Sorry

Rylan made me laugh today. He has been a major, sharp, thorn in the arse lately. His favorite thing to do it hit and kick when not getting his way. Well, today he lashed out at his prized PaPa, who retaliated by bringing Rylan home early from the airport. When discussing how we don't hit or kick, and it hurts. I asked him if he wanted to hurt PaPa even though he loves him? Well of course this led to eyes welled with tears and a big "I'm sorry". Moments later, he asks PaPa if he can sleep at him house tonight. PaPa reminds him he can not since he hit and kicked him. Rylan put his arm around him and said, "I said I was sorry". I nearly wet myself. This kid is so slick. 

The Seen And The Unseen

It has been three years since I last saw a part of me that I miss. A part I have hidden, and drowned with abundant amount of fears and baby weight.

Today in therapy I was telling my pretty,young, skinny, therapist, how I was at a wedding recently and made a point to dance in the middle of the dance floor so that I couldn't be "seen". When Pete would inch to the outskirts to avoid drunken women with large high heels who thought they were on Dancing With The Stars, I freaked. Totally freaked. I did not want to be seen. I wanted to dance without feeling like the fat girl being watched. My therapists response, "This is interesting since you used to be the girl dancing on the bar, always being seen". This is when she painted a picture for me. How I lost a part of my being, my spirit, my freedom, the moment I became insecure and lost myself in a 50 pound gain that I am still unsure what to do with.

I want to be free again. I want to not care if I am a size 5 or 16, and be seen. I want to not care what others think, and be secure in my skin like I once was.

I do not intend to be a size 2 ever again. I do not intend to wear a bikini ever again. I don't even intend to have the same body shape, or ever live freely amongst yummy bad for you foods.  I do intend to get healthy, be at a weight I feel comfortable with, in clothes I don't feel are hiding mu mu's, I want to dance, and let my spirit recover and and be free. 

As a perfectionist this means I need goals. I need to foresee a future so that I don't beat myself down in this slllloooooooowww paced race of losing weight. So I am spelling it out here folks: I fully intend to run/jog a race next Fall. My insecure self wants to laugh out loud right now with "you can not do this" and "you will never have the ability", and that same chick thinks you are thinking the same thing about me. Someone please feed that chick a donut, and let the positive one who is slowly emerging--SPEAK LOUDER.

My therapist gave me the best compliment anyone could have given me in years! She kindly told me that it has only been 4 months since giving birth to Addison, and that although I might not see the drastic difference of my body changing, she has. That is right up there with Sporty Spice telling me a few weeks back that "I'm important to" and need to focus on me sometimes. I forget this alot. In fact today I not only forgot to eat lunch, I forgot to drink ANYTHING but coffee. There is no excuse for this, no matter how busy I am. 

I lost my core of who I am to weight gain and hiding behind focusing on the kids. I lost some of the most important parts of me that anyone who has met me in the past three years doesn't even know, and those that have know me prior are scratching their heads wondering where she went. I haven't been true to myself, or the person I want to be.  

I am slowly learning why I have been the way I have been and that it is not only time to drop the pounds, but time to lift the spirit. 

A Visit To That Tiny State I Call Home

We headed to Rhode Island this weekend to see how my Father was holding up post surgery, and to torture him a little since our little Addie had a cold and he couldn't hold her. He still got to admire her from afar, and Rylan sure loved checking out Grampy's "BIG" boo boo (such a boy). Rylan is quite fond of visiting Grammy and Grampy's house because not only do they have cats, they also have lots of toys from Grammy's old daycare (we brought home about 100 books thanks to her retiring her daycare days), they also live across the street from an ice cream stand AND a candy shop. Luckily he hasn't figured out the ice cream part of the building (just a matter of time), but last time we were in town we took him to the candy shop, and for now on homeboy isn't going to Grammy and Grampy's without a trip to the candy store! 

We spent a lot of time this weekend visiting them:

A pic of all the ladies (don't mind my tired eyes--bonus to having a baby):
Dad couldn't resist a short squeeze of the baby even though she had cooties:
Doesn't he look great for a man that had open heart surgery 2 weeks ago?:
Rylan loved chatting with Grampy:
Grammy said she didn't want to give this baby up:
They even got some girl talk in:
Then Pete and I went to our traditional trip the RI dollar store that ROCKS (we go EVERY time we are there), and Pete found his Halloween costume which he wore the entire time we were in the store (luckily pushing Rylan around in the cart). 

So we thought it would be fun to have a contest with the family to see who makes the scariest looking alligator:

Pete?:

Addison?:

My Sister Kelly?:

I think Pete won because Addison looks content with her bottle (if it was a night time screaming shot then maybe she would have won), and my Sister just looks way to happy about wearing an alligator hat.

Our weekend was full of delightful Rhode Island favorite eats including Twins pizza, and East Side Pockets. It was worth the car ride from hell to get there which was relieved when we saw the sign "get nailed hair" (remember my previous RI post about this salon---who goes there?), and knew we would be at my Sisters house in a blink of an eye (luckily that sign isn't on her door).  Oh and I must say, Dunkin Donuts RI knows how to make coffee not like the morons in CT!

It ended with Addie taking a sweet nap before departure on her cousin Ava's bed:

And a peaceful ride home which included BOTH kids sleeping almost the entire ride. 

All Decked Out

He loves the new deck! Especially on sunny Fall days that he can pretend to enjoy it, as if it were Summer (when it was "supposed" to be done).

Just A Body, Not The Person

I thought I would leave a trail of diarrhea leading into the place because I was nervous. Luckily I didn't need an Imodium and my nerves were lifted as I entered the room.

My fears sometimes seem so large that they demand controlling my life, and most often I forget to live. I forget to try new things, and put my self out there, because without it you don't grow. Sure life is easier living behind a closed door, and going day to day doing the same things. It is safe. However, really living takes risk. I suck at risk.

