They really are that pretty in real life

I made some wonderful new friends from the internet this weekend.  For me, this whole blogging thing started as an outlet for the jumble of words in my brain and this weekend it became so much more.  I've now made personal connections with other bloggers...we started as strangers and ended as friends.  It's a pretty spectacular world.

All photos by Cass Comerford, kick-ass photographer.  And I forgot my camera, of course I did.

Yes, we ate a lot.  We laughed a lot.  We had more fun than should be legal.  Please meet my new friends, I think you'll like them too.

In no particular order:
Diary of a Modern Matriarch
Cass. Just Curious.
Harmzie
Annabelle Speaks
Chez Rougie
McMama's Musings
Back To Me
Pseudostoops
& lilsaej who does NOT have a blog but is still fabulous.

I think I'll be attending BlogHer this year.  Just so I can spend more time with these wonderful ladies.  And because Cass told me to.

This anniversary is not one to be celebrated

an⋅ni⋅ver⋅sa⋅ry

 [an-uh-vur-suh-ree]  Show IPA noun,plural -ries, adjective

–noun

1.	the yearly recurrence of the date of a past event: the tenth anniversary of their marriage.

2.	the celebration or commemoration of such a date.

One year.  It's been one whole year since I fell down the stairs carrying Noah and broke his leg.  Even now, just typing those words, makes me feel anxious.  Really, really anxious.  It's difficult for me to remember that day.  The screaming, the panic, the florescent lights in the waiting room, the heavy vests in the x-ray room, the tiny yellow gown for a tiny patient, the kind child welfare worker.  It's all too much.  I sat down to write this and I truly thought I would be able to talk about it calmly and peacefully because my baby is ok.  He's fine.  He's better than fine, he's doing great.  Someday, February 5, 2009 will be just a blip in our memories, a day we bring up at family gatherings during a "remember when?" round and then laugh (I never will).

That accident changed me.  It made me nervous.  It made me anxious.  I believe deep down that I am a good mother and a good person and accidents happen to good people every day.  But I am not the same person I was before and I hate that.  I hate that I don't feel competent in taking care of my child.  I hate that I check, triple check, that Noah is in the backseat even after buckling him in because I am terrified of forgetting him somewhere (which, for the record, I have never done).  I hate that every time he falls down and cries hysterically I think he's broken a bone or gotten a concussion or something far worse.  I hate that I panic the minute he walks out of view of the camera in the childcare room at the gym and I immediately think someone's taken him.  All of this because of that accident.  

I know it could have been so much worse and I wonder if that's why I feel so anxious now.  Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to say.   I am so grateful that Noah healed just fine with no lingering developmental issues.  He's happy, he's healthy, he's extremely loved.  But I just can't shake that nagging anxiety that something will happen to him under my care.  This anxiety is preventing me from really moving forward with expanding our family because I worry that I am not capable of taking care of another small person.  I hope that time does heal this in me.  I need it to.

I am so sorry, Noah.  I am so sorry I hurt you.

Straight out of Elle Decor

It should be law that toddlers come with their own cleaning lady.  And by cleaning lady I don't mean ME.  He's a walking tornado, leaving tiny Little People, magnetic letters, plastic trucks and mini Hoovers in his wake.  At least it's a colorful decor, no?

Header fun

I made myself a new header courtesy of this talented lady's tutorial.  10 minutes, some cute pics and VOILA!  Hope you like it.

(For Jojo:  No more black.  Better?)

I can help and so I did

I've been struggling with how I want to help the people of Haiti.  I did the "would you care to donate ($1, $5, $10) to the Haiti relief efforts?" while grocery shopping last week.  I chose the $10 option because I could.  I walked out of the grocery store feeling pretty good that I gave a little.  But it wasn't enough.  It's never enough.  While scrolling through my Reader yesterday, I stopped in at Life in Progress (an offshoot of House in Progress, which was the very first blog I ever read waaaayyyyy back when) and made my way through Jeannie's most recent posts.  Late last week she wrote about the Haitian refugees that have been making their way into Chicago and that she was offering to collect small donations of food, toiletries, and clothing and making a trip to the Chicago Christian Industrial League/ A Safe Haven Foundation where the refugees have been provided shelter.  Her post was exactly the kick I needed.  I knew the money would eventually get to the people in Haiti but I also knew I wanted to do something to help the people who came here with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Last night, Noah, my mom, and I made a trip to Walmart to pick up as much as we could for these refugees.  I had a $100 gift card burning a hole in my pocket.  Yes, of course I could always use a $100 gift card but I don't NEED it.  These people NEED toothpaste.  They need towels.  They need blankets.  So that $100 gift card bought them those things.  And today I dropped the bags off with Jeannie, met her for the first time (she was SO lovely), and walked away knowing I did the best I could.  Because at the end of the day, I know there will be a child who now has crayons and a coloring book to make her happy again, at least for a few minutes.  I know a woman will have a set of clean towels to use.  I know a man will have a good shower with all the necessities.  I know a baby will have a blanket to be wrapped up in and kept warm.

