Childhoodtake2!

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on represent.

Go.

It started last spring. I asked you to join me at the gym and you were so reluctant. You walked in and out that day crying, begging to go home.
I asked you to keep going, keep trying, keep showing up. Show up for you. Represent who you are.

And then, one day, it happened. You got it. The community swalled you up. The women started showing up for you and representing strength. The coaches started to represent what can be done in that room. And you started to step up too. You started to see the challenge. You are not obessed, but you're starting to see it's power.

And now, we challenge each other. I catch you sometimes taking a peak over at me and I represent the reality of that room. And for me, the reality is, I do not look perfect doing a single thing. I am not the strongest or most flexible. I'm not fast and I'm not impressive. But I'm trying and I'm trying hard. And I'm going to represent what a mom can do. How hard that room is but that's okay. Hard is okay. Failing is totally fine and I fail and fail again. And that's a part of it. Sometimes you fail forward. Sometimes it makes you take 13 steps back. But I want to represent what we are made of and that is trying and not giving up. Not on us. Not on our insides.

Sweet girl, you talk about being a mom one day, how much you are looking forward to it. And if you decide to move forward with motherhood, I hope you know that I tried very hard to represent motherhood and the strength/love/courage/hope/heart of a mother. I show up for all of us, but I also show up for me. Because even though I became a mom, I'm still here, inside here. Even though you are my priority, you cannot be it all for me. I do not want to not know who I am without you. So I will represent all of me and I want you to do the same.

Stop.

When I was 30, I was presented with a gift. And not one I had always imagined. Not one I ever thought I would want. Not one that I knew my whole life I would one day get and cherish. But just the same, I was presented with a gift.
It came in a little package, all bundled up. It was shiny and brand new but somehow familiar.

I never thought I would describe mothering, motherhood, or parenthood as a gift, but that is exactly what it is. My littles, you have been a gift. Not always wrapped in pretty ribbon and bows, and sometimes we are all frayed, but a gift nonetheless.
When I unwrapped the package, I saw his eyes, my soul, his face, my love.

The last thirteen years have not been a blur for me. Although they have gone fast and fierce, they have been so intentional and deliberate. I have watched and held on to so many moments, so many days. The memories that flood my mind are what bring such an intense smile to my face. When I look back at our pictures, our moments of us, I cannot help but feel this rush of joy. Your life, these memories, they have been such a gift.
When I first laid my eyes on what I was gifted, I knew in my soul this is exactly what I was always meant to do, love on you.

Our first year together was a year like no other. Only filled with love and intention. Only filled with a heart so full and warm. It quickly became our little world, you quickly became a significant part of mine. I watched you turn into a person in 12 months. You went from a bundle to someone I could make smile. You went from a gentle warm snuggle to someone I could make laugh, someone who made me laugh. You went from not being able to lift your head to crawling, standing, and talking. Your first words were so precious. You loved the people in your world and were cautious with the rest.
When I spoke to you, I would get close, as if to whisper. I would soak you all in, your smell, your warmth, your smile, my smile staring back at me.

Watching you grow into who you are, who you will one day be, but who you always were, has been the greatest privilege of my life. The most precious gift. I get this incredible front-row seat. And I thank you for it littles. I thank you for allowing me to still be involved for as long as you need. I thank you for realizing that we are always here, even when you do not need us. I realize that we will not always have this front-row seat. I realize how limited our time is, but for this very moment in time, I am gifted with you.
When you are gifted something so precious, you want to make sure you take very good care of it, and I tried very hard to take good care. However, you do not want it to feel fragile and breakable. You want to make sure the gift is fully realized, and I tried very hard to make sure you knew your potential.

You have filled my home with joy.
You have given me a second childhood, you gifted me childhood and I got to work on protecting your little.
I do not shelter you, but I do protect my gift.
I do not keep you from growing up, but I do ask you to walk slowly.
No is not my favorite word, but you know our boundaries.
I know my gift is so delicate and fragile, but also built with such incredible force and strength.
The gift has such warmth. It created warmth in my home.
It was exactly what my home needed. Warmth and joy and mess and craze. My home was missing you and I didn't even know it. My home was too quiet and I didn't even realize it. My home, my life, my heart, it needed the gift of you.

The little in my life is a gift. Christmas mornings, traditions, ice cream for dinner, Cape summers, beaches, toys, Legos, and puzzles. Balls and games. Music and dance parties. Friday night pizza and movies. Binge-watching shows. Reading dates and snuggles on top of snuggles. Hand holding everywhere and all of the time. Puppy kisses and walks. Walks on top of walks on top of walks. Pictures, all of the pictures. Waffles and pancakes. The weekend mornings that are slow. The nights that are filled with whispers of love in your dreams. My gift, you have been my gift.
And so I thank you for this time, this little window of time. I want to thank you for my gift. The one I unwrapped so many years ago. The one that had his eyes, my smile. His joy, my serious. His newness, my old soul. His love, my love, together, we unwrapped a gift.

