Spirit

This past weekend the Little Man attended a birthday party for a child in his preschool class. The father of this little boy attends every school function, runs games at class parties, and knows every childs name in the Little Man's room; which is why I was so proud when he came and spoke these words to me:

"The Little Man is so great, every time I see him he has a grin from ear to ear and his spirit is contagious!"

It's true that I may have a boy that makes me pull my hair out at times but he saves that for me, to the outside world - he is amazing!

Right now our family is preparing for this years Walk America to benefit the March of Dimes. The March of Dimes funds research for premature birth, something that I would not wish upon anyone.

The Little Man was born two months premature. He weighed in at 4 pounds, 11 ounces and by some miracle, was able to come home at only nine days old. Walk America falls each year just before the Little Man's due date and brings with it a mixture of sadness and joy. It is a time of reflection for me, to see how far the Little Man has come. At 2 months old he had a CT scan to look for seizures, at 3 months he was tested for cancer, 6 months he had his first ambulance ride, and he had surgery for sleep apnea the day before his third birthday. Now at 5 years old he is delayed in his fine and gross motor skills due to his prematurity, he is diagnosed with bipolar disorder, he suffers from anxiety, and he has sensory integration dysfunction.

Each day is a struggle for him, yet you would never know. The Little Man is brave beyond his years...and he has a spirit that is contagious.

The Epitomy of a Mommy Blog

This past weekend was awful. The Little Man was bossy as all get out, I was far from winning any "Mom of the Year" awards, and we both hated each other by the end of the weekend. Alright, hate might be a little strong, but we definitely scored top notches on each others 'lists'.

Being a mom is tough. Whether or not you want to, you'll say things you regret, do things you're not proud of, and probably scar your child for life. You beat yourself up thinking your child will be broken because of your nastiness and then - they surprise you.

I was the nasty, awful mom this weekend. I took away an Easter Egg Hunt, I threatened that the Easter Bunny would not come, I yelled - a lot. He was no angel either by any means - he was demanding, rude, and aggressive; he definitely did not need to be rewarded by any Easter festivities.

All that said - it was what I found today that makes all the bad go away. After this horrendous weekend, and a less than perfect morning, I sent the Little Man to daycare while I went to work. A few hours in to my day I needed something from my purse. That was when I found that the Little Man had filled my purse with Easter eggs! He took some of his candy and filled empty eggs with it and then stuck them in the bottom of my purse. Not only that, but the eggs he used were the ones that yesterday he labeled as the 'prettiest eggs ever'.

Was this a white flag of sorts? Was this his way of apologizing? Regardless of what he meant by it, it touched me deeper than he will ever know. He went out of his way, sharing his treats, with the nasty awful woman that he has to call Mom.

Thank you Baby, and I'm sorry.

Missing You

Green shag carpet, an emerald green that has lost it's shag, covers gorgeous hard wood floors, floors that I question whether or not they have ever been touched by a human foot. We used to pretend it was grass, and then when we had kids - they too would pretend!

A davenport, not a couch or a sofa, but a davenport. It was always strewn with an afghan or two, maybe another that was in the works. The davenport was a deep brown with a touch of gold and green, rough to the touch, it would leave marks on your face if you fell asleep on it. As uncomfortable as it was, it just felt perfect.

Wood paneling covered the walls, the living room, the hallway, the bedrooms...! At Christmas time, behind the davenport, yarn would hang from the molding and cards would be attached. The rest of the year the walls were covered in pictures, pictures of Moms, Dads, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, friends, family, and love.

The recliner sat in the corner, worn in places from so much use. A radio next to that to hear foot ball games. The TV was across the room, showing yet another game, sometimes two TV's could be found there, depending on the game line-up for the day. Photo albums sat near by, again filled with pictures of love.

The home was always a bustle with sound. Sports playing on the radio or tv, card games in the dining room, great food cooking in the kitchen, and the sound of pool balls cracking eminated from the basement. Laughter would always abound, as would the warmth of pleasant conversation.

The feel of the home started from the moment you rang the doorbell. Westminster Chimes
would play and your arrival would be welcomed with joy and grace, be you a stranger or a dear friend. Many times you would be greeted with a "Come In!" hollered from the kitchen or welcomed by Grandma dressed in one of many aprons and a pair of house slippers. You would make your rounds giving hugs and kisses to all who are in the home, Grandpa's hug was the best, lifting you right off your feet. He would squeeze so tight you could feel the stuffing pour right out of you, yet secretly, you'd wish he would never let go.

When we were kids, we would play across the street, at the elementary school named for my Great Grandfather. We would play to our hearts content, until Grandma would blow her whistle alerting us that dinner was on the table.

Dinner...what a wonderful time. Rarely can I recall a time when meals did not consist of adding leaves to the table and scrounging the house for extra chairs. The organ bench made for great seating, allowing two cousins to dine together at the head of the table. Food was never scarce, plates overflowing unable to hold the contents of the offerings at the table. Guests would sit in eager anticipation while Grace was spoken, either by Grandma herself, or another family member willing to take on the task. There was always silence, followed by an "Amen" from all, and then the clanking of silverware, passing of dishes, and conversation would commence. Grandpa was the food pusher, always urging us to have one more bite, or one more serving, he had the belly to show for it but was so full of love in his offers.

I think of those moments often. The Grandparents are gone, as is the home, but the memories will forever be embedded in my mind. The sounds, tastes, and smells - they will forever remind me of happy times shared with the important people of my life. I wish that my son could share in those memories with me, that he had been old enough to remember what an amazing Great-Grandmother he had, and that my Grandfather could have held him in his arms. I feel the two of them with me, I know their presence is there, be it in a dream or as my guardian angels. Grandma and Grandpa - thinking of you today, I miss you and I love you.