This 1 is for Hunter

For some reason I never thought I would have a boy.  I just always had a feeling that we would have two girls.  So much so that we already had a very lovely girl name (Sophia Renee) picked out.  Once the shock of seeing a penis on the ultrasound wore off I was both excited and a little afraid.  I haven’t had much experience with boys (you know what I mean!).  I was one of four girls, raised virtually by my mom.  We had only one male cousin but he was older and we weren’t close.  I didn’t know what to do with boys.  Boys are loud and rowdy.  I have a nephew, Brody, who I wouldn’t consider to be excessively wild but he still throws things against walls when he plays and wants to wrestle and play forcefully with Zoey.  This is normal for boys but not for most girls and Zoey isn’t usual a fan of boy play.  I had gotten used to my customarily soft and gentle Zoey who was largely different in this respect from her cousin.  I didn’t feel prepared for the unnecessary roughness that was to come.

Yet here I am raising a boy and loving it.  There are definite distinctions between young boys and girls.  This was clear to me early on.  Hunter is more forceful, more violent with things.  You can see his mind working when he‘s doing something, thinking about the mechanics of it.  He enjoys things like sticking his hand in the toilet, something Zoey never did. Anything and everything is treated like a car with wheels that should be pushed along the floor.  He also loves balls (the kind you throw--not his own, but I’m sure he digs those too).  He’s already throwing all round objects and trying to bounce them.  It took Zoey longer to take an interest in playing this way.  Zoey also didn’t have another kid around to watch and learn from and I think this makes a difference too.  Really I guess these could just be differences in personality and interest but I think at the core there is a definite difference between boy and girl.  I’m just learning as I go, waiting for the moment when his toys start ricocheting off the walls.     

My little boy baby is going to be one year old on July 26.  I absolutely cannot believe it.  This year in so many ways feels like it has rushed by me.  It feels like both yesterday and like a million years ago that we brought our ten pound, not so little bundle of boy, home from the hospital.  The second time around I knew what to expect with a baby.  I knew about the milestones and when they should be happening.  I have been getting so much joy out of Hunter’s firsts, his accomplishments.  From his first smile, to rolling over, to sitting up, to crawling (time to start paying attention to where he is), to holding his own bottle (yay less work for us), to walking, to falling, to getting back up, to talking (waiting for the moment when he starts saying momma).  

The other morning we went into Zoey’s room.  I plucked Hunter’s much adored binky out of his mouth and said, “Say Hi Zoey.”  And in this clear, deep voice, without thinking he proceeded to say, “Hi Zoey.”  I was blown away, I sucked in my breath and he looked over a me, unsure of what he had done that caused this reaction.  I laughed for five minutes in disbelief.  I hadn’t imagined it, both Joe and Zoey also heard Hunter’s utterance.  I couldn’t believe he had spoken like that and he hasn’t done it since. Each new thing he does makes me happy, proud, amazed and oh so grateful for him.     

Hunter is my little boy, my little guy, he’s on my lap, and holding onto my legs and gripping my shirt while I carry him.   He’s at the stage where he wants to be with me, seeing me or touching me as much as he can and crying when I leave the room.  It makes it difficult to get things done but it’s a stage that will end as quickly as it began.  I’m going to enjoy raising this boy and am working on making him a momma’s boy, not a wimpy one that can’t live without me, just one that adores his mommy always.

Happy birthday dear Hunter, happy birthday to you...and many more...       

Princess Butterfly: A Poem for Grandma

I had a whole blog posting written about a butterfly that Zoey found and how I used the experience to teach her about death and dying.  I began writing it before my Grandma passed away.  After she died I wrote a poem on the same topic.  I read it at her Funeral (through teary eyes and in a shaky voice by the end).  I decided the poem should be my posting for this week instead.  It's a more succinct and concise portrait of what I had been trying to get across anyway.  

Princess Butterfly:  A Poem for Grandma

One day Joe and Zoey brought home

a beautiful Monarch butterfly. 

When I saw the butterfly was still alive,

I felt we needed to be outside in nature,

where it belonged.  We named her Princess

Butterfly and put her on our balcony.

I thought she would fly away but she couldn’t.

We watched as she tried to flap her wings

and cheered her on, but a broken wing 

can’t carry you very far.  

The next morning Princess Butterfly

was still, her wings flat.  We brought her downstairs,

dug a hole in the ground, placed her softly  

in the dirt and covered her.  We each said something

we liked about her and blew a kiss up to the sky.

I often use our experience with the butterfly

to help explain dying and death to Zoey.

It’s a difficult idea to grasp at such a young

age that something is gone forever.  

That while you might see another butterfly

that looks exactly the same, 

the one you loved can’t be replaced.   

I thought of Princess Butterfly 

as I squeezed your hand, Grandma,

kissed your forehead, told you to rest and that

I loved you, it was difficult for me to grasp

and believe it would be the last time I would see you.