Since gaining weight I have put about 15 more layers of fear on me about what people will think thanks to my own insecurities in this new fat suit. Do people that once knew me as a size 2 think I am absolutely repulsive at a size 12/14? Are they whispering about how I let myself go, or have no control with food, or that I am lazy? When I am outdoors running are people looking out their windows wondering why that chubby girl is even bothering? Or laughing at my fat jiggling while I attempt running up the hill? With every question it becomes another layer of fear.

I haven't taken a class since my NYC days when I would show up at New York Sports Club for Hip Hop class half dressed showing off my natural six pack that I never had to work a day for (disgusting I KNOW). I also enjoyed many a Latin dance class, and even a belly dancing one when I want to show off the "belly" portion of my bod (that would be the LAST part I would want to share now thanks to pregnancy). The idea of a class as a non-skinny chick seemed overwhelming. I just didn't want to be laughed at or thought of as that "fat chick".

To be honest being the "skinny" chick wasn't always so glamorous either. Sometimes I romanticize that time in my life, as if no one talked about me then. My Freshman year in college I had a roommate that took it upon herself to tell anyone that would listen that I had an eating disorder. She went around saying she first hand saw me eat everything in sight and then run off to the bathroom to puke. This couldn't be further from the truth. The truth of the story is... I love to eat. I hate to puke. And at that time in my life tried desperately to gain weight so that others would stop talking. I was sick of hearing the "one day it will catch up with you", or the "oh my God I can see ever rib inside you". Yes it was a fact my stomach was concave, but with that I paid a hefty price of people keeping tabs on how long I would last before eating and going to the bathroom. Seriously people, if you are reading this, I was peeing! And even more people wishing me fatness in my future--which sadly folks, you won for now, but I am not going down without a fight.

In my need to A: get healthy and B: try something that I have never done before, I signed up for a local Zumba class. I didn't know what to expect, or who to expect to be in there. Would I be the fattest? The oldest? The most uncoordinated? Would I in fact be laughed at and ridiculed, and tomorrow be afraid to show my face in this town? I am happy to say I didn't let this fear get the best of me, because NONE of what was listed came true.

The class was full of older women. A number of which I recognized from around town. A few teachers from Rylan's school that I met while subbing last year, and a local police officer. There was grandma's, and very brave women that had a bigger battle to fight then I did. I had nothing to fear, as I was in a room full of women struggling just like me.

I thought I would ace this class when it came to moves and coordinating. WRONG. My body just won't move to Latin beats like it once did. As I was trying to channel my inner Shakira and Beyonce, I couldn't help but think of the times I thought dancing like this was fun to do for hours. This time I was looking at my clock the entire time counting down the minutes. Not because it wasn't extremely fun, but because I had sweat coming out my eyeballs and wasn't sure how much longer these two feet were going to hold me up. I did it. I made it to the end, and I am still showing up next week.

Lesson learned: I am way to hard on myself. I take things way to seriously. Most importantly I give into fear way to often, and I need to start living again. A few extra pounds hasn't changed the person I am on the inside, and isn't that what should matter? I am pure sick and tired of living my life shielded behind this muffin topper, large hips, and extra curves, and a bag of chips and dip. It is just a body, not the person.

Play Practice

Addie is just starting to play with toys:

Mad Deck LOVE

Finally we have a deck! And today I made Rylan's day...if not year:

I set up his own area to play and it has been a life savor. Not only has he been out there playing for two hours, the gate on the deck has a pad lock and I have been able to feed the baby inside, and wash bottles without the three year old at my feet.

The Mayor With Horns

Four days a week I drop off my kid to preschool and witness his charm as he greets all his little friends and staff with "Good morning (insert name) how are you today?" My kid somehow knows all of the kids names and the staff in all four classrooms. One of the teachers assistants told me that they call him the "Mayor". 

When I see that, and the smile he walks out of school with, one would think his day was only sunshine and rainbows. I even convinced myself that he only acts up at home, and that he is a saint at school.

Then Rylan told me this: "Mommy, it is NOT NICE to hit the teacher. If you do it again you will stay in and not go outside". hmmmmmm. So I write a note asking the teacher, hoping she will tell me he has a very active imagination, but she doesn't. Rylan has indeed tried to hit the teacher, she says "when Rylan doesn't get his way he tends to try to hit". This reaction isn't a surprise to me since he also tries this at home, but the fact he does it at school does. I want to give Ry a pep talk that includes "kid I want to teach in this town someday, quite possibly this school, can you tone it down a bit".

In order to not over dramatize the situation, I put in my head that it was probably a one time deal that included Rylan trying boundaries. Then today he told me something else:

"Mommy, I was a bad boy. Rylan no go outside today. No hit Jack. We don't hit our friends". 

Oh shit (I think). crap.  I sigh out loud, and ask, "Rylan did you have to stay inside today?" he responds "yes". "Rylan did you hit Jack?" he responds "yes". And I think "Oh shit my kid is the pain in the ass in the classroom that teachers probably loathe seeing, even if he is smiling". Rylan and I discuss why this isn't a good choice, and that he needs to learn how to be nice.  Of course it is my kid in detention in preschool.YIKES. 

Then I come home and read the book that comes home with him everyday. It is littered with kind words that says Rylan "tries hard", "working on socializing", "follows directions", "participates in a group setting", and so on and so forth. Maybe this kid of mine isn't always the class devil. I want to write a note and retract back to the "hitting" note the teacher wrote and reiterate that we do not condone this behavior, and we would like to think he is just acting out because of life changes this Summer. However, that sounds like my kid is going through menopause, and that we are excusing him, and we so ARE NOT. In fact, Pete's response to today's tell all in the car was, "at least they kept him from going outside". I totally agree, I just cringe thinking about what parent-teacher conferences in October might look like.

