Never grow up. Always laugh hysterically at the vacuum, the word “doggie” and your daddy going down the stairs. Always be just the right size, small enough to hold on my hip and cuddle your head into my neck. Always say “dada” and “oh oh oh” when you wake up in your crib. Always laugh at your face in a mirror. Always scream at the top of your lungs, for no good reason except that you just learned how. Always need me to pick you up when you fall backwards and unclog your bottle when it gets stuck. Always sing to the music with “ah”s and “mmm”s. Always get Cheerios stuck to your chubby little hands when you’re trying to jam as many as possible into your mouth. Always cry when you need me and stop when I hold you. Always sleep two doors down and don’t ever go anywhere I don’t take you. Always gibber and babble and giggle. Always be ticklish and curious and perfect and mine. Don’t ever, ever grow up.
– for long naps (his, not mine)
– for summer in winter
– for the ability to run, even if after nine minutes I was sure it had been forty
– that I am a student again…go niners 🙂
– for Harris Teeter, and that I make delicious meals but spend way less than I ever thought possible
– for a husband who loves his job, and coming home
– for football, even though I still don’t know what “secondary” means
– for vowel sounds, the squinty smiles, and separation anxiety
– for the privilege of being the first person my baby sees every time he wakes up
– for a good eye doctor, accountant, conscience, skillet, and pastor
– that I finally fit in jeans (I got new ones, that’s how.)
– that I am finally sleeping, cooking, exercising, and reading the Bible regularly
– for technology, because I don’t care what anyone says, it makes me feel less lonely
– for answered prayers
– that I get far more than I deserve.
I think it started when I asked him what he ate for breakfast. “A pack of crackers and a coke” was the answer, and something inside me died. No husband of mine will EVER eat crackers and coke for breakfast, I informed him. And that was the beginning.
We have always packed Todd’s lunches to save money. I am embarrassed to say that cost was the defining factor, and as anyone knows, eating crap is much cheaper than eating healthy. But as of Jan. 4 I decided (much to my husband’s dismay), Cheetos, Coke, Little Debbies, fruit on the bottom yogurt, cheese nips, doritos, yes, even “granola bars” (more sugar than granola) were a thing of the past.
I am excited about my revisions. And so far, so is Todd. Lucky for me, what he lacks in nutrition he makes up for in tolerance. Translation: After five years of bachelorhood (pickles and cereal for dinner – no lie), he eats anything I put in front of him with relish. (Not the pickle relish anymore, but the you-are-amazing-these-are-the-best-meatballs-ever relish.)
And in all honesty, who wouldn’t prefer homemade mini banana bran muffins with side of cheese cubes over those greasy crackers? And that fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, that is an imposter! Healthy my eye!! Modified food starch, careegan, high fructose corn syrup, red dye #5…are you kidding me??? Now we eat PLAIN vanilla yogurt with frozen fruit on top and a splash of honey. Yum! Of course my hubby still likes a crunch with his sandwich. We comprimise. Turns out Fritos and plain Lays have no preservatives, so I’m okay with them… Eventually I will transition him to a fist-sized serving of walnuts, but don’t tell him yet. Baby steps. And dessert? The biggest problem with dessert is that I keep eating them. I’ve frozen “peanut butter chocolate monster oat cookies” in the freezer. I would literally eat them for breakfast. And come to think of it, so does Todd now. Oh well. You can’t win all your battles. 🙂
I’d love to hear some of your healthy lunch options!
Well I still think the name is dumb. But I have to admit I’ve been tempted to google it more than once in the last few weeks…and, heck, give it a try.
Lately motherhood has been overwhelming. The house is a wreck. There is homemade baby food stuck to the cabinets. And the floor. And my slippers. There are Cheerios, wet ones, lodged in the most minuscule crevices of the high chair and smushed inside baby toys. And really, I must ask, is there a more revolting smell than wet Cheerios? I submit that there is not. The naps have been short, the worries have been big, the cries seem louder, the laughs briefer…Two things have encouraged me.
1. From my mom: “Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you or with Sam. Mothering is hard, hard work.”
2. From God: “When I am weak, then I am strong.”