a NEMO third birthday

Sunday evening was absolutely beautiful, just like the day we brought Blythe home from the hospital. This was the first time I've done a "theme" party, as Blythe had mentioned a "Nemo party" and my sister urged me to try the theme thing. I didn't go overboard [< jokes!] and have themed food, but the look in Blythe's eyes when she saw all the decorations was pretty great.

Also, before I show you pictures I will remind you that Finding Nemo came out my Senior year of High School: eleven years ago. Which means the only Nemo items I could actually purchase in the store were fruit snacks. So we just kind of went with colors and Blythe helped me make a lot. 

Now-- pictures! 

Blythe was born during March Madness-- actually, she was born the night the Jayhawks clenched their ticket to the Elite 8, and later went on to play for [and lose :(] the National Championship. It was fitting that her 3rd birthday party fell on the day they played in the tournament again. Brent recorded the game, informed all our guests he didn't want to know the score, turned off his phone, and managed to not find out until he watched later.
He helped get things ready for the party and occasionally had to stop and check scores. 

the only legit Nemo at our party

When Kali and I were younger, we always woke up to a poster on our birthday, courtesy of my dad. I asked him to make one for Blythe and he delivered!

Blythe helped make these Nemos/Marlins! 

I even had some M&Ms left over from the cupcakes ;) Thanks for your support on yesterday's post; I'm glad I'm not alone.
By the way, I feel like I could also write a post about how I felt like it was such a splurge to buy that number candle. 

Caroline and Ellie mailed Blythe some pictures for her party!

My mom let us borrow her Keurig and we had an awesome coffee bar

One of my favorite things about moving back "home" was knowing that my kids would get to have family birthday parties. I love it for them because that is exactly what I had growing up. Blythe was totally in her element because she knew and loved everyone, and was known and loved by them all in return. As much fun as it would be to have some of her friends/our friends come celebrate with us, being surrounded by family is the best.

praying before eating

I absolutely love the look that little kids have when everyone is singing them "Happy Birthday." It's part excitement and wonder, part terror and humiliation. Do we ever grow out of this? 

Oh and this girl? Just happened to strike a girl out for the last out of the game in DIVISION freaking TWO softball earlier that day. Dangerous South Paw pitcher by day, Nemo party by night. [Also, this is one of Blythe's namesakes :)] 

One of our favorites, Nini Pat

I made sure Blythe only had ONE cupcake and a little ice cream, as a lot proved to be a poor decision last year [scroll to bottom of THIS post for that story]. 

Becks maybe thought the party was also for her, and made sure to use her wily charms to get as much of the good stuff as she good. We'll be celebrating her big ONE year in another month. 

By the way, Brent's family doesn't mess around with feeding children: they want a bite of your dessert? You give them a real bite! :) 

My sister made this baby carrier for Blythe. Everyone ooohhed and awwwwed and talked about how talented she is and my dad maybe even threw out the term "Peale Scholar", and I was like, "But I made BLUE PUNCH!!" 

Since before Christmas Blythe has said she wanted a BLUE bike. I almost gave up looking for a girl blue bike, but finally found one :) 

Pat has a knack for sitting in the perfect lighting for pictures

I'm always so happy when I see her with her namesake: PopPop Beck. 

Blythe got a sandbox from Nini and PopPop but was willing to share with her sister

We finished the evening by returning inside for a big performance from Elsa. Even with 15 people watching, she did not miss a beat and hammed it up. 

As my mom's uncle used to always say at the end of the day, "What a birthday!"

guilt

Okay. So I needed to make cupcakes for Blythe's birthday party. I had seen some of ^ these fish ones and thought I could probably manage that. So I went to a store that I knew carried the M&Ms that you can buy just one color at a time. Do you know what I'm talking about? It looks something like this:

source

Which, also, is maybe a little bit how heaven will look? I can't be sure but I think I would much rather the streets be paved with gold M&Ms. Just saying. 

