sweet side, your not so nice side...I wish I could know you.

You are my first, you are always in my heart, you are my special Angel and I love you more than anyone could ever understand.

I love you a million times over. You are my special Angel.

Love,
Mama

Just Writing

He is gone this week.  I always hate when he travels. Dishes, laundry, discipline, bedtime, school drop off, dinner, clean up, baths, trash...every thing falls on me.

He does so much.  I know and appreciate it when he is here.  When he is gone it is just so much more.

Bedtime was a battle last night. It always seems to be when I am doing it solo.  The balancing act of getting the baby and the 3 year old to bed at the same time.  I brush her teeth and read her stories while he gnaws at my shoulder and screams in my ear.

I tuck her in and assure her she doesn't have to sleep yet, just read some books in bed and I will come sing to you in a bit.  He is still screaming in my ear.

The big ones know what to do. Read some books, brush your teeth and Mama will tuck you in in a bit.

He fights going to sleep tonight. It is as if he has had just too much and his brain won't stop, he can't settle down. I know that feeling all too well.

We rock and sing. I hear the children playing and laughing. This irritates me because it means they are not settling down for the night and I have so much to do.  Cookies to make, dishes to wash, laundry to fold, and I still haven't showered for the day yet.

He finally succumbs to sleep and with the help of the heating pad warming his bed, I lay him down to slumber.  I pray it is for more than 3 hours.  Please give me 3 hours. Please.

The other 3 children are giggling and laughing and jumping on the bed. I break. I yell. They cry. I feel awful.  But I am so tired. Can't they see that?  Why can't they see how tired I am?  Oh yes, it is because they are 7, 5 and 3. They can't see past the end of their noses. I understand. I remember.

We snuggle, I sing. They snack, and finally sleep.

I go to make the cookies and I am out of sugar.  The baby wakes up.  It has been an hour and a half.  I sigh, pick him up, slip into bed and nurse him back to sleep.  I can make cookies tomorrow.  I can clean the kitchen tomorrow.

It is as if he knows I am in for a long night and need to rest now.  Maybe he knew his sister would be up all night with a tummy ache.  Maybe he knew I would sleep on pins and needles all night just waiting for the vomit to cover my bed.  Maybe he knew that, or maybe he just wanted to nurse.

Linking up with Heather and Just Write.

He's Getting Nothing for Christmas

What do you mean I don't get anything for Christmas????

It's not what you think. I love my baby, I really do.  Sure he doesn't like to sleep unless the boob is in his mouth, but what baby isn't like that?  Also he loves to scream at me, pull my hair and now bite me with his newly acquired tooth.

None of this means I love him any less or that he doesn't deserve presents in his stocking.  Oh wait, he doesn't have a stocking (yet).

When you're the youngest of 5, what toy could you possibly need? Seriously folks. We have had (or still have) just about every toy out there. He loves his Indestructibles Books, so he is getting 2 more of those, but that is it.

I am spending our Christmas money on the children who will appreciate (fingers crossed) the gifts they get and will remember this Christmas.

So, maybe I am a bit of a Scrooge, but my baby isn't getting any gifts this year.  And, I feel okay about that.

Do you buy gifts for your little babes? What are your favorite gifts for babies?

Parenting Advice is Like a Buffet

When I was pregnant with my first baby I really had no idea what I was doing.  By the time she was born, I had been an Aunt for 13 years and had 11 nieces and nephews.  But that second hand knowledge was nothing compared to what I needed to know for my child.

Everyone seemed to have an opinion on how to raise my baby.  Should I vaccinate or not?  Should I have a drug-free and medicinal birth?  Should I breastfeed or formula feed?  When should I start solid foods?  What kinds of baby shampoo should I use?  What is the best carseat/stroller combo? The list went on and on (and on…).

We decided on natural childbirth in a hospital with a midwife.  This was the best choice for us.  However, I heard constantly from those I worked with that it was not a great choice.  That there were drugs, I should use them.  That I wouldn’t be able to handle the pain.  That I shouldn’t try to be a hero.

When my baby was found to be footling breech, again I got advice from everyone about how to turn her, how a c-section wasn’t “that bad”, and whether I should try to turn her or not.

I remember in our childbirth classes the teacher telling us this.  When you are pregnant and a new parent you will get a lot of advice.  You will hear a lot of things that have worked for others and they will be really passionate about what they believe in.  Listen to everything.  Mull it over and like a great buffet table set with lots of different foods, choose the ones that seem best for you.