If I haven't said this before on this blog, "terrible two' s not so terrible, now the three's they SUCK". seriously. they. do. The Mayor needs to get a grip and realize that you can not run this town with tyrant behavior, and must use his charm by killing others with kindness (starting with Mom, Dad, and Teacher preferably). It takes a village my dear, not a three year old.

Still The One

Amazing that Pete and I can get a picture taken without kids in it:

Seriously, we haven't had one taken in YEARS!

Pete and I got all gussied up this weekend for a wedding. I got to wear my kick ass red heels that you all saw pictures of me making baby formula in, and Pete got to wear a suit instead of his weekend attire of shirts that "can be spit up on". Out we went for a night free of children, and night feedings.

Weddings always remind me why I married this guy. I enjoy his company. I love how he can be so damn silly (I took live footage video of him singing Taylor Swift in the car, but he is a little hesitant about me sharing it with my blog friends). He will dance with me (I haven't danced in years, and it felt great. Pete, however, admitted to me he does not enjoy slow dancing). And at weddings, when there is couple that is just starting day 1 of their marriage, it always reminds me of how we are on like day 324,789 and still happy, and together. It makes me want to break out into Shania Twains "Still The One", and sway back and forth with a lighter. Why?...because we made it this far. I still love him, and he still loves me. We are still a team, and stronger then ever. (I know I know... gag me with a spoon right?)

Sometimes it is hard to remember Pete and Aimee, when it is almost always Dad and Mom we are so focused on. We get caught up in routine of the day to day grind, and we dive into the yumminess our kids smiles bring, and forget that he and I are just as important. All you have to do is look at pictures. Prior to kids you would find about 100 of just us in random places doing random things. Now all of our pictures have a child or two in them from various holidays to just because we are cute as a family of four.  Lo and behold, we finally got a just us picture for the year 2009. It is fun to recognize that the old us are still beneath all the layers of the new. I saw that in a glimpse as he and I were dancing to Journey and singing at the top of our lungs. I still have my best friend, my husband, and now he is the awesome father of my kids all wrapped up into one, which  makes day 324,790 a cinch.

Mind Of A Preschool Mom

A list of things that went through my head as a brand new Preschool Mom:

• DO NOT wear sweat pants, a pony tail, and please put on your make-up when bringing Rylan to and from school
• Make sure snack is healthy --hate for the teachers to think you are "one of those" parents
• DO NOT ever be late. It looks bad. And your kid will feel sad.
• Mom Dating Take 2: be social even if there is someone in the crowd you may not click with
• The bus? my three year old on a bus? HELLLLLLLLLL no.
• 4 days of preschool is a little to much for a 3 year old. I will try it, if it doesn't work I will pull him out a few days.
• While he is gone my house will be CLEAN, my scrapbooking up to date, cards made, talk shows watched, work out, errands run, groceries bought, AND I might even be able to squeeze in some time for that infant of mine.
• Rylan must wear button down polo's everyday and look presentable
  
• I'll join the PTA and be over involved and rock at this Preschool Mom thing

Needless to say my thoughts have changed quite a bit from my initial start of being a Preschool Mom! Now it is more like this:

• Sweat Pants-check, Pony Tail-check, these people are just lucky I have my make-up on, and not in my spit-up pj's from the 4am feeding. 
• Fruit snacks counts as fruit right? ...hey these even say there is REAL fruit juice in them--BINGO--they are "healthy"
• Late. Twice. Sometimes you can not control sucky timing. Plus how about the kids that are STILL waiting when you pick up Rylan, and have parents that are chronic late picker uppers. You aren't so bad, and heck your kid isn't crying.
• Seeing as 50% of the crowd is way older then I am, and another portion would rather just stand next to you in uncomfortable silence then to speak--I am cool with just being social with a few Moms. Plus who has the time for a gaggle of playdates now that the kids are in school!
• On the to do list: call bus company and ask when Rylan can start taking the bus. He asks, and frankly I can not wait to lead him out the door in my spit up pj's and tousled hair because I just rolled out of bed at 8am. Oh and right, that would mean I don't have to take my baby out in the Winter cold (that is the real reason wink wink)
• Why do they get a day off on Wednesday? Can't they have five day pre-school, or at least knock a few days up to all day?
• drop off, get coffee, get one errand done, feed a bottle, and crap my house still looks like shit, and I have to go pick the kid up again.
• When picking out Rylan's clothes it is a matter of what is clean and slightly matches! Some days it is Polo and others it is plain old, Old Navy.
• Are you freaking kidding me--A fundraiser--ALREADY? In Preschool? 

New Monthly Favorite Are Up

Wondering what that fantastic smell I am wearing is? Or how I get my baby to sleep or be warm? Or maybe you just want to see items you haven't tried and have an abundant amount of cash laying around that you want to spend on new products? 

Mommas June Bugs Monthly Fav's are up on my review page! Check them out! 

Life From City To The Burb's

I was in a deep sleep dreaming that I was visiting my old hood on east 76th street. The pure joy my heart felt for a place I miss so much. Then I woke up.

All I wanted to do today was walk to the Starbucks on the corner of 75th St and 1st Ave, The Starbucks I lived in for almost 3 years. The same place I saw Elle Macpherson in and actually thought "wow she sort of looks like a drag queen"--yeah umm...Hello Aimee WHO is the supermodel here? certainly not you. The Starbucks next to the multi store I would buy everything from nails and paint, to face wash and a new waste basket. The Starbucks down the street from Duane Reade that was a 24 hours provider of chocolate, and the place my old roommate would ask me to buy her condoms at because she was to "shy". My how I miss that Starbucks, and all the places around it.

