Someday

I’ve watched the cursor blinking on a blank, white page a few times recently.  Something I’ve wanted to say right on the cusp but the “maybe tomorrow” winning over.  It’s nothing big, just the little voice that tugs at me.  Write.  You know you want to.

Lines of “Someday Stories” trickle in pairs and paragraphs while my head’s on a pillow, during a commercial break, on the rare occasion I can take a long shower.  Sometimes I make a note in my phone.  Sometimes I let them flow and then wash away like the water down the drain — haunted by the perfect words that got away.

But then you call me back to the present and the collection of moments that make up our day.  I string them together, little plastic beads on a piece of yarn.

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Little baby legs running down the hall to hide behind doors or under chairs. 

Little baby arms wrapped around me, melting in for cuddles.    

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Weeks of neatly folded clothes that are put away still warm.

Weeks of clean but rumpled, homeless clothes.

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The dog covered in dead grass with a gumball and a brown leaf stuck to his rear.

The dog chewing on sticks and the girl laughing uncontrollably.

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 Long, peaceful naps.

Long, restless nights.

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Sharing and blocks and sunshine.

Storm clouds and tears over sharing slides.

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Days spent in mismatch disarray, no makeup, and hair wrapped in a bun. 

Days of adventure and got it togetherness.

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Sometimes there is no making sense of the day we had.  Moments of all colors, in no particular order threaded together.

I only hope that as I pass off each finished strand you find beauty, not because it looks perfect, but because it was strung together with love.

Someday I hope you see your entire life is a love story.

Happy Birthday, Claire!

Dear Claire,

You are one year and then some now.  Is it too late to write a Happy Birthday letter?  The promise of a 40% off photo book had me combing through some photos of your first year.  Overwhelmed, I closed the website and told myself I’d do it later, while I continued clicking through each folder of those early days.

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The pictures of brand new you hold such powerful memories.  I worried for 9 months about trying to breastfeed again, scared from what I had experienced before.  I didn’t blame myself for what happened with Abigail.  I had a smart, healthy, thriving girl as proof that love, not breast milk, was the most important thing you can give a baby.  But there was this other part of me stubbornly determined not to give up on the idea before I started.  I tried to open up the place in my heart I had hardened because it didn’t work out so well the first time.  I kept my birthing method book on my nightstand and read it bit by bit, over and over.  I really want this to work this time, Ryan.  Do you think I can do this?  I was committed as if I were training for a race of a distance I had not yet conquered.

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The days leading up to your arrival had me calling my mom multiple times a day.  I just knew you were sunny side up.  I walked and walked despite my hip twinging with sciatica.  I baked an apple pie.  I felt like you were never going to come and then my water broke.  Well, that’s different.   As it turned out, it was all very new and different this time around.   I was able to have the unmedicated birth I imagined.  You nursed like a little champ.  We did it and I felt on top of the world.

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And so we went into the days that became weeks that became months.  Your transition into our little family was seamless.  You fit so perfectly nestled under my chin or in the crook of my arm that you stayed there for a good many months.  You were a go with the flow kind of baby.  You were open and not easily rattled, peaceful, content.  A year later you are still all of those things.

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I sometimes feel swept away in the rushing current of your babyhood.  But I know I have two choices.  I can hold you back in my memory, saddened that each milestone means you are less and less my little baby.  Or I can take your hands as your unsteady legs propel you forward, walking with you through the beautiful landscape of your life — a life that currently includes chubby cheeks, gap tooth grins, and easy laughter, climbing on anything, and loving just about everything.

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So what is left of this birthday business when the candles are blown out, the cake and ice cream eaten, and the wishes cast out into the great somewhere?  I guess it comes down to the gifts.

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You are the gift. I’ve discovered that when the skies are blue your light bounces over everything, a contagious sparkle of sorts.  And when the sky feels dark and a bit lonely, there you are again, our own little twinkly star.

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You must be made of sunbeams, moonbeams, and stardust.   Oh I love you so.  Happy Birthday.

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XO,

~Me

PS:  We spent your birthday out in Oregon.  Perhaps that is another letter to be written.

 

Letter 52: To All of You

Dear Abigail, Claire, Family, and Friends,

I’m hanging up my blogging hat today after 203 posts and 3 ½ years.  It feels a little sad but it feels like it’s time, too.

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I’ve always tried to share honestly and openly.  Abigail turns 4 on Friday.  I can’t believe how much she’s grown, how much we have all grown.  As she gets older I feel protective of her experiences.  It is time for her stories to be her own.

