Six

Dear Griffin (aka Doodles, Buggy, Doll Baby),

Today you are six! Every parent says the time flies by, and while I always believed it, I never knew just how fast it would happen until you came along.

This has been one roller coaster of a year for us - so much has happened. By far the biggest milestone was that you started school. Watching you learn to read and write has been amazing. I can't even begin to count the number of scraps of paper I find throughout the house (and even in my purse) with your writing on it. They are filled with questions: Mama do you like hot dogs? Do you like the Cubs? They are filled with observations: Sponge Bob is funny. Legos are fun. No matter how many notes I find, I can't get myself to throw them away. Each one is a little piece of your personality.

I am proud of how you adapted to the social aspect of school. One of my biggest fears was that you would end up with my painfully shy personality, but you jumped in with both feet. In fact, you did more of a cannonball. No fear. Meet the Author night at school? No problem. You even sat in front and asked questions. Fiesta Dance Party? Of course. I only wish I had my camera as you danced your heart out to Copacabana. That is one of the many things I love about you - your complete lack of concern about what other people think. You don't look around to see if anyone is watching. You don't worry if someone is talking about you. Someday that will change...it always does. But for now, it's the most awesome thing to watch. I wish I could be just a little more like you.

This has also been the year of "imagining." You've always had a vivid imagination, but this year you took it to a new level. At least twice a day you take time out to imagine - as in, "Mama, I'm trying to imagine here." In case you forget, that's my cue to go into another room while you pretend to fight ninjas or Transformers or some other random bad guys. Sometimes you are the ninja. Imagining usually involves some fancy kicks, rapid fire sound effects, and on occasion, your "light sword" (which is really just a mini M&Ms holder). I'm not allowed to enter the room while you imagine, and you've been known to give me the stink eye if I stop and watch you.

Oh...and it is so much fun to watch you. Sometimes I think I could do it all day. Watching you imagine, play at the park, and splash around the pool are some of my favorite times with you. Since the day you were born I've said that you are an all-or-nothing kid. You did (and still do) everything with gusto - scream, cry, laugh. There's rarely an in-between. You even feel with gusto. Your empathy amazes me...and at times, it even scares me a little. You feel for everyone, even complete strangers. Just the other night as we were leaving the ER, you saw a man laying on a gurney in one of the rooms. "That poor man. I hope he's OK," you said. I squeezed your hand and said, "Me too."

Six years. It's amazing to think all we've been through together, especially during this past year. I know it hasn't been easy, but I like to think we managed to push through this together. I really didn't think we would make it past that first night in our new place. I tried to be the tough one, but it was you who came up with the brilliant idea: "Let's do things like we used to do at our other house...like sleep next to each other." And we did. And in the morning things looked a little brighter. We survived.

You have carried way too much on your tiny shoulders this past year. You are a little boy. Your world should be filled with giggles and trips to the park and fighting ninjas in your backyard on a warm summer morning. I don't want you to worry. I can do that for both of us. It's my job. Someday I hope you can understand that everything I've done - all of these decisions I've made that you haven't liked - has been with you in mind. Every single one.

This letter has taken on a much different tone than the previous ones I've written you, but this has been a much different year for us. We will continue to push through like we've done in the past - together. Sometimes at night when I'm trying to get you to calm down and fall asleep, you pull my arm over your body. I have a little secret for you...I need that comfort as much as you.

And remember - I will carry the weight of your world for as long and as far as you need.

Love,
Mama

I need a new game plan, 'cuz what I'm doing ain't workin'

{photo credit}

Not long after Griffin turned one, our day care provider mentioned that she had never seen a child hit the Terrible Twos so early in life. I laughed about it. Sure, he was an independent kid very early on, but really? The Terrible Twos? Then reality hit. Griffin was perpetually in two states: 1) Mr. Noodle (every limb would go limp and it was virtually impossible to move him) or 2) The Two-by-Four (he would flex his entire body so getting him into a car seat was like a professional wrestling match). Okay, so maybe I am exaggerating a bit. Oh, he did these things, but he was also a sweet, cuddly, loving little boy.

I started taking the approach that we weren't dealing with the Terrible Twos, but the Trying Twos. Perhaps if I changed up the language a bit, it might change my outlook and response to his behavior. It worked. I was able to recognize (most of the time) what triggered these tantrums. We learned that when he was getting tired, he would have a meltdown. Instead of flipping out and yelling at him, I would empathize with him and say something along the lines of, "I know how difficult it can be when you're really tired and can't fall asleep. I get cranky, too." I told myself that it wasn't his fault that he was cranky/tired/hungry and wasn't fully able to express himself verbally. Sometimes the only way he can tell us he's feeling this way is by acting out.

Then people started warning me that the Twos might be bad, but watch out for those Threes. Seriously? I thought we'd made our way through the worst of it. Could it really be worse?

