The week that football preseason starts is always a tough week for me.  I get pretty used to having Craig around in the evenings and weekends throughout the year and the second week of August everything changes.  For a few weeks, until the routine of the regular season starts, he puts in obscenely long hours.

(although, side note – for the six years that we dated he put in obscenely long hours and late nights all. season. long.  By obscenely long, I mean most of the time it was rare for him to be home before 11PM, and he started every day at 5:30.  Dedicated is not the right word.  Then, last fall, when C was born and stole her father’s heart right before my very eyes, he started coming home early in the evening.  Did he all of a sudden get more time efficient?  I think not.   But anyway… I digress.) 

What I was saying, is that this week is always a little bit of a shock to my system as I wonder what to do with myself now that my husband’s not around to entertain me.  So, instead of whining about football season, especially since I know this one is harder on Craig than it is on me, I thought I’d write about the things I love about fall. 

1. Jeans & sweatshirts
2. Football games - I’m partial to high school & college.  Something about the crowds, the bands, the “they are just kids and not paid professionals” of it.   And as much as I complain about football season sometimes, I really love going to Craig’s games.  I love getting to know the kids on his teams, watching them on the field, jumping up and down when they make good plays and joining in the disappointment of the “team family” when they lose. 
3. Cool mornings, warm afternoons and chilly evenings
4. C’s birthday
5. Back to school shopping sales (no, it does not matter that I’m not in school.)
6. Pulling out the boots and not having to paint my toes anymore
7. MY BIRTHDAY!!!
8. Turning on the fireplace
9. The color of the changing leaves
10. Fall festivals with their apple dumplings & pumpkin rolls & hot chocolate

For me, fall is the best time of year.  Summer, with the hot, humid, sticky weather and the mile-long list of things to do makes me want to run inside and curl up under a soft blanket in the air conditioning.  Winter, just sucks.  And we don’t get much of a spring.  So, while I hate going to bed before my husband gets home, in just a few weeks, I’ll be in my jeans & sweatshirt, at one of games, drinking hot chocolate and introducing C to the excitement of high school football.  And in that moment, all will be right with the world.

 Our vacation, in a nutshell, in pictures….

From top left, clockwise: 

1.  
   1. Craig & C. rocking the Baby Bjorn.
   2. What do you do when you forget to pack a bib?  Tie a napkin ’round her neck, of course.  Oh, and Blue Moon.  YUM. 
   3. He’s got a stroller loaded down with luggage, a duffel bag on his shoulder and a baby in his arms.  If nothing else makes him feel like a dad, this sure will. 
   4. When a dark, quiet hotel room is simply unacceptable for napping, try a stroller, on a hot day, in a shopping plaza, in the middle of the city. 

1.  
   1. Dear Child, Someday, when you don’t have wrinkles to go the prom, you will be glad that we made you wear that hat. 
   2. Family photo  (Who does she look like?  I can’t tell.)
   3. My loves.  My life. 
   4. Dipping her toes in the ocean.  She LOVED the water and the sand.  Every time we took her outside she got all excited, kicking her feet and squealing with delight.  She waved at anyone who glanced her way and generaly charmed everyone at the Outer Banks.

Moments like these make my heart want to explode into itty bitty pieces. 

From the other room, I hear Craig start to read about a mouse and a cookie.  I listen for the pat-pat-pat of C crawling away or the crash of her pulling a stuffed animal out of the toy bin.  It’s quiet except for the sound of Craig’s voice and the tapping of her hand against the book. 

I grab the camera and go to watch my two favorite people cuddled up on the living room floor.  Surrounded by a hot mess of toys and books and tipped over stuffed animals that are bigger than she is. 

The moment doesn’t last long.  In a few minutes, she’s pushing away and scootching across the floor.  But not before he turns her to face him and makes kissy noises with his lips.  She grins at me and then leans into her daddy, opening her mouth just a little, accepting his kisses. 

“It’s her new trick,” he tells me.  

“Baby girl, show mommy.  Give Daddy a kiss. ”

She leans in again and he kisses her.  On demand. 

He beams and she grins.  And my heart explodes again into itty bitty pieces.

 - Just a reminder that I’m trying to crawl my way up on the Top Baby Blogs list.  If you can spare a moment, to click here, it would help me immensely and you may find other blogs to add to your list of good reads.  XOXO!   

Updated for the Way Back Wednesday post from Stephanie…  If you didn’t have enough wedding fun last week, check out these posts! 