The summer of 2022 started with a significant loss. All of us lost my dad. After 13 really hard months, he was no longer with us. It's an adjustment we are all making and dealing with.
The loss was immediately met with the love and support of family and friends. It was a beautiful reminder of how much life goes on. How hard people love. How much they want to be there and want to love and support you.

The summer of 2022's middle was a celebration of a wonderful wedding. A wedding that was filled with warmth. Simple love. A couple that just wanted to share this moment of commitment with their family. A couple that is so amazing, so caring, so ready for a lifetime of love. I got to watch these two share moments so tender and loving, that you couldn't help but feel filled with joy. They are joy.

The summer of 2022 ended with a continuation of years and years of tradition with a trip to the Cape. The best week of the entire year. A week of summer. Beaches, eating, coffee, drinking, laughing, watching TV, runs by the ocean, puppies so tired they are falling asleep anywhere, just a week of us. One more amazing week of joy and the definition of childhood.

If I am being honest, the summer of 2022 had this quiet linger of sadness that grew louder as we rolled into fall. I don't know why. I can't explain it. The sadness I felt for my dad brought me such comfort and love that I don't think that's the only reason why. I'm not sure if the bustling of the house was too much at the end. I'm not sure if it's because we didn't do a lot of the things I had hoped for. I'm not sure if it's because my littles are getting bigger and therefore growing up right in front of me. But, there is something lingering in the shadows that I cannot ignore.

If I'm being honest, the summer of 2022 also had these incredible bursts of love and joy to it. Just like I needed. And the moments of amazing were just that, amazing. Every time I felt a heaviness on my chest, I would be bombarded with love. Every time I felt this feeling of loneliness and a pull, I would be brought back to the reality of care and comfort.

So, we were able to see family and friends. We were able to connect with parts of my life and people in my life that I have missed so much. We were able to swim and enjoy our backyard. We were able to host. We were able to go. We traveled. We swam. We ate. We did fancy track days. We brought people back into our home and hearts.

Summer of 2022, from beginning to end, you were a reminder of love, family, friendships, care, and comfort.

There is something so intimate about knowing someone you love.
A deep knowing, really understanding, and an unmistakable dance.
There is something so knowing about love.

I know by how you are breathing if you've had a good or bad day.
I know by a look what your reaction will be.
I know how you take your coffee, what makes you snore, and how you like to sleep.

I know how you like to arrive somewhere early.
I know why you have that scar on your head.
I know how much you love the taste of beer.

I know there is excitement and pride in planning trips.
I know you have to leave the house often, and you cannot hang out all day.
I know how much you love to take care of the yard and lawn.
I know you could spend all summer out there.
I know that you adore a free t-shirt and hate how I fold your laundry.
I know you despise it when I wear your socks.

I know how you don't want Pearl to sleep in our room, but are happy to find her napping with me.
I know how much you hate to work out and what a big deal it is that you found something that works.
I know how much you've had to drink by how talkative you get.
I know how much you love a project, but also need breaks.

I know how much you loved my dad, truly respected the man.
I know how sad you were when he left us.
I know that Sundays mean football in the fall - I know how excited you get by it.
I know how much you love your teams.

I know that there are things you count on me for, and I know you know I do the same.
I know there is a spot on your chest that always smells like soap.
I know you will always play with the kids.
I know you don't love a board game but you put up with it for me.
I know you don't love my traditions, but you allow them to be a priority in our house.
I know how important family is to you.
I know how traditional you are and I now know how much comfort that brings me.

I know some of your favorite meals.
I know how much you love my mom's cooking.
I know how much you love your back being scratched at night.
I know how much you love your babies.
I know how much you love our life.

There is something so intimate about knowing someone you love.
A deep knowing, really understanding, and an unmistakable dance.
There is something so knowing about love.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on root.

Go.

There is something I have worked on giving you, and that's roots.
Roots in this home, roots in our family dance, roots in how we flow through this life.
Roots to come back to, roots to feel safe in, roots that feel like us.
Roots that provide comfort, roots that provide care, roots that provide ease.
Roots that you know deeply, roots that you recognize, roots that feel right to us.

I fully realize that one day, you need to plant yourself somewhere else.
I know you need to go and be.
But I will be right here when you need to feel reminded of how simple it can be to just come home.
I will water your dried and tired roots, because you water mine now.
I will feed you and give you the air you need to breathe again because you fill my lungs full.

I never realized until I met you how important this life full of flowers would be to me.
I never realized how much I needed this traditional life and how full I would be from it.
I never realized how mothering you needed to be a part of my story and part of my purpose.
I never realized how much I needed to be rooted in our home, our family, our love and grace.

I love you my littles, I will protect your roots until you are ready to take care of your own wonderful pot of soil.

Stop.