Doing Our Part

This weekend was a total washout.  It rained both Saturday and Sunday, which left little to no time to go outside at all.  Which actually ended up being perfect, because we did some volunteering on Sunday. 

My aunt works for the North Coventry Food Pantry (I have no idea if that's the correct title, but I'm fairly certain) and when I started looking for good volunteer opportunities for Bailey and me back in the fall she sent me a message letting me know that they could always use some help at the Food Pantry.  As is always the case, life got busy and we never actually made it anywhere to volunteer.  But then my aunt sent me a message a few days ago asking if we were still interested in helping...which, of course, we were!

So Sunday morning, Bailey and I {along with my sister and brother-in-law and their 2 kids, my mom, and both sets of aunts and uncles} volunteered setting up bags for Easter meals.  On the drive over, I explained to Bailey that we were going to help do something for someone less fortunate.  I told her that we'd be packing up meals for other mommies and daddies and little girls and boys who might not get to have an Easter dinner, otherwise.  I'm not sure how much of what I said actually got through to her, but I tried to explain how lucky we are to be able to have meals and snacks and a roof over our heads, because lots of other people don't have those things.  I'm hoping that the more we do things like this the more it will hit home for her.

Each bag included coffee and tea, pancake mix, syrup, macaroni and cheese, 2 different kinds of vegetables, and pineapples and, with all of us creating a giant assembly line, we got more than 90 bags put together in a little under an hour.

Bailey and her 2 cousins stood on milk crates and each of them helped get the bags packed and ready to go.  And there was not a single complaint from either of them.  In fact, I think they actually really enjoyed it.

Notice how blurry some of these photos turned out?  We were moving!  We had a good time, and we helped others in our own way.  And I LOVE that this was something that even Bailey could take part in.  For her part, she helped my uncle unpackage the cans of vegetables and set them out for us to place inside the bags.  And, of course, she got to throw the empty boxes aside which was super fun for her.

If you're ever looking for a volunteer opportunity for you and/or your kids, consider volunteering at your local Food Pantry.  Donate, too.  Canned goods and non-perishables, diapers, formula, etc.  They can use it all and it will go to a family who needs the help.  Check out these birthday boxes that were put together by the local elementary school:

Each box contains everything you need to have a birthday party-- decorations, cake mix and frosting, etc.--and is labeled with age and gender {for example, the top box is for an 8 year old girl}.  And look how cute the boxes are decorated!  These were put together by elementary-aged children.  Each child donated an item to the box, and then the class packaged them up, decorated them, and donated them.  And another child who might otherwise not have one is going to enjoy an awesome birthday party.  Now, that right there is help in action.  Kudos to those kids and kudos to their teacher for doing such a wonderful thing for someone else.

It might seem selfish to say this {considering we were helping those less fortunate} but I had a really good time and would love to do it again.  So, Aunt Kathy, if you're reading this let me know if/when you need more help!

 

You Is Kind. You Is Smart. You Is Important.

Last night, my heart broke into a million tiny pieces.  I was going to return some books to the library and asked Bailey if she wanted to come with me.  She, of course, wanted to go and she wanted to go right now, never mind the fact that we were in the middle of dinner.  So I told her, "Sure you can come!  We'll go after dinner, but you've got to put your jammies on first."  It was already getting late and I knew we'd spend a good hour or so at the library, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and just have her put pajamas on before we left.  No big deal, right?  But Bailey got all upset.  "But, mommy...I can't wear my jammies to the library!"    I assured her that she could but she kept insisting that she couldn't.  Finally, she lowered her head and, in a teeny tiny voice, said "Everyone's gonna laugh at me if I wear my jammies to the library."

Heart...shattered.

This is my little girl, the one who wears mismatched summer clothes in the middle of winter.  The little girl who doesn't care if her hair is perfectly combed before we go outside.  The little girl who couldn't care less that she has a slight unibrow because (1) she doesn't know any better and (2) her mimom told her it was beautiful.  The little girl who I've watched run up to a group of kids, introduce herself, and ask them if they want to play with her. The little girl who runs around the playground without a care in the world, and who is super excited to play tee ball even though she's never played ball a day in her life and has no idea what it entails.

And now she's worried that people will laugh at her if she wears pajamas to the library.

She's not even four years old yet...why is that even a thought in her little world?  Why is she worried about anything but what's for dinner, how soon she can go outside to play, and whether or not she should have strawberry water ice or rainbow for dessert?  It broke my heart.  She's too young for those kinds of worries and insecurities.

