My People

Some of you remember back in January when my back locked up on me and I was unable to pick up my baby let alone move. Well, out of the blue last night, it started happening again. I woke up this morning barely able to move, with two littles to take care of. And while Lu is helpful! she can't very well pick her 26 pound baby brother up. As I slowly made my way upstairs to get Declan, I had a sudden craving for a Kicker from Dutch Bros. For some crazy reason I thought it would make me feel better.

I made it down the stairs with the baby, praying every step of the way that my back wouldn't seize up. I got the kids breakfast and slowly started the process of making my coffee. Irish cream, half and half, espresso... I sat down. Sort of. It actually felt better to stand. I sipped my coffee and despite my hopes, it didn't make me feel any better. 

How was I going to make it through the day? Tony's at work and I couldn't even take the baby upstairs for the nap he so desperately needed. But it had to be done. I opened the baby gate and followed behind Declan as he crawled up the stairs. I stood by the crib for a good five minutes waiting for him to get close enough to snatch him and lay him down. Success. So what if he's going to sleep with a pan from the play kitchen and banging it on the bars of the crib? He was in bed.

After making it back down the stairs, after about ten minutes of trying to figure out how I was going to make it through the day, Tony walked through the door. My savior. That's when the tough mom facade went out the window and the real pain set in. He helped me to the bed and here I lay, teary eyed, realizing why my coffee drink didn't make me feel better. 

You see, it wasn't the drink. It was the hands that brought it to me last January when my back gave out on me. It's my people. My people that gathered around my family and lifted us up with meals, and coffee and true love. You know you are. And today, know that you are missed, not just for the coffee you brought, or the meals you prepared, but you. You are missed, I didn't know how truly blessed I was with your friendships until I was gone.

My Bucket is 8.

There's nothing in this world to make you feel old like your child's birthday. Am I right? Especially when you look at them and can barely remember what they looked like as a baby. Today marks the day I became a mother 8 short years ago. Who knew what a sweet boy that not so little ten pound, four ounce, screaming-all-the-time-baby would grow up to be?

While he came into this world with an abnormally large body, a squished neck on one side, bulging on the other, with no chin, and the loudest scream you can imagine... he has become the most adorable, kindest, giving, think outside of the box, kid. And I am proud to call him my son.

In my mind, he stopped aging at 6. But when we have our heart to heart chats, his reasoning and ability to fathom concepts is well beyond his 8 years. We went for a walk yesterday and he stopped at every blown over garbage can and picked them up for our neighbors. After wrestling with a little boy in the neighborhood yesterday, you could see the look of devastation on his face when the boy accidentally got hurt. He didn't even have to be asked to apologize as he rushed to see if the child was okay. Earlier, Declan was trying to climb the stairs to the slide and Spencer just scooped him up, carried him up the play structure and took him down the slide without even being asked. I am so proud of the kind, helpful, giant hearted kid he is and the man that I know he will grow up to be. He's going to make big waves in this world. Big waves.

An hour old:

8 years later: