You're a Peach!

It's August- which means Grandpa T. has sent his annual box of peaches home with us- it's a sweet summer tradition we're lucky to be part of!



You had two peaches for dinner last night- and you like them best cut in half so you can take big bites of them. Your chin, neck, hair, and ears are usually full of peach juice when you're through, but it's worth the mess!



In a few weeks, we might get homemade peach jam from Grandma S. too ... which is SO good on warm, homemade shortcake or biscuits drizzled with fresh cream.

How sweet it is.

Wordless Wednesday

In Ruin

Mother Nature.
She's a bitch.
A force to be reckoned with.



Saturday night we endured a storm that wreaked some havoc in our world. It was already dark when it started to rain, so we didn't know what, if anything at all, we were in for. It wasn't long before the wind picked up, and temperature dropped 20 degrees. The atmosphere had been thick all evening, your typical Midwest August night. Lightening danced on the horizon, and the thunder eventually chimed in. Within minutes, the hail started.



Oh, the hail. My lily bed, above, had a blanket of iced-over hail 12 hours later, on a 90* morning. We live in a new development, so there are no such things as mature trees here yet. Our little Maples and Willows and Crabapples took a beating house by house. There were actually leaves blown about and clinging to garages, driveways, and porches.



I let the Beagle out the next morning, and that is when I noticed the damage. The deck was littered with broken glass from our light fixtures, smashed by hail, and fragments of shingles splayed across the cedar floor. I hadn't expected that. Then, I bravely face my garden.

And I cried.

Tomatoes, too green yet to be picked, took it worst. Cucumbers, squash, and zucchini, all pock-marked.
The seven pumpkins the lil' dude is so proud of, damaged.

And cried.

This particular storm began its run in the northwestern corner of the state- where it was classified as a tornado. Storm chaser footage on the news was pretty impressive, and terrifying. By the time it reached us, it was only wind and hail.

My garden- our garden was just things, things that can be replaced at the local farmers market, or next season. It took me awhile to remember that. The minor cleaning we did in our yard compares to nothing other families were faced with over the weekend- imagine scouring the rubble for your wedding albums, or pets.

I gathered the vegetables that were salvageable, and the lil' dude and I made an impromptu batch of zucchini oatmeal muffins together- thankful for one last harvest.

Letter from Mama, v32

Each month I debate on continuing these letters on 7th- you're 32 months old. Your driving a car, and making paella from scratch, and counting in Chinese. You're making your Mama get out the calculator to figure out what number needs to go in the title. I used to count your age in weeks- you're now somewhere around 136 weeks old- that's a whole lot of Mondays! And a whole lot of Thursday evenings, my favorite part of the week. So for now, I will continue to pen these letters each month, because maybe more than anything, I need them and the 7th to remind me to be here and now.

We as a society tend to live in tomorrow- meaning, we're always looking ahead to days and events and occasions. It's so easy to get caught up in crossing each day off and inching toward the circles on the calendar. I know I am guilty of this and honestly, it's probably the biggest struggle I have with myself. Embrace today. Live in the moment. It all sounds so cliche but it needs to be enforced because it can be taken away in an instant. Each day I remind myself to stop wishing away the day or week or month, and I do this for you, lil' dude. As your mother, it's my job to set the pace of your days and your life. When it comes to you, I want nothing to hurry.

You still crave time alone. This weekend, you woke at up 10am, had some breakfast, and retreated to your closet for literally, a few hours' worth of playtime. I'm sure it's because you spend so much time during the week surrounded people and activity and commotion. Or, maybe it's simply because you are your mother's daughter, because I too, seek out solitude when I can and when it makes sense. The biggest thing I have ever wanted to foster in my children was a sense of independence, to be free from the restraints of dependence and belonging too tightly. I'd say you're already doing a great job, inherent or not. I want to teach you to rely instinctively on yourself first and foremost in any instance. Independence will shape your character and strengthen any relationship you have, lil' dude. I promise.

Make your own path, chica. Forge your own way.
Mama loves.

Pretend

In the weeks after you were born, your fairy Godmother stopped by to check in on us. The visit was poignant for me because I asked her to be your fairy Godmother and presented her with a card as to why, years and years and years before you and everything, I knew someday she'd have my daughter as her Goddaughter. I remember confiding in her that thus far, motherhood was err ... easy*. You slept all night long, almost all day long, and I had written all my thank you's, gotten back into my favorite jeans, finished three or four books, and asked her if I needed to start making elaborate meals for the Dad each evening.

She said no way.

She also said I needed to slow down and just be. To turn off the programmed switch that made me the way I was - a go, go, goer and a do, do, doer. I needed to adjust because for all I know, motherhood could reverse itself and I'd end up like a turtle on its back.

The conversation then drifted into what you would be like in the weeks, months, years afterward.
I remember her telling me how much she loved the infant stage, but that the toddler stage was just eh, because of the imagination adults need to interact with kids at that age. She told me she was bad at pretending ... that she didn't have the patience for it. I remember laughing at her admission.

...

Well if it isn't years afterward and all you want to do is play and pretend and your imagination is bigger than the sky. Last night, you wanted me in your room. You instructed me to lie in your bed, and be the baby. You covered me up and told me to close my eyes and go to sleep.

I have this pretend-thing on lock-down!



With my eyes closed, I could feel your breath hot on my face, so I cracked an eye open.
Hey baby, want something to eat?

I obliged you, feeding me an entire bottle of juice, then a Nuk for dessert.
Hey baby, go to sleep!

As you wish.

*As an aside, I should mention that motherhood has never been easy. You were an easygoing infant, a trait that has transcended into your toddler years as well. But motherhood is not easy. I took you to the doctor when you had baby acne. I slept with my eyes open for a week when you had RSV. I cried all the way to Las Vegas when you were three months old. I saw you fall out of your stroller onto the cement. I feel like I do too little for you; I feel like I do too much. It ain't easy, kid. But it sure is sweet.

Wordless Wednesday

Standing Corrected

Saturday my Mom and I were talking about all the lil' dude's besties and littles at daycare.
I mentioned that like the lil' dude, her buddy G. is two.

From all the way in the other room I heard a, I'm two and a HALF.

Going on 14.