The keeper of the Cheerios

An update..

2008-11-12T20:59:00.000-08:00

Yes, I will get around to posting my birthday letter to Mackenzie. It's in my head, just not on paper (err, word processor).

Ben took 3 steps today! THREE! I have no more babies. All these grown children surround me.

This week...

2008-11-07T15:47:00.000-08:00

It's been insane! My baby girl turned 5. Nick turned 28. Ben took a step! I have so many words! So many to express how I feel about all these moments, but no time to sit and get them out. Whenever I am sitting, I am usually nursing. And Ben's feet make it hard to type.

Two years ago..

2008-11-02T21:33:00.001-08:00

A letter to Kenzie...

Kenzie,

I may be a writer but I'm not a poet, not nearly.

I have neither the eloquence nor the skill to convey what is in my heart today and for this I hope you'll forgive me. I want you to understand that my failure here is neither from lack of inclination nor lack of trying. It's simply that it's so hard to think when all you can do is feel.

I've started this letter and erased it eleventy-seven times at least in the past three years. I want to tell the entire story of your life; every moment of the 1130 days since you first lay on my chest and I shakily whispered, "I'm your mommy. Nice to meet you."

I want to lay out all my wishes for you. All my hopes and blessings. I want to tell you how much you've changed me, how much you've taught me in three years. Perhaps I've learned more in these three years than in my entire lifetime. I could fill a book with it.

But it would be nothing you'd want to read. It would be just one more reason for you to roll your eyes in later years and go ma-aaaaaaa And from what I hear, we don't need more of those things, do we.

The task is too great, my feelings too overpowering today, this day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Another day, the words might come. But today, I can only tell you what I can tell you and that will have to be enough.

Three years and roughly ten months ago, I entered a world I never thought I'd have access to. Phrases like karaoke and margarita with salt were erased from my vocabulary and replaced with expressions like prenatal vitamins and mucus plug. My body spread and stretched, my organs nudged one another over to make room for the new life. An amazing anatomical dance just for you.

Thirty-two weeks into my pregnancy, a nurse laid her palms against my swollen belly and smiled. "Sometimes I get a feeling about a child," she said, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing gently into my flesh. "If I may...this one has an independent personality."

I knew she was right. I knew it when we named you and a year later you had re-named yourself "Car Keys," refusing to respond to anything else, and correcting anyone who dared to call you Kenzie. I knew it even before you were actually born, when I went into the hospital at 31 weeks with a headache and they discovered that I was having contractions and you were trying to make your way out, then due to their efforts to stop you by abusing my extremities with shots numerous times, your stubbornness prevailed and they had to induce me. But you just laughed at us and stepped out from behind the curtains onto the stage that is the world.

You are your mother's daughter.

The first time I laid eyes on you, I'd like to say that my first thought was "I love you." But I'd be lying.

I loved the idea of you, but the actual you, well you were a stranger. For 39 weeks you had grown inside me, pressed your limbs against my belly, hiccuped daily, kicked my ribs, made me pee sixteen times an hour. You were all I thought about, every night, every day. I wrote to you. I sang to you as best I could. I read to you. I made brilliant, grandiose plans for you, I dreamed of you, I awoke thinking of you and nothing but you. I assumed all of those things add up to knowing a person.

But when I looked at you, I knew I had been mistaken.

And so my first thought that early November afternoon was, "who is this?

I don't know these eyes, I don't know this nose, I don't know these ears, I don't know this cry. Who is this little girl lying on my chest, trying to make sense of the world, the fluorescent lights, the women in scrubs, the tearful grandparents, the beaming father who can only stop talking about you long enough to scoop you up and kiss your forehead? Who is she and who is she going to be? Who is she going to be to me?"

Okay, my first thought was "I really want a Coke." But my second thought sounded better.

That night in the hospital, we were alone together, virtually. Daddy was sleeping in the recliner. I was terrified. Excited. Panicked. Happy. And then in the hours that I stared at you (it was just impossible to take my eyes off you, even for a minute) it struck me--you weren't a stranger at all. It was another time, another place; a relationship I can't quite put my finger on. But it was real and some piece of me was struck with the recognition.

That's when I realized, the face may be unfamiliar but the relationship is not new at all. Teacher and student, together again.

The student being me.

Here I want to convey this remarkable spirit, this unrelenting joy you radiate and how it has defined you for the last thirty seven months. But again the language is just out of reach.

I close my eyes, trying so hard to see the combination of letters and commas, periods and spaces that will bring your personality to life, but everything just seems fuzzy and off. A cloudy alphabet soup.

I see images instead: You waving at a waitress. You hugging a tree. You with all your pink kittens propped in the litter box while you used the scooper and declared "Poop! Poop!" You .. just being... well.. YOU. A brief moment of Kenzie's attention is enough to change someone's entire heart.