Okay. So I run in the store, I keep Becks on my hip instead of getting a cart because this is all I need. Blythe is holding my hand. We locate the M&M aisle. $9.99 a pound for the color dispensed ones. I am terrible with guessing weight and distance and all things like that, so I figure a pound is way more than I will need and fill two bags with orange and blue. Blythe is starstruck by all the chocolate surrounding her, and Becks is getting a bit heavy... like, maybe she feels like she weights six pounds at this point? [< that is a joke about me not understanding weight.] I locate the scale and weigh my two measly bags. 1.1 pound!!!!! What?! I look at the bags. Ten bucks?! For that?! I scan the rest of the aisle and locate a huge bag of M&Ms. It's almost FOUR pounds for the same price. 

I know there are orange and blues in that bag. And I also know that once I sort them, I will have A LOT of M&Ms left over. I grab the bag and....

....

...

I put the other two baggies down on the shelf near the dispensers. 

And. I. Walk. Away. 

Deep breaths. I felt terrible about this. I tried to figure out how to put them back in the dispensers but they were sealed like Fort Knox. My mind was spinning circles: Will they just have to throw these ["$10 worth" of M&Ms] away? Will someone get in trouble for this? Should I ask someone if theis is "legal"? If I ask, will they make me pay for them? 

But I carried my 4ish pound bag of M&Ms, held my nearly three year-old's hand, carried my nearly 11 month old on my hip, paid for the candies, and left the store. 

Those two bags still laying there haunt me. I feel like I kind of broke the law. 

However, I sorted the M&Ms...and maybe ate a 2 or 3, but I can't be sure because I'm terrible with numbers... and had more than enough to make my cupcakes.

Do thinks like this bother you? I guess you could say I'm a rule follower, even when I'm not totally sure what the rules are. But dispensing M&Ms and then not buying them seems like not following the rules.

THREE

To my dear, sweet Blythe Kathleen:

Three seems so big to me-- so not baby anymore. But it still seems like yesterday when I was holding 6 pound 5 ounce YOU in my arms after a crazy fast delivery. It still seems like yesterday that I was rocking you and swaddling you and feeding you in those quiet, beautiful midnight hours. But it wasn't yesterday. It was three years ago. There have been moments of frustration and chaos and crazy, but I am not exaggerating when I say that you have made every single day more fun. You've made every day of our last three years more full in the best ways possible. 

This past year was full of so much change for you, and  you took it all in stride. When you met your new sister, and we brought her home, you were so proud to show her off to people. And your "Becksy" soon became special to you. You never showed jealousy towards her [okay, twice: once when Torri was holding her, and once when your Dad accidentally put your coat on her. But seriously, that was all]. You loved her so fiercely from the start, and made the transition to a family of four easier for all of us. If you hear Becks crying, you nearly always remind her, "Don't cry, Becks. Jesus is right here with you," or you run and get your special blanket for her. No one can make her laugh like you can. You didn't just earn the title of "big sister" this year: you became a big sister.

In  the last six months I feel like you've physically changed a lot. You just seemed to stretch out and get taller and thinner and more little girl like. I said in my letter to you last year that you weighed thirty pounds, which means you have slimmed down this year because you're about thirty three pounds now. [When you get on the scale at Papa's house you say, "Thirty pounder!"]. You still aren't a great eater. You love bread and noodles and crackers. You also like green beans though, and go through spurts of loving broccoli. And man oh man do you have a sweet tooth like your daddy. When you've had a good day, or sometimes just because, he will bring you a "diamond chocolate" [Hershey Kiss] from his work.

You and your "Dada" have something special. This past year you sometimes cried when he had to leave for work in the morning and there were times I really thought you had convinced him to just stay home. You got really sick this past winter, and just weren't yourself. Your dad could hardly stand it, and when you finally got to feeling better he told me that he realized you are like a drug to him: "Without her I have withdrawals. I need little hits throughout my day." There are parts of your personality that are so much like his: you stay pretty even and calm. Don't get me wrong-- you are three, and high energy and love to talk and be around people [like your mama], but there is something internal about you that is steady, just like him.

