My big boy

These pictures made me realize how big Griffin has gotten. He's not a little baby anymore...

Five years!

Five years ago today, Patrick and I got married! Here's my favorite picture from that beautiful day:

Apple picking

The whole family went apple picking last Sunday. We were going to go on Saturday, but Patrick convinced me that Sunday would be better - it would give me one more day to get over the cold I'd been battling. Plus, we checked the weather reports and Sunday was supposed to be as nice as Saturday.

Wrong! I didn't feel better. In fact, I felt worse. And the weather sucked. It was dreary and drizzling. We forgot Griffin's sweatshirt (not that he cared), and I was crabby with a capital "C."

Thanks to Patrick, we had a great time. He was able to see beyond the rainy day (and thanks to Duncan for offering up his new sweatshirt for Griffin to wear). Oh, and Griffin loved his first apple (and now we have to hide the bag of apples because he will just dig into the bag and start biting into as many apples as possible).

Here are some pictures:

Me and The G on a Saturday afternoon

I got a new laptop the other day. Actually, I got my first laptop the other day. I use a laptop for work, but it's not mine and I only use it home once a week (the other four days it stays at work). Anyway, it has a webcam and Griffin and I played around with it this afternoon. He liked looking at himself and blowing raspberries:

Just so I never forget...

My dad has always told me that I have a memory like a steel trap. It's true. I can recall, verbatim, conversations I had with people years ago. I can tell you where we were, what you were wearing, what you were eating, etc. It's weird, but it does come in handy in certain situations - like when my sister can't think of the name of a certain actor/singer/entertainer/movie/TV show or when Patrick and his ex can't remember who had Duncan last Easter and who will get to have him this year. But lately, I've noticed that my memory isn't quite what it used to be. Is it the sleep disruptions of the past year? Perhaps. The challenges of working full-time and parenting? Probably. The fact that I'm about to officially enter my "late-30's" in a matter of a few short months? Let's hope not.

Over the past 13 months, Patrick and I have given Griffin a ton of different nicknames. Some have stuck and others have been silly names that last for a day or two. I've noticed that as he's gotten older, we don't use those "baby" names any longer, and while I'm OK (I think) with the fact that he's no longer a baby, I don't ever want to forget those times with him. So while this might seem silly to anyone who reads this blog, this is just a way for me to keep a list of those silly (and some very endearing) names we had/have for Griffin. As a side note, this blog started as a way for me to replace my handwritten journaling, so this is one of those times when I'm not trying to entertain anyone with my personal life...

Little Baby Griffin - my personal favorite and the original - I even went as far as making up my own song and singing it to the tune of "Little Bunny FooFoo" in the middle of the night.

G/ The G - we still use this now (used to annoy me, but now that he's older, I'm OK with it)

Snugglebug - if I even try to explain the day I came up with this, I'll cry. Let's just say, I had one week left of maternity leave and Griffin slept on my chest for 3 hours while I sobbed.

Fussybutt - self-explanatory and still used to this day

The Delaney Boy - a play on his middle name

My curly-headed boy - just see the pictures below and you'll understand.

DLB (aka Dad's Littlest Buddy) - I didn't know about this one until a couple of weeks ago...and I love it.

Bubeleh - Yiddish; an endearing term for someone you love (I know, we're not Jewish, but who cares).

Baby Doll/Doll Baby - don't ask, I can't explain.

Bugaboo

{______} McGee - fill in the blank with anything such as Sneezy, Fussy, Silly, Stinky, etc.

Mister Man - again, don't ask.

Monkey - he loves bananas and climbs EVERYTHING.

I know there are others, but I can't think of them right now. I'll probably have to come back and add to the list as they come to me. So I'm sure this post is incredibly annoying to most people, but if I wrote this on a piece of paper, I'd probably lose it. Maybe there's a place I can put it in his baby book, but for now this will have to do.