I have to make priorities now more than ever about how to divide my time.  I love reflecting but I also love my right now.  To live it means sometimes letting it go.  Maybe it will be a memory, maybe not.  So that’s where we will be:  here.

For those that have read along with us for the last few years, thank you for making me feel connected and supported.  For the new friends I’m making here.  Thank you for letting us in.  It has meant a lot.

There is one thing left to say.  Be open.  Open to new experiences, to change, to people that are like you and people that are not.  Is there someone in the room that seems alone?  Reach out.  That person may be me or perhaps one day you.  Extend the hand in that one moment.  Of course it’s uncomfortable but what seems like a little thing to you may mean a great deal to someone else.  Many and different seeds make for beautiful surroundings and from the tiny acorn grows the mighty oak.

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Love,

Sarah

Letter 51: Complete

Dear Girls,

Well, we are approaching the end of this letter writing project I started.  Number 51.

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Yesterday I was on the phone with Aunt Emily.  I wish I was better at ignoring the to do list.  It’s so nice out I just want to go outside.  So I hung up with her and took you both out.  Abigail wanted to swing.  Holding Claire in one arm and pushing with the other I looked out at Hank rolling around in the grass.

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Here we are once again — backyard, bumblebees, a grassy dog.  But now every time the swing came back a baby belly laugh rang out and little baby legs kicked my side.

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Suddenly it was so clear to me.  All the struggles we’ve all felt over the last year have been the result of trying to recreate stories that cannot be.  Lynchburg.  Newport.  We were young, we became more of ourselves than ever before, we made friendships that have stayed strong despite uneasy circumstances.

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I thought that was missing here.  If we just had …

But we have it.  Of course it’s not the same; this is not that kind of story.

What was missing was you, Claire.  How it has taken me this long to realize that I’ll never know.

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This is simply a story of us, family.  Claire nestled her way into an empty spot, giving sweet baby cuddles just when I needed them the most.  She’s helping me to see again the wonder of it all, no matter where you are.  And I’m watching the beginning of a different kind of friendship, the one you will have with each other.

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I know that some of these letters have been more about me than you but our stories link together.

It is not the end but I’m passing the pen.  I’m tying up this fat stack of letters with a pink ribbon.  You are the authors now.  Now begins your story together.

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Plant those feet, breathe deeply, grow, bloom, be.

I love you all the time,

~Mama

 

Letter 50: Managing Expectations

Dear Girls,

The best introspection often comes when a series of seemingly unrelated events combine at precisely the right moment.

Seemingly unrelated events:

A giddy, excited bike rider became fearful of any terrain that was even the slightest bit downhill.

Life with a new baby settled in enough to resume coasting.

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An offhand remark about missing the Blackwater Creek Trail which prompted the discussion of which beach in Newport was our favorite brought your dad and I to the conclusion that what we really miss are the little escapes — outdoorsy spots removed from the monotony of the neighborhood.  We’d always had these little places.  Maybe we just needed to get out there and give ourselves a chance to find something like that here.

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If I’m being completely honest our expectations weren’t very high when we moved here.  But there is a little bit of danger in the low expectations territory because mostly what you find there is negativity.  Thoughts like, “See!  I knew it!  It’s just as bad as I expected.  We were venturing into low expectations and it was time to do something about it.

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So with no more excuses (extremely new, extremely pregnant, extremely hot, extremely humid, extremely brand new baby…) we tried a new spot last weekend.

“Do you think Abigail would ride her bike?  Do you think she’d be up for it?”

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“Let’s just go.  No expectations.”

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“No expectations” is a completely different mindset than “low expectations.”  It is open.  It is a wide nothingness to be filled up.  Yes, some of these adventures will be successful and some won’t be, but don’t expect that nothing good will come.  Just go out there and see.

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Pedal to the top of uncomfortable.  Take a deep, cleansing breath.  Sail downhill and follow the journey.  Go and go and go.

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This time around we reclaimed that little piece of us that had been missing.

Love,

~Me

PS:  Abigail, here is a record of the “Pets You Need” as of today:  guinea pig (still!), hamster, Basset Hound, “Service Snake”  (Like a service dog?)

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PPS:  Claire.  CLAIIIIIIRE.  Think a tooth is on its way…enough said.  In unrelated news, we put your hair in a pony tail.  It was hilarious.

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Letter 49: Snowcation

Dear Girls,

Last night our house had that it’s a little bit warm but definitely too soon for the air conditioner feeling.  I know it’s not here to stay yet but why is unexpected weather so completely wonderful?

