Ughhh… Monday. And day number eleventy billion 9? 10? 14? (I’ve lost count) without any sight of the sun. It is getting depressing all up in here, folks.
Add to that the fact that we just went through the time change? Miserable. I’m ready to hunt down and kill the person who invented Daylight Savings Time. But I’m sure he’s long gone. Andplusalso, I suppose it’s actually Standard Time that I take issue with, since I would much rather have it be dark in the morning and still light when I get out of work at night. So maybe I should actually kiss the person who invented Daylight Savings Time, and insist that he fight the good fight to take over the months of November through March, too.
But I digress. About the hunting/killing/kissing part, anyway.
Nora’s sleep—or rather, her wake-up time—has been jacked up lately. Even before Daylight Savings Time ended. A little more than a week ago, on a Saturday, she woke up at 5:45 a.m. out of the blue and things just haven’t been the same since. At first I thought for sure it was some kind of fluke—this kid has pretty much never woken up before 7 a.m. in her entire life. The next day, she rebounded and slept until nearly 7:00 a.m., but then last week she was still messed up. We finally got her back to sleeping until around 7:00 a.m. at the end of last week, and then we set the clocks back and she was up at 6:00 a.m. on Sunday.
FUN TIMES, I assure you. Actually, I know there are many moms out there who can relate.
I’m just not sure what the cause of this has been. She doesn’t just quietly lay in bed once she’s up, either. She literally yells “MAMA!! MAMA! MAMAAAAAA! MAMA!” over and over again for as long as it takes. (Believe me. Girlfriend has gone 45+ minutes with this.) I’ve checked on the video monitor and she’s clearly fine, and we don’t want to encourage this nonsense, so we try to keep her in there until it’s actually time to get up. So I turn off the monitor for a little peace and quiet but I can still hear the “MAMA!! MAMA!!” calls clear as day, sailing easily through two closed doors and a hallway.
What gives? I know the time change is certainly to blame for some of it, but we’re talking about a kid who we literally had to WAKE UP at 7:30 on a daily basis up until a few weeks ago. And she was NOT happy about that, either.
Naps are the same (consistently inconsistent) at daycare. Some days she takes one, some days she doesn’t. At home on the weekends, she’s been napping wonderfully still. She sleeps through the night fine. She’s had some congestion but she seems to be at the end of it now. And she still seems ready for bed and goes to sleep pretty easily at 7-7:30 p.m.
So is it just one of those phases? How do you know when you’re supposed to make adjustments to their sleep schedules? What are the signs? And why must she always insist on yelling for Mama instead of Dada? :)
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I am participating in NaBloPoMo. If you’d like to join me (and a TON of others), you can click here to sign up (today is the last day to do so). Today’s writing prompt was “What are your thoughts about tomorrow’s election in the United States?” but tomorrow’s prompt is also election related, and I just couldn’t bear to talk about it that much. So, I’m freestylin’ it today. :) Plus, if you really want to hear my thoughts on the election, I already talked about it here.
A few weeks before Nora’s second birthday, I started to become overwhelmed with how quickly she was growing and changing. Of course, she’s been on a fast track to adulthood since the moment she was born, but this was different—she was literally learning, doing, and saying new things ALL.THE.TIME. I started experiencing those knock-you-over-amazing moments, as she was consistently blowing me away. And I felt like those moments were so fleeting, that I could never possibly remember them.
It made me horribly sad to think about how much I would forget.
Years ago, when my aunt was playing a large role in raising her young granddaughter, I was sitting next to her on a plane as we were all flying down to Disney World. She showed me a notebook she was keeping, just full of random sentences and quotations from her not-even-2-year-old granddaughter. Funny and amazing things she would say, all written down and documented for the future. Although I was only 15 at the time, I took note of that somewhere deep within my brain, because when I started thinking about what I could be doing to better remember snippets of Nora’s daily life and growth, this was the first thing that came to mind.
I found a little notebook at Target and committed to writing something in it every day. I’ll admit that I have not been 100% successful with it. There are times I forget to capture something, but I’ve still been managing to write down something 4-5 times a week. And I have been bad about writing things directly in the notebook, too—I have been taking little notes on my iPhone and then I sit down every once in a while and transfer everything over into the notebook, expanding the explanation/story as needed from my memory.
It’s full of my chicken scratch handwriting. But it’s just a few sentences, a short paragraph for each day. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes.
Still, it isn’t foolproof, and it isn’t without effort… but I am so glad to be doing this. Because seriously, some of the stuff that I’ve written in here over the last couple of months? I’ve already forgotten it. When I read these pages years from now, I will be able to recount moments—some of the tiniest snippets in time—that will have long since slipped away.
And that, my friends, is completely priceless. Not only for myself, but for Nora.
What do you do to preserve your everyday memories?
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I am participating in NaBloPoMo. In other words, I have committed to blogging every day during the month of November. I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’m going to try! If you’d like to join me (and a TON of others), you can click here to sign up (you only have until Monday 11/5 to do so).
