In Mourning

Last week, I said goodbye to a longtime companion. 

I had no idea how hard this would hit me.  I had actually gotten to the point where I was excited to get rid of it.  It's big.  It takes up a lot of space.  And my garage is plenty full with the bikes, scooters, helmets, skates, pads, and various toys of three children.  When pool season finally ended, I was anxious to clean out the space, and getting rid of the stroller that I hadn't used in probably a year seemed like an important first step.

I listed in on local Buy/Sell/Trade Facebook groups for what I thought was a steal and waited for a taker.  It took a couple of weeks, which surprised me, since this stroller is THE BEST, and I knew there had to be plenty of moms out there that dreamed of owning one without having to endure the $400+ price tag.  But I finally found a buyer- a new mom who wanted to get into running after having a baby four months ago.  Perfection.

We arranged a time for her to come and pick it up, and I happily showed her how to use it and wished her well as she loaded it up in her car and drove away

...and then I went back into the house and completely lost it.  I'm talking the ugly cry.  Loud sobs, tears pouring, breathless, splotchy face, swollen eyes kind of crying.  And for some reason, I never saw that coming.

This was our last stroller.  The last remnant of the baby years.  Having it folded up in the garage collecting cobwebs allowed me to hold onto the idea that yes, my children are growing, but Charlotte is still my baby.  Two of my kids may be big, but one is still little, right?  But the reality is she hadn't ridden in that stroller for many months, and she'd rather be running free with the other big kids.  She's no longer a baby.

Letting go of this stroller was also letting go of a time when I had the ability to run with it.  My knee has not been able to withstand the extra weight of pushing the stroller while I ran in quite some time.  Saying goodbye to the stroller was saying goodbye to a time when I could run double digit miles on a Saturday morning, when I could train for races, when I was gaining both speed and endurance instead of barely making it through a flat 3-miles, when I had the ability to run a 100 mile month.

Charlotte used to love riding in the stroller, carrying her little sippy cup and snack, covered with her blanket on cooler days, meeting up with our running friends.  She loved to feel the wind in her hair when we went fast.  I guess I should have expected this reaction.  Babies and running were the two biggest things in my life for quite awhile.  The stroller was the marriage of my two favorite things, so seeing it drive away in someone else's car wasn't easy.

A week later, and I still feel a little sadness about it, but the ugly cries have stopped.  As silly as it sounds, I think I legitimately needed to mourn this loss.  I will always have the fondest memories of that stroller, and the times that I spent running free with my tiniest running companion strapped snugly inside it.

    

The Disney Trip

Alright, guys.  I'll admit it.  I was kind of dreading our Disney trip.  I'm sure most of you think that's crazy.  What's not to love about the most magical place on Earth?

Well, for starters, our little family of five was joined by eight others.  Yes, there were thirteen of us.  My parents, J's parents, two sisters, a brother, a best friend, and a partridge in a pear tree.

The good news is that ours were the only kids, and we were all in agreement that they were the stars of the show.  We knew we wouldn't be able to stick together all the time, and that everyone should feel free to divide and conquer as they desired.  We'd meet up when we could, we'd separate as needed, and we'd all have a better time because of it.

Another worry was that my little family of five would all be sleeping in the same hotel room.  I don't have a great track record of actually sleeping when my kids are in the room.  Even as newborns, every tiny little noise they made woke me up.  Margot never even saw the inside of our bedroom- that tiny nugget went straight to her own crib in her own room, and we were all happier for it. 

But I came prepared to conquer sleep.  I brought a small table fan, a white noise machine, an eye mask, and a handful of foam ear plugs. 

Guys- it totally worked!  We were a big, happy group, everybody slept, and we had the BEST time.

Every day was a new park (including a mid-week sneak off to Universal Studios to see The Wizarding World of Harry Potter). We were up early to make breakfast reservations and catch Fast Passes, and we were up late for ice cream and after-dinner swims.  We rode all of the rides, saw all of the characters, ate ALL of the food, and had all of the fun.

Our kids are so lucky to have grandparents, aunts, uncles, and special friends that want to experience the magic with them.  I am feeling so thankful that not only were we able to give our kids this amazing trip, but that our big, giant, happily combined family was a part of it.

The Chaos Recedes

FYI, I'm done apologizing for my extended absences.  Mommin' is hard, yo, and finding the time to devote to this little corner of the interwebs is tough.  But here I am! 