Speaking of talking...whew! Girl, you could talk to a brick wall for hours. You were already talking a lot last year at this time, but every day I think you gained twenty words. Sometimes you pull words out and I don't even know where they come from-- just today you used the word "dialect"! What you come up with cracks us up, and I've started writing down some of the funny things you say that make us laugh. Some of our favorites include: Can we do that for a little minute? / I'm gonna puh-rize you. / [every time we get in the car] You're a good driver, Daddy. / Sucker moon [when the moon is full]./ Hand duh-tizer. / Listen to my ear. [listen to what I'm about to say closely]. / I'm not too big; I'm just a little big. / Laugh me. / Two whiles ago. / If something isn't today or tomorrow it's to-later or to-now. /

From the moment you wake up in the morning until your head hits the pillow again, you are making conversation. You ask questions and crack jokes. You play eye-spy. You tell me things constantly that I didn't know you knew. Just last week we were driving and you looked out the window and said, "Look Mommy, the grass is green. Blue and yellow make green." I was shocked that you knew that! It was something you had just picked up from throwing colored bath fizzies in the water at night. You don't miss anything. We went up to the school for a "health screening" last week, and one of the questions was, "Does she use 2 or 3 words to form a sentence?" My answer: Two or three paragraphs. 

This year was also the year of potty training. Oh Blythe girl, it was interesting to say the least. I recently read a book and the author said, "Potty training is not a fun subject to reminisce about. It's more like a horrible death march through a haunted forest, and the trees are made of angry bears that you're allergic to...Like, it's so awful you want to just make your kid go live outside for the rest of their life." While it wasn't quite that terrible, it wasn't fun. I think it was difficult for me because you are so smart that I had really high expectations that you would take to it right away. We started in July. By August you were okay. But I wouldn't say you were potty trained until January. But you got there. And you are now. And it is awesome. Except when it's not: like when we're in the car and you have to go right now. Or I'm in the middle of making supper and holding Becks and on the phone and you have to go right now. [You still can't really get your pants down and get on the potty and wipe yourself, so you need assistance.] I'm just telling you these things so that when you are raising kids someday and people tell you that kids who are potty-trained are way more convenient, don't listen to them ;). I am really proud of you for sticking with it though, and not getting too upset with yourself along the way. And I am even more proud that you stuck with your frazzled, impatient mama through it all.

I want you to know: people love you. And I am pretty sure this is because you love people, and because you let people in. I pray this is always true. I hope that others always feel welcome to be around you, and that they feel loved by you in deep and real ways. This year you learned the meaning of all of the traits your dad and I have been praying for you, and you can say: JOY- happy you can't take away. COMPASSION- my heart hurts when your heart hurts. MODESTY- live with less. HOSPITALITY- come in, you're welcome. My heart wants to burst open when I see these traits become more than just phrases you've memorized; when I see you full to the brim with a deep, abiding joy, and when I see you welcome others in our home and say, unprompted, "Thank you so much for coming. Come again," when they leave. Or when I see you picking out some of your toys to give to kids "that don't have any toys" and not throwing fits at the store when you see something you like and I tell you we don't need it. I tell you to put it back and say, "See you next time!" And you do. And in that moment I see the result of our prayers that you would know need versus want. I see you run to Becks when she is crying and soothe her with a look of concern.  We continue to pray these things over you, Blythe.

But mostly we pray you would know Jesus. You love to sing songs about Him, and have memorized some verses. You can almost sing all the books of the Old Testament. You are filled with Bible stories, your favorites being Jonah, and David and Goliath, and The Parable of the Lost Coin, and The Prodigal Son. You're learning to pray for others, and days after we've prayed for someone you'll remember to ask me, "Is ______ still sick/at the hospital?" You've grown to love our quiet times in the morning, and we sip coffee and eat crackers and talk about Jesus. But I pray that He will become your Savior and your friend. This year our neighbor, Keith, passed away. One night you wanted to pray for him because he had been in the hospital. I tried to explain that he was actually okay now because he was with Jesus. You looked at me thoughtfully, your brown-black eyes processing it, and then you placed your little hand on your heart and said, "So Keith is right here, with Jesus? In my heart?" I choked back tears, and silently prayed that Jesus is in your little heart.