In short, yes. At least for us.

I don't know what to do anymore. Most of the time Griffin is a happy and silly boy who loves to give hugs and shows concern if someone gets hurt or is sad. However, when it gets to bedtime, look out. It's like the devil comes out. He puts up a bit of a struggle for his father, but will eventually go to sleep. For me, it's a battle royale every single night. He throws things. He swats. He kicks. I'm almost embarrassed to admit this because it sounds like I'm raising a complete brat. I have tried just about everything imaginable. Be firm. Don't let him push the boundaries. Stick to your guns. I've tried taking away privileges. I've tried talking in a soothing voice. I've tried getting down to his level and explaining things to him.

So what am I doing wrong? Am I doing anything right? I feel like a parental failure most nights. I go to bed exhausted and tense. I wake up with headaches.

This too shall pass, right? But what do I do in the meantime? How do we deal with this so we don't raise a bratty, bossy, and abusive child?

Three

Dear Griffin,

Today you are three years old. By the time you're old enough to read these birthday letters I've written, you will know how much I hate cliches (and you also will know exactly what cliche means). But I have to use one now: I don't know where the time went. Wasn't it just yesterday that we brought you home from the hospital? Or when you curled into a little ball on Daddy's chest and napped? What happened to all that time? Some days I want it back. I want those early mornings and long days when it was just the two of us while I was still on maternity leave. I want the long walks that calmed your colic. I want to hear your squeaky little noises warning me you were about to wake up.

Yes, all those things were wonderful and sweet (even when they really weren't), but now we have a happy, willful, and independent little boy. Each day you say something that makes me laugh. Each day I discover something new about you, like the fact that you would pass up every meal just so you could have something sweet (just like Daddy). Or that no one is allowed to help you - or even ask if you need help - unless you tell us (just like your Mommy). You are curious about the world you live in and are not shy about asking questions. Where did da sun go, Mommy? Why's thunder so loud? How do I get up on a cloud?

Your curiosity and wonderment over the littlest things makes me see life through your eyes and appreciate the world so much more. I forgot how beautiful the moon was until you pointed it out to me. I forgot how how good the rain feels until you suggested we run around in it. And I forgot how relaxing it is to sit on the front porch eating a popsicle until we did that together. As silly as it seems, I feel like I should thank you for that. For making me stop the chaos. For making me take the time to see all the beauty in the world that you see. For making me enjoy all the little things - the sound of the ice cream truck, a cloudless sky, a single Hershey Kiss.

In your first birthday letter I told you that I wanted so much for you in life. I still do. I want you to continue to be curious about the world. Never stop asking questions. Never stop learning. As much as you are loved, I want you to give that love back to others - not just family and friends, but those in need. I want you to be sure to not let fear rule your life. Most importantly, I want you to know that you will always matter (your thoughts, your opinions, your feelings). We will always listen. We will always care. We will always love.

Hold your own

Know your name

Go your own way

And everything will be fine.

~Jason Mraz~

You are loved.
You are sweetness.

Love,
Mommy

Growth

{photo credit}

When I was a little girl, I loved visiting my grandparents' house because they had an amazing vegetable garden. The funny thing is that back then, I wasn't all that interested in eating those vegetables, but was amazed at how someone could start with a tiny seed, add some water, sunlight, and TLC, and grow bright, red tomatoes and crunchy cucumbers. During my visits, I watched my grandfather pluck the cucumbers from the garden and lay them out on the counter, while my grandma worked her magic in the kitchen.

Ever since we moved into our current house a little over six years ago, I've wanted to plant a vegetable garden. We even had the perfect spot in the corner of our backyard, just begging to be transformed. I put it off while Griffin was a baby - just too much work. But this past spring I made the commitment. I pulled weeds and turned over the soil. I spent my Mother's Day buying seedlings - tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, basil, and strawberries. Together, Griffin and I planted our garden. We stepped back and I crossed my fingers. I can grow anything in a pot on my deck, but could I keep alive a real backyard vegetable garden? I could only hope.

The quick answer is yes. Our garden is thriving and growing each day. We just picked our first cherry tomato and everyday Griffin asks when we can pick all the other vegetables. Soon, baby. Soon.

While our garden was simply intended as a way to grow our own vegetables - cut back on expenses, eat fresh, try new recipes - it has provided us with so much more. Griffin has been learning about science and the lifecycle of plants. He is interested in eating the vegetables and fruits we are growing. But most importantly, he takes pride in his work - standing alone in the garden with me as I picked weeds, he opened his arms wide and said, "My garden makes me happy."