Summer is over.  Let me say it a little louder for the people in the back.  SUMMER IS OVER!

Don't get me wrong- we had a really great summer.  I had a lot (and I mean A LOT) of quality time with the kiddos.  We started the season with a beach vacation, which was lovely as always.  And then we returned to FULL STEAM AHEAD.  We stayed crazy busy.

Gabe joined a summer swim team.  No one was more surprised than J and I were at his love for the sport.  G is not so much athletic, and he joined under protest.  I am not one to push my kids into athletics just for the sake of fulfilling some societal norm.  This was more a matter of needing something to fill up some time, meanwhile creating a stronger, safer swimmer.  Turns out, he took to swim team like a fish to water.  (Ha!)  Was he the fastest?  Not by a long shot.  But did he ask to compete in every stroke and relay?  Yep.  Did he become a stronger swimmer?  Unquestionably.  And now he wants to join a year round swim team.  If you need me, I'll be at the pool.

By the way, the pool is at my gym.  Seriously, put a bed in a corner there for me, as it is truly my second home.  I am in the process of adding further fitness certifications to my resume (yay BodyPump!) and even have my very own class on the schedule beginning next week.  I am really finding my groove here, and love that I have a little job outside of the house.

Margot and Charlotte, meanwhile, spent the summer living their best lives.  Swimming, movies, outings, sister sleepovers all the time.  The bond these two girls share is just amazing.  They continue to be best friends, no matter who they claim as a BFF.  Fingers crossed that the love doesn't run out before the teenage years, when the hormone flow in this house will be OUTTA CONTROL.

J and I ended the summer with a kid-free getaway to Jamaica.  We spent a glorious week doing not much more than eating, drinking, lounging by the beach or pool, and drinking some more.  It was the perfect way to top off a great summer, and the perfect way to avoid killing my children as my patience was officially running low.

And on that note- we all made it through the season ALIVE.  School is back in session, routine is re-established, and we're all happier for it.  Charlotte is thrilled to be in the "big kid class" (Pre-K), and Gabe and Margot are back on the bus to elementary school each morning.  They've both had a good first few days and were truly looking forward to school starting again.  We were all ready.

So here I am now, with a little bit more time on my hands (I finally finished watching the current seasons of The Handmaid's Tale and Big Little Lies this week), a long list of projects I want to accomplish around the house now that the kids are not constantly wrecking it, and at least a small part of each day enjoyed in silence.

Bliss.

   

Sweetness Amidst Chaos

It's May.  Spring is blooming, the hills are alive and all that jazz.

And this mama is exhausted.

This time of year is for the (baby) birds.  Every Sunday I sit down and look at the week ahead.  I can't really think about life in terms longer than one week.  And lately, every Sunday I've had to write about a bajillion things on my to-do list.

Kindergarten performances, Field Day, Mother's Day Tea, awards ceremonies, swim team meetings.

My head is spinning just thinking about all of the upcoming activities.  (Seriously, how do working parents manage this??)  To say that I have been busy is a bit of an understatement.  But we can check one year-end rite of passage off of the list- the dance recital.

I've written before about how much Charlotte loves to dance.  When she was still just a baby, she would lay on the floor outside the dance studio to try and get a peek at the dancers beneath the crack at the bottom of the door.  She was thrilled when it was finally her turn to enter the studio.  Since she was such a super fan, they let her begin when she was still two, even though she didn't quite meet the age requirement.  She hasn't looked back since.

But this year was her first recital year.  Patience is a virtue, and not one that preschoolers possess. She was measured for her costume in October.  It arrived in January, and she had to look at it hang in my closet for months before she was finally allowed to wear it.  She practiced her routine in class for weeks and weeks leading up to the big day.  And this past weekend it finally arrived.

Dress rehearsal was on Friday.  As much as she loves class each week, I honestly wasn't sure what to expect of her once she was on the big stage in front of a crowd.  But true to form, Charlotte took her dance very seriously.  She was the first person of the day to walk on to that stage.  She found her spot, stood in position, and smiled a big smile.  When I waved to her, she wouldn't even wave back- she's a professional!

Since hers was the first group of the day onto the stage, it took a few minutes before they could begin their dance.  There was lighting and sound to adjust, and tape on the stage to be corrected.  She stood there with her sweet smile the whole time, and charmed every single person in that auditorium.  People kept asking me if mine was the one in front, and telling me how adorable she was.

