The Next Step

I've never been the kind of mom who pushes her kids into doing things. Naturally I expect them to do their best at whatever they choose to do, but I am not a fiercely competitive mom. The kind who expects nothing short of perfection of her children's clothing, hair, manners, schoolwork, lives in general. I'm not the soccer mom screeching at the referees on the sidelines, demanding flawlessness out of not only my child, but the coaches and players around him. I'm not the beauty queen mom spending thousands of dollars on the perfect ball gown and spray tans for my infant. I'm not the organic health-nut mom who forces her children to eat rice cake tofu sandwiches drizzled with whey protein shake powder.

I like to think I value the journey and the experience of learning just as much as the end result. I like to take each day at a time and allow my children to learn at their own pace. (Or maybe I'm just a lazy parent..... Nah.. let's go with the first one. It sounded WAY better.)

When the boys were younger, I wasn't on my hands and knees crawling around to "show" them how it's done. I knew they would crawl in due time, when they were ready. I wasn't the mom who was pushing her baby's legs up the stairs to help them achieve that feat sooner. I knew it would come soon enough and I would probably regret the fact that I now had to be extra vigilant to lock the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs (and be ready to kiss copious amounts of boo-boos from chairs, couches, sinks, ladders..) I wasn't the mother who had her 1 year old signed up in 17 extracurricular activities, practicing flashcards before they could crawl, pushing the "Your Baby Can Read" books in hopes of a novel-reading 2 year old, and forcing them to memorize all 44 presidents in both numeric and alphabetical order while correctly matching their photos (at the same time standing on their heads and scrubbing the toilet. Hmmm.. maybe not a bad idea really..) I knew my children would only be young once and we only had a glimmer to time to enjoy them in that innocent stage. I knew it would soon be over, leaving me to mourn the "loss" of their "baby-ness," so why rush through it?

That being said, it might come as no surprise that it comes completely UNnatural to me that sometimes I have to push Ella to do things, to learn new things she might be too scared to try on her own.

You see.. Ella is a very timid learner. (Our PT says most late-walkers are late-walkers not because of a muscular or any kind of physical problem, but because they're timid to try new things..) She doesn't like to try something she might not succeed at. She can be is very excruciatingly clingy to me at times every moment of the day . She doesn't like to stand at her table toy if I'm not right next to her for fear she'll fall over. She's a pro at pulling herself to stand against any object (even a plain ol wall) but once she gets into a standing position she starts to scream because she realizes she's alone and unsure of what to do next. She's doing better at sitting in her high chair, but don't even try to leave the room. Trust me.. just don't.

For the first year of her life Ella stayed pretty developmentally on track. She rolled when she was "supposed to", smiled on time, and without her sickness would have been very close to sitting at an age appropriate time. Even army crawling at just over a year seemed typical, given her hospitalizations and all.. But since then things have felt very gradual.. I can tell she's getting stronger, working her muscles for some future accomplishments. But that's just it. She gets on her hands and knees, even crawls a few inches, then flops back to her stomach because she gets scared. She cruises along furniture like nobody's business, but if I'm not in eye level you can bet the siren's gonna wail because even though she CAN get back down to the ground on her own, she is so frightened at the prospect of doing it alone.

For the past almost 2 years I've been pretty content to let her develop at her own pace. I didn't want to push her into something she was physically and mentally not ready for. From experience with the boys I learned that (for my kids at least) pushing them into something they're not ready for (such as being left with "strangers" to go to a MOPS meeting) can be a terrifying experience, taking years to resolve itself. (Yes.. we are STILL dealing with the side effects of that torturous encounter..)  Sure, we get PT, OT, and SP, but with Ella's extreme anxiety with anyone touching her, it's mostly an observational therapy with pointers of what I could do to help her. No treadmill, restraint belt, or muscle-toning workout balls here.. Remember this??

Now don't get me wrong.. I definitely encourage Ella in her development. I make sure to provide her with appropriate toys that will help with fine and gross motor skills. I give her plenty of free time on the floor to explore her world and learn about it. And my body tends to serve an an all-purposes jungle-gym-play-tower-tumbling-mat of sorts for her to climb on, over, under, up.. whatever.

But lately I've started to feel some frustration setting in. Frustration that her delays are becoming bigger and bigger. Frustration that, although she seems to be working those muscles, she isn't putting them to good use yet. Frustration that I don't know if the right thing to do is to continue to let her go at her pace, or to push her a little harder. Frustration that as an almost 2 year old she should be venturing into independence and growing out of her clinginess, instead of being at the peak of it (and staying there for months and months with no end in sight..)