I miss the place I used to get pedicures at, where they put these warm booties filled with lotion on your feet in the winter, and give amazing hot stone massages on your feet. I miss the grocery/specialty store that featured items that felt like you were suddenly sitting and feasting in Italy. I miss Citarella--a gourmet market that I saw in Us Weekly last week a picture of Whitney from the Hills picking something up at. I was less impressed that Whitney shops there and more impressed with memories of that store. I miss the fancy place I spent $500 on trying to rid myself of tan lines for my wedding (they never went away--not even with the $80 tanning cream they said all the celebs use). I miss my fantastic hair dresser that I found through a swag bag I scored at a celeb party I got to attend at the US Open one year. The same hair dresser from Rhode Island that also colored Gwen Stefani's hair right before me, at the salon next to where the Olsen twins lived, and where Heath Ledger died. Or the place that souly made cupcakes. Massive, amazing cupcakes. I miss seeing Mister Softy trucks scattering the streets, and Kyra Sedgwick on the crosstown bus with me reading a script, and just being one of us, a passenger on the bus (with a freaken fantastic handbag). I miss having a fantastic story to tell friends that come visit--like the mental hospital across the street is where Marilyn Monroe used to go, and once a CSI set while I was living there, or the French school down the street is where Madonna and Angelina and Brad send their kids. 

When I walked a half hour to the subway station in heels and a skirt, I never realized I was in fact exercising. If I lived there today I would run the East River, and indulge in Tasti-de lite, actually use my 92 Y membership, and eat the freshest health food from the best markets one could dream of.  And the best---JAMBA JUICE! If I wanted take-out, my choices would be beyond pizza for delivery, and I would have amazing arms from carrying my groceries for 10 blocks and 2 avenues.

My how I miss New York City. A life that seems so far away from where I am at today. A place that forced me to live life at it's fullest. The only place I have ever lived that I actually long for. 

I think about the families I used to nanny for how life as a Mom in the city must be. As a Mom now I am so envious of the things they had at their fingertips, and the parks they had to let the kids run free in. However, if I would to live there now, I am certain I could not afford the building that half the Yankee's lived in, or the "moven on up" building (yes the actual one from the Jeffersons), that these families did. By no means could being a Mom in NYC without money be somewhat easy when thinking about two things: space and an elevator. 

My life is now at a completely different place. My form of transportation is no longer my two feet, but a car. I fall asleep to crickets, then to sirens and taxi's. I can not get food anywhere past 9pm. My celebrity sitings are now purely through Perez, and an US weekly. 

This new stage of my life actually began in NYC the day Pete took me on top of the Empire State Building and asked me to marry him. A stage I would not trade for the world. 

It is ok to miss the old stage too. My heart has enough room to hold the entire city in there, plus my new family, and all the memories both stages hold.

Two Random Tidbits

• I did something that makes me nauseous just thinking about it. After therapy last night, it was decided that I need to start living life instead of hiding behind my anxiety and worry. So today I signed up for Zumba class. I always wanted to try it. To top it off, I couldn't find anyone to join me, so off I go next week by myself. (I am seriously about to bite my nails just thinking about it)
• Rylan was exploring in my bathroom draw today and pulled out my birth control pills. He brought them to me and said "Mommy I want candy". I nearly wet my pants. I told him, "no honey, this is Mommy's yucky medicine". Apparently I need a new place for my birth control pills before Rylan gets all hormonal after thinking it was pez.

I Got A Buzz And My Husband...He Just LOVES Taylor Swift

This was me this past Saturday night:

I needed the Mango martini.
It had been a long week full of peaks and valleys. I needed to unwind and spend some time with my husband.
We went to an amazing Japanese restaurant in Norwalk, CT that gave us a jaw dropping meal. I was in the mood for a "girly drink" which is unusual since I am really not much of a drinker. It tasted so amazing that I nearly downed it in minutes. Minutes later, I felt a woozy feeling I hadn't felt in,...hmmm...before I had babies? I even felt like dancing.

We didn't go dancing, but we did enjoy a sing a long for the 45 minute drive home to pick up the kiddies from the in laws house. Pete was completely sober and if you know him, you know he will be crazy and sing a long to anything, anywhere, no matter if there is any alcohol influence. We enjoyed raising the roof. Just for a moment I forgot about 4 am bottle feedings, how I would work in exercise, my to do list, and heavy life stuff I was in the midst of dealing with. Just for that moment, raising the roof  with my nut-ball husband was all that mattered.

I also learned my husbands new favorite song happens to be the same as every 13 year old in America right now. When Pete started to belt out, "She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers", I knew I was in trouble. It is obvious my husband agrees with the people of MTV and not the douchebag aka. Kanye West. Pete loves Taylor Swift. I also learned he knows every single word to "99 red balloons". The man is like a walking radio in his head.

A perfect evening that started with snugging/meeting my brand new Godson, and ended with a fantastic date, with a fantastic meal, with a fantastic husband, and a fantastic martini buzz.

Importance Of A Heart

I ran today like my life depended on it. Up steep hills and down some. Ipod blasting with upbeat music, and sweat pouring out of every pore I own. I was pushing myself as far as I could. 

Today I was not working out for vanity but for health. I learned an incredibly hard lesson today, which was at any age in life it is to soon to even have the possibility of losing a parent. At 32 years old I still need my Dad. 

Today was also a thank you to God kind of day. Just a few days ago I spoke volumes about life being brought into the world and how amazing it is to see God's existence in it. When you are on the other end of the spectrum pleading with the big man upstairs for some mercy, it is less then exciting and more like taking a walk on a bed of nails. 

My Father is thankfully recovering in an intensive care hospital room right now, and is expected to make it to a regular room in a day or so. He is doing amazingly well thus far, and was told we are lucky he got the surgery since the Dr. said when he went in it was "very bad". My Dads broken heart was successfully mended today, and is now on the road to recovery with some comfortable drugs to soothe his soul and ease his mind. My Mom, my Sister, and I , all wish we had those drugs today when waiting. The only word I can describe it was  is: HARD. I was stuck in between thoughts filled with upbeat optimism and "what ifs". I broke out in hives, and cried over a train passing in front of my car making me a minute late to pick up Rylan. I was a wreck while holding my composure when I could. I turned to my faith over and over and over again. After hearing he was ok, I took a nap with my kids, and felt like a huge weight was lifted, while feeling like an emotional mac truck hit me full force. 