When Zoey asked me if you were going 

to get better, I told her you weren’t.  

I explained that you were like Princess Butterfly.  

I said that maybe you and Princess 

Butterfly would meet up in Heaven. 

I said maybe you two would fly together.

Zoey giggled and said, “But Great Grandma

can’t fly!”  I replied “Maybe up in Heaven she can.”

  

  

Zoey with her Great Grandma

Hunter with his Great Grandma

 I hope you are at peace now Grandma.  

Eighty Years Old: Death Bed

For years now I’ve had this vision, that someday I’m going to regret pieces of my life. Perhaps this is inevitable but there’s one thing that I can foresee so clearly.  I see myself as an old woman with white hair sitting in bed with a pale blue blanket pulled up to my waist.  The bed is next to a window, the curtains are open, the room is bright with sunlight.  I’m at a point at which it’s far too late for me to make any significant changes.  I sit alone, wallowing in my disappointment. 

This older version of myself is always sort of lingering in the back of my mind.  Coming to warn me and urge me to write, to not let my passion or my talent go to waste. She stays with me for a while and I tell myself I’m going to heed her warning.  Then time gets away from me, as it often does, and I don’t do much writing.  She isn’t giving up on me though, she returns to my consciousness to remind me again.  She’s here now.  I can feel her sorrow at the lost time, the lost dream.  Since I began writing this blog I feel creative again.  Writing makes my soul happier.   My characters and their stories that always float about in my imagination are getting louder, begging me to do something with them.  But still she’s here, I’m not doing enough.  I need to write more, do what I’ve always felt I’m supposed to be doing.  

I caught the writing bug in fifth grade.  This was the first time I felt the thrill of my words having an affect on people.  I don’t remember exactly what the assigned essay topic was but I wrote about my cat, Lovey and about how she died.  My essay was picked as one of the best by my classmates and I had to read it aloud in front of the class.  It felt amazing to be recognized in this way. One day when I was in sixth grade I came home from school and just started writing poems.  I think I wrote over twenty short little poems that afternoon.  I haven’t stopped writing, or at least, stopped thinking about it ever since.  I wrote anything and everything.  I wrote novellas in which I imagined meeting the New Kids on the Block.  I filled journals with poetry and hand wrote novels that I called “teen books,” which are all the rage now. 

Boxes of my writings that sit in my closet

When it came time to decide what I wanted to do or be when I grew up all I could think of was writing.  There wasn’t any career or thing that I could see myself doing, that was it.  I was going to go for it.  I got my Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing.  After that I didn’t have a job to step right into, so why not keep going to school?  I got my Master’s in Creative Writing.  Once I finished that, what was next?  Other than write I still had no career aspirations.  Realistically, I knew I was always going to have to do something other than write to make a living.  I would have to make time to write on the side and hope that one day I’d make something happen with it.

I watched other people go to school and get the jobs that they had studied to do.  Two of my sisters did this, one of whom is a teacher and the other a social worker.  I’ve always been jealous of people that get paid to do what they love.  People asked me why I didn’t get a job as a writer in a company somewhere.  But that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do.  I didn’t want to just write for writings sake.  I wanted to be a creative writer and write what I wanted.  In reality, I guess I’ve always known what I wanted.  Because I have had always had other jobs, I’ve always felt like I’ve been searching for what I really want.  I’ve been very lucky to work for great companies and to excel in my positions, but all the while I long to make writing my full time job.

In forty plus years I don’t want to regret not doing what I wanted to do.  That I didn’t work hard enough at it, or accomplish anything with it.  As I write this I’m sitting in my car before work.  As I walk inside and sit down at my desk I’ll feel an ache, a twinge of sadness because I’d rather be working on my novel or writing a blog post.  Other writers can find time to work and write, raise kids and write, live and write--why can’t I?  I need to make it a priority.  I need to be disciplined enough to work at and follow this dream.  I often think of the saying, “Do what you love and the rest will follow.”  I hope I can make this true for me.  

This posting has been more about me than being a mother, but is still about how time can just get away from you.  Though, in many ways I think this is about my kids too.  I want both Zoey and Hunter to feel free enough to follow their passions.  I don’t remember my mom trying to steer me away from pursuing writing, to choose something else.  I want to do the same for my kids.  I want them to find something they love and be able to go out and do it.  If they choose a creative path I want them to run on that path with more fervor than I have up to this point.  

Coincidentally, this week, in the midst of writing this, one of my grandmothers has been on her death bed.  As she slips away, I wonder if she ever looked back on her life with regret.  I imagine she must have as this has to be a natural part of life and death.  In a way I hope she did to an extent, as none of us can live a perfect life.  

But I’m not eighty or on my death bed yet.  I’m not that sad woman looking back on her life.  I’m not even halfway to being her.  I still have time to follow my heart, fulfill my dreams.  One of the best ways for me to show Zoey and Hunter that they can follow their dreams is to do it myself.  Whenever I falter I’m sure my future self will return and get me back on the track that I should’ve been on all along. 

