35 baby........35.

Babe, 

This very flattering picture of us is a great memory.

Downtown Detroit on a blazing hot night in July for a Tiger's game--just us.  I love going to Tiger's games and I love being alone with you..........alone time is a commodity lately.  Within a matter of seconds the sky opened up and drenched that city with rain made for an ark.  And it lasted a long time.  And we ran out of that stadium as fast as we could and splashed through dirty Detroit puddles and huddled in doorways so I could wipe the mascara out of my eyes and laugh hysterically.  You weren't laughing as hard as I was.  When we finally made it back to the car in a muddy parking lot we just looked at each other in that, "What do we do--we can't sit on the seats being this wet," kind of way.  And it was still raining.  And I was wearing a white t-shirt.........plain white.

You took your clothes off right in the middle of the parking lot and got in the car in just your boxers.  I pulled a floor mat out of the back seat and sat on it hoping to save the seat from getting soaked clean through.  And then it started to hail.  And I kept laughing.

And right before we pulled out of the parking lot I made you stop and we shot this picture.

I love memories like this.  Memories that are unplanned, a little ridiculous, that one of us thinks is funnier than the other, and that I'll never forget......ever.  We'll be telling our grand-kids about the night we ran through downtown Detroit in a torrential downpour and couldn't even see where we were running to get back to our car.  And we'll laugh..........and they'll just stare at us.

But they're our memories.  And I'm so thankful I have fifteen years worth of memories with you Chris.  I've known you almost as long as I haven't known you.

I'm looking forward to years and years worth of memories like this one.......that are just ours.......

I love you.  Happy Birthday.

And......for everyone else.......that delightful picture at the top?  That's my "For Real Friday" moment for you this week.  Have a great weekend......I'll be dancing down a yellow brick road at G's birthday party, pink Glinda crown and all.  Pictures Monday!

Three Years.

G, 

Three years ago today Tarah called me about 12:30 in the morning to tell me it was time.  You were coming.  It was four days past your due date and with every day that passed I was both relieved, and ready to burst with anticipation.  Relieved, because it meant I had one more day to prepare to be a mom, whatever that means.  But I wanted to meet you, so bad.......and the anticipation was hard to keep contained.  

Just six short weeks before that phone call we'd learned you were going to be a girl.  I almost jumped across the table and hugged Tarah; I'd only known her for fifteen minutes though.......so I refrained.  Chris said he could feel the electricity charging out of me when Tarah said, "Oh.....and I almost forgot to tell you.....the baby is a girl." 

I didn't need a girl, but I wanted one desperately.  God knew I wanted one.  And He doesn't always give us what we want, because He knows it doesn't always translate to what we need..........but He knew I needed you,  my little girl......to wear those pink shoes.........to show me, again, how amazingly good He is......and how after five years of infertility treatments with no answers........I finally got the best answer; the one that was so worth the wait---you.  

And knowing you now like I do; what you look like, how you act, what gets you excited, what frustrates you, what you're apprehensive about, what you're confident about, and all the in-between things.........I would be remiss if I just chalked it up to luck.........you were created for this family, to be our little girl.  

And today......I wish you a happy third birthday.  According to you.....you're big now.  You woke up this morning and you're big.  Poof--like that.  In fact, you don't even refer to yourself as big-little anymore......just big.   

Happy birthday my big girl!  You're the answer to a million questions, dreams, frustrations, tears, and "I hopes."  Your daddy and I need you like we need air.......and when we look at our favorite pictures from the last three years it's hard to believe we were ever able to breathe so well before we met you, held you, smelled you, felt you, kissed you, or felt your smooth little hand in ours and heard your little voice saying, "Daddy I love you, " and "Mommy......I love you 'ever." 

The first bottle I ever gave you in the hospital.  You were one day old.    You love to hear the story of how we had to squeeze your cheeks to get you to drink.  I've caught you squeezing the cheeks of your babies saying, "Drink baby, drink."