Blythe, your dad and I love you so very much. We can read every emotion in your big brown eyes. When we have to discipline you and you scream and cry and don't understand, know that we are doing it because we want you to learn there is right and wrong. When we don't let you run into the street after a ball, know that we are trying to teach you freedom in boundaries. Most of all know that most of the time we are doing our best for you and because of you. Most of the time we are learning as we go, and praying for wisdom and guidance and asking people far better at this than we are for some pointers. Most of the time we are just trusting a God that is bigger than all of this and all of us that He is holding you in His hands. Faith in parenting is scary, but we know you are His more than you are ours.

For Christmas you got a book called "It Will Be Okay," and we read it several times throughout the week. It is about a seed that wants to stay in the shed where it is safe and dry.  But "The Farmer is good, and the Farmer is kind, and the Farmer was always watching over him, even when he didn't know." And the seed is one day planted in a "dark, messy place." And he is scared. And it feels funny. He says, "I want to trust, even when I can't see. But how in the world is this good for me?" But in the end the seed grew: "From the messy, dark place, I grew and grew. From a seed to a tree- only the Farmer knew."

At he end of the book it says: "Trust this truth in the tough things you face. Confusing times in the messy, hard place. God love you, and He is kind. Remember this always in your heart and your mind."

And Blythe, you are starting to be fearful of things. The dark and loud noises and crawly things. And every time you cry in fear I say, "Jesus is the..." and you say, "Light of the world!" And you and I are both learning to trust that light as we walk this journey of your life together. The Farmer is good, and the Farmer is kind, and the Farmer is always watching over us. It will be okay.

Oh Blythe, we are bursting with love for you. We usually sneak into your room at night after you're asleep just to stare and you and smell you one more time before the day is done. I never thought I'd be that creepy kind of parent that does that sort of thing, but we just can't get enough of you. Thank you for making us laugh every single day. I know you didn't get to choose who your parents were, and I know somedays you'll probably be embarrassed by us, but we are so thankful it was you who made us parents three years ago.

We've loved you since I first took that test back in the summer of 2011-- since we first heard your little heartbeat in the doctor's office as she held the microphone to my stomach-- since they laid you on my chest at 11:12 p.m. three years ago today.

Happy third birthday, Blythe Kathleen!! There is nothing you can ever do that will make us stop loving you.

* Read Blythe's Birth Story HERE
* Story behind her name HERE
* First birthday letter HERE
* Second birthday letter HERE

this day

This time :

15 years ago: I was thirteen, almost 14. I was passionate about basketball and Jesus. Not always in that order, but sometimes. I was also passionate about friends, and people in general. I loved to be surrounded by groups. I was letting my bangs grow out, thank goodness, and my mom was trying to teach me the lesson of modesty and screaming matches in the dressing room often took place. I was loving 8th grade, which should be a sin because from what I know now no one is supposed to love 8th grade.

11 years ago: There was this boy I had just started dating, and his name was Brent, and I was pretty sure I was already in love and that I would marry him. Basically, Part X of THIS story was happening.

8 years ago: I had just gotten engaged to that same boy, and started planning a wedding. My college roommate had left me for a Chicago-semester, and I was missing her like crazy. I was a Resident Assistant to some awesome ladies and had an awesome mentor in my R.D., who was also showing me the not-so-pleasant-constantly-puking-side of pregnancy.

7 years ago: I was wrapping up college, half terrified half exhilarated. I was deep in the throws of teaching Romeo and Juliet to my first real class full of Freshman as I student taught under the best teachers. I started this blog, with no intention to still be writing on it 7 years later. I was 2 and half months away from marriage. And moving.

5 years ago: All of a sudden we were moving "home." I was heartbroken to be leaving Louisville, which shocked me. And I was nervous and anxious and thrilled to be moving back to Missouri. My time teaching with the World's Best Team was dwindling which made me incredibly sad.

