be mine...

…My heart beats faster. My stomach ties

Into tighter knots. I can’t erase the

smile off my face, thinking of us and

the family we created.

When I wake in the tender hours of the night,

I revel in the feel of your warmth, your body,

next to mine.

The day you walked into my life, I felt my

whole world shift; with every new minute

we share together, I see our past and future

collide in an explosion of opportunity.

I gaze back at that moment, that

pause in the march of time, and sigh in

the utter magnitude of the future we

dreamed into reality.

You are forever mine; I am and always will

be Your Girl.

10/5

Time can be so painfully tricky; one memory, at the same time, can feel both like yesterday and like a lifetime ago. Six years ago today, a piece of my heart broke. There are so many moments from that day that are as clear as looking through a glass window, while so many other memories are so distant and foggy, clouded by life's experiences. The pain of that loss, I've learned, doesn't really go away; it just evolves with the passing of time, becoming more of an ache, an emptiness, a void in the seemingly mundane revolution of day after day.

I will never stop missing my father. Although I know I shouldn't cheapen the value of the memories that we made, it is so hard not to get caught up in wishing for the memories I can't have.  I don't think I will ever stop wishing he was here to watch my children grow up, to be the grandfather he never got to be, to see the life I've made for myself. I don't know that I'll ever rid myself of the regrets I carry with me, things I wish I had a chance to do differently had I known the fate of that day, especially just stopping to tell him I loved him one last time instead of dashing out the door because I was late to work.

What I hate most is the fact that my memories of him are fading, slowly but surely. I can't remember his voice like I used to, or imagine the strength of his embrace. I long so desperately to hear his laugh, see his smile, watch the way he garnered the attention of the people around him not only for his commanding appearance, but for the caring and accepting way in which he treated each person he met.

My experiences as a child and young adult are what have brought to the place in life I'm currently in, and I owe all of that to my parents. Being a parent myself now, I feel like I have a better understanding of the sacrifices my father and mother made for us growing up and I would give anything to be able to have that conversation with him, to thank him for raising us to be the individuals we are - strong, driven, humble, kind.

My father will forever have that special place in my heart; I just wish it wasn't broken.

squared...

Sitting in the comfort of our living room, I'm staring at the beautiful face of our second baby boy. Watching him sleep so peacefully, his tiny fingers knitted together across his sweet little chest, his pouty lips in a sleepy frown, I am yet again amazed at just how quickly one can fall so deeply, undeniably in love.

With two boys just 15 months apart, it's not difficult to recall my maternity leave last year and compare my experiences thus far. The most obvious difference is the fact that our 15-month old is transitioning into a new role from only baby to big brother; surprisingly, it hasn't been as hellacious as I was expecting, but we are only 2 weeks in (not to be a pessimistic). He loves to help, throwing diapers away, bringing the baby his blanket or his pacifier, giving lots of hugs and even sharing toys.

I know full well, having had two older brothers myself who could not be any more opposite, that our two boys will have very different personalities, interests, futures, etc, but it is amazing to look at our newest little bundle and see so many similarities at the same time.

Our first night home from the hospital, I was adamant that I would put our oldest son to bed since I'd gone almost 3 days without seeing him for more than 15 minutes; I was going through a mild case of withdrawal and I wanted him to know that our love for him hadn't changed even with the arrival of this new baby. Although we had been duly warned by other parents having gone through the same experience, I was shocked to realize how big he suddenly was. My little baby boy was suddenly this robust toddler who, although he still loved to snuggle and give hugs and kisses, was quickly developing his own personality and identity. I'm sure part of it was hormones, but I couldn't hold back the wave of tears that suddenly crashed over me. Tears of joy, of fulfillment, of awe, of completeness.

Coming down the stairs and catching my husband's eye, I suddenly realized that our dreams had come true. Since first dating and talking about our hopes and dreams, we had always agreed that we wanted two kids. Those conversations, seemingly just behind the corner, had suddenly come to fruition. Our family was complete.

As each day passes by, I imagine what our life will be like days, months, years from now. Who will our boys grow up to be? What will they do? What will their hobbies be? What subjects will they like in school? Regardless of what their futures hold, my only prayer is that they are happy and healthy... that is all that matters.

Floodgates

It has started. It's October 15, and I ordered my first Christmas present as a mother. It's a slippery slope. Naturally as parents we want to give our children the world, with the moon in the closet in case the world isn't enough.

It is my goal to get things for our son that will stimulate his imagination,  foster his learning and build on his little skills, so it only makes sense that his first present is books.

But after placing my order,  those pesky wheels started turning and suddenly I have a slew of gift ideas just waiting to burn a hole in my credit card. I imagine him toddling into the living room - because let's face it, he'll be walking by Christmas for sure - and being greeted by a glittering, glorious mountain of gifts. I do realize that he'll be more into eating the wrapping and playing with the boxes rather than the toys themselves,  but a mother can at least imagine.

I have a lot of expectations for our son's first Christmas and - honestly and realistically - I just want to see him smile.

Four...

The other day,  I was on my way home from work and, as I often do, I had the local country radio station on (judge all you want.) Miranda Lambert's song 'Automatic' came on and every time I hear it, I think about growing up and the values we gained from not having everything just a finger's touch away.

"Hey whatever happened to waiting your turn, doing it all by hand? Cuz when everything is handed to you, its only worth as much as the time put in. It all just seemed so good the way we had it- back before everything became automatic."