Last weekend, we were getting ready to host a playdate at our house with one of our neighbors. As I was getting myself ready, I decided I was going to go barefoot, and when I looked down at my toes I discovered they were TRASHED. Seriously, probably hadn’t painted them in 6+ weeks. Of course, we were expecting our company in like 20 minutes, so I whipped out a bottle of nail polish and set to rectify the situation.
In the meantime, Nora was hanging out with me in the bathroom, and she took IMMEDIATE interest in what I was doing. She watched for a moment, then started pulling random objects out of my makeup drawer—lip gloss, sample size of lotion, my mascara, etc.—and bent down to “apply” these things to her toes.
I smiled, thought for a moment, then cheerfully asked her, “Nora: Do you want your toes painted like Mommy’s?”
“Yessss!” she answered, a huge smile spread across her face.
And so I plopped her up on the toilet seat and started painting her toes a deep red, just like Mommy’s. As soon as the color hit the first toenail, she giggled with glee. And continued with each subsequent nail. She was SMITTEN.
And soooo proud of them once they were done. Before they were even dry, I noticed her eying her fingernails. And then she held up a hand to me, fingers straightened, and although she didn’t have the words to say so, I knew she was asking, “Now my fingers?”
We were literally minutes away from expecting someone at the door, so I told her not now, but I promised to do them later. Thankfully, she has started to understand these types of bargains (she can be REASONED with!! HALLELUJAH!!), so she said, “‘Kay.”
She went off to show Daddy her toes. He thought they were adorable, of course, but immediately scolded me for not letting him know I was doing it because he would’ve taken photos! (Such a good daddy.)
After our playdate was over and a nap was had, Nora actually “asked” about her fingers AGAIN, so I made good on my promise and set her up for a manicure. And this time, Michael was right there to document it.
The fingers were way, WAY harder than the toes, by the way. She kept trying to bend her fingers, and had a harder time keeping her hands still. I managed to do an OK job, but definitely had to use the Q-tip dipped in nail polish remover trick to tidy things up at the end.
Look at her watching. She kills me. Love her so much.
In the week since, the polish on most of her nails has chipped off. This morning, she was looking at them while I was changing her diaper and she held them up to me again as if to say, “Mom. Can you redo my nails?”
I’ve created a monster. But damn she’s cute.
And I’ll admit: I am so loving this. My philosophy with this kind of stuff—painted nails, pierced ears, etc.—has always been that I would only ever do it if she asked. I can’t believe how much fun I’m having now that she actually did. :)
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I am participating in NaBloPoMo. In other words, I have committed to blogging every day during the month of November. I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’m going to try! If you’d like to join me (and a TON of others), you can click here to sign up (you only have until Monday 11/5 to do so).
When I was in high school and college, I was convinced that when I was finished—when I was out on my own and a real adult—I would be MOVING AWAY. Maybe to NYC for adventure. Maybe to Washington, D.C. for the big city atmosphere, but milder weather. I wasn’t really sure, but I had aspirations to live elsewhere.
But by the time I graduated, I had a boyfriend (Michael!) whom I wasn’t interested in ditching. And well, he wasn’t interested in moving. To top it all off, I knew I had a job offer coming from a company I had interned with the summer before. The dreams of moving were set aside to take the practical route in life. I guess you could say it was safe.
A year later, Michael and I bought a condo, and thus put down roots just 10-15 minutes from where we both grew up (separately. We were in different school districts and never met until sophomore year of college).
I sometimes wonder what my life would look like if I had picked up and moved like I had planned. I had originally wanted to go out of state for college, but found it to be cost-prohibitive. A state school offered me a ton of scholarship money and good financial aid, and I made the sensible decision to go there and emerge from four years of college with ~$15k of debt instead of going to the University of Delaware and coming out with ~$80k. Now THAT is a decision that I have never second guessed. In fact, I bow down at the feet of my 17-year-old self and thank her for that one, because holy shit, I cannot imagine.
Anyway, a few years into our adult lives, and Michael and I got comfortable. And we were talking about getting married and having kids, and… our home was here. Our families were here. Why would we pick up and start a new life for no reason? Why would we leave everyone? We never really seriously considered it.
Now that we have Nora and a house, I think we’re here for the long haul. Here’s the thing: For the most part, we really love where we live. Sure, the winters are a little too long, but we have four distinct seasons, which is something we both absolutely love about the Northeast. And we are close with our families, whom we get to see on a regular basis. We have good jobs, and friends.
(Source: www.svpply.com)
If I could pick all of that up—if I could move everyone—and take it with me, I might consider it. I still have dreams of exploring different places, but I don’t know if it would be through a move, or just a LOT of travel. It depends what the future holds. When we’re retired and our children are grown, where will they be? If they choose to stay here like we did, it will be difficult to ever leave. If they scatter elsewhere, then we might be more inclined to live somewhere else ourselves.