And as for me? Well, I've spent a lot of time during the past year in a major funk. OK, so it has been more than a major funk, but you get the idea. Lots of sadness. Lots of worry. Our garden has given me a place to work off those emotions (it's darn hard work in that garden!). I've committed to something and followed through with it. I started with nothing but a six-by-six square foot section of grass and overgrown weeds and brought it to life.

It has given me a purpose outside of my regular life as a wife, mother, and employee. That might sound silly to some of you, but when you feel the way I've felt for the past year, it means the world. Each day that I watch it grow, I feel myself grow - farther away from the tears and the worry. I am learning to leave them behind.

My garden makes me happy...

The big time

I started writing again. Before anyone gets excited about that, let me clarify. Last night, I sat down with my laptop and wrote about 100 words. But it felt good. I miss having that creative outlet in my life, because right now, I need an outlet.

Next Thursday we're taking Griffin to the University of Iowa Children's Hospital for an appointment with a pediatric pulmonologist. In all honesty, we should have done this months ago. Maybe even years ago? And yes, I know he is only two-and-a-half, but this kid's lungs have been giving him trouble since he was only four months old. We waited because everyone told us that it's because he's in day care, and under three years old, and that the winter months are tough on little ones. It made sense. But then he got pneumonia just before his first birthday. And then just six short months later, he developed double pneumonia. In between those months were bouts of bronchitis. In fact, by the time he was 18 months old, he'd battled bronchitis about 12 times.

At that time, Griffin was prescribed daily breathing treatments and "rescue" treatments as needed. When he got really bad, he was on oral steroids, too. I don't think Griffin knows life without the whirring sound of his nebulizer.

It has been a rough winter for him with illnesses - ears (four infections in four months even after tubes surgery), bronchitis, colds, fevers, etc. Then came early February and we found ourselves rushing to the ER again with a listless little boy with a cough and a fever of almost 106. Diagnosis: Pneumonia. Again. That made three times in 18 months. And if that wasn't enough, he developed an ear infection just one week later, and then another bout of bronchitis just one week after that. That was it. We'd had enough and Griffin definitely had enough. We brought up the idea of seeing a specialist, but we were told that they most likely wouldn't do anything different from his current treatment plan. We mentioned it to Griffin's allergist, but she sort of said the same thing. Were we overreacting?

Last week Griffin developed strep throat. A week later he developed a cold/cough/bronchial infection. And now? Another ear infection. I did some research and found out that our current health insurance does not require us to have a referral to see a specialist. I picked up the phone and called the Children's Hospital. Our appointment is set for April 7th and I have never been so excited to see a doctor. Maybe, after additional testing, we will find out that this is how Griffin is and we should stay on the same treatment plan. But maybe we can get some answers, or even tweak his meds just a bit so they're more effective.

Griffin hasn't been healthy for more than two weeks in a row since early October. I miss happy Griffin. I miss his smiles and silly questions. He doesn't smile so much anymore and that makes me so unbelievably sad. I'm not expecting a miracle from this appointment. It could turn out that there is nothing more we can do. A little peace of mind would be nice, though. Peace of mind and a big 'ol smile from my Griffin.

The smile that I miss

(September 2010)

On hold

I knew that keeping up with my daily word count was going to be a challenge, but I thought I was going to be up against my own motivation, work deadlines, family obligations, and love of a good night of sleep. I never thought I'd have to put everything on hold while I tended to a two-year old with pneumonia and a temperature of 106. Griffin was home from day care for over a week and all my time and energy went to giving him tons of different medications, going on follow-up doctor's appointments, keeping him cool and calm (not an easy task), and trying to catch up on my own sleep.

To make matters worse, as soon as he was well enough to go back to day care, I got sick. Really sick. I developed a cold which quickly turned into a bad case of bronchitis. Being an asthmatic, I'm used to bronchitis, but this one is a real doozy.

While I hoped to be done with the first draft of this novel by the end of March, it's looking more like sometime in April. How do I feel about being so far behind? To quote Griffin, who uttered this phrase to me while we were in the ER waiting for his lab results, "I no happy."

I do have a lot of catching up to do, but what really matters is that Griffin got over the pneumonia and is just about back to his regular, crazy self.

Right before my eyes

In my nearly 38 years on this Earth, there have only been two times when my life flashed before my eyes.

When I was 16 years old, my mother and I were involved in a horrible car crash. After coming to, I found myself gasping for air, my lungs working overtime trying to get a full breath. I frantically struggled with my seat belt trying to free myself. That's when it happened. These images of my life, more like snippets, flashed in my mind. It wasn't like I saw pictures of Christmases past or my first day of kindergarten. They were flashes of what could have been - I'd never had a boyfriend, never been asked to a school dance, never gone to college. In a few short seconds I thought So this is it. This is how it's going to end. On a beautiful, sunny September morning. Sitting next to my mother. A patch of blood seeping through the leg of my brand new jeans. My red backpack, stuffed to the gills, sitting at my feet.