One week old......and you almost fit in one hand.  And you peed on daddy right after this shot was snapped.  And he didn't even care. 

Your first trip to Leeland.  You were four months old and I felt like I was emerging from baby haze.  You were sleeping good......finally.......and smiling and laughing.  Daddy went off to a park while I was shopping, to feed you.  When I finally found you guys I walked up on this and I fell in love with both of you all over again.  

First camping trip to Barakel.  Six months old in a tent......enough said.  But to this day these remain some of my most favorite pictures of you ever. I can smell soy formula when I look at these and I love it. I love it because it smelled like you.  I can feel your cheeks and your feather soft hands; everything.  

Six month pictures.  The first time you ever sat up on your own.  You knew when it was time to look cute for the camera.  

Your Aunt Enna at your first Thanksgiving.  She loves you....she sure does.  When I walk into your room after quiet time and I can't see the carpet because it's covered in toys or when you say things like, "We're going to put up a show," I smile and I think.......'you have some of those great,  Aunt Ena genes in you for sure.  Nature vs. Nurture......it only holds so much water. 

First Christmas.  And really......a baby's first Christmas is as magical as Hallmark ornaments make them out to be.  And at 9 months, you couldn't have had more fun.  I should have known then, as you displayed your paper shredding prowess, that you'd go on to be a master paper cutter......leaving hamster cage shavings all over this house for me to pick up ten times an.......hour.   

Snowed in during the winter of 2010.  And I'm just thankful this wasn't a light pole.  You little cutie. 

First birthday.....a peach party for you little Georgia.  

Your first (coherent) spring and you were walking all over the place.  These little water foot-prints were everywhere and I couldn't help taking pictures of every one I saw.  I'd watch them dry and fade away and be reminded of how fast you were getting, big, big, bigger, and of course at three.....the biggest. 

The children's museum.  A haven on 90 degree days in the summer and a place where I love to watch your innate curiosity and love of learning new things explode.  

That little red mark on your cheek?  From the helmet.  Ah.....the helmet.  Four months of a little sweaty head.....four months of craving one (or two--I cheated......a lot) hour a day with no helmet where I could hold you without it scraping my face, smell your head (even when it was sweaty--I loved it), kiss your whole cheek, and snuggle with you un-hindered.  I hated the helmet.  You, on the other hand, being the always-happy girl that you are, never batted an eye at it.  

Eighteen month pictures........this couldn't be more you.  When I look at this picture in retrospect, before I realized what your personality was going to be exactly, I just laugh.  This was just a little glimpse into what we were in for.......silly, silly, billy you are.......all the time.  

A trip to the pumpkin patch with Gaga and Pop Pop.......you love Pop Pop so much.  I've never seen you sit so still and listen so intently to someone.  He mesmerizes you like no one can.  I love to watch you with him, imagining that that's what it was like for me when I was your age with him.........he's a great guy and he loves you like crazy. 

Halloween.  A zebra.  And you loved this costume--you said it was so cozy. 

This day.  These diapers.  Your face.  Moms always tell you that when your toddler is too quiet they're up to something........you were so proud of yourself and I couldn't get the camera fast enough. 

This picture will be in your wedding slide show.  It's one of my most favorite of the two of us.  I love that your eyes are open and you've got that wild crazy look thing going on that you've mastered. 

You love everything about life.  Even Amazon boxes that contain things you've never heard of like Ant Farms--but without you reading me the directions I never would have known how to put it together. Thank you for knowing.....everything. 

I love catching you serious.  Serious doesn't happen very often with you, because that would mean you couldn't be laughing or smiling.  But serious you is beautiful--and not just because it means things are calm but because it's a little look into your soul that is fleeting.  I love how contemplative your face looks, how you just relax, and how you focus on something so important--it helps me understand what is really important to you.  And I love that. 

This iconic picture from last summer--totally a fluke, totally perfect.  I love you Georgia.  Oh, I love you. 

