Posts Tagged ‘birthday’
Tuesday, December 13th, 2011
Eight years ago I became a mother.
Sawyer was born and my life was altered forever.
How could it not be?
Look at this kid.
That smile? That’s the same one I see when he’s made a new friend. He’s found a couple in his class this year, and it makes me so happy.
“Isn’t he a nice kid, Mom?” he’ll ask as we walk home together. And he’s right. These are nice kids.
The mother of one of them told me a couple months ago that her son thought Sawyer was the coolest kid in the class, and that he wanted to make sure his lunch was nut-free so he could sit with Sawyer at the special table at lunch (Sawyer’s at a nut-free table due to his allergies). When Sawyer was invited over to play, the boy counted down the minutes until Sawyer arrived, and the two had a fabulous time and Sawyer did not want to come home.
There is nothing quite like knowing that another child thinks your kid is special.
His sister and brother certainly do.
His parents do, too.
We are constantly amazed by his creativity. He loves to draw and creates elaborate robots, complete with a cardiovascular system and weapons and labels of all the parts. We complain about his obsession with bey blades, but he’s learned all the names and even sketched an idea for a battle arena. David built it for him out of wood, but unfortunately, no one could know that when a bey blade spins and hits the wood, it will rebound into the air, and after Sawyer got hit in the face a couple times, the new arena was retired.
He wrote a fabulous story which made me wonder if maybe he’d follow in my footsteps and become a writer, though it’d be super-awesome if he could find something at which he could, you know, make more money.
He is his own unique person, and even though sometimes I have trouble figuring out exactly how to reach him, I am always proud of him.
He is kind. He is funny. He’s a spaz. He is sensitive.
He is growing up, little by little.
He is eight.
Happy birthday, Sawyer. Thank you for giving me the greatest gift anyone can. The gift of motherhood.
Wednesday, December 7th, 2011
December is a big month for my family and me. We have our anniversary, Sawyer’s birthday, Christmukah, and my birthday, which many of you celebrate under its pseudonym: New Year’s Eve.
In honor of my birthday month, because goddammit, if I have to count down every year the last seconds of my birthday, then Imma gonna take the whole month to celebrate.
Anyway. In honor of this special birthday month, I’m excited to bring you essays from a few of my favorite writers – and, more important, favorite people – on the the interwebs, to talk about life in their 40s. Because our 40s? Ain’t our mother’s 40s.
To kick it off, I am thrilled to have one of the kindest people I have ever met, Sherri from Old Tweener. She is incredibly supportive and a fantastic mother and, well, I love her.
The Good, the Bad, and the Forty
I can still remember the day it happened.
A cold, clear Saturday morning in early September. I was coaching my then six year-old daughter’s soccer team in one of those horridly-early 8am games. I remember standing there with my coffee mug in hand, whistle hanging around my neck, just taking it all in. It was my 40th birthday.
So this is what it’s like to be forty, I thought.
Whew, not too bad so far.
I had no idea what the coming decade had in store for me.
Seven years later, I still have no clue what to expect of the next three.
There was a big part of me that was anxious to be 40, to prove that 40 years-old in this generation means something completely different than it did for the previous one.
But some days, I’m not so sure.
I feel like the Age Fairy swooped down and took a few tiny things from me that I used to take for granted. Took them in the middle of the night, quietly, while I was sleeping the very sound sleep of a younger person.
She took my flexibility, which I wasn’t drowning in to begin with but was certainly nice to have. I am realizing this now that bending down to tie my shoes takes so much effort. On a related note, aren’t those Ugg-type boots awesome?
She took away my jack-rabbit metabolism; the one that allowed me to eat eleven pizza burgers on a dare in college, ice cream every day if I wanted it, real cream and sugar in my morning coffee, and any amount of candy or soda I wanted. And still stay thin and have a flat tummy. Please don’t hate; apparently my time has come.
She took my short-term memory. I may remember what my son was wearing the first day of preschool, but why am I in this room?
She took the perkiness I used to have in my face. That youthfulness that borders on a glow, that shouts Card Me! at the liquor store. Replaced with sags and bags, crow’s feet and acne. Um yeah, I don’t get carded anymore.
But the Age Fairy also left some things behind I didn’t realize I needed.
She left me a new voice. I don’t care what others think quite as much as I once did. I voice my opinions more often without worrying what someone will think of me.
She left me realizing that society’s version of perfect isn’t mine. I’ve found a new comfort in my own skin; free from decades of worrying that these thighs or this chest weren’t like Cindy Crawford’s.
I’m left with a new understanding that friends, laughter, making plans and trying new things is the fuel that keeps us young.
I understand now why my grandmother would always watch “her shows” in the afternoon. To see what the young people were doing. Pretty much what I do in the blogosphere. For a few hours each day, I read and I tweet and I laugh with a generally younger crowd than I would hang with in nature.
And I love it. I feel thirty again when I hang with you guys, laugh with you, and read your stories just like my grandmother watched her shows.
Until I look in the mirror. Or hear my hip pop when I get up from the chair after an hour of blogging.
And as I stare down fifty in less than three years, I can honestly say that my forties have been pretty damn awesome.
Fifty? Bring it on…
Wednesday, September 14th, 2011
Step 1: Examination. And no, he’s not sweating it. He just got out of the pool at Sage’s sixth birthday party.
Step 2: The tiny taste test
Step 3: All the way in
Step 4: Mission accomplished
And when I say “mission accomplished” I mean he ate all the frosting off. Because he is his mother’s son, and he knows the cake part is simply the conduit for that sweet pink deliciousness on top.
p.s. I couldn’t resist posting this next picture that was taken four years ago at Sage’s birthday party. It is one of my most favorite pictures of her – ever.
Saturday, September 10th, 2011
I am confident Sage can eat her birthday cupcakes without front teeth.
She has lost six, four on the bottom and two on top, one for each year (let’s not discuss how many hairs I’ve pulled out in that span).
This picture was taken Wednesday, before her first day of kindergarten. I know I will look back on it next year and think how little she looks, but at the moment, she looks so damn big.
We walked to her classroom – she has the same teacher Sawyer had – and when the teacher opened the door, Sage, being Sage, walked right in and sat on the circle time carpet.
Without saying goodbye to me.
She was ready. So very, very ready.
What will this year bring? What will she remember?
My kindergarten memories consist of one thing: When our teacher was going to give us ice cream, I said “goody gumdrops” and some smart-ass kid said, “It’s NOT gumdrops.”
I’m hoping Sage has a greater takeaway.
I’d like to see her edges soften, to think before she reacts in anger.
I want her to celebrate her intelligence.
I want to hear her giggles and listen to her sing along with Big Time Rush when she doesn’t think I’m watching.
I want her to feel loved.
Because she is.
Happy birthday, my sweet Lou. You are my fire and my heart.