Is the uncertainty part of the fun?  Let’s wash our car today because it’s beautiful out and we can’t count on tomorrow.  Do we sense that this one perfect day is a gift worth stopping to appreciate?  Or maybe it’s just the feeling of freedom that comes when you dig out flip flops and run out without a jacket.

Part of me knows that all of those things are true.  Part of me wonders if I am just really excited about seeing Claire’s cute, rolly arms and legs in rompers…”wonderfully made.” So wonderful.

So that’s where we are today.  But last week Jim Cantore was in Columbia to cover the major ice event we were supposed to get.  Naturally one gets a little panicked when The Weather Channel sends their “rockstar” to cover your area’s forecast.  An ice storm is not fun.  It usually means power outages.  Needless to say when Ryan’s parents called us after dinner on Tuesday offering to come and pre-rescue us from a maybe power outage we took them up on their very sweet offer.

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Snowed in with Nanny and Gramps.

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Well, Gramps doesn’t get snowed in.  He’s from New York.

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A little play time with some cousins.

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Lobsters.

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No one lost power.  But we were happy for the little snowcation we got.  Abigail, you now have a respectable pair of ski pants and Claire, maybe you do too if it doesn’t snow again for 5 years.

We wish we could have seen Emma and Jackson, too, but we’ll be back soon — probably wearing shorts instead.

South Carolina.  Expect the unexpected?

Love,

~Me

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PS:  Claire’s 5 months old!  She loves wearing bonnets, reading Pat the Bunny, and doing Yoga.  (Okay, okay.  I love Claire in a bonnet, she mostly grabs books and flings them, but she is seriously into her feet.)

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PPS:  Abigail you like singing songs from Frozen, singing songs from Frozen while taking a bath, singing songs from Frozen while drawing with sidewalk chalk, and calling me “Kid” when you play “Family.”

Letter 48: Winter Mess

Dear Girls,

Last week, area meteorologists hit a career highlight with the arrival of the “Winter Mess” of 2014!  It’d been a few years since this part of the state had seen a snow of these epic proportions.  EPIC.

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Flashback to lunchtime last Tuesday —  Abigail was getting over a bit of a fever and Claire was busy taking a nap.  Having heard that winter weather was on the way I turned on the local news station to try and get more details.

It was on the way!  They didn’t know how much!  Possibly some ice!  More possibly some snow!  Maybe an inch!  Maybe 3!  One thing was for sure it was going to be a “winter mess.”  The meteorologist assured me that his team would be there all day to help navigate this storm. *wink*

Naturally, there was an enormous amount of pressure on these snowflakes.  They needed to start accumulating.  And fast.

Noon.  Nothing.  One o’clock.  Nothing.  Two, three, four, five, six, seven.  Nothing.

“I think it will snow, Mama!”  Abigail told me as we got ready for bed.  “I hope so!” I answered.

Everyone went to bed but I stayed up.  There is something so peaceful and cozy about a snowy night and I didn’t want to miss it.  Finally around nine o’clock the snow began to fall.  I alternated between watching the snow from the front window and cleaning.

At midnight just as I was about to crawl into bed, Abigail walked into my room.  I just couldn’t help myself as I picked her up and carried her to the window.

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“Oh.  I think it snowed,” she said as she surveyed the soft white blanket of snow.  “Our mailbox has hair!  The road got bigger!  Oh.  I like it.  Can we make Oolaf? Please.”  I’m sure that last request was echoed all across town.

Abigail stayed at that window, her little fingers opening the slats of the blinds to peer out just a little longer.  At 3 AM when Daddy got back from checking on things at work, Abigail popped up to tell him it was snowing.  I’m not sure she slept at all that night.

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Around 7:30 we bundled up in a mishmash of snow clothes — a size 2 jacket, rain pants turned rain capris, rain boots, a hat, and mittens covered clothes that layered over pajamas.  We bundled Claire up as best we could and headed out to 3 fantastic inches of wintery mess.

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A day full of snow angels, snow sliding, snow crunching, neighbor visiting, and finally when the powdery snow had melted just enough we made Oolaf.  Drippy boots rested by the door, wet socks and jeans tumbled in the dryer, gloves and hats lined the counter — souvenirs of a snow day.

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We drank hot vanilla and pulled snowy, wintery books from the shelves.  We watched Tangled and made popcorn.

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It was the best kind of snow.  Here and then gone.  Enough to be a fun memory but not enough to be a pain.

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And now we are back to our regularly scheduled weather — sort of winter with a chance of spring, occasional showers but mostly blue skies.

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Love,

~Me

PS:  I’ve been up a lot at night lately, ahem, Claire.  So I don’t have anything witty to say.  I just have this …

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PPS:  Photo Credits to Daddy