Turns out that seat belts like to lock when you're in a crash. The gasping I was doing was because the wind was knocked out of me as the seat belt locked and I was thrown forward. After a minute or so my breathing returned to normal and my thoughts went from Oh my God, I'm dying to I'm going to be late for my French test. Oh how the mind works at a time like that.

The second time my life flashed before my eyes? Last night. During what should have been a fun night at the mall doing some Christmas shopping, Griffin managed to take off and get lost. We were only going to be there for a little while, just long enough for me to buy something for my Grandma at JC Penney and then off to see Santa. We forgot the stroller and when we saw that it cost $5 to rent one at the mall, Patrick decided we'd take turns holding Griffin since we wouldn't be there very long.

As I paid for my Grandma's gift, Patrick came around the corner and said, "Griffin's gone." The funny thing was that I didn't panic. Griffin's a fast little bugger and as soon as we stepped inside the mall, he took off running through the shoe department. I assumed he was just hiding nearby, but the look on Patrick's face told a much different story.

Patrick went in one direction and I went in the other. We shouted for him. We ran. We looked underneath tables and in between aisles. No Griffin, but I still wasn't panicked. It wasn't until I heard a voice on the intercom call for a "Code Adam" that my breath caught in my throat. I looked down and in my hands I was clutching Griffin's winter coat, his little fleece hat still nestled in his sleeve. I ran faster.

We got paged to one of the registers where I was immediately put on the phone with security. They asked me to describe Griffin. I wanted to tell them that he was the sweetest little boy who loved fire trucks and frosted cookies, but that's not what they were looking for. The call went out over the intercom and my sweet little boy was reduced to a few measly descriptions: Griffin Moore. Two-and-a-half years old. Short blond hair. Khaki pants. Red shirt. I dropped the phone and ran.

It was then when  it hit me. For the past couple of minutes I just assumed he was hiding or that he'd run right past me. I envisioned seeing him and scooping him up in my arms. People are good, right? We had complete strangers running through the mall helping us look for him. Someone would see him and come find us. But that's not always the case. That's when I let my mind wander off a bit. That's when those could have beens flashed in my mind. He never got to sit on Santa's lap. He never had his first day of school. He never got to play with the red fire truck that we got him for Christmas. And me? What if I never saw him again?

Just as I was headed up the escalator, I saw Patrick out of the corner of my eye. He was holding a smiling Griffin. As I approached them, Griffin held out his arms, smiled at me, and said, "Mommy up!" And just like that it was over.

No tears were shed until I sat down to write this. In fact, once Griffin was safe and asleep in his race car bed, Patrick and I sat on the couch watching TV. Without even turning to me, he said, "I can't believe we lost our child at the mall." My first instinct was to laugh - just my habit of using humor and sarcasm to cover up some of the panic. We joked about it for a second because, let's face it, Griffin was sound asleep upstairs and all was right with the world. But then Patrick said it again a few minutes later and then again. And again. It sank in and I eventually crept upstairs and looked in on Griffin as he slept.

Just like that, he disappeared, and just like that, we found him. We were lucky. We know that. I will hug Griffin just a little bit tighter when he wakes up this morning...and every day from now on.

The best laid plans of moms and sons...

I'm going to get this out of the way early - I sent Griffin to day care this morning without any breakfast. Please don't tell me what an awful mother I am because I've already told myself that at least 100 times today...and it's only 2 PM.

Here's the deal. Griffin usually gets breakfast at day care. It's a really good breakfast, too. Believe me, my stomach starts growling as soon as I walk in the front door of our provider's house. Breakfast casseroles. Eggs. Biscuits and gravy. Pancakes with real blueberries. The kid's got it good. The only problem is that we need to be there by 7:15 AM so she can serve breakfast and get some of the older kids off to school. I have no problem with that, but someone does (think short, cute, and blond curly hair).

Griffin is not a morning person. He's also not someone who likes to be rushed, which is exactly what I have to do Monday through Friday in order to get him to day care in time for breakfast. He's still sleepy and rubs his eyes and swats at anyone who comes near him with clothing. I swear he can spot a pair of jeans from across the room. It's a struggle to get him dressed, and once he's dressed, it's a struggle to get out the door.

Today I decided that I would feed him breakfast myself and get him to day care by 7:45 AM. Sounded like a good plan. It was a good plan, but we all know about the best laid plans. Griffin and I had a battle royale. When I finally got him in the car (I practically had to sit on top of him to buckle him in), I tried to get him to eat something on our drive to day care. He had a sippy cup of milk, a banana, a small bag of Goldfish crackers, and a few broken pieces of a raspberry Poptart (the breakfast of champions, I know, but it was food). He had a few crackers, but that was it. He was really tired and when that happens, he doesn't want anything.