So I ran. I am not a runner. I complain alot, and huff and puff. I am usually a speed walker. Today, however, was a new day, and I felt like I should push myself and do something good for my heart. I ran because my kids need me to be around. I ran because my Dad is layed up recovering from heart surgery and I need him around. I ran because my heart matters to. I need to take care of it, and me. 

Do yourself and your loved ones a favor and take care of your heart. Find a better choice of something to eat that is more heart friendly, and/or exercise. People in this world need you to. Do what you can to protect it. 

I did. My kids need me. I know this because at 32 I still need my Dad. 

Waiting

You know when you  born how every family member is looking at you head to toe examine which features you have of Mom and Dad? I clearly look like my Mom on the outside, but on the in, carry a lot of my father. Such as Kidney Stones, and a heart murmur.

My heart looks like Dad's. Murmuring. 

I have been told for years and years how mild it is, and it is no big thing. A few years back at a yearly physical they scared me after a negative EKG, and went for an echocardiogram to be told that all was fine, I just need to make sure she keep my heart healthy (exercise, and eat right). I thought it was not big thing, and left with a sigh of relief.

Today. This very day. I woke up wanting to puke all over this key board, and that heart of mine is racing a mile a minute. This is why, my dear loyal readers, I have been lacking on substance recently in most of my posts. It has been an overwhelming, surreal, and anxiety ridden time for me, and the words hadn't come to "sum" it up.  

My dear ol' Dad has this heart murmur, except his IS a big deal at this point in his life. A month ago I received a phone call telling me he would need surgery. A week ago I was told if he didn't get the surgery there would be a 90% in the next year that he would be gone. Needless to say, today he is getting open heart surgery. Dear ol' Dad needs a valve replacement. 

As I drive Rylan to Preschool today, go grocery shopping, and run errands here in Connecticut, my Dad will be getting his broken heart, literally mended in Rhode Island. My Sister and Mom will be reading 700 magazines in the waiting room watching the clock tick, and I will be checking my non ringing cell phone every other minute, in hopes there is an "update" of some sorts. Sadly, unlike TV, updates don't happen every fifteen minutes, nor will the surgery be over in episode time frame. 

I know in my murmuring heart, he will be fine. It is just getting to 5pm today. I just need to get to 5pm. When I know he is in his hospital bed recovering, and the part of the day we are all dreading if behind us.  

Beautiful Life

Two days of biting off my finger nails waiting to meet Mr. Grant. Today was finally the day. Three days old and as cute as ever! Here are some pics of my brand new Godson and I:



I love him.

Happy 3 Month Birthday Addison!

It is official, my baby is no longer a newborn. My how time flies. Here are some pictures I took of her to remember her big 3 month day:


Things I learned about Addison in the first three months of life:

• her favorite place to sleep is in her mothers armpit
• there is no replacing the hospital pacifier (which is why I returned to the maternity ward and begged for more)
• her favorite blanket (featured in the third picture) is a vital weapon when trying to get her to sleep. Put the satin near her face, and her hands near her eyes, with paci, and she it out like a light. (she loves sleeping with her hands over her eyes)
• "A GOO" and "A GA" must really mean something in baby language, since every time I say them she smiles ear to ear and begins to talk
• SHE IS A GIRL-- dramatic, chatty, and doesn't mind her daily bow in her hair
• Do not lay her flat on the ground! Not only with she violently puke at you, she will also yelp at her dislike for this position
• love--LOVES Baby Einstein videos, and music! They calm her inner beast.
• the 2nd child is the "take along kid". Poor thing--just when she is cozy and sleeping in her swing, I am whipping her out into her car seat, forcing her into cold Fall air, inorder to keep up with Rylan's life. (first child you would NOT DARE wake up the sleeping baby)
• Addison doesn't look like me. Or Pete. Or even the mailman. She looks like Rylan. There are some baby pictures that I swear you can only tell the difference by the pink or blue outfits.
• oatmeal in the bottle = less puke for Addiecakes. 
• She finds being outside a mystical experience. She looks at the waving leaves as if she is looking at Mars. 
• She loves us. If she hears our voices and we aren't in front of her talking, she is whipping her head wildly to find us. 
• She HATES the car. A ten minute car ride with this kid feels like an hour because if she isn't sleeping she is SCREAMING HER HEAD OFF. Thank the Lord we saved the singing Baby Einstein light-up mirror from Rylan's baby days, since it stops her mid scream sometimes and gives the car a moment to breathe. 
• Sometimes homegirl--queen of the house, wishes to be held ALL DAY and talked to.
• Strong willed. Wants what she wants when she wants it. Demands you listen to her. Gee--I don't know anyone like that! :-)

We love you Addison. For as trying as the "newborn" stage is, we were so happy you joined our lives! (I am also happy to see the "newborn" stage go) Now lets get to the sleeping through the night stage, and the "I can entertain myself". We hope and pray this will be on her 6 month list of things we learned.

Remembering

This photo stands still in my living room, and has been a part of my house decor for the past eight years:

A symbolic photo that stands not only for that horrific day, but for the love I have for my beloved New York City, and how, no matter how times goes by, that day never, ever slips pass by not even a cell of my being.

Days after this happened I went down to the smoldering heat of a burial ground filled with the beautiful steel beams that were no longer standing tall like this picture. I was there with hundreds, if not thousands, of people that had walked blocks, and avenues (lower Manhattan was completely shut down for quite some time), just to pay their respects. And it was silent. Not one person talking, not a single sound except for machines that were cutting steel hoping to find someones loved one.