I don't say all this to pat myself on the back but to remind myself that I'm so lucky.  I take for granted so much in my life and to imagine it all taken away in an instant devastates me.  What little I am able to do may make a world of difference to someone else.

18 Months

Dear Noah,

First, I am so sorry I missed your 17 month letter.  To be honest, you and I have been at odds for a couple of months now and I may have missed the letter on purpose.  I didn't have very positive experiences to write about last month.  Of course you were as cute as ever but your little personality was truly starting to come through and I started wondering if you were being a troublesome toddler to make up for the easy infant you once were.  After reading SO MANY books and blogs and forums I began to realize that you weren't being extra troublesome or extra ornery...you were just being 16/17 months old.  You were EXACTLY as you should have been.  You're EXACTLY as you should be today.  I cannot begin to tell you how much of a relief that was to hear.  So let's begin this letter, your 18 month letter, on a positive note.  Today, I fell in love with you all over again.

It's true!  I did.  We were in the basement playing, jamming to your music on my iPhone, and just being silly and when you stopped to look at me, you said "Mama" so softly and leaned in to kiss me.  It was such a tender, sweet moment...a moment unlike any we have had in a long while.  My heart swelled and burst into a million pieces.  And that's when I fell in love with you all over again.  I looked at you and really saw you.  Not the cranky toddler you have been lately but the sweet, gentle little baby you once were and are again.  It was simply magical.  I've been a mother long enough now to know we will always have our days (weeks, months) when we're at odds but I will hold today in my pocket and pull it out every time I need a little extra patience, a little extra strength.

Let's see, this month you have:
1) Started saying multi-syllabic words and stringing phrases together.
2) Begun to understand how to use "Please" when asking for something (Puh!).
3) Grown an inch or maybe two because none of your clothes fit.
4) Learned to catch a ball...two arms out and a big ol' goofy grin on your face when it actually works.
5) Finally stopped crying yourself to sleep after an extra minute of rocking and singing before bed.
6) Know every body part and delight in telling everyone where your (insert random part) is.
7) Can tell the difference between a tractor, a dump truck, and a bulldozer...major accomplishment according to you.
8) Become obsessed with trains (CHOO-CHOOOOOOOOOO!).
9) Learned how to hug back (best thing ever.).
10) And the crowning achievement: stopped crying at the gym daycare!

You're quite an accomplished little 18 month old!  Now we just have to work on your incessant screaming to get my attention.  Seriously, using your words is a much better tactic to get me to pay attention to you.  And grabbing canned goods off the shelves of the grocery store and chucking them to the ground isn't going to get you that balloon at the end of the trip.  This I promise you.

Noah, for all of our battles and tears, there are so many happy moments.  I am so lucky that I get to experience all of this with you.  You've taught me patience, gratitude, and how to love with abandon.  I am so grateful to you and so damn lucky.  SO damn lucky.

I love you.

Love,
Mamalamalama

TGGA Update

For those of you following along at home and riveted by the TGGA (The Great Gym Adventure), I just wanted to inform you that Noah made it an entire HOUR today without a major meltdown.  When I left him, I swear the caretaker was crossing herself and slowly backing away like he might combust at any moment.  Yes, he cried.  A lot.  And yes, I felt terrible when I closed the door on him.  But he (WE!) did it.  I spent most of my yoga class watching the clock and waiting for the staff to come get me which kind of ruined the whole relaxation purpose of yoga, but they never came.  Let me repeat:  they never came.  As soon as the instructor Namaste'd us or whatever you want to call it, I hightailed it to the childcare room and when I walked in Noah was calmly playing with a toy phone.  He saw me, acknowledged me with a "Mama" and continued on his merry way.  I about fell over dead.  He didn't even CARE that I was back. The caretaker (Miss Elena, let's just put her name out there, ok?  Ok.) let me know that he cried for about three minutes after I left, abruptly stopped and had been playing happily ever since.  So happily that he didn't want to leave and screamed at me for a good ten minutes after we left.

People, I feel like I conquered some sort of Mama Mountain.  Make fun of me all you want but this is an empowering feeling.  I can leave my kid in the care of a stranger and he's ok.  I'M OK.  It's only taken me 18 months to figure it out.  18 loooooooooonnnnnggggg months.  But we did it and that's awesome.