We got to our provider's house and she was already loading kids in the van. I handed him over and she got him in his seat. I got back to my car, pulled away, and felt a heaviness in my chest I haven't felt since the day I went back to work after my maternity leave. Guilt. How could I have sent my son without any breakfast? I know what you're all thinking. But Tracy, you tried. You had Poptarts and Goldfish. You did the best you could. But that's the funny thing about guilt. It never feels like you did good enough. There's always something more you could have done. I'm not sure what that "something" is, but I feel it.

Of course he can survive without breakfast, but the real question is how am I going to survive if I keep feeling this kind of guilt?

Addendum: This post makes Griffin sound like a whiny brat. He's not. He just inherited my stubborn streak and Patrick's short fuse (lethal combo). Lord help us all if he inherits my passive-aggressiveness and ability to hold a grudge for an abnormal amount of time.

I want to remember...

• How, at two-years old, you have more energy that anyone I know.
• The way your face lights up when you see Daddy or Duncan walk in the room.
• Your non-stop curiosity about life.
• How you open up the cereal cabinet and carry a box over to us while giggling.
• Your smooth skin.
• The mass of curls that adorn your head like a little crown.
• You playing in the sandbox by yourself, indifferent to everything else around you.
• Chasing you through the backyard.
• The way you want to snuggle on my lap every morning when you first wake up and every night just before bed.
• Listening to your sweet voice try out new words each day. I wish I could bottle your voice and save it for the days when it becomes as deep as Duncan's voice. I could open the bottle and listen to you say things like, "Wha' happen?," "Wha' sat noise?," and "The moon go night-night."
• The fact that you still want me to hold you by saying, "Mommy up!"
• Your budding sense of humor.
• How sometimes, when you're really tired, you still fall asleep on me.

I know that the days and weeks slip by so fast, but I never thought the years would do the same. Sometimes I watch you and wish I could stop time for just a bit. I think about grabbing my camera, but I know that no matter how amazing the picture is, it will never live up to the actual moment I try to capture.

Don't grow up too fast, OK?

Too tired and too stressed to think of a clever title

So I haven't blogged in a while. It's been over seven days, but who's counting? Here's the truth. I could come here every day, or even every other day, and write something. Anything. But I don't want to force myself to do that when I don't have anything to say, and I definitely don't want to make anyone come here every day and read whatever nonsense I write because I didn't really have anything to say. But isn't that exactly what I'm doing right now? Eh. Whatever.

Here are some very valid reasons (in my humble opinion) for my recent blogging hiatus:

Work
I work for a non-profit child care agency that helps low- and moderate-income families with their child care. I write grants and do all the PR and craft an annual fundraising plan and coordinate special events. This year is our 40th anniversary and we are not only hosting a celebration, we were kind of pushed into launching an endowment campaign. Basically, we are trying to raise about $1 million. Needless to say I've been swamped. The event is in less than two weeks and I've encountered almost daily migraines. Blogging is being put on the back burner until life returns to normal.

Children
We have a teenager and a toddler at home. Need I say more? Yes? OK, well did you know that in the state of Iowa, you only have to be 14 to get a driver's permit? Duncan will hit that magic age in about four weeks. Add to that the fact that Griffin has been battling his asthma issues and we've been battling him with his tantrums. Really Griffin? You seriously need to wear pants when you leave the house. Wearing a shirt and a diaper is not negotiable.

Finances
I'll keep this one short and sweet. Patrick is still unemployed. We're living off of my non-profit salary, unemployment, and our tax refund. Being depressed and being at home with another depressed person is, well, it's depressing.

Migraines
See the previous categories for an explanation.

My blogging will continue to be sporadic, at least until this huge special event is behind me. Only another couple of weeks and hopefully I will be back with more positive things to talk about - like NaNoWriMo, a description of the painful process of editing the first draft of a novel, and of course a discussion of our Halloween 2010 plans (you didn't think we wouldn't come up with another great family costume idea, did you?).

Edited to add: No one really reads this, so I have no idea who I think I'm talking to in this post.

You're still here, but I already miss you

In case you didn't know, it's August. It's August 11th to be exact. Duncan started eighth grade today and on my way into work, I found a tiny, red leaf on the sidewalk. What happened to summer? Wasn't it just yesterday that Duncan went to the end-of-the-school-year party? Didn't we just sit in the bed of the pickup watching the Fourth of July parade?

This happens every year, and every year when the leaves start to change color and the temperature begins to drop, I vow that the next summer I won't let it slip away so fast. I vowed the same thing this past winter. Every night I drove home from work, the sun long gone and the tree branches like crooked fingers in the sky, and longed for warm days and green grass beneath my feet. This summer, I told myself, I'm going to enjoy every day. And here we are, August 11th, and I'm once again wondering what happened.

