Hallelujah

Oh my gosh! It's EASTER!

This was the first year that Will really got the whole idea of Easter Egg Hunt. Pretty fun. Until he ate his 2483286567438967347863 jelly bean. Then not so fun.

This is the "just one more, Daddy?" face. He's gotten pretty good at the whole charm factor.

Will's first fake smile. I'll take it.

Easter Egg Hunt at Mimi and Poppy's! 

I have learned that there is a right way and a wrong way to host an Easter Egg Hunt. 

The wrong way=kids of all ages starting at the same time and little kids getting trampled and shut out. The right way=at Mimi and Poppy's house.

There is some serious egg dyeing going on right here.

I love this picture because my 87 year old grandmother is in it. She is the definition of AMAZING.

Love her sunglasses.

And Gege. Well, we couldn't love her any more too. 

She's a GIFT.

Happy Easter, y'all!

March Gratitude

I am grateful for YOU and...

 Homemade forts.

 Pillow piles.

 Hugs.

 Naked boys!

 My growing boy.

 Lunch dates with Will.

 Living in Louisville.

 Louisville's new walking bridge. This town has it goin' on.

 Sundays.

Trust. 

 Family.

Exploration.

Sunshine. Easter morning. New beginnings.

I said yes to something today and then had a panic attack. My boss cornered me in the front office and innocently asked, "So...have you made a decision about Transcript?" Then he threw out the number 3,000 (as in dollars) and smiled sweetly and before I knew it, I had said yes and was the newest faculty advisor to the JK-12 yearbook as the school welcomes a new headmaster and approaches its centennial.

I can't even get my family's own scrapbooks done. What had I done?

I'll tell you what I had done. I had succumbed to one of my many weaknesses: not being able to say no. As a first year teacher here and a people-pleaser, I had said yes because I didn't want to disappoint my boss or screw my opportunities down the road. But I had also said yes to Saturday all-day work sessions, another class (#6 in a schedule that only accomodates 7 classes), criticism from people of all kinds who I would certainly let down in my first year in this role, even later-nights, and more obsession over perfection, which we all know is impossibly tough to achieve in education.

But then I got to thinking what I was saying "no" to. And that changed everything.

I was saying no to Saturdays with my son and husband.
I was saying no to turning off my computer some nights and dealing with shit tomorrow.
I was saying no to students who needed to meet with me during activity period to work on their papers.
I was saying no to a newspaper that I was excited to further develop.
And I was saying definitely no to this voice that keeps telling me to write, dammit. I don't write often because I would rather sleep be with Will, but I keep thinking of all these things I want to write, and that little voice won't go away.

And in the middle of this panic attack, I heard my phone buzz. A text from my mom, who cancelled a dentist appointment today in order to rescue us last minute when our Tuesday sitter's kids got sick:

"Guess what? When we were walking into Milestone, Will told me he was wet, so we went into the kids' bathroom and he peed in the potty! I was so proud of him!"

And I thought, dammit it if I am going to say no to moments like this. I would be a fool to work these years away. And shame on me if I move to this town only to work on stuff I don't really care about instead of spending time loving my own mom, who continues to selflessly take care of me while I focus on myself. Will just peed in the potty, and my mom helped facilitate it. THIS is important, people.

So I marched back into my boss's office and changed my mind. And that "no" turned my Saturdays with my family back into a "yes." Damn straight.

Our Sweet Will

Will,

I held you in my arms last night and rocked you back to sleep for the first time in months. You have your second ear infection in as many months, and yet you calmed your tears into sweet sighs once I picked you up and rocked you in the same chair I used to sit in with you for hours in the middle of the night. You felt so big. But on this Saturday night at 10 p.m., you and I seemed to have a silent pact: let's enjoy these quiet moments together once again. So I rocked you long past I heard your breaths turn steady and rhythmic. And I thanked God for you over and over and over again.

You are so full of life now, my love. You talk in multiple voices, run circles around the first floor, splash wildly in the bath, and identify things that whizz by when we are in the car. You love to play with other kids, especially Mac, who came to visit us a couple weeks ago. You all jumped on the bed and giggled and played hide and go seek until you plum wore yourselves out while us parents watched and vowed we would all be friends for life. Your first best friend, he is.

But perhaps what I love most about you is your natural care for others. You love to play with others, but you are reserved and observant at first. You watch and smile and join in when invited, but you would never barge in on someone or demand anything from anyone. You seem to already intuit the important idea of putting others before yourself. The pictures we see from preschool show you sitting in the circle and stirring the pancake batter and painting on an easel; you enjoy whatever life brings you, and you do it with gratitude and joy. You remind me and Daddy all the time that love is all around us.

We are working on expanding your food choices these days (mac and cheese can only do so much for your growing body :)), and you still don't love waking up at 6:45 and walking out the door 30 minutes later, but who does? You are dream of a son. Daddy and I were so happy just the two of us and then you came along and you. fit. right. in. You are part of us, we are part of you, the three of us are made for each other. We're a team, and we all know it. We take care of each other, and we remind each other that love and family and time together is what it's all about.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sad. My tears seemed to shock you. And in a tender moment, you reached out to me, grabbed my hand, and said, "Mama, it's okay. It's okay." What a gift you are, my son. You make me a better person every day. So when I told you last night that it was all going to be okay, that we would get medicine for that darn ear and all would be better soon, I was taking your lead.

I love you to the goodnight moon and back.
Mama