The air blows my hair and wraps my skirt around my legs. I pull my jacket in close and lower my head against the wind as I walk back into the office, my heels clicking against the blacktop parking lot.  From the car, it seemed warm, but the air is so cold and suddenly I have a craving for my grey sweatpants and a hot cup of tea. 

It’s been a long week. Taveling plus a cold plus parenting plus a landscaping project plus some bad news followed by some (maybe) good news plus plus plus.  You get the idea. I’m ready for 5:00 on Friday, but I’ll take 5:00 today. 

~~~~~

“Mommy, that was not nice!”  Chessa indignantly points out that I poured her apple juice into her green sippy cup rather than her plastic Christmas coffee mug.

“Honey, it was a mistake,” I explained. “Mommy didn’t know you wanted the Christmas cup.  I will fix it. It was just a mistake.”

“You made a steak, Mommy. But I want my Christmas cup!” 

~~~~~

I hear the sound of a small head smacking the tile floor. Why is that such an unmistakeable, yet indescribable sound?

I drop the dishes and run for my boy.  I scoop him up and he pours himself into my chest and wraps his arms around my neck, hanging on tight. His wails are muffled by my shoulder and I bounce and shush him like when he tiny. Only now his legs are wrapped around my waist and his tears are bigger and his cries are louder. 