You. Loving life like no one can. 

I feel like you look magical whenever I see this picture.  You and Gaga.  Today you told me she was your best friend.  I was a little put off--I thought that was my job--but I can be okay with that; she's a good best friend to have. 

Finnicky about dirt you are not......those dirty hands, smudges on your face and licking the salt shaker capture how much you are always in the moment.  

This afternoon with you in the woods was perfect.  It's one of those moments I'll never forget--we'd had a great day, the day was beautiful, and it was easy to just be there.....with you.....and no one else. 

No one else can see it, but I know you're looking up at your daddy with those huge eyes and that is awesome to me. 

You are drawn to arts and crafts like a moth to a flame.  Whenever I can't find you, it's a sure bet you're sitting at your table drawing something, creating something, cutting something, or coloring something.......and heaven forbid we don't save every single one of those masterpieces!

Your hair.  It's amazing.  Everyone wants it.........including me. 

And last night---your last pictures as a two year old.  I laid in bed with you way past your bed-time; reading, taking pictures, tickling, laughing, pretending I was Dorothy and you were Mrs. Gulch (at your request--promise).  I was trying to hold onto every last second of two.  Because today.........it's done.  Two years is over......Happy day three year old!  I love you forever. 

It's Friday.....you know what that means....

it's time to be for realz..........

And seriously people.......if you don't find this gross........what is WRONG with you?  Apparently my gummy/dusty shelf last week wasn't disgusting enough......I tried harder this time.  But really--are you not going to be happy until you see a picture of my daughter wading through piles of dirty clothes with no carpet in sight, eating off the bathroom floor, and a picture of me straight out of bed in the morning (yeah--that's not happening)?

So here goes this weeks installment.......

Here are my basement steps:

Nothing too crazy about that.  The carpet is new too--not even a year old.

And here's a little back story for you.  One of my least favorite chores assigned to me while growing up was "wiping down the stairs."  I wanted to wilt into the floor when my mom told me I had to wipe down the stairs and/or gauge my eyes out.  It involved a wet washcloth and a lot of elbow grease into the seams of the stairs.  And what you unearthed when you wiped down the stairs in the form of pet hair, human hair, dust, unknown grit, and random food particles was so unpleasant.  I promised myself one day while I was saying mean things under my breath about "wiping down the stairs" that I would never do it when I was an adult---I mean, hello?, isn't that what vacuums are for?

Well...........come to find out, "wiping down the steps" actually does get the staircase cleaner than a vacuum as much a I hate admitting it................good 'ol (er....young) mom was right.......again.  (My sister and I always say, "That Marcia--she has an uncanny way of ALWAYS being right in the end.) So, it's true--you can find me in a game of "wiping down the stairs" on occasion.

However, the last occasion must have been..........never.......since last June when the carpet went in.   So here you go.....today's finds.

That's all cat hair baby.  And a few of mine.  But mostly cat.  And I promise--that picture of the staircase was taken first; prior to a good wipe down.  Like I said--you think a vacuum is doing the job.  Nope.  It's not.

Oh, but no worries.....because I just popped over to Amazon and snagged myself this book...........

My sister is always looking out for me in the book department.

No cat?  Just a dog? No problem.  There is also this one:

I'm sure if you have stairs and a dog you could wrangle up enough hair for a nice scarf or some cozy mittens in one simple "wipe down the stairs" session.

That's it!  Happy Friday!

Not on the same team...........

Last week my sister-in-law posted this on her Facebook timeline..........

And I love it. 

Love, love, love it.  

But you know what?

It's a lot harder to actually do this when push comes to shove, when the rubber meets the road, when it's time to put up or shut-up (that's as 'coachy' as I get). 