I promised her that no one would laugh at her if she wore her jammies to the library.  She was still hesitant, so I told her that I would wear my jammies to the library, too.  And she got this big smile on her face and was so happy.  So I did.  She wore her Dora pajamas with winter boots and I proudly sported my flannel pajama bottoms and a sweat shirt with sneakers.  Did we look a little bit ridiculous?  Yes, but Bailey didn't think so once she saw me in my pajamas.  And no one laughed at us.  In fact, a bunch of older boys in the Children's Department asked her to play with them and didn't comment on the fact that she was wearing pajamas once.

I sat down in a chair at least two sizes too small for my ass and I watched her play with these boys that she hadn't even known existed 10 minutes before.  They built a castle with blocks and lined up servicemen on the table and pushed toy fire trucks around saving townspeople and played catch with a big ball.  She introduced the boys to me and they shared some grapes with her, and I sat on that too small chair and watched her play with a big smile on her face for more than an hour. 

There's my girl.  The one who doesn't care about anything but having fun and making new friends.  The one who isn't worried about what other kids will think of her or whether they will laugh at her for something as silly as the clothes she's wearing.

And those boys?  Oh, I was so grateful for those boys.  Not a single one of them even noticed that she was wearing pajamas, let alone commented on it.  She was a play mate, a ball catcher, an awesome ambulance sound maker, and someone to share their snack with.  Nothing more and nothing less.

By the time we got home, Bailey had completely forgotten about her worries from earlier.  I, on the other hand, thought about it pretty much all night.  It was the very first time that she's ever shown anything but complete confidence in the face of social "norms".  I expected {and have been dreading} battling self-esteem issues starting in her early teens, and I've tried my hardest to instill a solid sense of confidence and pride in herself, society be damned.  But I never expected her to start worrying what others would think of her as early as three years old.  And I feel like I'm not entirely sure how to handle things this early on.  So I'll continue what I've been doing to make sure she realizes {and always knows} that she's more than just her looks and her clothes.  Which is to tell her every day how wonderful and smart and sweet she is, and how much I love her.  And also, to take this quote from The Help and repeat it to her over and over again, albeit using better grammar:

"You is kind.  You is smart.  You is important."

Because she absolutely is.

  

Throwback Thursday: My Little Lady

Oooh, I hope you don't mind looking at a ridiculous amount of pictures today.  I couldn't pick just one, so they're all here.

 These photos are all from January 2013.  Gerry was born the same weekend that friends of ours got married, and Bailey was their flower girl.  G and I were still in the hospital the day of the wedding and missed it, but Scott took Bailey and we got some adorable pictures of her.  This photo was of her getting ready for the wedding in my hospital room {note G in his bassinette in the background}.  My sister had just finished doing Bailey's hair and my mom was showing her how to put on perfume "like a big girl".  

 

I wasn't sure how she'd do, walking down the aisle all by herself in front of a ton of people she didn't know.  She's not the quietest kid, but she gets shy in front of crowds, and we hadn't exactly practiced being a flower girl.  I distinctly remember sitting in my hospital room, nursing Gerry and wondering how she was doing.  Did she walk?  Was she scared?  Did she miss me?

She did it!  This is one of my favorite pictures from that day.  If you look closely, you can see our friend Diana pointing ahead and telling Bailey that's where to go.  I love the unpredictability of toddlers, and I think it's adorable that she saw someone she recognized and thought, Oh hey, this looks like a good place to stop. 

Every time I look at these pictures, I remember exactly how I felt that day.  I was so, so sad that I couldn't be at that wedding with her and watch her walk down that aisle.  I was so happy that I'd be bringing home her baby brother the next day.  I was so incredibly in awe of how beautiful and graceful she looked at not-even three years old.

And I remember feeling such intense pride.  Look at her!  How could I not be proud of her that day?  We had just tossed a new sibling into her world, she was missing her mommy, and she was surrounded by a bunch of people she didn't know.  I can't believe how great she did.

And I was so proud of Scott, too.  He shuttled her back and forth from my parents' house to home to the hospital to the rehearsal venue to the wedding venue and back home again completely on his own.  He stood outside in the cold while Bailey got her picture taken with the bridal party and he was her date for the rest of the night.  We had some help from my mom and my sister the day of the wedding, but other than that he was 100% on his own, and he did it flawlessly.  For weeks after the wedding, Bailey would ask "Remember that time I was a princess and you were my prince and we went to the wedding?"  He was exhausted by the end of the weekend, but he did a fantastic job. 