3 years ago: I was about a week away from my due date with my first baby girl. I felt like a ticking time bomb but was trying to relish in the last days of just me and Brent. I made the gut-wrenchingly tough decision to take a break from teaching to stay home with Blythe when she arrived. In a few days Blythe would surprise us and come a little before her due date, and do it in a very fast and furious style. We would be parents forever.

1 year ago: I was finally "in the groove" in my new gig as a stay at home mom, and was again very pregnant with baby girl number two. I was whipping up a few cupcakes for Blythe's second birthday party...which she would later throw up. My dad retired from law-enforcement and I reflected on what it meant to be the daughter of someone in a badge. I was dreaming of life with two girls.

Today: I am realizing I never made my coffee this morning [it's 2 p.m., too late], and preparing for a Nemo third birthday party. I vacuumed. Danced to Elsa. Served nutritious convenient fish sticks for lunch. Made a trip to Dollar General with Becks and Blythe, who was dressed as sleeping beauty. I am so very happy spending my days with these two ladies.

how to have a phone conversation with your sister

Me: Hey! I'm driving so thought I would call while the kids are corralled.

Kali: Yeah. Hey. Sorry it's been so long since we connected. Last week was a little....Hey! Wesley!...He just dumped his Cheerios all over the kitchen floor...No. Don't eat them. Or. Whatever. But yeah. We were kind of busy and then Dan and I got to have a night away which was nice.

Me: What was that last part? Becks just started screaming and I didn't hear you.

Kali:  Dan and I finally got to go to a Bed and Breakfast and his mom came and...Ellie. I understand you want to go outside but look at the living room. We have to pick that up first... it was really nice.

Me: That's awesome. Oh, I was going to ask you about, hang on....   .....   [stretching awkwardly into the back seat to find a paci for Becks] .... ..... how Caroline is doing in school? I'm sure great.

Kali: Oh yeah. She loves it.... Girls! Seriously. Just pick up the cushions and we can go outside. Stop whining.... The whining around here is about to drive me crazy. Even Wes picks up on it and chimes in.

Me: Blythe is getting bad about whining too. Oh. So I'm getting stuff together for her birthday party. Paper plates and stuff are expensive! ... Are you there?

[Dropped call].
[Call back].

Me: Hey. Sorry. Must have lost you. So anyway. I got paper plates and stuff for her party. Target. Super cute but expensive! Where do you get them?

Kali: I usually....Dollar Tree.... General....Target...the cutest....

Me: I can't hear you. Am I cutting in and out?

Kali: No. I have you on speaker because I'm trying to get my makeup done.... There, is this betteR?

Me: Yes. Did you say Dollar Tree? I hadn't thought.... Blythe. It's okay. I promise you have five toes on that foot. Count again... I hadn't thought about checking there.

Kali: Their party supply section is... Oh. Thanks, Wes....He just brought me ALL of my potholders. [Lots of whining and crying and sudden panic in background from girls.] Seriously? Do you want to go outside? Just... 

Me: If you need to go take care of that, that's fine.

Kali: Yeah. I'll call you back in a sec.

[Call back 5 minutes later.]

Kali: Okay. We made it outside.

Me: Becks is asleep. Did they do okay while you were gone?

Kali: They were fine. But they woke up at four. Four A.M. So the whining is out of control.

Me: FOUR?

Kali: Yep. But they did okay. It was our first time at a Bed and Breakfast. We stayed at one just.... Wes! Girls, did you help him up there? ... So. Wes is up on the BIG slide. By himself apparently. I seriously can't keep up with that kid. He is so strong. We stayed at one just twenty minutes away. It was quirky but nice. And the guy that owned it was great.

Me: You guys should go to the.... Blythe. Just ask nicely. Okay. Deep and Wide? [Finding song]. There ya go.... You guys should go to the one we  love when you're here sometime.

Kali: That would be awesome. We thought this one... Oh! Hang on... [breathing heavy]...

Me: You okay?