If you "like" me on Facebook you might have seen this photo last week.

It would appear that Ella has now become a climber. (This was not without a little help though, just to clear the air.. Don't expect her to be scaling mountain tops anytime soon.. or even staircases for that matter..) But I HAVE decided to take some steps to try to push her a little harder, work with her a little more, to help her realize that she CAN do these things.. To ease some of her anxiety. To build her confidence. To help her feel less scared in this big world. To get her off my tired, aching hip if nothing else!

I'm sure many of you are wondering how I'm doing this. (Or, in all actuality NONE of you were really wondering that..) BUT despite the lack of interest, I took it upon myself to put together a little photo tutorial on how we accomplished this particular feat.

The small bit of Rice Krispie bar strategically out of reach.

The dilemna: a stool in the way

The ascent (I had to help with the initial knee)

The reach

The grab

The look of triumph

The sweet, krispy reward

The satisfaction.

The CUTENESS!

The End.

And NO that is not the same pile of laundry on the coffee table that was there last week.......

Okay yes it is...

What's a Girl To Do?

when her Husker cheerleading uniform is still in the wash from last week?

and Fall weather has decided to hit on..well... the first day of Fall?

And her second-in-line outfit is just a little too skimpy for the cool weather?

Homemade leg warmers of course!!

Not to mention some adorable size 3-6 month shoes that luckily-for-us still fit. ( - :

I try

Lately I've had a lot of sweet, mushy, I-love-my kids-so-incredibly-much-and-I-cannot-bear-the-thought-of-them-growing-up-one-more-day days. Days where the sunshine feels extra warm upon my shoulders, the giggles ever-present, and the thought of this sweet moment in time ever being over, completely devastating.. Days where I think "Why of course we should have another child.. and then maybe another? Twins?? And shouldn't we adopt or foster too because this.. This right here is what it's all about. THIS is bliss."

Today was NOT one of those days.

Today was one of those hard, grueling, "Why-did-we-ever-start-having-these-heathens-we-call-children-in-the-first-place?" days. A day where every tick of the clock feels like it should have moved the hour hand instead of merely the second hand.. A day where the whining and fighting overtook any semblance of peace and calm, crumpled it up like a bad manuscript (or blog post? except those aren't written on paper.. except when I get an idea during the day but I don't have time to get to the computer.. then they're kindof on paper I guess, right...), and threw it out an 67th story window.. into an inferno. A day where bedtime just cannot come soon enough and you wonder if it is commonplace in some cultures to put your children to bed at 5:00 (or earlier) and you really hope so because somehow that would make it more acceptable in your house too.

A sick day.

Is there anything in the world worse than your child/ren being sick?? Now, let me preface this by saying that I've done SICK. I know what long hospital stays, ambulance rides, NG tubes, surgeries, ventilators, and helicopter life-flights are like.. I'm not talking about that right now. THAT is definitely one of the worst.. My kids aren't that sick right now. Just a little sniffle. But this comes in a close second because that tiny little sniffle somehow manages to transform my normally sweet, enchanting children into MONSTERS. Not the witty, charming monsters of Sesame Street (of 20 years ago I mean.. has anyone seen that show lately? What have they done?!?) But monsters that mothers (and some fathers) old and young, far and near cower in fear from. Whose nighttime dreams are haunted by.. Monsters who fight, whine, don't listen, fight, whine, break stuff, fight whine, spill things, fight, whine, JUST GO TO BED!!

I tried today.. I really did. I tried to make it a fun sick day. I was actually hopefully optimistic at the prospect of having all three of my littles home today. It just doesn't feel right when they're not all here.. (Yes I've contemplated homeschooling. No I don't think it would work for us.) And there is a slight possibility that I was also looking forward to sleeping in a few minutes, enjoying a cup of cream coffee and the morning news, not having to get everyone dressed, fed, and out the door by 7:30, and enjoying some movie/cuddle time with my boys. Of COURSE that's not the reason I kept them home, but it was a perk. ( - :

It didn't really go well from the start.

I tried playing Go Fish with them. One would inevitably get upset when he lost (or Ella tried to eat their cards).

I tried being patient while reminding them over and over and OVER to please blow their nose and then wash their hands whenever they would sniffle their snot back up their nose and into their raspy little throats (sorry for the graphic). My patience wore thin.

I tried getting the Gator out for them to ride. The battery was dead (Special thanks to Someone who said they would charge it last night. Not mentioning any names but he does live in this house..).