She wasn't crying...it was just REALLY cold outside

 

 

Ahhh...my girl.

  

Finally! Double Bedtime Success!

Last night was a night like we haven't had in more than a year.  Both Gerry and Bailey were in bed and asleep by 9pm.  There were no bedtime battles...no whining...no crying...no begging to stay up later and watch tv with mommy and daddy.  It was, in a word, amazing.

I put Gerry to bed at 7:45, fully expecting his now-normal screaming fit but he surprised me.  He whined for a minute and stood back up in his crib, but I laid him back down and gave him his bottle, and he was out cold in a matter of minutes.  And Bailey...oh, my Bailey.  She hasn't gone to bed before 10pm in at least a year.  She doesn't fight it like Gerry has been lately, with tears or screaming, but she's a master negotiator, always asking for one more show, for mommy or daddy to lay with her "for these many minutes", not staying in her bed.  There were nights {many, many more than I'd like to admit} where Scott and I would go to bed around 11pm or midnight and Bailey was still wide awake.  And then, of course, she'd creep into our bedroom in the middle of the night asking for juice, for one more show, anything to keep from having to actually sleep.  Eventually, we just kind of gave up on an actual "bedtime" and just let her pass out whenever she felt like it.

But last night, after Gerry had gone down so easily for me I figured what the heck?  Why not try and get Bailey to actually sleep in her bed at a decent hour for once?  She was "helping" us fold laundry around 8:15 and I gave her the warning that when the laundry was folded it was time for her to go to bed.  By 8:30, we were walking upstairs to her bedroom -- without a fight or a word of protest from her.  Scott and I looked at each other and shook our heads in disbelief.  Don't jinx this. 

We tucked her into bed, gave her a million and one kisses, turned on her night light, and went back downstairs.  I don't know about Scott, but I hightailed it out of there on my tip toes like my hair was on fire.  No way was I going to hang around and potentially screw this magical evening up.  So Scott and I settled on the couch with some drinks and Game Of Thrones ready to go on the DVR and we didn't hear a peep from upstairs. 

Until Bailey came flying down 20 minutes later.

I'll give her this: she tried her damnedest.  "Please can I stay down here with you, Daddy?  I just love you guys.  Please, please, please?"  I saw Scott wavering and I stuck to my guns.  When *I* started wavering, I resorted to less-than-honorable tactics.  "You know, Bail...they won't let little girls who don't sleep play t-ball."  I asked her if she thought I should call her coach and tell him she won't be playing after all, and she nodded her head.  So then I just basically said, too bad.  I gave her a piggy-back ride to her bedroom, tucked her back in, gave her a million and one kisses, and reminded her that if she wasn't tired she didn't have to go to sleep but that she did have to stay in her bedroom.  And I didn't hear from her again until she woke up at just after 8 this morning.  And, with the exception of one quick wake-up around midnight, Gerry slept all the way through, too.  Success!

It's been months since we've gotten anything resembling a decent night's sleep.  Months.  Just when I thought I was hitting my breaking point with Gerry, some switch flipped and he decided that freaking out at bedtime and waking up 4-5 times during the night wasn't fun anymore.  I've probably jinxed myself by posting this...and I'm crossing my fingers for another restful repeat tonight!

 

I'll Take My Coffee Intravenously, Please

Oooh, Gerry.  I love this boy, but he is slowly, slowly draining the life out of me.

For the past week and a half or so, nighttime has been a nightmare.  His normal bedtime is between 7 and 7:30pm, but he's been freaking out when we put him down.  I'm a total wuss when it comes to my kids crying at bedtime, so I always just bring him back downstairs with me for a bit.  This past week, I haven't even attempted to put him to bed before 8pm, and it's still a battle. 

Gerry used to just take a bottle and go right to sleep with no problem.  He was always my good sleeper and I used to brag about how awesome he was with it {especially after surviving Bailey's nighttime battles}.  Not so much anymore!  Instead of just rolling over, clutching his stuffed bear, and drifting off to sleep like he's always done, Gerry has started fighting the whole process big time.  We always say, "Alright, Gerry, time to go night-night!  Say night-night to Bailey!"  And then she and Scott tell him goodnight and give him kisses and up the stairs he and I go.  And he's perfectly fine and happy...until I go to lay him down in his crib.  At this point, he just starts whining, which leads to crying, which leads to full-on screaming if I don't pick him up again.  And he really lays the guilt trip on thick these days, too, standing up in his crib with his arms held out to me and whining, "Mom-my...mom-myyyy".  How can I just turn away from that?