- – -  (original post) – - -

Can I just say that I love twitter blog hops.  A) It gives me something to write about.  Because some days, I’m just not sure which part of my life to bore bless you with.  B) I get to know more about people whose parenting blogs I read.  So? Win win. 

Anyway… jumping into the wedding. 

July 4, 2008. 

I waited six years for this day.  Six years to stand in a church in front of all the people I love and who love me and promise to spend the rest of my life with a man I adored.  Adore.  And, I really wish I had been blogging then.  Because I remember the months leading up to it as a whirlwind of dress shopping, meetings about flowers, budgetting and rebudgetting, browsing travel magazines and stalking my wedding registry. 

And I loved every second of it.  I loved the planning, stress included.  I thrive on excitement and details.  I sort of like being the center of attention, ahem.  But also, I loved the security and comfort of knowing that once that day was over, my life, my family would begin. 

A few weeks of searching led me to the dress.   It was simple and classic.  And it still makes me sad that I’ll never wear it again.  Perhaps some day, after a few glasses of wine, I’ll trek up the steps, pull it out of the special perservation box, slip back into it and flip through my wedding album.  Or not.

The day of the wedding started with a workout and breakfast with my best friend.  Followed by hours, yes hours, of primping, makeup and hair. Until it was time to zip up the dress and put on the jewelry. 

And then I waited.  FOR AN HOUR.  In my dress, in the hotel room with my brother and my maid of honor.  Trying not to wrinkle the dress and ignoring the rumbling of my belly. 

The nerves hit me on the way to the church.  I was caught up in the details and trapped in the back of a limo on a windy road.  The looming dark clouds were threatening to rain on my wedding day, I was wondering how the flowers looked and hoping that I had left enough time for pictures.  As I was waiting by the corner of the church, watching the last few people walk in, it was all I could do to not hurry them along, so I could have my turn to walk down the aisle. 

Once I got to the front of the church and saw him.  Everything got very calm. 

During the ceremony, we stood together and looked out at our family and friends.  Pointing out faces of people we hadn’t seen in a while, waving at young cousins and grinning at each other.   We laughed at the jokes that our priest made, hugged the families, said our vows, lit the candle and walked out as Mr. & Mrs. 

Then… we got our party on.  With traditional dances between husband and wife, father and daughter, mother and son.  My grandparents were the last couple standing at the end of the anniversary dance.  We made people who wanted to see us kiss stand up and sing a song to get it – no clinking glasses, thankyouverymuch. Craig and I served the cake to all of our guests, our way of making sure we spent a few minutes with everyone who spent the day with us.  We danced to YMCA, We Are Family and all the traditional Central PA wedding dances.   We drank champagne… and beer… and wine.. and oh my aching head the next day.  We didn’t eat enough, but we laughed, accepted hugs and well-wishes and caught up with old friends. 

At some point during the reception, the rain that had been threatening all day finally came.  At the time that our reception was over, it was POURING.  Craig and I walked to the door and then it hit me.  The one detail I forgot.  To arrange our transportation from the conference center to the hotel.  It was only a few blocks, so maybe I thought we’d walk it. But the sheets of water falling from the sky meant that we needed a Plan B.  So we waited while my mom and aunts cleared the centerpieces, we helped the DJ tear down, loaded gifts into the car and piled in the back of my aunt’s SUV. 

:: sigh ::  A girl can’t get it all right, can she? 

So that’s it.  That’s my wedding day in a five-minute blog post.  The day I joined Craig’s family and he joined mine.  The only day I’ve had just about every person I cared about in one room. 

The day I learned that some things are worth waiting for. 

**are you new here?  do you know about Joanna and her #Karing4Keegan fundraiser?  She is doing a really good thing, raising money for a family who needs the financial help as they focus on helping their baby boy fight cancer.  I count my blessing every day, every hour, that I have a healthy baby. I wish I could do more.  But maybe? If we all do a little, it will add up.  Go read about Keegan, help if you’re so inclined, say a prayer if it’s what you do and hug your child a little tighter tonight. ** 

I’ve mentioned before that I’m working my way through Babyproofing Your Marriage, right?  It’s a good read and I find myself nodding in agreement at least three times on every page. Except for one thing.  

The part where it says that the mother is the protective, gentle parent. 