I tried making Chicken Noodle Soup for my sick family. I was out of carrots. (A 'real' thanks to my wonderful father-in-law for bringing me some.. and movies for the kids.. and staying to entertain Ella while I completely took advantage of his presence by chopping up veggies, making noodles, disinfecting the counters, washing bottles, then the rest of the dishes-hey I didn't want the sink of hot soapy water to go to waste.. and he will probably never volunteer to bring me carrots, or ANYTHING for that matter, ever again..).

I tried keeping my house and floors semi-clean today. When I stepped out of the room to talk on the phone to a friend, the "outside" cat got in, jumped on the counter, and dragged my (cooked) chicken carcass all over the floor.

I tried truly feeling empathetic for my children that they obviously don't feel good and their poor sniffling bodies just can't help it. They made it increasingly difficult with their never ending carousel of fighting and whining. (Charlie told me today, "When you're sick, you're mad." 'You' being the general population.. not 'you' meaning me, the person he was talking to.. I think.)

I tried making homemade bread to go with our soup, thinking that a healthy, nourishing, Grandma-inspiring, antioxidant rich meal would make even the sickest of sicks feel better. I made a mistake. If you've ever wondered what bread minus the 5 tsp of yeast the recipe called for looks like, wonder no more...

So stale-ish Saltine crackers it was.. I tried.

Yet still I press on. I refuse to give up.

At this very moment, I am trying to drink a glass of wine before I go to bed. I am confident that this is something I can do.

SHOUT OUT!

HEY! Just wanted to give a quick SHOUT OUT to my all-time favorite Mom!

She has FINALLY gotten the subliminal messaging (screaming bloody-murder is subliminal, right? No? My bad..) 

about leaving the tray off my high chair!

I realize that this act was due largely to the fact that my tray was dirty (significant laziness on her part for not wanting to wash it.. or she didn't feel like doing it one-handed while hauling around a feed sack aka. me.. but whatever..) 

I just love getting in these easily accessible comfy eating positions.

And I can reach my toes SO much better!

Going tray-less has even given me the freedom to learn some new tricks when she walks away to get a washcloth. Fun, huh? 

(I have no idea why mom's face looked so panicked when she walked back in the room..)

But before you guys get too excited and nominate her for Mother-of-the-Year or something crazy like that I want to let you in on a little secret... Shhhhh... Sometimes she forgets (or dad washes the tray) and she actually tries to put it back on the highchair... I know, right????

Mom.. I'm not angry. Just disappointed...

Okay.. honestly? I was a little angry until I realized I can stand up with the tray on just as well.

Even in the tightest locked-back position.. Believe it.

I've also been doing a little "outside the box" thinking and have discovered an even better way to sit in this chair and godforsaken tray. 

How about a little ham with those potatoes, Mom?

All in all.. I think I'm really making some progress with this lady. 

FOX News

The boys were home from school, excited to be outside playing in the late summer rain. Catching raindrops on their tongues, getting their camo rain boots stuck in the mud, tackling each other in the giant puddle by the barn.. typical boy adventures.

They had VERY STERN instructions that when they came in the house they MUST leave their boots outside. Not on the rug in the kitchen. Not on the porch. OUTSIDE. I was taking no chances on destroying my hard-earned, hard-to come by, freshly toothbrush scrubbed kitchen floor. (And seriously? What are the chances it would rain the day after I scrubbed the floor?? We've been in a drought all summer..) Meanwhile the husband and I were enjoying a rare quiet moment in the house while they were outside and Ella was still taking a nap. (He was dozing off on the living room floor. I was washing dishes.. Exciting.)

When all of a sudden the blissful silence was burst apart at the seams by two boys frantically rushing in the door with crazy wide eyes, screaming and yelling and insanely excited about a white fox in the barn. The hubby and I shared a smirky, knowing glance.. A white fox? Really?

This coming from the child who recently told me that one time. When he was little. He was standing in a field. And he saw a bull. And it came rushing right at him. And he whacked it. With a stick. Right between the eyes. And his eyeballs fell out. And his horns fell out too. And he could not grow any more...

So about that "white fox"? It was probably a stray cat...

But being the dedicated, loving parents we are we strapped on our boots and ventured out in the rain to investigate this "white fox." And sure enough, we were beyond shocked to find..  a white fox. In our barn. RIGHT next to where our children were playing.