In my 9 years of parenting, this is what has worked.  As I come upon challenges with my children, I look for advice and I get a lot of unsolicited advice.  I ask other parents, read blogs and websites, take what I want and leave the rest.

There are so many opinions out there about everything.  There is no way I could implement every single thing that every person tells me to do.  I rely on my gut and do what is best for my family. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t and I have to try something different. But that is kind of what parenting is all about isn’t it?

Perfect

I had a moment in my life that was perfect.  I had a time when I was completely happy.  I had a time when I held everything I ever wanted in my hands.

My family was whole and complete.  Those I loved so deeply were close.  I held my baby in my arms, nursed her at my breast, slept with her by my side.  I envisioned her growing up, becoming a big sister and adding more babies to our family.

I made her a stocking on her 2nd birthday.  She had been gone for over a year.

Seth asked me the other day why Santa brings her gifts if she is dead.  I told him she doesn't get gifts from Santa.  "So why does she have a stocking then?".

I teared up.  Jeremy answered, "because she is part of our family".

I miss that moment when my life was perfect. When I had everything I ever wanted.  When I had the most important thing of all...hope.

I miss that time when I held everything in my hands.  Now, no matter what I hold, it will never be enough.  It will never be her.

Christmas Traditions

When I was young, Christmas was so magical.  I loved the lights on the tree, the visits with Santa, the snow falling, the fires in the fireplace.  Listening to John Denver and The Muppets sing The 12 Days of Christmas on the record player (I was always Miss Piggie in my imagination...bah dum dum dum) and sneaking molasses candy wrapped in wax paper.

I loved when my Grandparents would come to visit and the packages beneath the tree would triple.  Counting each gift to be sure that I had as many as my brothers and sister.  Wondering what each package held and what was on Santa's Sleigh.

Christmas Eve was a big night at my house.  My Grandparents and often Great-Grandmother would come to visit.  With 5 children and 5 adults opening gifts, we started on Christmas Eve.  We would first act out the Nativity, I was usually Mary as my older sister graciously would be the Angel.  After singing and acting out the Nativity, we would excitedly take our seats in the family room.

What's that? Mary didn't lift up her nightgown and have Baby Jesus fall out?

With the fire blazing, one lucky kiddo got to be "Santa" and pass out the gifts.  We would then take turns opening presents, youngest to oldest, one at a time.  My oldest brother would somehow always end up squirreling away gifts so he always had more to open at the end because he skipped his turns.  We loved opening our treasures of clothes (lots handmade by Grandma), toys, gadgets and candies.

Exhausted, we would stumble to bed, sometimes in our own beds but more often than not, we would all cram into one room and whisper the night away.  I remember my older sister and brother, who always got to stay up later, coming in and getting us to play the quiet game so we could fall asleep.

Christmas morning would come and my little brother and I were inevitably the first ones up.  We would run into the living room and see the tree all lit up with new gifts under it's boughs.  We would then run into my parent's room and tell them excitedly that Santa had come.  My Mom would get up (the only time of the year she got up before the sun) and with her Tab in hand, get her cinnamon rolls in the oven.

Santa always hid stockings at our house, so while we waited for the big kids to get up, we two little ones would search for our stockings.  When everyone was awake we would open our stockings and gifts from Santa (and Mrs. Claus).  Then we would feast on homemade cinnamon rolls, Christmas morning casserole and wassail left over from the night before.

Christmas was always so magic for me. Steeped in tradition, I couldn't imagine a Christmas in a different way.  Anything not happening the way I knew it and grew up with just wasn't right.

When Jeremy and I got married I insisted we keep things the way my family had always done them.  He couldn't remember any traditions his family had, so I just instituted mine.  In the last 10 years our Christmas traditions have morphed and changed and I am sure they will continue to do so as the years go by.  Some of the traditions of my childhood we have kept (smoked turkey and wassail on Christmas Eve as well as doing the Nativity), others we have changed.

We are helping our children make their own memories, their own traditions that they will then want to pass down to their children.  I just hope they remember their Christmases with as much joy as I do.

What are some of your Christmas traditions? How have they changed from when you were a child to now?

 

This is my final post in a series of posts for Hallmark.  I have been helping them celebrate and get the word out about their campaign, Life is a Special Occasion for the last few months.  I have been so honored to have been asked to do this for them, and have truly loved every writing prompt they have given me.

Be sure to sign up for their emails to get great deals and fabulous ideas for crafts, activities and ways to celebrate the special everyday moments in your life.
While I was compensated for this post, the words are all mine and can not be bought.