Now especially, with the anniversary of my father's death coming around again (hard to believe that 4 years have already passed and yet at the same time only 4 years have passed), that song is even more poignant as I think about the man he was, how hard he worked and how he taught us (my brothers and I) from a very young age to truly earn our keep.

As a little kid, I can remember riding with my dad in his beat up old truck either on the weekends or during the summer when I was on my mother's last nerve to one of his job sites. As a contractor and all-around Mr. Fix-It, he often had multiple jobs going at once and when he needed a little help and wanted to teach us a lesson about working to earn a little money, he'd take me or my brothers along.

By the time I was 10, I was a pro at sorting screws and nails, weeding, picking up old shingles and sweeping up curls of sawdust. By 14, I knew how to strip paint from a window sill, sand down drywall and cut in with a paintbrush with a hand as steady as steel. Sure, there was always the guarantee of stopping at the local donut shop for a mid-morning treat and he never made us work a full day, but looking back, I realize that I gained so much more from those days than $20-30 and a few blisters. Not only did I learn the value of working hard -something that has stuck with me to this very day, but I realize that those were probably some of my favorite memories, and I hope they were his too.

He was a man of polar opposites - church-going and God-fearing, but had the mouth of a sailor. He teared up during certain hymns but loved to listen to Queen and The Offspring on the job site, and I can distinctly remember sitting with him in our living room listening to Zac Brown Band's first cd in its entirety one lazy Sunday afternoon. He had callouses on his hands that were as thick as leather and at 6'4", he could be pretty intimidating, but he a big heart, and an even bigger soft spot, and he'd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.

He taught me some of the most important lessons in my life and, although I miss him dearly, I am proud to take these lessons with me, apply them to my every-day life, and share them with my children, passing on his legacy to the next generation.

Creeping...

I had a moment the other day. One of those ah-ha moments when suddenly I saw my own life drawing a distinct parallel to that of my parents and in that instant, I knew exactly how they felt, thought and worried about us growing up.

I was at my mother's house with my 7-month old son, spending some much-needed quality time together. As she watches my nephew 3 days a week, she conveniently has everything necessary for a little one including toys, a crib, high chair, etc. I had gotten the baby to go down for a nap in the crib in my brothers' old bedroom upstairs. It allowed for some necessary bonding time between my mother and I, talking about motherhood, marriage, faith, and life in general. After about half an hour of conversation, I thought I would check on my little one, knowing he's not one for long naps and I didn't want him to wake up in a strange room and be frightened.

I tip-toed up the old stairs, the age-old wood groaning under my feet, and I quietly cracked open the door. When I saw he was still snoozing, I crept back down the stairs and thought of all those times my mother or father must have done the same thing; holding their breath as they themselves crept down the stairs, hoping for just a few more minutes of peace and quiet, regardless of how much they loved their kids. There is just that feeling of relief, when your body tangibly releases a sigh of joy, when your child is finally asleep.

I thought back to those times when I was between sleep and waking in my own room as a child and hearing my parents' footsteps on the stairs and the peace that it gave me knowing they were there.

I can only imagine that the parallels - both good and bad - will continue to present themselves as we get older and our children grow and mature. Even before our baby was born, I could understand the incessant worry that my parents must have had for us. Everything we do now has a direct affect on our baby boy. As he is just learning how to move around, suddenly our house is a vault of unexpected weapons of mass destruction and I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider wrapping every sharp-edged piece of furniture in bubble wrap. I know only too well that we won't be able to protect him forever, but for now, I'll relish creeping down the hall to make sure he's sleeping snuggly in his bed.

Change...

Today it dawned on me.... In one week I'll be preparing myself to return to work and, even more difficult, preparing to send my 3 month old son to day care. It was a pretty painful and tear-filled epiphany to say the least. My little man woke up from a nap and I was sitting there reading my book when his beautiful eyes fluttered open. It was at this moment that suddenly I realized that pretty soon, he'd be waking up and finding someone else watching him.... And for a short time, that someone will be a stranger.

My husband and I spent a lot of time researching, visiting, and debating local daycare facilities before our son was even born and we both agreed on the same one, knowing it gave us both the strongest sense of comfort. Now that our son is here and I've spent the last three months snuggling, holding, rocking, singing, and bonding with this amazing little being, it's hard to imagine any place other than my arms and my home being the best place for him.

Unfortunately there is no way around the fact that we need daycare so that I can return to work. The unfortunate reality of today's economy is that most families can't survive on one income, and we feel that burden all too well. Between household bills, daily expenses and the overwhelming cost of a higher education hanging over our head (no thanks to Uncle Sam for any kind of break on that), there is just no other option than for me to return to work.

I will admit that there is a part of me that is anticipating my return to work; the thought of a more stable routine, interaction with some of my very-much missed coworkers and even removing myself from the all-to-distracting snacks that are severely inhibiting my post-baby weight loss efforts have a strong appeal. But at the same time, the thought of someone else seeing my son more than me every day, seeing him coo and smile and laugh and being the first to witness those milestones that every parent so eagerly waits for is almost overwhelming.

It's so true that the love for a child is different than any other kind of love out there. I just look at my son or even just think about him...hell, just writing about him now...makes my heart ache and brings tears to my eyes. I know that he will be in very good, capable, caring hands... But I can't help wishing  those hands were mine.