So I do what most "experts" would say is a big no-no and I pick him up out of the crib. 

I hold him close and whisper in his ear that it's bedtime and time to go to sleep.  I walk around his room with him in my arms, and if he's crying I sing "Hush Little Baby, Don't Say a Word" {and make shit up, because who really knows all the words to that song?} because he calms down as soon as he hears it.  And then, when he's calm and I think he's ready to lay down, I gently lower him into his crib.  And he rolls over and stands up and starts screaming again.  Rinse and repeat.  And then when he finally does go to sleep, it's only a matter of hours before he wakes up screaming again.  My formerly awesome sleeper is no longer sleeping through the night.  Like, at all.  Last night it took us until 9pm before he actually went to sleep, and he woke up twice.  The night before that he was up four times. 

I hate not knowing why he's crying.  I've tried giving him Tylenol in case his teeth were hurting {he did sprout a couple more teeth this week}, I tried extra talking and snuggles before putting him to bed, we've tried rough-housing and running around in an effort to tire him out before bedtime.  Hell, yesterday I changed his clean sheets just in case they were the problem.  The "bedtime battle" still ensued.

I can't bring myself to just let him cry.  He's 14 months old and I know he's old enough to be sleeping through the night and yada, yada, yada...but I can't do it.  I've always believed that, no matter how old they are, if your kid is crying in the middle of the night, there is a reason.  He might be crying about something as silly and simple as the fact that he's just missing mommy and daddy, or something more serious like pain or a fever.  But I really do feel that {for me, personally} a kid's cries during the night shouldn't go ignored.

So, I haven't been sleeping much these last couple weeks.  And I'm exhausted.    I know this is "just a phase" and in a few more weeks he'll be back to sleeping just fine and these last few sleepless weeks will just be a distant memory.  But in the meantime...man, does it suck.

Throwback Thursday

Check out these beach babes!

As usual, I'm not 100% on dates here, but I'm thinking this picture was taken in the late '80s.  My sister {on the left} looks to be about 2 years old, which would make me 3.  And that's my mom smiling behind us because we're such awesome kids.  {insert sarcasm font here} 

Look at the big cheesy grin on my face.  I'm thrilled, probably, because (1) I'm buried in the sand which, to any 3-year-old, is an awesome time; and (2) because my sister has a mouthful of sand {check out her face} which I was mature enough, even then, to know is not a viable option for eating.  She's a lot thinner than me now, though, so maybe I should have eaten more sand as a kid.

Awesomely enough, more than 25 years after this picture was taken we still go to the beach for vacation each year.  Back then, there were just a few of us -- my mom, my sister and I, my grandparents, and maybe an aunt or uncle.  Now, though, we go as a gang.  My parents, my brother and sister and me, our husbands and {my brother's} fiance, our grandparents, 2 sets of aunts and uncles,  3 cousins, and 4 grandkids.  We travel in a pack these days!

And I couldn't be happier about it. 

That Baby Bond...

A friend of mine is pregnant and having a rough time of it.  Exhausted, nauseous most of the time, and just general feelings of blah-ness.  She mentioned to me the other day that, almost halfway through the pregnancy,  she still isn't feeling well and is worried that she's not feeling that excitement and that bond with her baby that she thought she was supposed to feel.  Her worries made me reflect on both of my pregnancies and "inspired" this post because I felt much the same way she is now during my second pregnancy.  And, like her, I felt worried and inadequate because I didn't feel that instant connection to my baby.  And no one told me that this is completely normal.  So I'm going to say it -- it's completely normal to not feel thrilled and elated and connected to your baby during pregnancy.

When I found out I was pregnant with Bailey, I did feel thrilled and elated.  I felt like finally...finally...I was doing something I was "meant to be" doing.  I felt connected and felt that bond pretty much immediately, and I enjoyed every second of my pregnancy and her birth.  I was expecting the same feelings when I found out I was pregnant for the second time and felt, in a way, ashamed when I didn't.