Kali: Yeah. Wes just ran to the front yard and across the cul de sac.

Me: Good thing he wasn't your first child.

Kali: I may have stopped there....Girls, go ahead and come around here. We can open the garage....yes, Ellie. You can... let me go close the back door. Hang on to Wes, Caroline. ... So, have I told you that Ellie believes she can use Elsa-powers and open the garage door? It's awesome. [clearly running]... I've gotta hurry and get it open... There! ... Yeah! Good job, Ellie! ... Ha.

Me: That's so funny. Well, hey, we are getting close to...oh, Becks just screamed...and is back to sleep. She's nuts. We're almost home so I'll let you go. Oh did I tell you we got a bike for Blythe for her birthday?

Kali: Does she need a helmet? We have several and...Girls! That car is backing out. Come here. Wesley Paul! ...[screaming]... I seriously can hardly hold onto him anymore. He's so strong.... We can't go out there when there is a car...But Caroline had a Dora one that she was still wearing when Ellie got one, but now it's too small. I'll bring it next time.

Me: Blythe would love that... Aunt Kali...I think she just figured out I'm on the phone. Alright. We'll talk again soon.

Kali: Yeah! It was great to finally catch up a bit. Love you.

Me: Love you too.

panic button

The other day I was sitting down, fiddling with my car keys. For some reason the red panic button at the bottom stood out to me. A panic button. A button to push when we are FREAKING OUT.

I kind of half laughed as I thought about that red button, because when did we become a society that needs a button to push when we are feeling threatened--when we feel panicky? I tried to figure out when the button was introduced to the key fob, but Wikepedia failed me. And I don't have the time or energy to research beyond that. But...I know the first Model T did not come with a panic button. Did it even have a door lock?

I've never knowingly pushed the panic button. I'm thankful I've never been in a panicking type of situation when holding my keys. In real life, though, in the day to day to day to day, I push my panic button far too often. 

I'm thankful my car is the only thing that has a real red button, because if my brain had one that I could set beeping when I started to panic, the noise would surround me often. And why do I do that? Why do I let myself live in fear? In worry? In panic-mode?

Do not be anxious about anything. But in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. [Philippians 4:6-7]

I wish remembering that, and living that, were as easy as pushing a red button.

My Little world

I posted this picture the other day and a friend challenged me to write about it. Thanks, Melinda. Here is what I came up with. 

Also, if you didn't read yesterday's post, my sister thinks that is where a future book lives for me. I think it's just where my trauma lives. ;)

My Little world,

in plastic hooves with plastic eyes,

has experienced the joy

of a brown eyed girl

with curly hair.

Her curiosity

and creativity

and dedication

was nothing short of

love. 

Her small hands,

browned from the sun

and dirt,

held us 

and galloped us

around many worlds.

And then the basketball

found her hands.

And the keyboard.

And her husband. 

And she was too busy

dribbling

and writing

and caressing

to take us on adventures. 

We were shared with 

other little hands,

but they never really loved us

quite like she could. 

Then one day she took hold

again.

She cleaned and brushed,

with the same care

she once did.

Her hands were larger, 

yet more gentle somehow. 

And in her eyes we saw 

the sparkle. 

And she handed us to

some smaller hands,

the shade of brown familiar.

But it was the eyes,

the same brown-black,

filled with that spark and

sense of wonder

that let us know

we had found our way home.

a glimpse into my childhood

I am sitting outside writing this, and when I sat down a hawk flew by with some critter gripped in its talons. I want to thank my father for this being a totally normal viewing for me instead of a traumatizing one. Which leads me to this: 

Here's a little story that I often share with others when they want to know what my childhood was like, or when I am trying to explain why the sound of wings flapping near my head still leaves me a bit uneasy.

It was winter-ish, and it was supper time. Supper time in our household meant sitting around the table and sharing food and stories. It also meant not tipping your chair back, or wiggling too much, and acting like a well-mannered human being. I was probably seven, and had broken one [or all] of these rules and had lost my chair privilege for the duration of this particular meal.