I didn't hate it.

She did as well as a first timer could possibly do in her performance, and couldn't wait until the next day for the real deal.

She woke up the next morning ready to get into her costume immediately.  Imagine her disappointment when I told her that her recital wasn't until 2:00, and that she should probably just put on some play clothes before then.

She managed to make it all the way to show time without losing her sweet mind.  The performance was just as adorable as it could be.  She came back out at the end for the finale with the biggest smiles- the joy on my tiny dancer's face was truly contagious.

It was true love.

Since the recital, I can count on two things every day.  She's going to ask for a bun with her costume hairpiece, and she's going to ask how long until her next recital.  She's a dancer, through and through.

     

    
  

Just One of Those Things

Apparently March 26th is Epilepsy Awareness Day.  (That's the day I started to write this post, but, you know, life.)

This isn't something I knew or ever really thought about, if I'm being truthful.  It's also the day that Gabe had an EEG, which came back abnormal.

Some of you have been in the loop a little bit, and many of you have heard bits and pieces, but here's the whole story for those of you who'd like to be updated.

About a month ago, we were in the middle of our normal morning routine.  I was busy feeding kids breakfast, packing lunch boxes, gathering backpacks, braiding hair- just like every busy morning in our house.  Gabe was standing next to me, telling me about how he hadn't slept well the night before.  I turned around to grab a folder from the counter, and as soon as I did I heard the unmistakable sound of a head smacking the hardwood floor.

I spun around to see how on earth someone had managed to fall so hard when seemingly nothing had happened, and Gabe was on the ground, having what I was sure was a seizure.

It wasn't the typical seizure that we're used to seeing on TV (or maybe some of you have been unfortunate enough to witness in real life).  There were no full body convulsions.  He didn't lose control of his bladder.  It wasn't violent.  But it was terrifying.  His eyes were rolled back.  His breathing was irregular.  And he was not conscious.

I immediately called 911 and started yelling for another adult in the house.  I'm not sure I was thinking very clearly.  I was definitely in a panic.  But I managed to get through the 911 call and wait for the paramedics to arrive.  Gabe had come to (the episode lasted for about a minute, I think, or maybe a little longer).  He was upset, unsure of what had just happened, and he had a whopper of a headache, but other than that, he seemed fine.

The paramedics arrived and checked him out.  Since we couldn't check all of the boxes that a typical seizure presents, they doubted that was what it was.  They thought it may have been blood sugar related, or that he may have just fainted.  In any case, they gave us the all clear to drive him to the ER on our own.

At the recommendation of the paramedics, we went to a smaller regional ER, rather than make the drive to the big hospital.  We were seen right away, and the testing commenced.  They checked everything we expected them to check.  There was an IV.  There was blood work.  There was a urinalysis.  There were x-rays and a CT scan.  And the doctor performed a basic neurological exam.

Everything looked good, including blood sugar.  The doctor there agreed that it probably wasn't a seizure, but what he called syncope, which is a fancy work for passing out.  There was one funny spot on the CT, which everyone agreed was most likely an "artifact" (kinda like a shadow created by the overlapping images of a CT), but to be absolutely sure, they transferred us to the big hospital for an MRI, which thankfully was also normal.

Gabe was a ROCK STAR through the entire day, which was very long and exhausting.  He only cried twice- once for just a minute when they put the IV in, and another time when they told him it would be a few hours before they came to get him for his MRI.  The poor kid just wanted to go home.

At the end of the day, we had no answers, but thankfully all of the biggest, scariest things had been ruled out.  There were no brain tumors.  No irregularities in his blood work that could signal a bigger issue.  We were sent on our way with instructions to follow up with a neurologist and our pediatrician.    

We had to wait two weeks to get into the pediatric neurologist, which was frustrating, but you gotta do what you gotta do, right?  Meeting with her went pretty much as I expected- we explained the scenario and she ordered an EEG.

Which brings us to March 26th.

They wanted Gabe to sleep during the EEG, so we were instructed to keep him up late and wake him up early.  He got a kick out of this.  He had a caffeinated soda after school, stayed up late with Aunt Laura to watch Ant Man and the Wasp, and J woke him up at 5:30 and took him to Waffle House for a big ole' carby breakfast.  Who wouldn't want a nap after all of that, amiright?

