I Really Should be Writing This Down

Today I went to the annual spring event at JC’s co-op. He is 7 now, on the very cusp of 8, and attends the drop-off program. This means several things. One is that he makes friends that I do not know well. I hear their names and stories about them each week. It also means we left behind friends that haven’t aged out of the parent-led sessions, where JC and I spent several years getting to know older and younger kids and I spent hours each week with their parents. They became my friends, and a few became my close friends.

Then I got pregnant, JC graduated into the drop-off program, and the time I got to spend with even the closest of those friends became minimal. In fact, the last time I saw most of these parents was last year’s spring festival, right after I’d announced my pregnancy and was sporting just the smallest of protruding belly bumps.

That bump, that little possibility of a person, is now a wriggling, jovial, roly-poly baby boy, desperate to keep up with his big brother even at 5 months old.

It was delightful to show him off to people who followed my pregnancy through Facebook and Instagram and stories from my eldest, who has apparently kept his co-op appraised of all things happening in our world.

Today I had people approach me and say, “are you JC’s mom?” And when I accepted that moniker, bracing myself for whatever was about to come next (because, let’s be honest: it could be anything from “your son just sang every word of ‘The Devil went down to Georgia’ for us!” to “JC told us all about how you went into pre-term labor at your baby shower and threw up just as the guests were sitting down to eat!”, both of which I heard today), I inevitably heard this:

How is it with 2 boys with such an age difference?

Well, I’ll tell you: it’s…fast.

Somehow I managed to go from barely pregnant to having a semi-mobile baby and an exuberant 2nd grader in a year that felt like it happened in a week. The breakneck speed at which my life seems to be going by is both gratifying and terrible. My days pass in a blur and I look up at dinner time and think, where did the time go?!

This is a stark difference to how those early days of first-time motherhood passed. When JC was small, I had not yet met my tribe. I had no other children, and some days, no reason to leave my house. I could spent hours contemplating his baby toes, his belly button, and I remember the late afternoons would stretch on for days while I waited for my husband to come home from work. With no older sibling to attend to and email and social media still a thing of the future (when JC was born I had a flip phone with a grainy camera and had no idea what life with unlimited talk, text and data would be like), life was slower. Now our days start early and I look up after both boys are in bed and realize all I’ve eaten all day is leftover Easter candy and an entire bag of mini carrots. JC has activities, there are math lessons and writing practices to be done, friends who make sure I don’t slip into introverted isolation, and family to share the moments with.

And yet, there is still time.

There is still time to marvel at the wonders of a growing baby: his unique and joyful personality, his chubby thighs, his infectious grin that showed itself at a mere 10 days old. There is still time for a snuggle and a story with JC, who despite his status as a big kid will still jump at the chance for coveted Mom or Dad lap time. There’s time to enjoy the connection my two sons have despite the age difference, then to wonder at the fact that I have sons. That I’ve been entrusted with the care of two fantastic and frustrating creatures. There is still time to think, man, I should be writing this down.

But just because there’s time to think it doesn’t mean there’s actually time to do it. There’s also no time to do laundry, meal plan, train for the marathon I want to run, or do much of anything outside the immediate requirements of motherhood. Some things, of course, must be done. Laundry, for example, or else the baby may be put to bed in an oversized “Someone in Colorado loves me and bought me this T-shirt” shirt and a pair of baby sweat pants (that may or may not have happened today). And, after visiting with so many old friends this morning and being reminded of the swift passage of days, there must be time made for writing, both for my love of it and for the record-keeping of the boyhood details I’ll forget one day as my kids get older. Which is why after I put the baby down after his 1:00 AM snack I picked up my pen to write.

I’ve got plans for this blog: a new name, a new layout, and a list of topics I want to write about motherhood and all it encompasses. But life happens while you’re busy making plans, so tonight as my family sleeps I jumped in with both feet. Because life is fast…and I really should be writing this down.