I did take a week of vacation just after Griffin's birthday so we could spend some time together. We ran errands, played in the pool, and went to the zoo. I tried my hardest to soak it all in. While Griffin played in his sandbox, I sat on the porch and closed my eyes, knowing that I would never get that moment back. The neighborhood was silent. The only sound was Griffin's laughter. That was wonderful, but it wasn't enough. Those days slipped by so quickly, and before I knew it, I was picking out my clothes for the next work day.

I envisioned sitting on our porch late at night, taking in the summer breeze and pointing out the constellations to Griffin. He loves being outdoors, and he loves to point into the sky and shout, "The moon, mommy!" But we never did that. I wanted to eat dinner in the screened-in porch at the back of our house. Griffin and Duncan could chase each other in the backyard and we could enjoy our meal while listening to the crickets or the distant buzz of a lawnmower. But we didn't do that, either.

On my drive to work this morning, I noticed how green and full the trees were. How come I never notice that until the leaves are about to change?

But there's still time. There's still time to show Griffin the stars and eat dinner outside. There's still warm nights to take walks and watch Griffin chase after bubbles.

There's still time.

Total Copout (aka Picture Overload)

I'm swamped. At work. At home. Things are just crazy, so that's my excuse for not actually writing a post, but only posting pictures. Besides, I'm really behind in downloading all of my pictures. So here you go. Enjoy:

Two

Dear Griffin,

Today is your second birthday. I know it sounds trite to say this, but it's true - I can't believe how fast the time has gone. It seems like just yesterday I was still on maternity leave and you and I would take long walks every morning. You would sleep and I would talk to you like you could understand me. And now? You do understand me. OK, you understand some of what I say to you, but I know you get it.

So much has happened in the past year. Some good - walking, running, talking in mini-sentences. And some not so good - double pneumonia, ear infections, and a sprinkle of temper tantrums. The one thing I have learned this year is that there is never a dull moment as a parent. For someone who is most definitely not a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of gal, I am slowly learning to do just that (if your father read this he'd say that I have a long way to go!). The point is I'm getting there. Just as much as we are teaching you things like don't kick the cat or the Cubs are the best baseball team ever, you teach us on a daily basis. For example, I've learned that you like to walk upstairs to bed on your own instead of being carried because it gives you a sense of control and independence. I've learned that it's OK and normal that you call me and many other women in your life Mommy. It's not that you don't love me, but that you are capable of loving others.

There are so many things I want to say to you, but I'm afraid everything is going to be a jumbled mess. Like you have no idea how I love the feel of your hair on my cheek when I snuggle with you before bed. Or how I love picking you up from day care after a day at the pool. I always tell you that you smell like a day at the beach. You have the sweetest profile I have ever seen - that little button nose of yours makes me smile and want to squeeze you all day. I love when you giggle while watching Curious George - you never know I'm watching you, but I can see you start to smile and then laugh. I am happy when I hear you laugh. I never wanted to be Mommy. I always preferred Mama for some reason, and that's what you called me up until a couple of months ago. Now when you see me walk in the door, you smile and say, "Hey Mommy!" and it makes me melt. I love your little toddler legs and arms and I tell you that all the time. They're smooth and soft and I squeeze them as much as I can because I know that if two years have gone by this quickly, before I know it you're going to be headed to high school. I love how whenever I say I have an "owie," you lean in to kiss it. I still love the look of your diaper-butt. I like watching you run around in your pajamas. I love how you say "Yummy!" when you eat dinner. You have the silliest laugh (you always have) and it is contagious. I love when I hold you and you pat me on the back. I think it's another way you say "I Love You."

So it was a jumbled mess, but that's OK.

You have been in our lives for two years now, and every day is something new. Thank you for teaching me to go with the flow. Thank you for making me laugh with a simple giggle. Thank you for helping me put things into perspective.

I'm proud to be your mom.

Love,
Mommy

Seriously?

We finally had Griffin's appointment with the ENT last Friday. They conducted a number of hearing tests and then we got to meet with the doctor. Overall it was a quick appointment. Both of Griffin's ears were filled with fluid, which no one was surprised to learn. The doctor left the decision up to us as to whether or not to do the tubes surgery. I told him I wished he could give us a clear yes or no. He said, "If you want me to give you reasons why you shouldn't go through with the tubes, I can't really think of any." With that, we scheduled a date for his procedure. July 21. Yes, I know that is the day before Griffin's 2nd birthday, but the doctor said he will be all better by the next day.

Once we were on our way back home, I turned to Patrick and said, "Ten bucks this kid gets an ear infection in the next two weeks."

Yesterday afternoon I picked up another round of antibiotics for Griffin. Yep, another ear infection.

Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to him getting his tubes? I mean, I'm going to be nervous and worried about him, but everyone I've talked to has told me the tubes can make a huge difference. I want that for him. I know how hard it is on him having all these infections and the constant medicine. I want him to be his silly, playful self.

Despite the ear infection - and another visit to the doctor - things worked out pretty well for Griffin. The doctor gave him a chocolate chip cookie. Griffin smiled, took the cookie, and then said, "Nice doctor."

Summer

I love summer. I love the long days and being able to go outside without having to bundle up. I love sitting on our porch at night enjoying the weather and the sounds of our neighborhood (kids laughing and playing, the ice cream truck, people mowing their lawns).

Griffin loves summer, too. In fact, he loves it so much I can barely get him back in the house for dinner. He loves running in the grass in his bare feet and playing in his little pool. I don't think he cares what he's doing as long as he's outside.

We went outside this morning so I could take him to day care. He immediately ran up to his little bike and sat on it and started saying, "Mommy...bike!" over and over. It was so sweet. I watched him for a while, wishing I didn't have to go to work, wishing I could stay home with him and play outside. It's days like this, these gorgeous summer days, when I get frustrated with work. I love what I do, but let's face it, if  I didn't have to work I wouldn't. Well, maybe something part-time just to keep my mind fresh. I feel like I miss out on so much with Griffin. I realize it on weekends when I don't have to be anywhere. We snuggle on the couch and watch Curious George. I make him pancakes and we sit together at the kitchen table just eating and talking. I love those times with him - the everyday moments.

I have no idea why I'm going on and on about this. I guess it was one of those difficult mornings where I wanted so badly to stay home with him and play and giggle. I do have a whole week of vacation scheduled for the end of July. I'm really looking forward to doing all those little things with my Griffin.

Always have to steal my kisses from you

Griffin is a cuddly kid. As a baby, he loved to snuggle on Patrick's chest or snuzzle his little face in the crook of my neck. Pure sweetness. As he got older, and mobile, those snuggling moments have come in the form of just before or after sleep. He's ready for sleep or still a bit groggy after waking up, which means his little arms and legs that are usually moving non-stop are just too tired and he needs to sit still. I love sitting on the couch with him on my lap. His muscles start to relax and his body grows heavier. Sleep is not far off.

Despite his snuggly nature, Griffin won't kiss me. Oh sure, there have been those rare moments when I bribe him with a graham cracker or a Hershey kiss, but never when I just ask for one. It used to break my heart, but then it became a running joke in our house, and then it just broke my heart again.

Yesterday, on Father's Day of all days, Griffin was giving out kisses for free. We sat on our front porch and I leaned in close to him and said, "Can you give mommy a smooch?" And he leaned in and kissed me on the lips. All day, anytime I asked for a kiss, he gave me one. I even leaned in to tell him to give his daddy a smooch and he kissed me first, then ran over to Patrick to give him one.

Who knows if that will continue, or if yesterday was just a fluke, but I'll take what I can get.

Round three

Griffin developed a nasty ear infection at the very end of April (including a temp of 103). After ten days on amoxicillin, he continued to rub at his ear and be completely irritable. OK, so some of his behavior is also due to the fact that he is just about to turn two years old. We took him back to the doctor on Monday and the ear infection never cleared up, so he was placed on a ten-day dose of Augmentin. Now, just four full days into that treatment, he starts rubbing his ear again and whining. Today we start round three of antibiotics. This time it's Omnicef. At his appointment on Monday, the doctor said that if this doesn't clear up quickly, or if he still has fluid in his ears at his two-year check-up, we'll be referred to an ENT and he'll have to have tubes placed in his ears.

At this point, he's had about eight ear infections. The majority of those have come in the past ten months. As much as I don't want him to have to go through the surgery (and yes, I'm very aware that it only takes 15-20 minutes, but it's still surgery and he's my baby), I'm ready. Ear infections in toddlers are way worse than teething.

So, yeah, I pretty much went from being swamped at work to being swamped at home - let's not even mention the fact that in the past few weeks Patrick has travelled to Charlotte, NC twice (he's there now) and Colorado Springs. I'm not sleeping much and it's taking its toll on me.

I hope round three of antibiotics works. For Griffin's sake and for mine.

Those three little words

No, not "I love you," but rather "Mama, ball rolling." OK, so in Griffin's toddler-talk it sounds more like, "Mama, baw row-ee," but we know what he means. He even points to the ball as it rolls down the driveway.

It might not seem momentous to anyone else, but this officially marks Griffin's first 3-word sentence. I'm a proud Mama.

Missing in action

Just as I vowed to post more often (like I used to do), everything came crashing in on me. Griffin got over his bout of bronchitis and finally got all the steroids out of his system only to get sick again last week. Another case of bronchitis, but this time it wasn't responding to his antibiotics. When I picked him up out of his crib on MOnday morning, he was hot to the touch. I felt the heat from his skin burn through his pajamas and even through my pants. His temp was 103 and he was miserable.