Well, I guess Gabe, that's who.

He didn't sleep.  The situation was just too weird.  He had 22 stickers on his head, he was in some sort of faux hotel room, his mom was sitting in a chair watching him, and lights were flashing in his face.  Thankfully, despite his lack of sleep, they were able to get a good reading and they sent us on our way with promises of someone calling in the next week or so with results.

When we got a phone call only a few short hours later, my mind immediately went to scary places.  Thankfully, the doctor fit us in the very next morning to explain what they had found.

Gabe's brain is pretty consistently "misfiring" in one area.  Thankfully, it is only in one section, and thankfully the spikes are very brief (as in about a fifth of a second).  These spikes aren't a big deal in isolation, but if they happen too often or too close together, a seizure is the result.

Specifically, a complex partial seizure, sometimes known as a focal onset impaired awareness seizure.  This means Gabe had a partial brain seizure, and this is why it didn't look like a normal full body seizure.

We learned that given his brain activity, Gabe is a kid who will be prone to seizures.  Things like a lack of sleep or the onset of a virus could trigger one.  At this point, there is about a 50/50 chance that he'll have another, most likely in the next six months.  If he has a second, the odds of a third and beyond get much higher.  We will discuss preventative medication at that point.  There is also a chance that he'll never have another seizure as long as he lives (we're hoping for that option).  If he does have another, it will be fine.  There are no long term affects on the brain. 

No one can really explain why these spikes are occurring, but the hope is that it's just due to brain development, and that he may one day simply outgrow them.

So now we wait.  We are trying to find a balance between letting him be a kid and live his life, and not letting him wear himself out to the point of exhaustion.  I am trying not to panic when he coughs or gets a weird look on his face.  I am trying not to constantly feel his forehead for a sign of a fever.  We are definitely more concerned about this than he is- he just says he hopes that if there's a next time, he's standing on the carpet with no toys around.

Seriously, this kid is awesome.

In the moment, this was beyond terrifying.  But in the end, it's just one of those things.

Happy Birthday Jason!

I've posted before about how awesome my wonderful husband is.  Anniversaries, Valentine's Days, birthdays.  I could gush on and on about how amazing he is on this, (two days past) his birthday.  But instead, I'll share a story about how we celebrated.

J is low-key.  Chill.  He didn't want a big to-do.  We just hoped for beautiful weather- which we got.  We wanted to relax and drink beer on a patio- which we did.  The rest of the story, I'm not sure I could make up if I tried.

We arrived at one of our local breweries in the late afternoon, and hit the jackpot right away with a large table to surround with a few friends.  Our server came over to take our beer order.  Any Parks & Rec fans out there?  This guy was pretty much Orin.  After he left to get our drinks, J said "He's high right now!"  Totally deadpan.  We weren't sure if he had any idea what was going on around him.  But surprisingly, we did get our drinks and appetizers without any trouble.

A few friends arrived, and we spent a couple of hours hanging out, drinking beer, chatting, and relaxing in the sunshine.  It was lovely.

Then we got hungry for dinner.  And that's when things started to go downhill.

Orin (I don't know his real name, so I'm going with Orin) came and took our order.  A few minutes later he came back and told us that the kitchen was really backed up, and that he was going to have to wait ten minutes before he put our order in.  Okay, no big deal.

An HOUR later, he came back over, and we found out that our order had not yet been put into the kitchen.

Apparently, some major shit was going down in there.

A manager came over and apologized, telling us that she was helping out in the kitchen, and that food was starting to come out, but that it would be at least another 40 minutes before they made it to our ticket.  (And apparently my sister overheard this manager yelling at Orin, telling him that he was supposed to tell us it would be an hour before he could put our order in, not ten minutes.  Yikes.)  Everything we wanted to drink in the meantime was on her.

We were relaxed about it- luckily J had already had a few and no longer had any cares in the world, otherwise I can't imagine he would have been so pleasant about it.  Also, in lieu of sending him a beer, my sister had sent him a pint of bacon earlier in the day, so he wasn't hangry like I was.

I decided I was fine with the delay.  And this is only because I walked a few shops down and bought one slice of pizza to hold me over.  Because isn't it totally normal to have to leave one restaurant to buy food at another, just so that your stomach doesn't start digesting itself before the first restaurant brings you your dinner??

