Whatever it Takes

Just yesterday, we returned from a week-long vacation celebrating the Fourth of July holiday with family at the Outer Banks in North Carolina. One big beach house with 11 adults and 5 kids and a whole lot of sand, sun and fun! The boys had a blast playing with their cousins, (three of my nieces) spending quality time with grandparents, and discovering the beauty of the beaches I grew up going to every summer.

We go through great lengths to share our traditions with our kids, trying to recreate the best of our own childhood experiences. Some of my favorite memories are of the beach, spending time with family members while collecting seashells or catching waves. Every 4th of July I get a little homesick thinking about summers back on the East Coast. Arizona has fireworks, but they’re just not the same in 110 degrees.

It took six months of planning and 2-thousand miles of traveling, but this trip allowed me to share those memories with my own kids and create new ones. Here we all are on the steps of the beach house, appropriately named- “Whatever it Takes.”

The Difference Between Have To and Get To

In discussing an upcoming trip, my four-year-old said something that made me realize the true wisdom and perspective that can be found within our conversations with children.

We were eating lunch and he asked if we were taking a plane to the beach and I said yes. His response: “Yay! I get to go to the airport and wait and watch the planes…”

He “gets to” wait. I envisioned all of my recent trips to the airport. The rolling eyes while taking items out for security, the glances at watches while sitting at the gate, the heads sloped down into mobile devices, and all of the people who just want to get where they’re going. My son looks forward to the journey.

There’s a big difference between those two phrases. “Get to” and “have to.”

I got to thinking about all of the times I’ve said I “have to” do something and what a difference it would make if I had just changed that one little word. “I get to work today.” “I get to go grocery shopping.” “I get to tend to the garden.”

The other night my son asked if he could help daddy with the dishes. He pulled up his stool and happily scrubbed and rinsed with dad, enjoying the water, the time spent together, and seeing the results of his hard work. He got to do the dishes, and he turned something my husband had to do, into something my husband “got to” do too.

If only all of us grown-ups thought of our “have-to’s” as “get-to’s.” I think we’d all be as content as a little boy waiting at the airport, eyes wide open, watching the planes.

Finding a Voice

Baby Bro is growing and developing more every day. He’s no longer a snuggly, babbling baby, but a wiggly, chatty toddler with a new favorite word: no.

Our laid-back little guy has finally found his voice, and it’s the cutest little voice anyone’s ever heard. Even when he’s saying “no” as I ask if he’s ready to take a nap, or as I tell him it’s time to go inside, I can’t help but smile.

I’m always fascinated by the way we learn language. Maybe it’s because of my profession but communication is one of my favorite skills to watch as it goes from different cries to different noises and hand signals and now words. It’s clear he understands complex sentences and answers questions. If I mention the park or swimming in conversation he runs to his room, grabs his shoes and sits down in front of me as if to say, “let’s go mom!” If I ask him to help my with the laundry or sweep, he toddles right over to grab a duster or a sock and put it away. I don’t mind that chores take twice as long with a toddler’s “help.” Ten years from now I know I’ll be begging him to put away a sock.

He waves and says “bye bye,” he says “night night” to his brother before bed, he points to dogs, airplanes, trucks and birds, announcing them all by name.

He’s becoming a parrot, making efforts to repeat everything we say and while most efforts are basically inaudible, he succeeds in repeating choice phrases on the first try, like “dang it.” Yes, I’ve cleaned up my language quite a bit since the first child.

Toddlerhood is full of ups and downs and tantrums and messes, but it’s one of my favorite stages. I love seeing him look me in the eye and smile when I ask him a question, processing what I say as he pauses to answer in his staccato little voice- “no.”

The Difference a Decade Makes

A couple weeks ago I turned 33. It’s amazing what can change in a decade. Here’s photo evidence- me on my 23rd birthday, and me on my 33rd:

What a difference a decade can make. Here I was, balloon-hatting it up in a Margaritaville in Panama City, Florida with my friends and then-boyfriend, some guy I’d met recently named Drew.

And ten years later, with two boys, one of whom ran a fever the night before, causing us to cancel our plans for a day trip celebration. Instead we went to the park he chose and snapped a few nice photos before he went zipping away on a scooter and the younger one went toddling toward some ducks.