We read a lot of parenting books in this country; ones that teach us about damaging our children's self-esteem, ones that tell us we need to give kids choices so they think things were their ideas, ones that tell us we'll raise aggressive and insecure children if they are yelled at or punished too harshly (whose definition of yelling?  too harsh?) And, of course, I know the difference.......but when it's your kid and you love them like a crazy person you start to think that just about everything might be too harsh.  You want to have good days.  You want to laugh and fool around and walk on a cloud and ride a unicorn.  You don't want to feel guilty and like a cranky mom who is constantly lecturing and saying no and hauling their kid to time-out.  

Slapping their hand?  They're too young to understand what I'm actually doing.......even though they aren't too young to understand that if they throw that food on the floor one more time I'll get a reaction out of mom and dad, right? 

Giving them a time-out?  Let's make sure to put them on a stage in the corner of the living room for "time-out" instead of in their rooms because they might feel shunned??

Offering a choice about everything under the sun?  So, not only will they think it's their idea--they'll believe they get to choose everything and if it's not their choice they'll throw a fit.  

And I feel like I can say all of these things because I've struggled with them myself.  I've waffled back and forth on doling out all of the above.  And I waffle because we're on the same team right, Georgia and I?

We're Maggie & G.....we go to Target together, we play vet, we draw with chalk outside, we go for walks in the woods, we make cookies and color together, we eat at Noodles & Co. and share a rice krispie treat--EVERY week, we play at the mall, we read Charlie & Lola books, and put on makeup in the bathroom mirror.......we're on the same team.

Eating at Noodles......it's always pesto cavatappi for this girl........

Playing on the breakfast food at the mall--strengthening our immune systems. 

My mom says we're not on the same team though.

And two weeks ago when Georgia threw the biggest, "I'm going to sound like I'm being murdered" fit because she didn't want to TRY to go to the bathroom, or we had to leave Taco Bell because her taco broke and her tantrum about it could be be described as a psychotic break, or today......moments after this idyllic picture was taken she slammed her cart into my legs in a fit (and I'm lucky my Achilles tendon is still in tact) because she didn't want those flowers in there.............I believed my mom.......that behavior like that didn't really seem like something someone who was on my team would engage in.

My husband is on my team.  And I know that because he's never laid on the floor of Taco Bell shrieking and kicking that "tacos aren't supposed to break." At least not to date.  And I suppose that's how I know who is on my team and who isn't.  The Taco Bell test we'll call it.

And it's really hard to type the words..........."Georgia and I aren't on the same team."  It feels mean.  It feels cranky.  It feels cold and prickly.  But I know it has to be true.  We might be team-ish, but we can't truly be on the same team.  I'm on the mom team; the parent team.  She's on the three year old team.  I'm on the team that has to raise this person......that will turn into an adult.  My pastor always says in regards to his own child-rearing, "I refused to unleash on the world another selfish, arrogant, lazy, undisciplined, unmotivated, and dishonest person."  I love that.

I love it because it reminds me regularly that I'm not just raising a toddler who is pretty cute most of the time.......I'm raising an adult who has to become something productive, who has to know how to treat people appropriately, and who needs to learn that screaming on the floor of a MRSA infested fast food establishment is never okay and there will be consequences for that--ones that are really not very fun.

And it goes back to that little saying from my sister-in-law.......we need to leave this planet with some better kids.  Kids that don't necessarily grow up thinking that mom and I are on the same team and she's got my back no matter what.....even though we do have our kid's back.....you see that fine line, right?

I have to keep reminding myself as the parenting is getting tougher.......we may be on different teams.....but we're in the same league.

Solid proof we're not on the same team......this girl can ride a merry-go-round at top speed.  Get me an air sickness bag. 


So I need to work hard for this girl.  The love you feel for your kids is unfathomable--no one can prepare you for it.  And I desire so much for her--for her to kind and loyal, compassionate, determined, full of strong character, productive, motivated, and every other character quality you could name when you make your list of "who you want your children to be."  It's a lot of really hard work, and hard days, and hard nights, and hard public outings, but look at her.............

it couldn't be more worth it.