After a trip to the ER and another chest x-ray, the doctor came in and told me it was double pneumonia. We had to pick up a really strong antibiotic, rotate Tylenol and Motrin every three hours for the next 48 hours, and give him lots of liquids (he stopped eating and lost over a whole pound).

I've been swamped at work and have some major deadlines hanging over my head. Patrick agreed to watch Griffin for the rest of the week so I could go to work, but early on Tuesday morning, Patrick complained of a sore throat. Let me preface this part of the story by telling you that Patrick never complains about feeling sick and he rarely goes to the doctor. When he called me around 12 PM and said he was going to the doctor, I just about fell off my chair. The doctor diagnosed him with influenza and started him on Tamiflu. Patrick had a temperature of 102 for the next couple of days and I wasn't able to go to work. I couldn't leave Patrick, who couldn't get out of bed, to take care of Griffin, who had pneumonia.

By Wednesday night I was sick again (I had a cold last week). I developed a horrible sore throat, cough, and headache. I ended up with a sinus infection, a bronchial infection, and a flare-up of my asthma. So now I'm using the nebulizer, have antibiotics, and am on Prednisone.

Long story short, I missed a shit-load of work and I spent my weekend writing grants. Thankfully, my parents are wonderful and came to visit this weekend to help us get back on our feet. They bought us some groceries and helped sanitize our house.

Summer can't get here soon enough...

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Oh, who am I kidding? It was the worst of times. This weekend. Last night. Awful. Plain and simple.

Patrick and I took Griffin to Chicago to go to the One of a Kind Show where my sister has been one of the artists for the past four years. We went in 2006, 2007, and we skipped 2008 because Griffin was just too little and we were just plain exhausted. He's 16-months old. We figured this would be a great age to take him downtown to see the show and maybe even the lights on Michigan Avenue.

To make that part of  the long story much shorter, I'm just going to say that about a month or so ago, we realized that Griffin had hit his Terrible Twos really, really early. We've nicknamed him Mr. Meltdown and Mr. Noodle (his whole body goes limp and he's suddenly about 40 pounds heavier than usual). That's what we dealt with all weekend. The poor kid was stuck in a carseat for three hours to get to Chicago and then we needed to get him in a stroller to look around the show. He wasn't having it. He also wasn't having someone carry him around. Those were our options. He struggled. I got frustrated. Patrick and I took turns. Thankfully my mom was there and gave us a break here and there (and of course, he wasn angel for her).

So two days of battling Mr. Noodle.

Then comes the drive home. Again, long story short, it took us 5 hours to get home. Coming straight from the Loop, it should only take about 2.5 hours. We hit some massive traffic and then Griffin screamed and screeched the whole way. In his defense, I think he was in a bit of pain (anyone with kids knows that sometimes eating a whole pile of grapes can wreak havoc on the tummy). So as not to bore anyone with this story in narrative form, let me just hit the highlights:

• Screaming commences before we get out of Chicago


• It continues until we pull over somewhere in Naperville (at this point, we could have been in freaking Alaska - I couldn't focus).


• I change Griffin's diaper in the car in the parking lot of Macy's


• We drive to Portillo's to get him out of the carseat for a while.


• All is right in the world and we leave.


• Screeching commences about 15 minutes into the drive.


• I pray he falls asleep soon.


• Griffin teases me with his fake snoring (and then a loud snort and a giggle).


• He screams some more and finally falls asleep.


• I fall asleep.


• I awake, 20 minutes later, to more screaming.


• This goes on for what seems like forever.


• I announce to Patrick that if I had a gun, I'd freaking shoot myself (I think Patrick contemplates pulling over and dumping me and Griffin off on the side of the highway).


• More screaming.


• I ask Patrick to smother me and put me out of my misery.


• Griffin finally falls asleep at Mile Marker 25 (yep, only 25 more miles until we hit the Iowa border).


• I sit still and rigid in the front seat, hoping he stays asleep until we at least get to the single digit mile markers.


• We pull into the driveway and relax.


• Griffin starts screaming.

He seemed fine once we got inside. He was smiling and laughing. I think he was really tired of being in the car seat all weekend. The only running around he got to do was at my parents' house on Saturday night/Sunday morning. Not much.

Oh, and when we walked in the house, we were hit in the face by the overwhelming smell of natural gas. We had the gas company out at our house at 11 PM. They checked and said everything was OK, even though the guy said he could smell the gas.

So yesterday sucked big time. The only highlight was that we learned that if you ask Griffin what Santa says, he will say, "Ho Ho!" Definitely cute, but not enough to wipe away the memory of the crap day we had.