I was visiting it with someone that was there that day, and survived it. He also was the person that I took this picture with.
I will never forget standing there thinking about what that pile of steel meant, and the hot cloud of steam rising above it. The smell of death was one I had never experienced, nor every thought I would (and hope and pray I will NEVER experience it again). I had so many questions. I stood in silence, praying God could heal this.

The wall is something I can not ever get out of my head -even if I tried to. Miles and miles of pictures of the lost, and families with little hope they will be found. Last gestures of desperate families putting up their loved ones face with a "have you seen.. and "last seen on 9/11 at 6am". Heart wrenching. So many Dads, Moms, Sisters, Brothers, Daughters, Sons, gone that day. Just like that. Babies lost Daddies, and Pregnant ladies suddenly became widowers. Young, bright, lives turned off.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that smell seeped into my body. After a shower I still smelled of it, and although it was horrible, I didn't want it to go. I didn't want to forget.

That is just it. The saying "We Will Never Forget" is not just a saying. Not only as a person in this country will I never forget, or a New Yorker, or someone that knew someone that got out but didn't know it until three hours after it happened and lived in that agony for a bit, but as a human being that so easily could have been part of the steel beams, and the smoldering dusty air (along with so many many of my NYC friends).

No text book could have ever taught me the lessons I learned from that day. I will never...EVER forget.

Breaking News

There is a reason I was all mushy and spiritual today while thinking about the birth of my best friends little boy I just didn't know it yet! I already knew somehow I had a connection to that little new bundle of life, but now it is solidified:

I am honored and greatly blessed, to announce I will be his God mother. What a perfect gift to end a long day with such a beautiful question. I really am so thankful and moved that Christina and Christian asked me. I knew God would show his face today.

Now the question remains, can my God son marry my daughter, or is that crossing boundaries of some kind?

New Life Today

5 a.m. and I was feeding bottle thinking about the day ahead. A day that would welcome a new life. I was almost as excited as giving life myself! I was already sitting on pins and needles waiting.

Christina and I became friends in ninth grade over Stevie B music, big hair with lots of hairspray, and Sassy magazine (I was so jealous she had a subscription). We talked boys, shared prom dresses, and a lovely shirt that she owned that showed some naval and had some swinging tassels with beads all over it with shear arms that I HAD to borrow all the time. My sister spent hours writing cheers for us, and trying to teach us, how to become good cheerleaders before tryouts. Sadly, Christina and I also bonded over never making the list. We are still unsure if it was my sisters coaching or inability to be flexible during spilt jumps that pulled our leg muscles. Clearly it wasn't because we didn't have style and look damn good, because heck, the "jiggly" shirt was all one needed then to ooze COOL. We even shared a job at Honey Dew Donuts and had mad coffee making skills. Any hopes of ever being a professional cheerleader can to a screeching halt for us, but we still could have bigger and better dreams ahead of us, like leaving our hometown, being successful at a career, becoming a wife to two good men, and most importantly...becoming a Mom. Plus we had coffee making ability on our list of what we rocked at.

There were times in our lives we lost touch and ran in totally different circles. Luckily we refound each other and knew we could always trust one another becoming "hairspray sisters" (instead of blood brothers). Clearly being turned down from cheering would make a lasting, trusting bond forever and ever. Seriously, I could not live life without her. Sure I did for the years we lost touch, but now she is such a vital part of my life that she is 100% family to me. Hence why she is my sons Godmother. I love her and her jiggly shirt to pieces.

Naturally when you are bonded by friendship it is even greater when you have babies together. How rare to have both of our babies both times within months of one another.

Everywhere I went today my cellphone was strapped to me in anticipation. I kept looking at the sun and clouds while driving thinking, God's showing his face again today. I wanted confirmation that she was ok, and that the baby was too. Then baby Grant was born. Sweet, big (9lbs) baby Grant. I seriously can not wait to get my hands on him. I know what you are thinking? why--I have a infant of my own, I must be SICK of holding babies. Not when the baby is my future son in law (one could only hope), and my best friends son who I have loved since the moment his Mom told me he was coming to life.

Happy Birthday Grant! And Congrats to probably the best Mom I know!

Education Is Key

Sometimes, during this time of year, when the buses drive by, and the air is getting crisp, I miss my career hat. I miss setting up a classroom, and gearing up for little minds. I even, surprisingly,miss lesson plans, and the ability to be creative. Teaching, in the two short years I had classroom, felt like a place I belonged. Mainly because I have a mad crazy love of learning myself. I could easily spend my life in a classroom being a student and remain forever fulfilled. Heck, most of my adult life prior to being Mom, was just that. The good news is there is never a thing called too much education, and your mind is an investment that will never go wrong.

As a young kid I was told I would be lucky if I made through community college. I was not told this by just anyone, I was told this by a guidance counselor. A guidance counselor who told me that I probably "shouldn't bother" applying for colleges. This was one of many times that someone in the education field told me I wouldn't be somebody someday, and that I should resign myself to this already.

Didn't I show them.

I never forgot how that felt as a child being told those things. Nobody told me I could overcome my disabilities, or that I could actually enjoy going to school if for a moment someone would believe in me.

Thankfully when became a teacher I got to do what I wished a teacher did for me. My first year of teaching V. came into my class, and I had been her third, third grade teacher in a matter of months. It was also her second year in third grade. She hid herself behind a wall of defiance, and attitude. Luckily, I could see through that. After testing her, I realized she wasn't behind grade level like all of the other teachers had told me, she was choosing to pretend she was. V. was born to a very young mother, in a very violent area, and she was begging for attention regardless negative or positive. So I started having lunches with her, and I would just sit and listen to what ever she wanted to talk about. I started spending extra time with her on the side, while whispering praises whenever she did something great. Soon enough she was getting straight A's, and talking about going to college someday. I wrote her a letter at the end of the school year telling her, although I am not going to be her teacher anymore, that I will still think of her, and hope that she continues to do good in the world. I told her that nothing stands in front of her and her dreams, and that education is the winning ticket to everything. Her mother later told me that she framed it and put it up in her as a reminder that one of her third grade teachers believed in her.