It only takes a minute until he stops, distracted by the sight of a bird flying past the window. Just like that he shakes it off and jumps down to run away from me and pound on the window. 

~~~~~

I’m in my sweats now and an old football t-shirt of Craig’s. I’m comfortable and cozy and my kids are playing as I finish cleaning the kitchen. The last of the dishes are in the dishwasher and I sink into the oversized chair. Cole pushes his way into my arms but insists on sitting beside me instead of on my lap, Chessa giggles while she crawls up onto the other side. Outside the wind still whips and the rain starts to pour. It’s cold and grey out there. But in here?  (almost) everything is right with the world. 

A few weeks ago my friend Kristi started doing Tidbits of Talk, just a sort of way to wrap up the week. Then, my friend Jess jumped in. So now, I am too.

At least for this week. Maybe it will get my writing juices flowing again.

I’m so far behind on this blog. Cole is about to turn one, Chessa is trying to potty train herself, they are finally playing nice(er) (ish)  together, we’re still trying to figure out the best way for me to travel, and blah, blah, blah. There are so many plates spinning in the air these days that I’m afraid to take my hand off of any of them for fear they will all crash around me.  

Cole is full on walking now. He started taking steps a little over a month ago and now, he’s practically running across the room. Especially when he hears me coming to get him. And, climbing steps is officially his favorite thing to do. Which makes my favorite thing following him to make sure he doesn’t break a bone.  Oh wait, not my favorite thing to do, the thing I do most frequently. Not the same thing. 

My mom helps us out a lot when I’m traveling (as does Craig’s mom). Today when I told Chessa that GaGa was coming to visit, she looked at me and said, “are you leaving again?”  (I know!) And when I told her I wasn’t going away she was downright giddy that Mommy and Daddy and GaGa and PapPap would all be here at that same time. I love that the little things make her happy.

I have the itch to redo my house. Like the whole thing. I want new cabinets and new furniture and new carpet and new paint. I blame pinterest.  But really what I want is to mop the kitchen floors and have them stay clean for more than five minutes. Does that happen to anyone else?

I’ve got one more week of this grad school class left so I think I can safely say this class was much less time intensive than the first class and I’m feeling more confident in my ability to finish this thing out. I start another nine-week session immediately, then I’m taking at least the summer off to catch my breath.  While I do that, I want to do one of those online photography classes and lean how to take my camera off of auto. Anyone have any suggestions? 

While traveling last week for work and at dinner with my new team, a coworker started throwing questions out to the table. Questions like, “if you could only go on one vacation for the next ten years, where would you go?” and “if you were throwing a dinner partyand could only invite four people who would you invite?” I could only think of two people to invite off the top of my head, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since and now my list is up to 17.  Who would you invite?

I owe this little corner of the internet some attention.  It’s on my to do list, I swear. I have things, so many things, I want to write about. Unfortunately “write on the blog” is firmly placed behind things like “do the work for which I get a paycheck,” “feed and bathe the children I created,” “write the discussion post for grad school” and “make sure all the plates in the air somehow keep spinning.” 

People. My inlaws are in Florida. They’ve been there for a month and when they come home (SUNDAY!!!) I’m going to kiss them and make them promise to never leave me again! 

The upside to them being in Florida, is that we got to crash their vacation for a week.  So with that, I give you vacation photos that I’m pawning off as a blog post and now I can cross this off my list and move onto “plan Cole’s birthday party with the remaining 20 minutes of my lunch hour.”

I push the recliner back and forth, snuggling my feverish baby to my chest. Cole pops his thumb in his mouth and for a few moments sits still in my lap. 

I press my lips to his forehead, using the timeless test of mothers everywhere to feel that he’s still warm, but not hot. I hate that he’s not feeling well, but I love that he’s letting me hold him for a bit.  His eyes are focused on something far away, he’s sort of staring and is getting very still.  I push off the carpet with my toe, in the same sweatpants I’ve been in since the night before, with hair that hasn’t been washed all weekend. 

Chessa walks over to us and I hold my breath. Not wanting to turn her away, but worried she will startle him.  Instead, she pats his head and says, “Cole’s sick.”

“Yes, sweetheart. Cole has a cold. Momma’s rocking him to make him feel better.” 

“Sing him songs?” she asks. 

“OK, we can sing him songs. What do you want to sing?”

“Ahhh… Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” 

As we sing the lullabye, her tiny voice mixing with mine and Cole still so quiet in my lap, she moves around and curls up next to me.  She’s sitting on the arm of the chair, her arms wrapped tight around my neck to keep her from falling.  With my right hand, I pat her leg.  With her left hand she pats her brother’s leg. 

I close my eyes and start another round of Twinkle Twinkle, holding them close to me, trying to freeze the moment.

First Child:  Wears three, yes three, different yet equally adorable outfits on her first Christmas.
Second Child: Wears the same outfit for three different functions leading up to and including Christmas day.

First Child: Momma drops her baby weight like a hot potato because every time the baby whimpers, she drops the cold cereal she was going to eat and instead tends to the baby’s slightest need. 
Second Child: Momma doesn’t even notice that the baby fusses while she enjoys the dishes she was smart enough to prep before the child was born.  In fact 10 months later, Momma still needs to lose ten pounds and baby has learned to steal his sister’s poptarts.

First Child: Receives eleventy billion cards and visitors drop in all the time to take turns holding the freshly baked baby. 
Second Child: People send a card, leave food on the doorstep and take off running; afraid that instead of getting to snuggle a newborn, they’ll have to entertain a toddler. 

First Child:  Brand new toys. Brand new clothes. Brand new furniture and blankets and bibs.
Second Child: Hand. Me. Downs. 

First Child:  Baby is put to bed sleepy but awake because Momma is afraid that said baby will still need to be rocked to sleep when she is seven. 
Second Child:  Momma now realizes how fast the baby will grow and not need her, so she snuggles him a little longer, strokes the soft curve of his baby cheek and, only reluctantly, lays the sleeping boy in his crib. 

First Child:  Hesitant steps lead to shaky steps lead to first steps.
Second Child:  Stands up and walks before anyone is ready for it.

First Child: Textbooks and baby books everything is anticipated and recorded. 
Second Child:  Who has time for books? 

Can you think of any others? Leave them in the comments!

“But I CAN’T take a bath because I have to go downstairs!” she insisted with tears streaming down her face and a voice at a level that was dangerously close to waking up her I just got him to sleep little brother.

I handed her the doll she got for Christmas, the one made for the bathtub, and tried to use the plastic baby as collateral.

Angrily, she threw the baby on the floor and continued to cry and bargain.

“I have to come upstairs for a bath so I can’t take a bath because I. HAVE. TO. GO. DOWNSTAIRS.”