Instead of dining and drinking with friends, (which I’d actually done a few nights prior to celebrate) we went to The Cheesecake Factory and got dessert to-go after the boys got too restless to stay in their seats.

Instead of staying out until two in the morning dancing and walking on the beach, I sat down on the sofa at 8:30pm. “What do you want to do?” Drew asked. I replied, “I want to sit on this couch. I want to watch tv. And eat a cheesecake.” And I did. It. Was. Glorious.

That 23-year-old girl might be a little skinnier and have more color in her face and fewer wrinkles by her eyes, but she has no idea what she’s doing. She barely knows who she is. She goes out with friends, she can hold her liquor, and has a love-hate relationship with her job. She doesn’t know that her boyfriend will become her husband. She doesn’t know the work she’s doing will bring her to Arizona to start a phase of life she’d always dreamed of.

This 33-year-old might not be the stereotype of “young and hip.” But if you want to chill on a sofa and eat some cheesecake, I’m always game. And I’ll even leave you most of the bottle of wine.

Meanwhile, this little guy is 15 months old today! He likes splashing in the water, playing with his big bro, eating, dancing, chatting, and laughing.

He dislikes diaper changes and staying still.

Toddlers Vs. Velociraptors

In just one month, Baby Bro went from taking a couple steps to walking laps around the house. It actually happened in just one evening. Now, I know how the scientists felt in Jurassic Park upon realizing they’d created something magnificent, capable of learning and developing, but at the same time capable of destroying an entire house in a matter of seconds. I know I’ve compared toddlers to dogs before, but you’d be surprised at how much they also have in common with some of history’s most predatory species.

The night Baby Bro gave up crawling, you could see something in him just clicked. He stood up, walked all around the kitchen and then to the hallways and back, smiling and cooing while Drew and I watched in disbelief. It happened so suddenly, and there was no looking back. As soon as the moment of pride and joy had passed, my mind darted to every sharp corner, every breakable decoration within a toddler’s reach, and of course- doorknobs. One of the most terrifying scenes in the famous film happens when the velociraptor learns how to open doors, the handle slowly turns as the children crouch behind a counter cowering with fear. It’s a game-changing skill, doorknobs. It means I have to remember the top latch on the front and garage doors every single day. The front door has been a habit since Big Bro learned this skill, but the garage door- let’s just say it’s a good thing the handle tends to stick.

In addition to their risk of escape, velociraptors and toddlers can move very quickly in short bursts. For example, if Baby Bro gets hold of a piece of trash at the park and senses my intention to take it from him, he’s already 20 feet away and shoving it in his mouth while laughing as if to say “catch me mom!” I look at him and think, “where was this coordination when I was trying to change your diaper this morning?”

Toddlers and velociraptors are also pack animals. They’re at their most destructive when they have help. This is where Big Bro comes in. If I so much as put a load of laundry into the washing machine while they’re in the playroom together I can guarantee I’m walking back into tornado alley. At the moment my house is rigged with traps of legos, blocks and hot wheels cars. Just minutes ago I tripped over a pile of childrens’ musical instruments while trying to put Baby Bro to sleep. Needless to say, it took a little longer than usual.

Lastly, the velociraptor battle cry. It’s a known fact that until preschool, toddlers are equipped with the same set of vocal chords as the prehistoric carnivore, projecting a high-pitched screeching noise that can penetrate the thickest walls and the quietest churches.

But while he may be loud, destructive, quick and sneaky, he’s also sweet and snuggly and far more adorable than any dinosaur. He does bite, but we’re working on that.

On the Move

Just days after his first birthday, Baby Bro stood up in the front yard one evening, and walked about five steps into my arms. We were all there to witness his first steps and yet even with two professional videographers as parents, neither of us had a camera in hand.

Since then, he has taken a few steps a day on his own, and the rest of the time he holds my hand as we wander aimlessly, stepping up and down the doorstep repeatedly or pacing over the stones in the backyard, or following his brother around the house. He could do it on his own be he prefers my hand to hold for now. I know “now” is so short I don’t mind at all.

Meanwhile, Big Bro is enjoying the scooter he got for his birthday, and the bike he got for Christmas. Recently at the neighborhood park, one of his friends let him try out a bicycle that had no training wheels. Big Bro hopped on and rode down the grassy hill like a pro. The two friends took turns riding down the hill over and over, getting faster and farther each time.