Before we sat down to eat, my dad, the local game warden, had gotten a phone call about an injured hawk. He was going to run and pick up the immobile fowl and come back for supper. He jumped in his marked truck, secured the bird by placing it in a brown paper bag [I assure you, this is okay for a bird], and headed back to our house.

Here is where I must pause and let you know what had to happen a lot in these situations: people often called because they had hurt animals on their lawn, under their porch, in their gutters, stuck in their fence, or sometimes, in the grill of their vehicle. And when I say "hurt" I mean that they usually had one paw/hoof in this world and one on the other side, whatever that other side is for four legged creatures. A lot of times my dad would take them out of their misery on location, but sometimes he would bring the animal back to our house as a kindness to whomever called. I could tell some funny stories here, but some of you may have kinder souls than I and so I'll just let you know I have some, and if you are interested in hearing them, give me a call. 

Okay. So this hawk couldn't fly, and was basically done for. To put it nicely. But my dad thought that my sister and I would like to look at it up close before he figured out exactly what to do with him. He pulled into our drive, brown bag in tow, and came in to join our supper.

I'm sure at this point my mom gestured to the bag with her dinner fork and said something like, "Is this something I need to clean, make space for in the freezer, or corral in the back yard?" God bless that woman. She once nursed baby raccoons back to health.

The more I write this the more I realize I have so many more stories I could share. 

Dad walked over to me-- I was standing up, remember-- and motioned for my sister to come over. "I've got a little hawk here. He can't fly and I wanted you girls to see him." And with that he opened the bag.

And let me tell you: THERE WAS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT HAWK.

And he flew right over our heads, over our green beans and chicken, and around and around our house. I screamed and immediately crawled under the table, thankful to be free from the hindrance of my chair. My mom sprang into action, waving frantically at the bird, and I'm pretty sure my sister took it like a champ and just watched the chaos unfold. My dad, always fairly unflustered in these situations [A hawk flying around the house? Not a big deal.], simply walked over to the front door and opened it. Pretty soon, though to the girl under the table screaming it did NOT feel soon, the uninjured hawk flew out the door never to be seen again.

"Must have just gotten too cold and warmed up on the floorboard of my truck," my dad speculated as he pulled out his chair, sat down, and cut into his chicken.

We all just hoped the hawk wouldn't find our pet squirrel, Puffy, in the oak tree out front.

an open letter to my highchair

Dear highchair,

I'm so ready to end our relationship. Seriously. You are a giant waste of space, and I don't just say that to anyone, so you should feel kind of special about that. It's not just that you take up space, it's the way in which you do it. It's kind of a way that says, "Oh, hey, I'm just gonna jut out in this place awkwardly so you stub your toe 24 times in one day, because you should really remember by now that I'm here." It's a kind of way that says, "I have wheels for crying out loud! Just wheel me somewhere more convenient." There is no where convenient for you. Except the trash.

Please don't get me wrong: you are mostly good at what you do. You contain my child and keep her from falling out of a seat onto the floor. You provide a large area for her to mercilessly mush and smear her food. You're even padded, and that has to feel nice for her. But you do not contain the mess. But you also do contain the mess. Which is the worst part. You contain it in such a way that it is impossible to reach into your crannies. I know there is food rotting inside of you from 2012. And that is just disgusting. 2012! That is not okay.

Also, you conceal things. I don't appreciate being lied to, highchair. I think my daughter has eaten an entire piece of chicken and then I lift her up and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the entire piece… plus four other parts of chicken that I have no idea where they came from. They have glued themselves together with some sort of pear/peach/mango-y leftover paste that I think they may start clucking.

My father-in-law let us borrow his power-washer yesterday. If I would have been thinking I would have shoved you out in the yard and given you the surprise of your life.

So highchair, though you are necessary in our lives at this time, I look forward to the day I can part with you. Until then, please stop sneaking up on me from behind and ramming into my hip bones when I turn around.

Sincerely,
the mom speaking for moms everywhere

click HERE to see other open letters I have written