Weighing my options, I gave in. “You have ten minutes to go downstairs and play.  Only ten minutes.”

And just like that she stopped the tears, jumped up off her knees, raised her arm into a “V” and yelled, “TEN MINUTES?!  FOR ME?  I HAVE TEN MINUTES?” 

So that’s where we’re at. She’s using her ten minute delay of game to ask Craig for a snack. A wise move on her part since her snacks never last less than twenty minutes and I’m using her ten minutes to tap out a quick blog post. 

It was hard finding my words over the last few weeks.

Writing is such a part of my routine, mixed in with parenting and work and schedules and dinner and laundry and meal planning and grocery lists. And when I stopped all of the schedule and routine it was hard to find time to write. Or even know what to say.

So instead I spent the last two weeks mostly soaking up my family.  Watching Chessa run full speed into Christmas. Probably not knowing exactly what all the excitement was about, but knowing that there was for damn sure something to be excited about.  She spent Christmas Eve peeking out the windows and yelling for Santa and couldn’t understand where he was Christmas morning.  I guess we forgot to tell her that he dropped the presents off and then went to the next little girl’s house. I think she was expecting to see him eating cookies and drinking coffee, with his red sweater unbuttoned and his feet propped up on the coffee table. 

Cole loved the wrapping paper, the boxes, the extra attention and having his momma home all day long for 12 days.

Minus the attempt at potty training (more on that later), it was an ordinary Christmas vacation with sleepy mornings, lazy afternoons, lots of chocolate and cinnamon rolls, way to much Dora and parents who attempted to lose the batteries from a couple of annoying toys.  

And it was perfect.

I’ve never been a big New Year’s Eve party kind of girl. 

Unless you count that one December 31st when I was in high school and a good friend from down the street came over while my parents went out to a party.  We lived it up with movies, pizza, snacks and Dick Clark counting down the hours and minutes of 1996 (or 97). And then we dusted off (no really, I mean dusted off) the bottle of Peach Schnapps that my parents kept on top of the kitchen cabinets and mixed it with Mountain Dew.  When I opened the bottle the cap cracked and I left finger prints on the bottle.  To cover my tracks I used pressed powder to “cover” the dust. 

Ahhh… I can’t wait until my kids are teenagers. I’ll know exactly when they go dipping into my Schnapps. 

Oh, and sorry, Mom. 

So. Anyway. Most of our New Year’s Eve’s have been spent with Craig watching College Bowl games and me falling asleep on the couch at 10:00.  Once in a while I wake up for a midnight kiss and glass of champagne, toasting to the New Year and saying goodbye to the old one.  This year, I expect will be much the same.  Only this year, I’m looking forward to changing the calendar a little  more than usual.  

2011 flipped everything I believe upside down and inside out. It brought me my son and strengthened my family and for that I am forever blessed. But in so many other ways, this year has kicked my ass.  And I’m looking forward to kissing it goodbye and starting over with a fresh breath and a new year on the date line of my checks. 

Here’s to cozy nights in front of the fireplace with the people who love you most. Here’s to new choices and exciting opportunities. Here’s to belief that things really will work out because otherwise the world really would just slip off its axis. 

Here’s to celebrations.  Especially to the little ones celebrated with grape juice and in pajamas.  

Here’s to you.  And that 2012 will be everything you hoped.

Christmas has always been a magical but crazed time. Before there were babies in my life there was juggling multiple dinners and making sure every last aunt and uncle were hugged and kissed. There was shopping for the perfect present for Craig and getting frustrated because he’s so damn hard to buy for.

This year, finances are tight (aren’t everyones?), jobs have been flipped upside down, loved ones are missed or not feeling well, and it’s less than four days to the big day and I have not a single present wrapped. It would be easy to get caught up in the chaos and cluster (ahem) of it all and drive myself and everyone around me crazy.

Except for one three-foot toddler. 

She asks to go see Santa Claus. She rides the train at the mall. She has reindeer food to put out for Rudolph and company. 

She looks at the tree with a magical sparkle in her eye. She kisses Baby Jesus laying in the nativity.

She sings Frosty the Snowman, Jingle Bells and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. And she gets most of the words right.

She wakes up every morning, excited to go look for her Elf.

So world, if you’re feeling a little overwhelmed or just over all the Christmas stuff this year, I suggest you go find a two year old to borrow for a day or two.

Tonight there was:

Hamburger Helper and microwaved broccoli that I called dinner.

Phones within reach, in case of an important phone call, text or email.

Toys snatched from each other, negotiations made and tears.

Countless retrievals from the steps of a baby who is way to eager to be moving.

No less than two episodes of Dora and one of Sid the Science Kid.

Discussions about bank accounts, holiday plans, chips in the paint and building a storage unit.

Brother pushed and sister’s hair pulled. And more tears.    

But. Tonight there was:

Laughter from a giggling toddler who yells, “tickle me!” while she runs away.

Chubby hands wrapped around a bottle and soft eyes that are shadowed by long eyelashes.

Soft smiles over small children and easy touches on the nape of a neck when we passed each other in the kitchen.

Two extra lullabies for the baby I couldn’t bear to say goodnight to. 

Sneaking back into the big one’s room for the missed hugs and kisses after the little one went to bed.

Prayers said, blessings counted and tears that brimmed knowing that in the face of it all, that when it really comes down to it, we have each other and we have those two healthy, happy babies. And that whatever may come, we’re in it together. 

My lips are dry and sore. I bite them because I’m nervous and on edge and just a wee bit stressed out lately and that makes them dry and then I bite them because they are dry. 

“Quit biting your lip,” I can hear my father saying as he’d tap my chin to remind me.

I’ve been traveling lately. Not a lot by some people’s standards, but I’ve spent more nights away from my house in the last three months than I have in the last three years, so.. yeah. 

I should say I’m torn about it. And while I hate the time away from my kids, I can’t help but love that it looks like I’m finally going to be doing different stuff at work. Fun stuff. Cool stuff.  Stuff where I can learn from smart people, make connections and branch into different responsibilities. 

It’s a risk too. I know I can learn a lot, but I’ve also been told that you “don’t make the same mistake twice.”  So, here’s hoping that when I screw up (and I will) that I only do it once.  No pressure or anything. 

This week when I was away, Cole got sick. Oh, how I hate that.  Craig had to battle a sick baby, taking him to the doctor, calling me to tell me it was an ear infection and I was four hours away.  When I came home, the little one barely let me out of his sight.  And Chessa? Well, when I picked her up at daycare, she ignored me. But after I got her home, when I walked out of the room to grab a drink, she sobbed. 

So, yeah. I’m torn. But I’m hoping we adjust. I’m hoping we find a way to make this work. I’m hoping that the opportunity is worth the risk. 

I’m hoping that after all the stress, all the flips and flops, all the tense moments and held breath that our luck is finally, finally starting to change.  But I’m still biting my lip.