Watching the boys gain the courage to let go- whether it’s a hand or a set of wheels- are some of the best moments I’ve had as a mom. I can’t wait to see them on the move even more as Baby Bro’s walk turns into a run, and Big Bro learns to start off and go on his own bike. But for now, the short now, I’m happy to hold on.

One and Four

Three days, two birthdays, and I have a four year old and a one year old.

We celebrated Big Bro (formerly Baby B) with a Cars-themed party at a local park, complete with scooters and bikes and trails painted like tiny roads. B got a new scooter and loved riding it around with his friends.

I can’t get over how much he’s grown, learned and changed in the past year. He started preschool and can write his name and he’s starting to read. He has taken on the role of older brother with confidence and kindness. He’s social, smart, sweet, silly and spunky. He’s got the energy of a chihuahua after 12 cups of coffee. He’s full of fun and surprises. He’s charismatic and curious. He made me a mom and it’s an honor I’m thankful for every day.
Baby Bro is starting to show us his personality as well. Now one year old, he can hold his own when it comes to his big bro and their toys. He isn’t afraid to express his opinions with a point and yell or ask for “dada” or wave goodbye. He is cruising around, gaining the confidence he’ll need to walk. He’s got a sense of humor and loves to be chased. I can’t get enough of his sweet kisses and hugs. He loves to read books, play, and eat whatever’s on my plate. He completes our family of four, and made my heart grow beyond what I’d thought possible.

It’s been the shortest four years of my life, but time flies when you’re having fun.

Proceed with Caution

This Christmas, we got Big Bro his first two-wheeler. A “pedal bike” as he calls it. We were so excited to give it to him knowing how thrilled he’d be to have a Lightning McQueen bike, bright red with a carrying case for hot wheels cars attached to the handle bars. Christmas morning after his initial reaction he immediately started inspecting it. When he saw the case he exclaimed “I can take my cars to the park!”

Given that he’d more than mastered his pedal-less balance bike, I just knew he’d be great at riding this one right away. We didn’t even bother with training wheels. Why would we? I know my own son’s potential and with all his confidence and energy, teaching him would be a breeze.

A couple days later, we set out to the park to learn to ride in the safety of the grass. A hesitant Big Bro told me he didn’t want to practice. A persistent mommy took him anyway, and sat down for about 10 minutes waiting until he was ready to try getting on. He got on, but didn’t sit down. Didn’t even let me push. Not even while holding on.

I was so frustrated I could barely speak. Here I was, so excited for him and confident for him and courageous for him, but in this moment he exhibited none of those traits for himself. We headed home, walking the bike the whole way. I took the dog for a walk to clear my frustration.

That’s when I started to think back about his balance bike. He’d waited weeks before slowly and cautiously getting on and making his way around the driveway. It even took time for him to warm up to his tricycle before that. He hasn’t climbed to the second story of the playground or tried the big tire swing. At the beach he played on the shore without me having to worry about him getting in too deep. What made me think he’d be ready to dive right in?

I think as parents we sometimes tend to project ourselves onto our children, especially when we see so much of ourselves in them. But they’re their own people with their own personalities.

We put the training wheels on the bike and Big Bro started out slowly. By the end of the day we had to drag him inside when it got dark. He absolutely loves it.

Eventually we’ll take the training wheels off. When he’s ready.

In just one month, my cautious little guy will be four years old, and his Baby Bro will be- one!

At 11 months old, Baby Bro likes giggling, playing with his kuya, cruising, singing, drumming, dancing, nodding yes and no (mostly no) and hiding things in his laundry hamper.

He dislikes getting dressed, diaper changes, and teething.

Sometimes, This is What Being a Parent Means

This month was eventful to say the least. Thanksgiving and the kickoff of the holiday season brought warm memories, family visits and cheer, but a death in the family and a family member’s medical emergency also brought a range of emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum. It brought moments that gave me renewed appreciation for my parents, my in-laws, and parents everywhere, not only for the support and love they provide but for the strength it takes to make a child’s world safe when the real world is wrought with danger. It’s the stuff they don’t teach. The stuff they don’t prepare you for. The stuff that makes you clench your teeth, swallow your tears, roll up your sleeves, or stay awake at night just to ensure everyone but yourself is taken care of. That’s what being a parent is sometimes.