Oh how I want you to stay this person. This person who isn't afraid to clap for a mailbox or laugh at a dog. But I know I can't make you. I can only allow you to be who you are at that moment.

I press my eyelids closed again because I want to see who you are at one, lock it into my memory. Even if I have no words in my head, I do have the pictures.

I see your adorable little pirate smirky smile at one week. I see your pigtails and the purple marker you use to make yourself "beautiful" when you paint it on your eyelids and your arms, and your lips and your feet. I see your perfect pale skin and the smooth soles of your feet. I see your bright, curious blue eyes behind eyelashes I envy.

I see you grabbing my nose in the morning, poking my face or pulling my hair until I agree to start the day.

I see your face covered with yogurt. Or chocolate. Or your mouth full of whipped cream straight from the can.

I see you eating your boogers. Because you "eat all the boogers."

I see you chasing the kittens around the driveway, and crying that you just want to hold one to anyone you can get to do the dirty work.. I see you shrieking KITTY! at the cat, grabbing it, and snuggling it to your chest and your face, giving her sweet sticky kisses, your smile surrounded by bits of fine grey fur.

I see you laughing at the recessed lighting in the kitchen ceiling, an inside joke between you and the 40 watt bulbs.

I see you jumping. Jumping when Uncle LJ walks in the door. Jumping up and singing along to 1985, or Mommy's Wreckers ring tone. Jumping on any bed that you can get your little size 9 feet on. Jumping like it's the single best thing in the whole entire world and you can do it higher and longer and with far more passion than anyone anywhere ever.

I see you shrieking "Mama!" over and over again as I try to walk out the door. Just because you want to give me another one of your silly kisses or a sweet, cuddly hug.

I see you laying your head on my chest when the fatigue is just too much to fight, even for you, the amazing non-sleeping girl. I see myself lowering my nose to your head and inhaling, wanting so badly to remember the warmth, the smell, the feeling.

And always I see you smiling.

Just three short years ago, we brought you home after spending maybe 38 hours in the hospital. I didn't let you out of my sight once. They wanted to take you to the nursery, to give me a break, but all I thought was "I finally just GOT you, how can I let them take you away?" (Plus all the random thoughts that you were so perfect, someone might steal you, or they could DROP YOU!) I even followed and watched through a window when you got your first shots.

You were a typical baby. Typical for our family, anyway. You wanted everything your way from day one. I could see from the beginning that you had a strong, stubborn, feisty personality.

Your verbal skills progressed at an amazing - and somewhat alarming! - rate.

You can say your alphabet, but when you get to the end you sing "W, X, Wine and Z." This makes me laugh every time. You know your colors and shapes and can count to 14. (Although you do crack me up when you bust out randomly with "eleventeen." You say "fuck" and know how to use it appropriately, which I learned the other day when you were, and I quote "looking for (your) fucking socks so you could wear then on (your) stupid feet." You must always, and I repeat, ALWAYS be right. If your dear friend Cameron talks about the tires on his quad, you constantly correct him and tell him that /actually/ those are /tires/ on his /motorcycle./ Just like your mama, you are.

Some of the best moments in the world are when you play "Mommy." You advised me recently that I got to be grandma. A terrifying thought! You take care of your babies so well. Tossing them in the air, beating them on the floor because you're trying to make an ouchie, because that's how you love the baby. I sometimes wonder what CPS would think if they saw your Mommy game.

You love music and you love to sing. Anything on the radio. Songs you make up and title things like "Fishie."

You enjoy the cleaning game. This involves a baby wipe which you wipe along the wall or floor for a minute, then squeeze as hard as you can (while making a growling noise…?) to make the water drip out of the wipe and onto the floor. Art is another favorite pastime. But you must be monitored vigilantly since you take every opportunity to draw on the floor, walls, furniture and yourself.

Most days, you seem like a teenager trapped in a toddler's body.

At your birthday party, you excitedly proclaimed to everyone that "everyone was going to sing Happy Birthday to /YOU/ and /ALL/ the presents will be for /YOU/" You adore the Happy Birthday song and when we all sang it to you, the look on your face was a combination of shock, thrill, awe, and appreciation.

You've been through a lot in your short time here. You've moved three times, been through a divorce with your mommy and daddy, become a big sister. And the biggest adventures are yet to come.

You have been such a joy, a blessing, a terror, and everything I could ever possibly need, but didn't know I wanted.

Mommy loves you.

I've signed so many blog posts directed at you. But never, have I simply just relayed this thought.

Love,

Your Mommy

Sick Day!

2008-10-28T15:09:00.001-07:00

Last night we went out when Nick got home to look for a costume for him. It was unsuccessful. We did snag a pumpkin and a carving kit so Nick and Mackenzie could do something festive that I don't care to do.

After working on the pumpkin, Kenzie said that her tummy hurt. Then she coughed twice. Then she BARFED outside the bathroom door. Yeah, that was not fun. So I said my prayers for the Little Green Clean Machine and cleaned it up.