A precursor to rollercoasters

We took Griffin to Rocket Park (it has an official name, but no one really knows what it is) on Saturday afternoon and he loved it. Patrick put him on the slides, and I - like most mothers - panicked a bit because well, he seems so small and those slides seem so big. He started on the smaller ones and giggled each time he slid down, so we started moving him to bigger and bigger slides. I panicked each time he graduated to a bigger slide (and yes, I made sure Patrick went with him down the tornado slide!). He loved it - the bigger, the better! So, here's a look at how his day went:

[caption id="attachment_973" align="aligncenter" width="476" caption="Approaching his first slide"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_974" align="aligncenter" width="477" caption="Mom had to take a picture before he went down the slide"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_975" align="aligncenter" width="476" caption="Wahoo!!!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_976" align="aligncenter" width="477" caption="Going back for more (he really did climb the whole slide by himself!)"][/caption]

Official diagnosis

I went back to the doctor yesterday for my third appointment. She showed me my paperwork with my official diagnosis:

Major Depressive Episode (moderate)

Specific Phobia/Generalized Anxiety Disorder

I've opted for no medication at this point. I'm not trying to prove a point to anyone. In fact, there are times when I would really, really like to take something because I just don't think I can do it on my own. But that's the whole problem. I know what I  really need to do to deal with this - everything I never did over the past 20 years. So without getting into the details, I've got a long road ahead of me. I'm not looking forward to it because it's going to be a lot of hard work and a lot of retraining my brain to think and react differently, but I think it will work. It's what I've known all along would work, but was too scared to try.

{This all sounds like some weird science experiment, but it's just a form of therapy where you challenge your current way of thinking. I'm an all-or-nothing, black-or-white type of person. For example, I think I'm a horrible mom because of that time I didn't want to be around Griffin when I was exhausted and had a migraine and he was fussing. I felt awful and guilty and I cried for two days. Am I really a horrible mom? No, but I need to retrain myself to stop thinking that way. That's just one small example. The list could go on and on. And it does...}

Yay!

42 years of tolerance

Today is my parents' 42nd anniversary! The subject of this post is courtesy of my mom who so eloquently (and romantically, I might add) described how their marriage has survived...

Slip-slidin' away

Last night, after a harrowing experience trying to buy groceries at our local Hy-Vee (including having my credit card declined, leaving my checkbook in the car, and having to lug a tired and fussy Griffin back-and-forth through the parking lot to get said checkbook), I drove through town trying to keep Griffin asleep in his carseat for a decent amount of time. Just before we got home, we drove past the park where Duncan played baseball this summer, and I got hit with some serious nostalgia.

It's crazy because all I did this summer was complain about the baseball season, about how everyone got to do what they wanted while I had to take care of a baby that was trying desperately to give up his third nap of the day, but didn't really know how to do it. I complained about working 8 hours a day and then coming home with a fussy Griffin only to have Patrick  and Duncan bail on me to head to practice (a WHOLE hour before the game started!). I'd feed Griffin, pack his diaper bag, load him (and every toy and snack known to man) into the car and we'd head to the game. Most of this was done for my own sanity. I could sit at the games around other adults, and maybe, just maybe those adults would want to play with or hold a cute baby.

Despite my best efforts, we'd always get there late and have to park as far away from the field as humanly possible. I'd grunt and groan trying to get the stroller out of the car and do the same getting Griffin situated. Then there was the sunscreen and the hat, which he immediately pulled off his head (and please don't suggest a hat with straps - the kid knows how to work around those, too).

The sad thing is that I don't even remember most of the games. I was usually chasing after Griffin or trying to appease him with some snacks or a book or a toy. A lot of times I'd just take him for a walk. Honestly, it was a lot of work.

But driving by the park last night, with the sun just starting to set, all I wanted was to go back to those early summer nights. Those baseball nights. I'd take the struggling with the stroller and the diaper bag and Griffin just to be able to sit out there and relish the beginning of the season and all that I could look forward to.

This is what I do at the end of every summer. Maybe it's a bit of regret for the things I didn't get to do. The things I forgot to do. The things I didn't truly enjoy. I feel like I spent my summer rushing around, feeling tense, running from one thing to the next. I haven't really stopped much to enjoy things, and now it feels too late.

I'm trying to slow down a bit. Really, I'm trying.