Being a parent sometimes means sympathetically nodding while a friend tells you about their late night, their low energy, their need for coffee, while trying to remember the last time you got more than four hours of consecutive sleep and realizing it was more than a year ago.

Being a parent sometimes means putting your sunglasses on and smiling so your kids don’t know your eyes are filling up with tears.

Being a parent sometimes means going without makeup for days because getting everyone else ready in the morning is your first priority.

Being a parent doesn’t stop at 18. It sometimes means babysitting at the drop of a hat to get your own grown-up child out of a jam, or even grabbing a bucket for her to yarf in during a bout of food poisoning, even though she’s 32 years old. (thanks dad)

Being a parent means calling every day just to see how that 32-year-old is doing. (thanks mom)

Being a parent sometimes means worrying about people other than yourself, when you are the one sitting in a hospital bed.

Being a parent sometimes means untangling a logistical nightmare, countless phone calls, research, and developing contingency plans while still making time for Christmas crafts, shopping, lists, cooking, and generally sprinkling fairy dust all over the house when no one is looking.

It’s kissing boo-boos and softening the world. It’s painting rainbows and everything rose. It’s hoping that they stay that way as long as possible- hopeful, honest, innocent, and happy. To show them no sadness, to hide them from harm.

It’s hugging a sobbing three-year-old and telling him everything is o.k. And we are so thankful that it is.

This month, I was reminded of just how strong my husband is. He is a rock. For his family, for himself, and for our children. In this season for giving thanks, I am thankful for him.

Baby Bro spent his last morning as a nine-month-old in the Emergency Room with a stomach bug that I’d feared was something worse. I sat there holding my baby wrapped in my hoodie because it was the only article of clothing in our possession not covered in vomit. It was 39 degrees outside and I was wearing a tank top and leggings with puke on them, waiting for the doctor to take an x-ray to make sure Baby Bro hadn’t swallowed anything dangerous. I was scared, smelly and cold but I didn’t care about anything other than making my baby feel better as quickly as possible. I thought to myself, “sometimes, this is what being a parent means.”

We are looking forward to turning a page this month and having a fun and happy Christmas season. Or in the very least, a month with less yarf.

At ten months old, Baby Bro is starting to form some really strong opinions!

He likes: walking while holding our hands, crawling, clapping, babbling, pointing, eating finger foods (purees are so last month) kicking stuff while walking, wrestling with his brother, dancing, parades, pianos, and so much more.

He dislikes: 24-hour stomach bugs, diaper changes, and staying still.

Vacation! With Kids

I’m not sure when or where this agreement was made, or who was in charge of all of the children in the world when it happened, but at some point they decided that the only opportune time to get sick would be days before a vacation.

Three days before leaving for a friend’s wedding in Florida with the whole family, I was standing in the pediatrician’s office with Big Bro after his fever hit 104.7. It’s the second time he’s had a fever above 103. It’s the second time he’s had a fever above 103 the day before a planned vacation. It’s the second time that fever was his only symptom of sickness, and it disappeared just as unexpectedly as it started. Thank goodness!

With Big Bro’s fever gone one day into our Florida vacation, we were free to have a great time with both boys seeing family and friends!

We started out in Jacksonville spending time with Big Bro’s godfather and family, and visiting with cousins:

Then we drove down to St Pete Beach for the wedding festivities:

Grandmama and Buelo even drove down to meet us and hang out at the beach!

Of course, travelling with an Arizona 3-year-old also means I get to field some new questions about the subtle differences he noticed about life outside the desert. Those questions included the following:

Why is it raining?

Why is it windy?

When will the wind stop?

Why is it so cold?

Luckily, from my days filling in for our chief meteorologist during my career as a news reporter, I had enough weather knowledge to answer most of those. Not sure if he fully grasped the concepts of air currents and coastal convergence though.

Overall, both boys had a wonderful time! Totally worth the fact that two weeks later we’re still trying to bet Baby Bro’s sleep schedule back on track. At nine months, he likes: clapping, army crawling, standing up and cruising, eating, playing with his brother, being outdoors, and so much more!

He dislikes: being on his back, and sleeping through the night.