When I returned, the table was still in jolly spirits, waiting on our food.  We may have been the only jolly table, though.  The tables around us were dropping like flies.  Families with kids, groups of twenty-somethings, and everyone in between started deciding that waiting two hours for a mediocre meal just wasn't worth it.  They were abandoning ship without having eaten.

Not long after this, food FINALLY started coming out of the kitchen.

I know this because Orin came over to our table with  a chicken sandwich and fries.

"I know this isn't the chicken wrap that you ordered, but it's chicken.  I figured you'd just want some food.  I won't charge you for it."  And he set the plate down in front of me.

Weird!  But hey, we're all hungry here.  We'll take it.

Shortly thereafter, another server came over with a tray of food...that we hadn't ordered.  He told us that our server had told him to just bring us any food that came out of the kitchen.  The people who had actually ordered this food had long since left, so I guess their meals were fair game?  And the food just kept coming.  Multiple servers, managers, kitchen staff- they just kept coming and coming, setting down more and more food.

We had a couple of chicken sandwiches, some wings, mac & cheese, a giant pretzel, some kind of wrap.  It just became a smorgasbord of other peoples' meals.  NONE of it the actual meals that we'd chosen, and none of it at any cost to us.

Guys, we couldn't stop laughing.  It was the most bizarre dining experience any of us had ever experienced.  And for the life of us, none of us could figure out what could have possibly gone down in that kitchen to cause that kind of shit show.

Eventually we were full and ready to leave, but we weren't 100% sure what we should do.  Not that we were hungry anymore, but we didn't want to leave if they were about to bring our order out.  Although I suppose if we did, they could just give our food to some other poor schmucks that had been waiting for days to eat?

When Orin came back, I asked him.  "Just to clarify- are we going to get the food that we actually ordered?"

"OH! ...No."

Guys, I'm dead.  It was so, so funny.

We all left saying that this was certainly a memorable birthday celebration, and one that J wouldn't soon forget.

It was a crazy, kinda perfect day.

Happy (belated) birthday to you, my love!  My wish for you this year is that you never have to wait more than two hours for dinner.  And that if you do, it's someone else's dinner that's delivered to you.  I love you!



  

I'm Tired

You know where this time change can go?

You do, but I'll tell you anyway.  Straight to hell, that's where it can go.

Sleep is kinda my thing.  My bed is my favorite place.  And mornings are my least favorite.  Anything that messes with my sleep is my mortal enemy.  Unfortunately, this can sometimes include my children now that they are no longer infants who actually need me.

One night Margot woke up crying in the middle of the night.  I ran to her aid to see what she needed.  She was crying because she couldn't find her toy cupcakes.  That were sitting right on her bed.  I didn't handle it well.  That was the last night she had a monitor in her room, and the night that J decided it was best for the welfare of the kids that he take over nighttime needs.

I feel a little bad, but only a little.  Don't mess with my sleep for stupid reasons.

And that brings me back to this stupid time change.  It's messing with my sleep for a stupid reason.  (What IS the reason, anyway??)

To make matters worse, J is on a business trip this week.  He left well before the sun came up on Monday morning, leaving me to deal with the first morning aftermath of Daylight Savings Time.

I forget how bone tired I feel on that first morning.  And not just me, but the kids.  We miss that hour that was stolen.  We NEED that hour that was stolen.

I realize I have it pretty good.  I usually wake up around 7:30, but I need a little bit of time to fully wake up before I am ready to get out of bed.  Who am I kidding- I need a little bit of time before I can speak, or even look at another human being.  J has learned not to even attempt eye contact until I've had at least 10 minutes to come to grips with the fact that I'm awake.

I'm just not nice in the mornings.

Because I'm such a scary bitch in the mornings, he usually lets me take my time getting out of bed, and he runs upstairs to make sure everyone is awake and getting dressed.  The girls are almost always good about getting up on time with their alarms, but sometimes they get sidetracked and he'll find them playing upstairs.  Gabe, on the other hand, sleeps through his alarm about half of the time.  If we don't hear three children downstairs by 7:45, we know that parental intervention is required, and J has assumed this duty.

With him gone this week, I've had to take over.  I was already less than excited about that before I realized that his trip coincided with the time change.  And now that it's happening, I'm even less excited.  Not only am I not awake on time (I had to set an alarm this morning, which may be my very least favorite thing ever), but I end up finding three sleeping children when I make it upstairs.  Today, I went to wake Gabe up, went downstairs to carry on with the morning routine, and then when he hadn't come downstairs 15 minutes later, I found that he'd gone BACK TO SLEEP after I left.