I spent weeks after finding out we were expecting again just waiting for those feelings to come.  The complete and utter "one-ness" with my body and my baby.  The fragile yet overwhelming peace of realizing that I get to do this all over again.  The joy.  I waited and I waited and...it never came.  Unlike my first pregnancy, I was working from home this time around, running my own daycare.  For 12 hours a day I was the only adult around surrounded by tiny little tyrants who, while very adorable, were sucking the very life out of me a little bit at a time every single day.  And then when daycare "closed" for the day I was 100% in Mommy Mode, getting dinner cooked and ready, playing with Bailey and diffusing any boo-boos or tantrums, getting her bathed and then enduring the almost hour-long production that was bedtime before passing out myself.  It was the holidays and Scott was working his part-time job, so the parental duties fell almost entirely to me just about all of the time.  I was busy and exhausted, and so focused on soaking up every single moment with Bailey before she became a big sister that I didn't get much of a chance to sit and attempt that bonding with Gerry.  There were times, of course {many of them}, when I sat down with my hands on my belly and tried to feel something.  Something that let me know that this baby and I were connected...that this was meant to be...that he knew, even on the inside, how much he was loved and wanted.  And it never came.  Sure, I was excited.  Of course I wanted this baby.  And I absolutely loved him the minute I got that positive pregnancy test.  But I was busy raising my first baby and working 60 hour weeks.  I was in pain a lot of the time.  And I was tired -- so very, very tired.  I'd feel Gerry rolling and kicking and, in that millisecond before feeling a rush of love, I'd feel just the tiniest flicker of annoyance because it only exacerbated the pain I was already feeling. 

In the weeks before he was born, I worried so much about my ability to love another child.  I adore Bailey and I worried about how she would handle having a younger sibling taking some of the attention normally reserved for her.  I worried that this baby would grow up feeling like I didn't love him as much as I loved his sister.  I had nightmares that I just left him all alone in his crib until he was old enough to climb out and fend for himself.  I worried that I wouldn't have enough time to try and create some sort of bond with him after he was born because I was only taking a week's maternity leave.  I worried that I wouldn't be good enough.  I just worried. 

The night before Gerry was born, I cried.  I was scheduled for an induction the next day and Bailey was staying with my parents so that Scott and I could just head to the hospital as soon as daycare closed for the day.  I missed her and I was sad that she was spending her last night as an only child away from Scott and me.

Gerry's birth was somewhat unexpected for me.  My epidural failed, and I wasn't prepared for a painful delivery.  My focus during the hustle and bustle at this point was less on the sweet moment of meeting my baby for the first time and more on getting him out so the pain would go away.  When he was born and the nurses took him across the room to weigh and measure him, I felt nothing but relief.  Relief that it was over, relief that I didn't have to lug around a huge belly anymore.

Relief. 

I didn't strain my neck to see him and my arms weren't itching to hold him like they did in the first few moments after Bailey was born.  Truth be told, at that moment, I would have rather taken a nap.  But then the nurse brought him over and laid him in my arms.  I looked at his tiny little face and there it was.  The love.  The joy.  The bond.

Your hormones are all over the place after giving birth and in that moment I was just hit with wave after wave after wave of love for this little boy.  For days afterward I would just gaze at his sweet little face, drinking in his big blue eyes, his tiny little bird mouth, his button nose that was so much like his sister's when she was born.  A case of jaundice left us with strict instructions from the doctors to keep him near sunlight as often as possible, and I'd snuggle up with him by the window and talk to him about life and how much I loved him.  I caught up on all the bonding that we'd missed out on in the previous 10 months, and it was wonderful.

Today, Gerry is 14 months old.  Scott and I call him a beast because he's into everything.  Any opportunity he gets to make a mess, open a door, or throw something he takes.  And he takes an obscene amount of pleasure in being mischievous.  But when he gets hurt or scared or overly happy, guess what?  He comes toddling over to me.  He follows me from room to room, lifting his arms up for me to hold him.  He giggles when I tickle him and he's just started to give hugs and kisses unprompted.

That bond that I was so worried about not feeling a year ago?  It is absolutely there.  In every smile, in every tear, in every single time he walks over and sits in my lap or raises his arms to be held.  It's there.

 

It's Friday! Our Week In Review

TGIF!!  I am soooo ready to get the weekend started.

We've got plans to get hair cuts (Scott and Gerry) and highlights (me) at my sister's house tonight, and I seriously can't wait.  I'm 29 years old and I have gray hair.  There.  I said it.  Thank God I have a sister who's a cosmetologist, otherwise I'd go broke getting my hair done every couple of weeks.  That, or I'd just be cheap embrace the gray that continues to creep up on me at an alarming speed.

Scott is with Gerry right now at his 12 month check-up.  Yes, he's 14 months old, but I completely dropped the ball and forgot to schedule his 12-month, so we're doing it a little late.  Poor kid has to get a shot today...he walked out the door with his usual goofy smile this morning, having no clue what awaits him when he gets to the doctor's office.