Also.  Over the last few weeks I’ve read blog posts by other great mommas who talked about their protective nature, their response when the baby cries and their love of having the baby close.  I identify with them.  Sort of.  Erika talks about how she and her husband are so different when it comes to parenting.  Uh huh, totally with you.  And  Brandee talks about how she’s not the mother she thought she would be.  Yep, that, right there.   

I am not the mother I thought I would be. But in a different way.

I’m not the gentle parent.  I’m not the parent that jumps when my daughter cries.  I’m not the parent that hoovers over her like a helicopter to keep her from bumping her head. 

The week before I went back to work, I wanted to move C to her own room.  In all honesty, she was outgrowing the bassinet.  But also, I was afraid it would be a tough transition and wanted it to be over before I had to be in heels and a skirt at 8AM.  The first night of putting her to bed in her own room, it was Craig wholooked at me and said, “why do we have to do this again?” 

Now that she sleeps through the night, when she stirs at 3 or 4 in the morning, I wait it out.  Often times, I take the monitor out of the room and wait outside her door.  Because if he hears her, he’ll go to her.  And I know that if I wait, just five minutes, she’ll drift back to sleep.  But if we pick her up, she’ll be up for an hour. 

When I pictured Craig and I as parents, I pictured him tossing the baby in the air, while I cringed and chastised him to be careful and “don’t drop her.”  But now, in my living room, you’ll find me wrestling with baby, tickling her to hear the belly laughs and letting her test her boundaries and bump her head while I get the side eye and the “be CARE-ful”  from my husband. 

When I think about the mother I thought I would be and the mother I’ve become, I’m not sure whether to be proud or ashamed.  Some days I feel like it makes me cold and uncaring.  I worry that I will push her too much as she grows up. I worry that I will always be the one to tell her “no”.   Is he parent that makes her stick to a bedtime, lets her throw the tantrum and doesn’t give in, the same parent that doesn’t let her quit at soccer after the season starts or pushes her to take her SAT’s one more time? Is that the parent who judges too much, too quickly and pushes too hard?

And other days, I’m proud that I know my daughter will not break. She will cry when occasionally when I put her down for a nap, but she will still grin at me when she wakes and I pick her up.  She will hurt herself on the corner of furniture and on our tile floors as she learns to crawl and (God help me) walk.  But she will get back up and try again. 

Am I alone in this? Does anyone else worry about the parent they will become when their child hasn’t even celebrated a birthday?  Are you the good guy at home or the bad guy? Do I worry too much about what the books say, that I lose a connection to my kid? Is it different between mothers and sons or dads and daughters?

I’m accepting that there’s a balance between Craig and I as parents.  And if I had to guess we’ll switch good guy, bad guy roles many times as C grows up.  I may be the parent that makes her go to bed and clean her room, but he’ll be the one to greet the boys at the door.

He makes me laugh & holds my hand.

He kills spiders and gets dead mice out of the pool. 

He loved me in Punta Cana will my face swelled up from sun poisoning and in Mexico when food posioning landed us both in a hospital in a foriegn country. 

He holds me up when I can’t stand on my own, and lets go at exactly the right moment. 

He painted the nursery … twice.  

He drove me, at 7.5 months pregnant, 12 hours to see my best friend get married. 

He shops with me.

He grocery shops so I can avoid WalMart on the weekends. 

He lets me pick the movie and the restaurant.

He forgives me when I sleep 80% of the way to the beach (OK, 90%)

His love for ice cream matches mine.

He makes a mean pasta sauce. 

He doesn’t give up. 

He adores our daughter. 

And, although he’s not as much of a fan of birthdays as I am, I want to remind him today, that my life is better because he is in it.  Happy Birthday, Craig! 

My daughter’s mouth runs constantly these days.  From the moment I get her out of her crib, to the time right before bed when she’s sucking contently on the paci, she’s babbling and talking.  It’s a constant whirl of ba-da-ga-ada-mpf-ag-wa-ma. I’m sure in her head she is telling a pretty good story complete with details about her big teddy bear, her new Winne the Pooh or complaining that her mean mommie won’t let her chew on electrical cords.  Regardless of whether the person on the other end of her conversation understands her, every one talks back to her.  The cashiers at the mall get a kick out it, her aunts and grandparents all smile and babble to her in return. 

Mostly her ba-ga-fa-de-pfftshh-a-ma-da-da sounds are just nonsense.  But once in a while, when she says da-da-daaaa  it’s because Craig has walked into the room or she sees his picture. 