ARGH!

Can someone please direct me to the person who is responsible for carrying on this ridiculous, antiquated change of the clocks?  WHO LIKES THIS?  Because I'm pretty sure the answer is NO ONE.  NO ONE likes this.

My new political view is this: the politician who does away with the stupid changing of the clocks twice a year gets my vote.  Pick a time.  Stay there forever.  Easy peasy.

Rant over.  Sorry for my anger.  I'm tired.

I Didn't Die

Now that I've had some time to process, I wanted to fill you all in on my fun-filled weekend of Les Mills RPM Instructor Training.

I feel like the title is appropriate.

Guys, this was one intense weekend.

I showed up bright and early on Saturday morning, not knowing what to expect.  I found the cycling room and people started filing in.  I was so incredibly nervous!  I was worried that I would look like I had no idea what I was doing, or that I'd have the wrong body type, or that I wouldn't know how to set up a bike that's different from mine.  I was worried that I wouldn't be Les Mills material.

Men don't do this shit to themselves, do they?

As if I wasn't already feeling insecure, I quickly realized that many of the participants already knew one another.  We were a small group- 7 women and 2 men- and I think only three of us walked in knowing no one.  And to top it all off, I was the only one with no group fitness instructing experience.  Everyone else had years of experience teaching a ton of different types of classes, many of them Les Mills.

Oy.

The first item on the agenda for the day was a Master Class, taught by our instructor for the weekend.  We all hopped on our bikes and got ready to work.

I mean this in the nicest way possible, but thank God I had received a video of the class two weeks prior, and had spent hours learning the music and choreography...because the English language was not our instructor's strong point.

I wish I could tell you how to even pronounce his name.  He described it as similar to Genghis Khan, only with a 'J' sound at the beginning?  Maybe?  All of us struggled so much to understand him, which was a very frustrating issue to have when we all really wanted to learn the material.

In any case, we were all familiar with the workout, so we worked hard and got it done.

That was hour 1 of about a million on the bike that weekend.

After our first workout, we moved onto the education portion of the morning.  We got out our notebooks and prepared to learn, waiting for some guidance as to where that would take place.

Cop a squat, pals, because the dirty floor of the cycling studio was the provided seating.

The teacher in me just cringes thinking that somebody really thought these were optimal learning conditions.  The oldster in me cringes remembering just how badly my lower back hurt after two days of sitting hunched over on a filthy floor.

And so the day went.  On the bike, on the floor, on the bike, on the floor.  We went through the workout together several times, taking turns presenting our pre-assigned tracks.  I was thoroughly exhausted by the end of day 1, especially considering the fact that I was so nervous that I hadn't really slept the night before.  Sleep came much easier that night.

Day 2 was much more of the same, only in addition to presenting our material several more times, we also had a fun "challenge" midday.  They like to call it the "RPM Ride of Truth."  What they should really call it is the "We'll Consider Letting You Instruct If You Can Survive These 30 Minutes" ride.  It was fun, guys.  I can't tell you how much I love pushing my body to the point of exhaustion, and then just for funsies, enduring a half hour of fitness torture.  But refer to my post title- I didn't die.

In the end, I passed.  And by the second day, I felt totally comfortable with my classmates, who were all wonderfully supportive of one another, and me in particular.  They called me Newbie (in the kindest way) and all cheered for me when the instructor announced that I'd passed.  We'd all bonded over extreme workouts, lack of appropriate seating, and straining to understand the spoken word.

Although the more seasoned instructors were highly disappointed in this training (for the obvious reasons), I left feeling pretty good.  Do I wish some of these issues weren't present?  Absolutely.  But as frustrating as they were, I left feeling encouraged and uplifted, and like this was something I could actually do, and maybe even be good at.  I credit my classmates for this.  I left itching to get into my gym and onto the instructor's bike.

Since then I've had the opportunity to co-teach with a wonderful instructor, and it was awesome.  I felt energized by the riders in front of me, and since we had drilled the routine a million and one times during training, I actually felt like I knew what I was doing.

I'm official now- as of press time, I'm teaching six classes in March.  Squee!  And for any of my local readers- should you decide to join me sometime, I promise you won't die, either.