JJ grabbed the gun (come after me all you want Animal Rights Activists.. if there is a wild animal, in my yard, next to my children, in broad daylight.. it's probably not going to see tomorrow..) and was about to shoot it when he realized there was a collar on it. This was no stray fox. This was a pet. It wasn't afraid of us like a truly wild animal would be (more like an animal with rabies...) but it wasn't tame either (ie. when JJ got close to it, it tried to bite him.)

So there we stood, the boys jumping up and down on the front steps wild with excitement, me in the middle of the yard with a perplexed "what in the world do we do now?" look on my face, JJ poised and aimed with the rifle, still ready to add a fluffy white fox pelt to his hunting collection, and Ella graciously still sleeping.

The fox (we'll just call him Leonard) ran back into the barn so JJ hurried and shut the door, locking himself inside with Leonard, while the rest of us helplessly looked on.. The seconds ticked by. All was quiet. We didn't know who the victor would be. We waited in terrified silence, when suddenly a white bushy tail emerged from under the barn wall. Leonard escaped. *insert more fanatic small boy screeches and squeals here

Leonard then scurried around our yard a bit, causing us all to run wildly in different directions, sniffed his way through the sand pile and slinked into the dog house. JJ sneaked up from behind, I grabbed an old window (see honey- I told you those would come in handy someday..) and we trapped him, screwing the window to the dog house so he couldn't escape.

And that is the story of how we came to own a white marble fox.

Kidding! 

We went back in the house (supper was cooking and almost ready) while JJ made phone call after phone call to the vet, the Exotic Pet Farm, the Game & Parks, and neighbors trying desperately to find Leonard's home. We knew he had a collar but we were NOT getting close enough to check for a tag (he tried to attack my hand through the glass. *insert frightened, high-pitched lady shriek here 

And amid all the hustle and bustle and chaos, you can guess what happened to my clean, sparkly kitchen floor can't you? We were in. And out. Checking on the fox. Taking pictures. Making phone calls. Tracking through the mud. (Let me note that the boys DID take off their boots when they came in the house.. it's just that their socks were equally as wet and muddy as their boots were..) We were eating supper,  rushing off to CCD. And back home again. And in. And out. (and I'm fairly certain JJ did NOT heed my stern warnings to take his shoes off..)

And now my kitchen floor is covered in muddy foot (and sock) prints, splattered ketchup, dribbled milk, and greasy chicken bones from when the cat got in and dragged the remains of our supper we hadn't had time to pick up from all the confusion, ALL OVER the floor.

*sigh...

At least we found the owner. Around 9:00 last night Leonard returned to the safety and comfort of his home. And we can all enjoy another day without rabies. Gotta be thankful for that!

All I wanted..

was to scrub the kitchen floor. That's it. It hadn't been done for a few weeks, months awhile. and that's all I wanted to do yesterday. The cleaning gods don't shine upon me often, so I know when a sudden and unexplainable ambition to deep clean, or heck.. clean at all hits me, I better take that offer or it might be a few weeks, months awhile before it comes again..

The day was going fairly smoothly. Ella started to get a little crabby mid-morning so my plan (ha! there's the problem..) was to get her down for a nap, then have Charlie help me scrub the floor. I thought we could make it fun and possibly get something done at the same time-a win-win! It took longer than I anticipated to get Ella down for a nap and by the time I laid her down it was almost lunch time. And I had 2 loads of wet laundry that needed to be hung on the clothesline. And the bunny hadn't been fed. And Charlie hadn't gotten any special attention. *sigh..

So I decided we would tackle those things first. I would get Charlie lunch and off to a rest and my plan (ah~ there it is again..) was for Ella to sleep this whole time, through the afternoon, allowing me to get the kitchen floor scrubbed.

Uh huh...

Except when we came in the house 10 minutes later, Ella was already awake. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.. Ready for lunch and more than ready to play for few more hours. I wanted to cry.

My first reaction was anger. Oh I know you can't really be angry at a 1 year old, but the frustration was definitely setting in. My house is a mess and I have begun to realize that I have been in a vicious cycle of not getting anything done around here. Ella can be pretty *ahem clingy. So basically the only thing I can do all morning is either A. haul her around like a sack of 'taters on my hip, including but not limited to, her hanging upside down, sideways, and grabbing her toes from every angle, B. lay on the floor next to her and hold steady her push toy for hours on end so she doesn't face-plant it into the rug, or C. attempt to get up for a brief moment to *gasp! use the bathroom, only to listen to her cry and throw a fit full of soon-to-come gassy goodness.. So needless to say, all morning I lay here next to her, seeing the millions of things I should be doing/cleaning/making/picking up and think to myself "I'll do it when she takes a nap." Except then I lay her down for a nap and I realize that doing most of those things will wake her up. ie. vacuuming, hanging a picture, putting her clothes away, dropping a pin... And so I accomplish seemingly nothing during nap time, thinking "I'll be able to do those things when she wakes up." Annnnnd we go round and round...