So, I’ve decided that I want to hear mama.  I gave the child life, dammit.  I feed her on demand, have changed a bazillion and three dirty diapers, give her more kisses than a person can possibly count and make sure she has cute shoes.  And, I want to hear mama. 

So now when she’s babbling I say, “C, say mama.” 

She looks at me and says “dada!”  

“No, punkin. MAA-MA.”  

“DADADAAAA!” 

 ”No, sweetie, listen.  Like this.  MAA-MAA” 

“DADADADADADA!” 

And then Craig giggles.

Me:  Hon, tonight while nothing on the computer went the way I wanted it too, I was looking through pictures from when C was itty bitty. 

Him:  Oh?

Me:  Yep, there are pictures from the hospital, the first few days home and her snuggling in bed with me after you got up for work. There are pictures of her laying  on the couch by herself.  You know, when we used to be able to put her somewhere and she didn’t move. 

Him:  Can’t do that anymore. She’d crawl off in a second. 

Me:  And, remember when she used to lay on your chest and you’d both fall asleep?  There’s a couple of those pictures too. 

Him:  Yeah. If I’d have known that was only going to last a month, I’d have done it every damn day. 

Me:  I know, honey.  Me too.

Internet! I haven’t been this excited about summer since the summer of 98, before I went to college and took full advantage of sleeping in until noon, working at MickeyD’s and drinking beers camping in the woods. 

If you read the Twitter Home Tour post from a while back, you saw that when we built a house, we put in a pool.  Now, you should know that this pool is sort of silly.  I live in a town where it’s warm enough to swim about 3 months out of the year.  But Craig’s happy place is in the sun, so we put one in.  And, guys?  It’s so worth it.  Even if it doesn’t add $5 of value to our house. Because this weekend, we put my daughter in the pool and SHE. LOVED. IT. 

We were hoping to give her a little bit of pool time on Saturday but a late nap combined with a picnic that we were headed to and a mom who forgot to buy swim diapers meant that she only got to dip in her toes.  She stuck in her little toe and looked up at Craig with wide eyes.  When he smiled at her, she giggled and kicked her right foot while keeping her left leg way up in the air out of the water. 

On Sunday, we decide to go for it.  We lathered her up with suncreen, blew up the baby raft and wiggled C into her swim diaper and suit.  (side note:  do you know how hard it is to get a baby girl into a swim suit?  I think it’s a little like trying to put two weeks of clothes into an overnight bag.) Once she was properly dressed with a hat that she was willing to keep on her still sparsely covered noggin, we headed outside. 

As soon as she saw the water, she was kicking her feet and flailing her arms. We lowered her into the water and into the baby raft and with only a slight moment of hesitation, she leaned back and soaked it in.  She grined and giggled, kicked her feet and splashed with her arms.  She chewed on the toys attached to the raft (does anyone know if this is a bad thing, by the way?) and just thoroughly loved being in the water. 

I joked with Craig this weekend that if it hadn’t taken him six years to marry me and build me a house, that perhaps I could have enjoyed the pool with a pre-baby body for a year or two before we decided to procreate.   But this?  Watching my little girl as she plays in the water and gets excited to be outside.  This is so much better. 

She is such her father’s daughter already, but I love that she loves being outside and I can’t wait to spend my summer chashing her around with the camera.  ::sigh::  Even if it means I have to suck in my post-baby belly as I do it. 

How did you kick off your summer this weekend?

I’m getting better at this turning work off on the weekends thing.  Do I feel bad about it when Monday arrives? Yes.  Well, sort of.  Knowing that I could work all weekend and still be behind helps me to feel better about shutting it down or only putting in a little bit of time. 

Some weekends are better than others.  Sometimes I find myself rushing C to a nap, so I can proofread, write some copy or clean out my in-box.  But other weekends are like this one.  Where I take my time, rock her a little longer and use her naps to blog, read books, or (gasp!) nap myself.  After those weekends, I go back to work on Mondays feeling less like employee of the year but more like the mother my child deserves. 

This weekend was full of sunshine and family time.  (hehe that rhymes.) We spent Saturday in my hometown visiting my family.  My goal was to get some good family photos since it was a rare occasion that I had make up and wasn’t rushing out the door. 

Mission (sort of) accomplished.

Yes that’s my little girl, all dressed up in pink, playing with a bat and chewing on a baseball.  le sigh.