I read Obama's back to school speech to the students today and lost my breathe for a moment. Everything he was saying was why I went into education to begin with. Everything he was saying is what I needed to hear as a young student, and what I hope I continue to say to all of my future students. How amazing it is to hear such words from the President! Regardless if you voted for him or not, or agree with any of his politics, this speech was dead on and even if it was given by George W., I would be singing its praises.

I can only hope that we finally got the "education" President. Someone who will not only support educators, but inspire the nations younger generations to rise above it, and be part of something larger then their broken family, or violent neighborhood. Someone that first hand knows that without education the rest of the nation suffers.

I was so inspired reading that today. I look forward to the day I am back in the classroom. Hopefully, no longer having to defend why teachers are in fact the most important job on earth.

Crappy Cups Of Joe

I can not believe they did again: Dunken Donuts messed up my latte for the third time in less then a week. The women gave me a caramel iced coffee instead of a caramel latte. I would promise to totally boycott them, but I can not afford Starbucks every time I have a coffee hankering. What is a girl to do in this latte dilemma? Get a job there so I can learn how to make my own? I have seen them making latte's and it is all pressing buttons on a machine. Then I could go through the drive-thru and say "press the first button twice, the third button once" and so on and so forth.

Do these Dunken folks know how much I need a caffeine fix? or how much money I am giving them for latte's (or ice coffee's they call latte's) that I have to put down the drain?

For those of you coffee loving peeps that like their cup of delight made a certain way I am sure you will totally understand what I am feeling. You've had a long night of interrupted sleep, you dream about the first taste of yummy goodness (you already sacrificed with now having them with skim milk), and then suddenly you go in for that first sip and it severely sucks. It doesn't even remotely taste anything close to what it should. Sure people make mistakes and the first time can be chalked up to that, but by the third time...COME ON DUNKEN, give your employees better machine training.

Even though Starbucks costs twice as much, at least if they screw up your dreamy cup of joe, not only will they fix it, but they will give you a coupon for a FREE drink next time you return. Now that is what I call service. If only I could afford that piece of heaven on a more regular basis, I wouldn't be so grumpy stuck with caramel iced coffees!

I Dare You...

...to tell me this baby isn't cute:

E-I-E-I-O

We enjoyed a beautiful 68 degree Sunday afternoon at a local farm a few towns over! What a little gem it was! Not only could kids interact with the animals, it was ONLY $4 to get in. Rylan was in his glory and amazed by the bulls. Addison slept most of the time, after crying and trying to drive other visitors to the farm away (she really hates the sun we figured out). We look forward to returning to this place many times in the future!

Pete with the kids
Rylan amazed by the bull (we even felt his horns)
Self pic! Not so bad--we actually all got in
Pete carrying sleeping Addie
Rylan and his Mom
Rylan talking to Addison
Funny Ostrich head (has hair like Addison--maybe it needs a bow)
Pete and the kids (I never get photos of him and the kids so I was happy this trip provided me with so many!)
Checking things out
Feeding a deer (hope he doesn't try this in our back yard)

Gummy Worms and Dirty Shoes

While Pete was away all day Saturday, we kept busy!
Rylan and I made "dirt cups" together:

and Rylan found out that apparently Daddy has been shoes to fill:

Drinking Her Up

Dawn was breaking and the smile on her face was if God parted the clouds and brought in the sunshine just for her. These are the moments I want to eat her all up, even at 4:45 am! How lucky I am to love her, have her, and be her Mom. 

Babies. They sure know how to bring the depth out of you, and the only thing in life that makes you stare right into the face of God. 

Being pregnant is fascinating really. I mean you are aware there is life growing inside you with ever flutter and kick, but you don't REALLY know until that moment you birth your baby, and you think to yourself, "HOLY Sh#@ there is a real baby in there. I just brought life into the world". Amazing isn't it.

It is also exhausting, and hard, but oh so worth it. She is so worth starting my day at 4:45. 

Luckily today is Saturday. When she slips back into a sleeping state, and the rest of my family is still on snooze, I sneak out for an early coffee break. Yes, you guessed it--Starbucks. Dunken Donuts totally ruined my day yesterday after making my latte wrong, so I went to the big guns. I let my soul dance with pumpkin spice latte in my veins, and devour a pumpkin cream cheese muffin because everyday doesn't need to be a low-fat one. 

Today is going to be a good day. 

Cute pics of the week

Sweet Face:
Happy when her tummy is full:
Brother and Sister love:

Life Is Like A Pumpkin Spice Latte

Warning: post is long--but if you are a parent it is worth the read! Please comment and tell me some of you out there have felt this at one point or another.

I nearly danced right there in front of the counter. The barista asked what he could get started for me, and I gleefully said, "oh I am sooooo excited. A venti pumpkin spice latte please". And he, totally straight faced and bored with my glee, said, "I knew you were one of those. Apparently it is one of our most popular drinks. I tried it for the first time yesterday and I really don't see what the big deal is". Ok Starbucks man shut your trap while I joyfully glide on your floor toward the pick counter for the one drink I have been waiting MONTHS FOR. Why must you try to bring a homey down? 

The small things in life are what makes me smile ear to ear. I sipped on my latte watching my sleeping baby, thinking about how big she is getting, and how much I adore her. I woke her up for one on one Starbucks snuggles and a bottle. She ooh's and ahh'd, and the coo's and agoo's where just rolling off her tongue. I could not stop smiling. So much so the man sitting next to me made some joke that it wasn't obvious at all that I loved her so much. 