So today, I really wanted to make an effort to overcome that vicious cycle... And when it didn't work out? I wanted to be angry. I wanted to sulk about how my "plans" were ruined.. I just wanted to scrub that darn floor!!

But when I looked up from my pity party, this is what I saw

A little girl who loves and adores me. Who wants to spend every moment with me merely because of who I am, her Mommy, not because of what I did or didn't get done that day. Right then and there I made the conscious decision to enjoy this afternoon, even if it didn't go the way I planned. Even if I wasn't happy about it. Even if the kitchen floor was still dirty.

And I did my best to focus to what I did do that day instead of the hundreds of millions of things I felt like I didn't do. And I forced myself to realize that no matter how small the things I did do, they mattered.

Fed my children breakfast? It mattered. 
Drove Nolan to school so he could sleep an extra hour? It mattered.
Washed and hung out 2 loads of laundry that will be dirty again tomorrow? It mattered.
Helped Charlie feed Mr. Fluffernutter (our bunny)? It mattered.
Pushed him on the swing (Charlie.. not Mr. Fluffernutter)? It mattered.
Kissed an owie to make it feel better? It mattered.
Rocked Ella to sleep? It mattered.
Made sure she got her medicine? It mattered.
Pushed her hippo toy across the living room five thousand times to help her learn to walk? It mattered.
Babbled back to her when she made noise to encourage speech? It mattered.
Took the (sometimes discouraging) time to enforce her signs? It mattered.
Frosted a cake for the School Carnival? It mattered.

Honestly? It was still hard to focus on those things. It took very intentional effort. But I'm glad I did. Because Ella and I had a great time playing and you know what? My husband ended up coming home from work early and took Charlie out to "help" him move his tree stand, Ella took another nap soon after, and I DID get that floor and cabinets scrubbed (I'm talking old toothbrush in the crevices scrubbed..) AND the fridge. (THANK YOU cleaning gods!!!!)

Today's society puts such pressure on mothers to to perform to a certain standard. We're supposed to have weekly date nights with our husbands, scheduled girls nights out, work out 3x a week and fit back into our "skinny" jeans immediately after giving birth.. We're supposed to be our children's best advocates (which is further exemplified when you have a child with a rare genetic syndrome in which you often know more than your doctors about..), research the side effects of vaccines and determine the best route for our individual families, feed our children fresh, organic meals, grow and can our own vegetables, sew homemade garments, use eco-friendly cloth diapers, have picture-perfect Pinterest worlds..

When in reality sometimes you stay in your pajamas all day and eat cereal for supper. Some days are just like that.

And even on those days, especially on those days, when you don't think anything you did mattered?

It did. 

As for me? I'm about to side step my way through the minefield of toys strewn across our house to enjoy my sparkly clean kitchen floor. Because I'm sure it won't last the day... *

*editor's note: I was right. Clean floor is gone. Post to follow...

Dear Charlie

(Sorry if you're sick of reading "Back to School" posts. Heck.. I'm even sick of them. Just one more?? Please?)

Dear Charlie,

My sweet, sweet Charlie boy.. I thought I was prepared. I thought I was ready. I thought already having done it once would make it easier the second time.

I was wrong.

On Friday you started Preschool. And I was completely blindsided by the fierce ache in my heart when I walked out that door. (Actually it started when I woke up early that morning to make your Monkey-Toe Bread for breakfast..) 

How is it possible that you're old enough for this? That it's your turn already? Wasn't it just the other day we were dropping Nolan off for his first day of preschool?

Over the years I've semiadjusted to Nolan being gone, but you? You've always been there. My little buddy. As upset as I might be about leaving him, I always knew you were there in the backseat waiting for me, ready to babble another story about 'kunks (skunks), or excitedly watching out the window for the crick where you always see a splash from a fish jumping. ( - :

You have always been a little more *ahem* undisciplined then your older brother, more of a "free-spirit." And I love that about you. You have always been the messiest eater, with an ever present ring of dirt/food/whoknowswhat around your mouth, earning you the endearing nickname "Pigpen." And you have single handedly elicited most of my parenting "I never thought I would say that" moments..

     - "Charlie.. keep the kitties ears out of your mouth."