The early Birthday present I gave myself to help me get writing.
I love this thing!

Splitting Time / Mommy Time

When I found out I was pregnant with Hunter I wondered if I would be able to love two kids as much as I loved one.  My heart was already bursting with everything I felt for Zoey.  When Hunter arrived I quickly found it wasn’t a problem.  Naturally I loved them both and had more than enough room in my heart for each of them.  The problem then wasn’t having enough love but how and when I could show and share it with them.  This little thing called work gets in the way of my time with my kids.  As time with both of them is so limited I often feel torn between giving them both the attention they need.    

I don’t get much alone time with Hunter.  I had tons of quality time with Zoey.  I think Zoey notices our lack of time together and/or lack of mommy time.  I make a point to put in some Mommy and Zoey time when she seems in need of it.  We’ll go shopping, get our nails done or go out to eat.  As Hunter gets older I’ve realized I haven’t made alone time with him a priority.  I’m feeling little guilty about this.  Of course he’s still a baby and doesn’t know differently yet.  Zoey was a lucky ducky with almost three years of undivided Mommy time.  Poor Hunter rarely gets this much of me but does get a great deal of my attention.  In a way, though, it might be harder on Zoey, which is why I go out of my way to make her feel special too.

On our way to get our nails done

Hunter will be one year old in less than a month.  I’d love to get in some alone time with him on a consistent basis too. The fact that I hadn’t been doing this hadn’t really crossed my mind before now.  I think it’s because he’s getting older and more aware.   A couple weekends ago Joe took Zoey swimming and I took Hunter to get his first hair cut.  Hunter and I came home to an empty house and we were both thrown off.  He was looking around for Zoey.  I felt her absence too and the place just felt so quiet.  It also happened to be nap time and he got cranky.  So much for Mommy and Hunter time I thought as I put him down for a nap.  I need to do things like this more often and not at nap time! 

Bedtime for Hunter is one piece of the day that is just ours.  Each night we give Zoey and Daddy hugs and kisses, say “Night, night. bye, bye” and Hunter usually waves to them.  I brush his teeth and take him into the room that he and Zoey share.  I give him a bottle and read him a book.  Then I pick him up and we look at the pictures hanging on the walls of their room.  A few nights in a row I pointed them out to him and it has become part of our routine.  He points to the pictures and I tell him who’s in them.  There’s a caricature of him and one of Zoey, a picture of me (very pregnant with Zoey) and Joe on Zoey’s side of the room and another picture of Joe, Zoey and me (very pregnant with Hunter) on his side of the room.   I’ve started asking “Where’s mommy or where’s Zoey?” and he has gotten good at looking around and pointing at the right picture. 

Hunter and his Sleepy Guy

I sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to him every night. I sing the extended version that I didn’t know existed until I heard it on a nursery rhyme album.  The second part begins with “And the traveler in the dark, thanks you for your tiny spark...”  He usually rests his head on my shoulder and I sway to the song as I sing.  Then I give him many, many kisses and tell him mommy loves him. I lay him down in his crib and put his Sleepy Guy on his tummy.  He usually wraps one of this hands around it and looks up at me. I tell him to go to sleep and then I leave the room.  Ninety-nine percent of the time he goes to sleep without crying.  I also get some more alone time with him on weekend mornings.  He usually wakes up around 6 and 6:30 which is about an hour before Zoey gets up.  He and I get that little pocket of the morning together. Most days during the week he’s up before I leave for work.  He follows me or I carry him around as I eat breakfast, make my coffee and brush my teeth.  Then I have to say (with a frog in my throat some days) “bye, bye”, hand him to daddy and leave him for the day.

Early one Sunday Morning with Hunter

I think I do a good job of making both of them feel special.  Though I do think I can make more of an effort to give Hunter some more Mommy time while I continue to do this with Zoey as well.  Sometimes one will need more of me than the other.   I can tell when Zoey does.  Hunter is getting more attention for his accomplishments: learning to crawl, stand, walk and talk.  Zoey has started to feel and act jealous.  Often she will start “copying” Hunter in an attempt to get the same attention.  Sometimes she will act like a baby and ask me to hold her like one.  She has also started to do things that will attract negative attention.  I try to be cognizant of when this is happening.  I try to include her in my excitement of Hunter’s new skills.  

Hunter can also act jealous at times.  Like most babies with their mothers, Hunter likes to be close to me.  He wants to be near me and gets upset when he can’t be. If I’m on the floor with Zoey he will push by her and crawl into my lap.   I can’t imagine having to split myself more than two ways.  There are so many people out there with more than two kids.  I’m sure there’s a fine art to spreading your time, love and attention evenly amongst your children.  I’m sure there can’t always be a balance.  I’ll have to be the pendulum that swings back and forth.  I’m sure I’ll get better with practice.