A special thanks to my readers who are still out there! I’m looking forward to reconnecting with you all. 💙

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Letting go of Grandma’s Attic: Part One

A strange thing has happened to me during this pregnancy. Instead of the nesting inclination I had when I was pregnant with JC, I have the opposite: I want to get rid of everything. I want to purge. I want to streamline. I want to organize and control.

My husband is positively thrilled.

When we moved this spring, I was too wrapped up in morning sickness to do any organizing at all. Everything was packed, whether we needed it or not. Once we got settled in, I realized I hadn’t leased a storage unit…which made me realize that if I did so now, I’d have to haul all the stuff to the unit myself. So everything extra went into JC’s closet and bedroom: all his toys. Thousands of legos. Off-season clothes. Our holiday decorations, childhood mementos, random boxes of spare computer parts and college paperwork got stacked into his oversized closet. It was madness, and it also made me realize a third thing: in a few short months, I was going to have to fit a whole other human (albeit a small one) and all his accruements in there, too.

Where is baby going to go?!?


So I started to sort. It has been decades coming, folks. Once I started to throw things away, I couldn’t stop. Letters from boyfriends I hadn’t even liked at the time, notes passed between elementary school gal pals, sheet music from middle school concert band, ticket stubs from when I was 8 or 9, and incriminating photos from my sorority days went into big black garbage bags. An entire box of gift bags from my wedding. 10 years ago. I may have a tiny bit of a hoarding problem.

Despite the hormonal surge to clear out everything, it still came with a bit of nostalgia for the proverbial grandma’s attic. You know, going back to Grandma’s old farmhouse as an adult where you spent your summers and getting lost in the attic, finding things from generations ago. Finding old diaries and letters wrapped in twine and–

–Wait, you don’t know? Actually…me either. I think perhaps my desire to keep everything for future generations comes from the scene in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation when Chevy Chase gets stuck up in the attic and watches reels of old movies. There is no attic such as that in my world–in fact, my grandma just moved into a nursing home and all of her earthly possessions have been stacked at my mother’s house in what is proving to be a long, tedious and painful process as my mother has to go through old bills, letters, paperwork and stuff. Definitely not the memories I want to leave behind for my future generations.

No, I’d rather leave a few well-chosen memories for my children’s children to go through one day: a glowing reference letter my high school newspaper editor wrote for me that made me sound like a literary genius. The movie stub from the very first date I went on with my husband. A feather from the feather boa I wore to my senior prom (yep, I was that girl). And maybe–maaaaaybe–a salacious photo or two from those sorority days, just to make my grandkids raise an eyebrow at what grandma was like back in the day.

Do you hang on to everything? Or do you throw away as you go? Is there anything you’ve gotten rid of that you wish you could get back?

 

Mama’s Getting a Promotion

Well, hello there.

The last time we talked it was January. I had every intention of starting 2017 off with a blogging boom. I had lists and schedules and all that stuff–and then I was offered a freelance writing job that took up every free moment of my life until mid-March. Almost immediately after it wrapped up, I got an even bigger promotion. The biggest promotion a stay-at-home mom/writer mama can get.


Nugget will be arriving just in time for Thanksgiving and the holiday season, and we’re all excited about the addition of a Little Brother for JC. In fact, when we told him the big news, his first reaction was, “Finally!” JC has been asking for a sibling since he was 3, and  in his opinion, his father and I have been taking our sweet time fulfilling that particular request.

The first trimester was…rough. I got really sick right after I found out I was expecting, then got sciatica so badly that some days I didn’t leave the couch. The first half of the second trimester wasn’t much better. Then summer came, and I was very focused on having a slow and engaged summer with JC. It has been really nice just to taking our time for the past couple of months: wake up when we feel like it (even though JC “feels like it” at 6 AM), exploring our favorite city haunts, and spending long afternoons reading Harry Potter together.

But fall is right around the corner. Homeschooling starts back up in just a couple weeks, along with my 3rd trimester. Change is in the air for JC, my family and for my little corner of the internet. I’ve enjoyed our slow summer but I’m happy to pick up the pace again.

Are you back to school or still enjoying summer? Are you ready for fall or still clinging to that summer feeling?