He's still been pretty clingy lately, but I think it's due in large part to the fact that he got a ton of new teeth in the last week...like 6 or 7 of them all at once.  When he's not hanging on my pants or whining to be picked up, Gerry is quite the mischievous little guy.  We've had to buy a toilet seat lock because G thought it was his own personal splash pad.  We're <this close> to running out and purchasing a refrigerator door lock, and I'm pretty sure the only thing holding us back is the fear that we won't be able to work it.  For now, we're just continually running back and forth from the living room to the kitchen and calling out different variations of "Gerry!  Get out of the fridge!"  He figured out how to open the drawers in there, so I keep finding apples and strawberries on the shelves with a few teeny bites taken out of them.

Nap time has been interesting, to say the least.  He goes down with no problem but when he wakes up he causes all sorts of trouble.  Without making a sound.  The other day, he talked and giggled to himself for almost an hour before falling asleep.  When I stopped hearing him on the monitor, I went upstairs to check on him and make sure he was asleep, and I found this.

No pants.  One sock missing.  All of his stuffed animals and blanket thrown out of the crib.  The blinds torn.  In the big picture, he's sleeping on top of the changing pad that he pulled into the crib with him.  But look how peaceful he looks!  (I never did find his pants...they've been mysteriously missing since he took them off.)

He's pretty much mastered stairs, and is able to climb up and down a flight with ease.  Watching him go downstairs still makes me nervous...he used to just slide down backwards on his belly, but yesterday he started attempting to actually stand up and walk down.   He is fearless!  I, on the other hand, feel like I need to be medicated when he does stuff like this.

Also, it cracks me up when he grabs a book and sits down in his Mickey Mouse chair.  Such a scholar!  

In addition to all this, he's walking like a pro these days, and I'm not entirely sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing...

                              


We're also working on teaching him some manners...                      

                                    


Now.  On to Bailey.  She is fantastic as ever.  Still a night owl...still sassy...still my favorite little girl.  She and Scott had their annual Daddy Daughter Date Night at Chick-Fil-A on Monday, and B had a blast.  She spent an insane amount of time choosing just the right dress to wear for Daddy.  In the end, she picked her Easter dress from last year.  Surprisingly, it still fit her.  She got to wear her fancy new Easter shoes with the high heels, and we did her hair and put some lip gloss and perfume on her. 

"Mommy, get a picture of the back of my pretty dress!"

We signed her up for t-ball yesterday, and she is beyond thrilled.  I don't have any information yet about practices and/or games, but I got an email saying to look out for the Little League newsletter for more information.  I think I'm just as excited as Bailey is!  I played t-ball for the same league when I was little (back then they called it "lassie ball") and I remember having so much fun.  I'm excited for B to get involved in a team sport, even if she is young.  She took dance classes last year and I teared up at her recital.  It was so, so cool to watch her up there on that stage in her little tutu and tap shoes.  That was the first time that she'd done something completely 100% without my involvement (parents weren't allowed in classes and we couldn't be up there on stage with them the night of their recital), and I was so incredibly proud watching her.  She keeps telling me, "I can't WAIT to play baseball!"

When I told her that I had signed her up yesterday, she was so excited she ran up to her room and came back down wearing this shirt:

She said, "Look, Mom!  I'm wearing my baseball shirt!"  It's actually Scott's soccer shirt from when he was a kid, but hey.  It works.  She's pumped and I'm not messing with that.

Throwback Thursday

It's TBT again!  This photo of my Pop Pop and me was taken sometime in the mid-'80s...I'm thinking 1985 0r '86, based on how small I am.  My parents were very, very young when I was born, and still lived with my dad's parents. Growing up, I always heard stories from my mom and my Mom Mom about how my grandfather would quietly sneak into my parents' bedroom when I was a baby, take me out of my crib, and put me in a bouncy seat on the kitchen table to "chat" while he brewed coffee and cooked breakfast. 

Over the years, I've been blessed to enjoy weekends and vacations and sleepovers and random days with both my Pop Pop and my Mom Mom.  Growing up, their home was my home, and was always one of my very favorite places to be.  My grandfather and I share a love of coffee (though not as strong as the love for coffee that my grandmother and I share!), black licorice, figs, breakfast, and all things family.  He is one of my most favorite people in this world and someone that I have always and will always look up to.  Smile, Pop Pop!