        

Happy Birthday to the One Who Made Me a Mom

Today my best boy turns 8.

What a year it has been for Gabe.  He is in a weird in-between spot.  Sometimes I think he's so little and innocent.  Sometimes I feel like I have a teenager on my hands.  And sometimes I think he's just a mini-man. 

The in-between.  That's where we're at.

Gabe is a lot of wonderful things.  He has such a good heart, and is full of kindness.  He wants the best of everything for everyone.  He is ultra-responsible.  He always does the right thing, and when things need to be taken care of, he's your man.  He values his friendships above all other things. 

He is also extremely sensitive.  He feels a lot of feelings, and he feels them BIG.  This isn't always easy (for him, or us!).  When he's angry, sad, or worried, you will definitely know it.  There have been a couple of slammed doors and sleepless nights as he's tried to learn how to deal with all of these big emotions in a healthy way. There have been times he's been in trouble for his attitude, and then there are times when he beats himself up without a word from us (like when he was jealous that it was Margot's birthday, and then he was overcome with sadness because he felt bad that he was jealous- he even has feelings about his own feelings).

When he's feeling particularly moody, he likes to go his room and listen to his music- which lately is all Panic at the Disco.  His iPod is his most prized possession, and the Apple Music subscription gives him access to all the rock music his ears can handle. 

If this is 8, I'm having a hard time imagining what will happen when hormones actually kick in.

On the flip side, he still has so much innocence.  He likes to race his RC sports cars and dream about the day he'll own a Bugatti or a McLaren.  He has recently gotten into Harry Potter, and likes to cast spells with his pretend wand.  He loves video games.  Sometimes he'll build an "epic" car track (epic is his word choice for all things he considers cool) and race his Hot Wheels around his bedroom.  He likes to draw.  He likes to climb on the jungle gym outside and ride his bike down big hills and jump on the trampoline for hours.

And then I remember that he's still just a little boy.

Oh, Gabe.  

You keep us on our toes in a way we didn't see coming, but I guess that's parenting.  Watching you grow and change and mature isn't always easy, but all of the wonderful moments in between the tough ones make it worth it a million times over.  Luckily for us, love is one of those feelings that you feel BIG, and we feel it, too, buddy. 

Happy birthday to you, my firstborn.  I hope this year is your best one yet, and that all your birthday wishes come true.   

The Sweetest Four Year Old

That's my Charlotte.

My heart hurts a little writing this.  Literally just this morning, Facebook showed me this memory:

It will always be one of my very favorite pictures.  Exhausted as I was, I was just so happy.  My tiny little squish, all cuddled up on my chest.  Nothing in this world is better than a baby sleeping on your chest, amIright??

And now she's four.

I just don't understand how time can pass by so quickly.  It's this weird thing that moms have, not wanting their babies to grow up.  And I think with Charlotte being my last, I am even more desperate to hang onto her littleness.  In my mind, age four is a definite switch.  Once they hit four, every trace of baby is gone, and they are now just kids. 

Don't mind me sobbing in the corner over here.

But as much as I wish Charlotte would forever be my tiny baby, it is also pretty great to see her personality continue to develop.  If you have met her, you know she really is just the sweetest.  She has such a kind heart, and is a friend to everyone.  If you haven't met her, I guarantee that she'd charm you in an instant. 

She is charming.

This past year has been a big one for her.  She started school, which was a dream come true for her.  If she wants anything in life, it's to do the things her big siblings do.  If they can do it, she is sure she can do it.  She's paid her dues, watching them get go to school or dance class or to a friend's house to play.  She is beyond thrilled that she can now do those things, as well.

She is fashionable.  She has strong opinions about what she'll wear.  Don't even try to hand this one jeans and a shirt.  If it's not a dress (preferably with a tutu), she's not interested.  Sneakers?  Nope.  Only slip-on dress shoes.  No socks, thankyouverymuch.  And the accessories- oh, the accessories.  She won't be caught without them.  Even while she sleeps.

She loves princesses and unicorns and kittens and pink and purple.  And she loves her best friend Margot more than ice cream. 

And perhaps my favorite thing about her is she loves to cuddle.  She may not be as tiny as she was in that Facebook memory, but she still loves to snuggle in.

Charlotte Marie, my beautiful baby, I love you so much sometimes I think my heart just might explode.  Happy 4th birthday.