As for where I would ultimately want to live? I don’t know that I’ve seen enough of the world to really make that decision. And out of the places I’ve seen, it is still really difficult to choose. We’ve seen so many awesome places, and I think I always have a little inkling of the “I could totally live here” feeling wherever we go.
Well, except for Las Vegas. I could never live there. :)
I read a Wall Street Journal article recently, authored by a retiree who has no home, but by choice. She and her husband sold their house and most of their belongings, and they now spend their lives living in different countries, several weeks at a time. Two months in Paris, two months in London, with a few weeks in Argentina or Mexico or Turkey or the good ol’ U.S.A. They hop around, and I can’t help but think how fun that would be… but also wonder if I could ever do such a thing. When we travel, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it—but there always comes a point when I feel like, “OK, enough, I’m ready to go home.” Maybe it’s different if you don’t feel pressure to get out and DO things everyday, but it’s still hard to imagine a life where you don’t have a real home to return to.
Alternately, I work with someone whose in-laws are retired and live aboard The World. Have you ever heard of this before? It’s basically a cruise ship full of condos (apartments? whatever) that you buy. That’s right, you can own property aboard this floating community. You have a home, but your home sails all around the world. Looking at their routes over the last few years is pretty incredible. Can you imagine such a life, imagine what all you would see in just a couple of years? That sounds like a pretty sweet deal.
I don’t know what the future holds, and where we will end up. All I know is that I’m pretty content with where we are right now. I have everything I need.
What about you? Have you stuck close to home, or did you venture off to somewhere altogether different? If you could live anywhere, and money was no object, where would you choose?
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I am participating in NaBloPoMo. In other words, I have committed to blogging every day during the month of November. I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed, but I’m going to try! If you’d like to join me (and a TON of others), you can click here to sign up (you only have until 11/5 to do so). Today’s writing prompt was, “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”
Shortly after Nora was born, I came across this quote, and I could hardly bear to read it.
Hormones, you see. Hormones, combined with the incredibly raw feeling of the greatest love I have ever felt in my entire life.
Those first few weeks (months?) were so incredibly hard. Not because I was trying to adjust to life with a new baby (even though I was), but because I had to get used to living with my heart outside of my body. I had to get used to the constant fear that I could ever lose this little being. It physically hurt. Just because I loved her that much.
Now, I am two years into this parenting thing, and don’t get me wrong—those feelings haven’t gone away—but I somehow learned to function again, despite the love and the fear being there every second of every day. I guess your heart adapts to a new way of life, and mine did.
But there are moments—pretty much every day— that come out of nowhere, when I am taken right back to the incredibly intense emotions of those first few weeks, when Nora and I were just getting to know each other on the outside.
Yesterday, as we trick-or-treated in my office, and then again in our neighborhood, I found myself having those moments. First of all, Nora was dressed like the cutest little bumblebee ever. On top of that, she was beside herself excited, and she actually got the whole trick-or-treating thing. She couldn’t (or wouldn’t) say “Trick or Treat,” but she was all about taking a piece of candy and adding it to her bucket. But even before that, when I first carried her into my office in the afternoon, I expected my crabby-with-no-nap girl to cling to me. To never say a word in front of anyone, since she’s so shy.
Instead, I saw a blossoming toddler run around freely, calling the names of two of her friends—”Nah-wee!” (Natalee!) “Ah-wa!” (Lara!). I watched her run from cubicle to cubicle to select a piece of candy, excitedly identifying the pieces by color. “Eh-yo! Booo! Ett.” (Yellow. Blue. Red.) And she said “Thank you” (sounds more like “eh-you”) to almost everyone. Smiled at them. And basically charmed the socks off of ’em.
I almost didn’t even recognize this girl. I was so proud.
Most days, Nora only allows Michael, Mary, and me to see who she really is. I’ve said to our families before, “I wish you could see how she is when we’re home, just us” because she always acts different—more reserved—with anyone but us.
Yesterday, her “Nora Grace” flag was flying loud and proud. That’s the little girl I know and love. And she shared herself with my family, my coworkers, and our neighbors.
She’s growing up so quickly. But the love I have for her will always feel just like it has from the very beginning. It makes me feel… full. Someday (a LONG time from now), I hope she will understand it—when she holds a baby of her own.
About
I'm Heather. I'm 33 and have been married to Michael for seven years. Together, we have two beautiful little girls we love more than anything, and a miniature dachshund who drives us crazy. I'm a full-time working mom who has very little time for my own "stuff" these days, like home improvement, cooking/baking, cake decorating, and photography. Despite the team not making the playoffs since 1999, I'm STILL a Buffalo Bills fan, which I think speaks to my loyalty AND sense of humor. I can't wait to pick up the pace with travel again some day... you know, when we're done being ruled by tiny fists. Welcome to my blog.