     - "Put the tape measure down. We don't measure our pee-pee.."

     - "No.. we do not shock-a-bloo-ey the kitties."

     - "Please don't pound nails in each other's butts."

     - "CHARLIE! Take the kitties ears out of your mouth!"

You are also my all-too classic middle child. You, my poor son are never the first to do anything.. Nolan always has you beat in the "first to go to school" or "first the lose a tooth" scenarios. You're forever in his shadow of being bigger and stronger and faster (although we tell him frequently that you might be bigger someday just like daddy's "little" brothers) And so often you are also overshadowed by your little sister as well, with all Ella's doctor appointments and weekly therapies taking my time and energy..

But whether you meant to or not.. you, my sweet boy, have taken those challenges and used them for good. You are by far the sweetest, most kind-hearted boy I have ever met. It comes completely natural to you to share with others and you get no joy whatsoever out of having something someone else doesn't. On Nolan's first day of school when I made cookies for us to decorate together? You refused, saying you wanted to wait until Nolan got home so he could do it with us. When you get to pick a special supper for a birthday or special event, you almost always pick Nolan's favorite instead of your own, because you know it will make him happy. When you got a birthday card with two dollars in, you immediately said "One for me and one for Nolan!" And just the other day at a parade when you picked up 2 licorish sticks, without a second thought you turned and immediately gave one to your brother.

Oftentimes you are the first to ask Dad when he gets home from work how his day was, while the rest of us are all selfishly talking about our own. And just the other day I had a pounding headache so when I laid down next to you at rest time, you reached over and started gently rubbing my head. You asked if that made it feel better, then leaned over and sweetly kissed my cheek. You rubbed my head for a few moments longer, then leaned in close and softly whispered "Mom.. I have to scratch my butt now."

Oh Charlie.. you never cease to bring a smile to my face.

As sad as I am to see you growing up, I am so excited for this new journey in your life. I know you will have so much fun there because let's face it.. as much as I try I just am NOT as much fun as a 4 year old (or 6 year old) boy. I'm just not.

You're ready for this. I know you are.

I can't wait to hear all about it.

Love
Mom

It's GONE

Well, it's not really GONE gone.. Technically it's still here.. faithfully tucked in a sweet little Monster Pillow, awaiting a visit from a certain Fairy. But it's gone from my boy's mouth. Forever. Yes, my "baby's" first baby tooth is gone. It fell out today. At school. While he was chewing gum as a reward for being a good listener. (Why oh WHY is he so well behaved..... Is it bad to halfway wish he would have been at the "naughty" table so the tooth wouldn't have fallen out right then? I would have loved to be the one there to see the surprised look on his sweet face...) (- :

I really didn't think him losing a tooth would be such an emotional milestone. I truly thought I would probably be more irritated disappointed it happened before our family pictures (shallow, I know..) But then I remembered why this is a big deal.. This isn't just any ol' ordinary tooth. This is THE tooth. The tooth that has tasted his first drink of milk. The tooth that chewed (and spit out) his very first bite of sweet potatoes. The very first tooth that bit me. The tooth he was born with.

(In case you don't believe me)

Yup, it took these inexperienced, newbie parents a few days to realize what the strange white thing on their newborn's gums really was... When we showed it to the doctor she agreed that it certainly was a tooth, cementing to us incredulous parents that indeed, this beautiful baby was truly the most amazing and unique gift ever witnessed by mankind and that we had surely done the world a huge favor by gifting everyone with the presence of his life. (*insert dramatic eye roll) Hey- give us a break. He was our first. We didn't know any better. 

Fast forward SIX incredibly fast years.. And that very same tooth is now sitting in a sweet little Monster Pillow (that I stayed up way too late sewing the other night because I put it off till the last minute when I finally noticed he had a loose tooth) on our Dining Room Table, somehow NOT in his mouth, while a very excited little boy lay upstairs dreaming of flying fairies and gold coins. (HA! Too bad for him we've gotten real and only have a few tarnished pennies laying around.. Kidding! Kindof..)

I think this is so hard because I feel like this was one of the last shreds of baby-hood I was clinging to. The tiny coming home outfits have long since been washed and packed away. The soft baby curls were cut off years ago.. I've watched him transition from baby rattles to monster trucks, blocks to soccer balls.. And now that tooth that has been with him, literally every single day of his life.. is gone.

And he is beyond excited.

So I will be too. I'm off to put on a brave face, smile, and act beyond surprised when he wakes up in the morning to his "fairy dust" sprinkled pennies.