She got sent home from school before it started. She didn't even make it before she barfed up Cookie Crisp cereal. So she came home, I changed her and we watched some cartoons while I nursed Ben.

Of course, at this point, I was feeling super barfy. In fact, first thing this morning I was afraid to move for fear of puking. I still feel that way. Ben is sleeping. Kenzie is eating some crackers. And I want to puke.

We did go out for a bit today. To Goodwill to look for Nick's costume. No dice. We stopped by the park for some fresh air.

Kenzie spent her time running beside the pond. And harassing the ducks. And swinging as high as her 4 year old legs could take her.

!

Ben spent his moments eating sand and rocks (and duck poop, I am sure). He also explored the rocks. And I strapped him on with my Cinchworm and we went for a ride on the swings, which he loved

I think the ducks were sad we didn't feed them.

No no no..

2008-10-27T16:44:00.000-07:00

Ben has learned to shake his head no. Ask him anything today, and he will shake his head furiously. Ask Kenzie something and he will do it too. Also, have paper? He will eat it. Mmmm fiber.

Ben wore himself out rearranging the dining chairs today. And removing all those pesky DVDs from their rightful place. Those are two activities he does daily.

But his new thing the past two days?? Standing unassisted! And taking a step! HE TOOK A STEP. From the coffee table to the sofa. I <3 him. Please let him stop growing up.

Kenzie's thoughts on the Presidential elections..

2008-10-26T10:26:00.000-07:00

This morning while watching our daily dose of Noggin (Hey! C'mon, now, it's like preschool on TV!) They did their almost hourly comment on Kid's Pick the President to say that Obama had won the kids over. Kenzie looks up at the picture of him and I hear, "What the? I wanted the black guy to win!" I then had to point out that Obama is the "black guy."

Nie Nie

2008-10-24T16:05:00.000-07:00

Before I was terminated at my old job, weekly, I would read this blog called NieNie Dialogues. Nie lives in Mesa and is LDS, and she was a great mom, friend and everything. I used to think one day I would email her and say hi, since we live in the same town. I realized I hadn't read her blog since I have been out of work so I went to read it only to find out that she and her husband had been in a small plane crash in August.
I am now reading updates on her sister's blog and checking out the fundraisers to help with her recovery. She has four little ones that she has been apart from for months while recovering, and being a mom myself, I think if how hard it would be. So anyway, my whole point is, their family is asking for prayers, and I know that my friends here can offer that much. Please keep their beautiful family in your thoughts.

In which I blog about something skeevy..

2008-10-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

Kenzie got sent home with head lice! She had it once before. And we were done. Literally. I even checked her last week because I am paranoid. Now she has been sent home! I am so embarrassed. I can't decide if I should be going to her meeting or not. I don't have a babysitter because the headlice situation made me upset with my parents. Seems that Kenzie caught it from my niece. And was profiled at school because my niece had it so they checked Kenzie. How awful is that?

At least I have found something amazing. Let me tell you, guys. I don't get paid for promotions or anything, but Blue House Soaps makes this amazing product called Cootie Catcher and it works and is all natural! I think I went wrong with stopping using the Cootie Catcher shampoo and detangling spray because it was seriously GONE. Trust me, I will be using it daily now.

The plus side is, Ben hasn't gotten it. His hair is so baby fine. I am hoping that is why. I might give him a spray of detangler just in case.

Does the principal have principles?

2008-10-24T08:40:00.000-07:00

No, seriously. As I am just hours away from Mackenzie's parent-teacher conference (my first! Seriously, 28 is far too young for this), I am nervous. Seriously. What can the teacher possibly say about my precocious four year old? Will she talk to me about her temper? Does her temper even flare up at school? Will she tell me how much smarter my child is than the FIVE year olds in her class? Am I the only one who thinks my child is exceptional?

What I do know, either way, there will be donuts for us after the meeting. Chocolate covered, sprinkle dusted, delicious, cakey confections. And then all will be right again.

Approaching the big "5" with Kenzie.

2008-10-23T16:54:00.000-07:00

Kenzie was singing this song to me, and I decided to look it up. She told me, "Mama, this is our song."

Waxing poetic here, but my baby girl is growing up. I don't think I've written her a birthday letter in a year or two, and I feel it's about time for another.

Five, going on 15. What will I do without my baby? Even when she is taller than me (and trust me, it's going to happen before I know it) she will still have a place in my lap.

Tomorrow, I am scheduled for my first parent-teacher conference. Oh yes, my four year old is in kindergarten. With FIVE year olds, as she likes to remind me. I don't know when I became old enough to have a child in elementary school. I can't even imagine how to act. I feel like I am being called to the principal's office.

As for a letter this year? You'll be hard pressed not to find one. It will happen. So much has happened since the last one.