I am a planner by nature. This is what made me feel like a great teacher, and a fantastic student. I like predictability, because the opposite makes me feel out of control. And heck, we all know "control" is in fact my real middle name. 

I planned to have my first pumpkin spice latte of the day, I also planned a bottle in a cozy Starbucks chair. Luckily the only unpredictable thing that happened was all the coo'ing. If it was crying, I might have joined her, even if I was sipping on that drink of delight in public.

Therapy this week was freeing. I was using terms like "over achiever" "controlling" and "planner", and finally learned a word to sum up who I really am. A perfectionist. Being one of these consists of being all of those other words. It finally made sense to me.

My therapist and I are not sold that I am chemically unbalanced do from post-pardum. The big test is me trying to take mind control over my negative, trapped self. It is like the angel over one shoulder fighting the devil on the other. There is a good chance this depression is 100% caused by this thing called perfection, and if it isn't, I am not afraid to try a "happy pill".

We discussed my need for perfection in depth this week. I have always held myself up to a unbelievably high standard. I could never be an average student in college or grad school, I needed straight A's. I had to excel at my internships, and be the best dang Social Worker in drug rehab that they ever had so that they would want to rehire me every time I left them (and they did--THREE TIMES!). I couldn't become a teacher and be mediocre at it, I had to do everything in my power to give those kids a fantastic education. I can't just be a decent friend--I need to be the best. And this list goes on and on and on...you get the picture right? If I am not perfect at whatever I do, then I am so incredibly hard on myself. I verbally abuse myself from the inside. So naturally I feel like I should be perfect at motherhood, and the therapist keeps asking me "who really is"? and I keep answering, "I should be". 

My image of motherhood as a twenty something adult was interesting. I was a nanny for wealthy families in NYC as a side job on top of my real job, on top of my Master's classes (um...yeah can you say over achiever?). I rocked at this job. I was highly sought after, and many times fought over. I couldn't understand why these wealthy stay at home Mom's would need me. I mean wasn't staying at home with your kids all day EASY and FUN all the time? I used to think under my breath, "raise you own kids", and "music class with a one year old--PLUUUEASSE". I truly thought if I could do this, AND be a great Social Worker and Teacher, why wouldn't I be perfect at motherhood? I mean Mom's are fighting for me to take care of their kids!

Silly silly me. I know I can not make something as unpredictable as parenthood predictable. I want to so badly. I know this isn't a class I can ace, or a job that will give me a raise. I also am fully aware even the Mom's that look like perfection, probably are at home crying right now because they just screamed at their kid and can not take anymore. However, crazy, perfectionist Aimee has this constant wheel of thought in her mind that tells her when she is yelling, or her kids are crying that she sucks at this job. This job that was "supposed to be" so easy. 

I am working on it. 

The only thing predictable and full of perfection these days are my pumpkin spice lattes. When unpredictable things come up, I need to focus on the positive smiling baby, and not the inconsolable one that I take to heart that she hates having me as a Mom. 

I, just as all of you out there, am a work in progress. Hoping to end with perfection. Hoping my kids enjoy me as their Mother, like I enjoy a pumpkin spice latte--gleefully. 

Enjoying Sunny Days With Friends

Addison and I
Emily and Jake
Sammy
Rylan
Emily taking Sammy and Rylan down the HUGE slide (she is a trooper)

An Afternoon In A Doctors Waiting Room

I hate waiting rooms in doctors offices. They are brimming with high amounts of sickness to be caught, and grubby toys my son wants to play with. I especially hate doctors offices that make you wait 45 min. with a young child.

Yesterday we had to go in for a ear re-check to see how Rylan's tubes are holding up. Knowing that the office takes their sweet ol' time, I opted to ask a friend to watch Addison. THANK GOD I DID!

I first sat down next to a women with 4 kids (3 boys 1 girl), 3 of which has the COOP and were getting checked out as a measure before being taken into the emergency room. As I am saying "oh no", and "poor kids" to the Mom's story, I am thinking "Rylan please step away from the kids" and "oh crap they touched that toy Rylan has in his hands". Such as life I know. So I breathed a little while hoping his name would be called soon.

But it wasn't. Instead all of the COOP kids left, and this one 9 yr old girl was left in the play area. She was loud and throwing things. I kept thinking, "Just where is her Mother?". Rylan began to play with her, because heck a big kid throwing puzzles pieces all over the place looks like a TON of fun to a three year old. The girl began to become increasingly loud, mean, and bossy to my kid. I attempted many times to bring him over to me, and say out loud for her to hear me, "we don't play like that, even if you see a big kid doing it", and "she isn't sharing with you, so come over here and play with me". I mean a 9 yr. old knows not to whip something out of a 3 yr. olds hand! I wanted to put my teacher voice on and give her a talken too.

The only thing stopping me was a lurking parent. I was looking for one. Nobody was glancing her way, speaking to her about her behavior, or even facing in her direction.

Just as Rylan's name is called, a women comes out of the office and the girl screams "MOMMY". "Mommy" responds with "get the F$#% off me". 9 yr old says "I want a sticker". "Mommy" responds with "all you did is play in the play area you aren't getting an F'n sticker".

UMMM yeahhhhhh. Someone LEFT THEIR KID IN THE WAITING ROOM. BY THEMSELVES. A 9 yr.old, immature girl. Someone who wanted any attention from any adult and could have easily been taken.

I wanted to puke. I sat there thinking about saying something to her Mom in a nice way without leaving the ear, nose, and throat doctor in a body bag. There was no nice way, so I kept my mouth shut. I can not believe someone would do this!!!!!

Anyway, Rylan's ear tubes came out, and it has only been 6 months. Good news is he has a cold and no infection. Bad news is we could be going down the same path this Winter and have to have the surgery all over again.

And I am praying he doesn't get the COOP!