Some Sun

I have always thought that the ocean's waves and sea breeze rejuvenated my soul.  And when I cannot get to the shore, the next best thing is a little sunshine to refresh my heart.  I know.  I know.  I'm supposed to stay out of the sun these days.  Too much ultra-violet light and harmful rays cause wrinkles and premature aging.  But it just feels so good, and isn't that why I spend obscene amounts of money on skin-care products?

We (the hubby, the baby and me) had the opportunity to spend a few days in Houston in late October.  Beautiful weather.  Loads of sunshine and no wind.  And who better to spend quality time with than my Texas BFF, Lesli.  We were quite the crew: her son, Charlie, who is 3 weeks younger than Annabelle, plus her two older children.  There was plenty to keep us busy.  We squeezed in a couple of stroller walks and even an after-dinner jog.  But mostly, we drank coffee on the porch and enjoyed every ounce of sunshine that we could.  It was the perfect combination of good conversation and fresh air.

Kendall, Annabelle and Charlie enjoying a walk.

Halloween night was 80 degrees and our little flower and caterpillar were quite hot in their costumes.  Their patience was limited, but we did manage to squeeze in a few pictures before a complete melt down. 

Happy Halloween from Annabelle the flower and Charlie the caterpillar!

And before we knew it, it was time to pack up and head back home.  Lots of hugs and a few tears before saying good-bye.  It's more of a "until next time" because with such good friends, you always make an effort to reconnect.  Especially if there's sunshine involved.

Modifications

Pre-baby, I didn't mind running errands.  Getting this and that.  Browsing, chillaxin', checking stuff off of my list.  It was enjoyable.  Post-baby, it's a chore.  Even if I'm able to plan it just right so that we're between feeding and nap times, lugging the 8 pound car seat + 14 pound baby in the Oklahoma wind and weather is a hefty deterrent.  We better really need something for us to make an outing. Sure, I wish there would be peace on earth, but what I really, really want is a drive-thru window at the grocery store.  You know, for those days when we just need bananas and milk.

I rejoice because the heavens have smiled upon us and bestowed the gift of home delivery.  Hallelujah!  Everything from dog food to diapers is deposited on my door step twice a month.  Nothing in life is hassle free, as the UPS man insists on ringing my doorbell, even after I asked him politely to not do so.  It's not so much the doorbell that is the problem, it's the 3 (3!) barking dogs who then wake up the aforementioned napping baby. Simple solution, disconnect the doorbell.  Problem diverted.  Happy momma.

Exercise, particularly running, is a big part of my life.   It's a non-negotiable part of my day.  But,  since the hubby and I both detest pushing the stroller (23 pound stroller + 14 pound baby = 37 pounds of pure wind resistance), we compromise on our weekend runs.  Friday nights' ongoing debate is who gets to "run long" the next morning and be gone for over an hour.  Which one of us will sacrifice and either push the stroller (read: run really slow) and which one gets to be free as a jay bird? I can only pull the "girl card" so many times before it's really just not fair...."You're so much stronger than I am.  It's easier for you to push the stroller in the 20 MPH wind gusts.  Look at all of your muscles."  He's on to me.

We modify our lives.  A little tweak here and big change there.  But, so far, so good.  We're making it work.  Friends told us that people who only have one child aren't really parents.  I guess that's because the adult to child ratio is still in the grown-ups favor.  Whatever, I'll take it.  This is doable.

Watch me outgrow my rugby bear! Annabelle, 7 months old, Oct. 1, 2012.

Looking like Elton John in her big girl swing.

Hanging out with mom.

6 Months

A dear friend was talking about motherhood and she said, "God gives us enough time in each stage of our children's lives to enjoy it, respect it and then be ready to move on."  She's quite wise.  I guess that comes with having 3 boys under the age of 7.  As I reminisce on AnnaB's first 6 months, I'm starting to gain a better understanding to my friend's insight.

The first 3 months were so tough.  Of course, at the time, I knew they were tough, but it's only now that I can look back and hold those days in reverence.  I made it through!  The baby made it through!  We survived!

I'm still not above a just-checking-to-make-sure-that-the-baby-is-still-breathing sneak peak during naptime, but we've come a long way in a short time.  We even dared a vacation.  Flights with a lay-over to get us to our beach destination.  AnnaB did great.  Here's proof:

Best buds at the beach.

Not a fan of the water.

Or the sand.

Back at home. Watch me outgrow my rugby bear. Annabelle, 6 months old. Sept. 1, 2012.

Common Thread

True to my borderline OCD self, even imaginary things in my life are organized.  I have this visual image of the inner workings of my head.  I picture aisles and aisles of filing cabinets.  Each cabinet is titled with major periods of my life.  There's the one labeled "commuting" from my first job out of college when I drove 90 minutes each way to work.  Trivial memories from that time of my life are neatly filed away.  Or the "Baton Rouge" one, appropriately named for our 6-month stint in Louisiana.  Some cabinets are larger than others.  "Houston" has several sub-folders with titles like "fitness" for when I first started teaching aerobics classes and another is "hurricane" for our run-in with Mother Nature.  Other files are cross-referenced like "fitness friends" for a few good girlfriends I met while teaching fitness.  When I start drudging up old memories, I envision cob web-covered hanging files that are heavy with dust.  As the memory comes into focus, I'm mentally blowing the dust off and the rusty cogs start turning as the files are brought to the forefront.

So it was a few Friday nights ago when I ventured to the Chi Omega house at Oklahoma State University (see file "college" sub-folder "Chi-O").  Along with several of my sorority sisters, we went back to our alma mater for a brief get-together and a tour of our renovated sorority house.  Over dinner, we chatted about all that has changed since we pledged over 10 years ago.  The synapses in my brain were on over-drive keeping up with the remember-whens.  I looked at each of the amazing women and thought, "we've done pretty damn good."  I'm biased, sure, but there's no doubt that each of us has obtained success - whether through business, education, finances or family.  I was proud to be sitting with such a great group of women who I can call friends. 

Before reconnecting with these girls, I had been worried that they wouldn't accept me - that they were mad at me for not keeping in touch.  With all of the hubby's job-necessitated hopscotching across the world, I felt like I had fallen off the map, and for all intensive purposes, I had (see file "Almaty" and "Baku").  But, there were no hard feelings.  I may have drifted apart from them since our under-grad days, but our common threads and shared history will always give us a bond and launch pad for conversation.

I add this to my long wish list for Annabelle - that she too will know friendship that can withstand and flourish in spite of life's interruptions.

Chi Omega!

Watch me outgrow my rugby bear! Annabelle, Aug. 1, 2012, 5 months old.

Favorite People

Everyone should have a quirky relative.  Life would be boring otherwise.  Lucky for me, I have 2 and they are a packaged deal:  my Aunt Vicki and Uncle Steve.  These crazy cats play a major role in most of my happiest childhood memories.

I can clearly remember "driving" Uncle Steve's new fishing boat.  It was parked in their driveway.  I was behind the wheel, wind whipping through my hair and Uncle Steve, the good sport that he is, had his fishing pole idling over the side, with a plastic Jaws shark attached at the end.

There was also the time that Uncle Steve made a "house" for me out of a large cardboard box.  Windows were cut, a door was made and my shower was Uncle Steve squirting me with a water gun.

Aunt Vicki was never reluctant to spoil me.  I wanted to take a bath in a big bowl, like I had seen on a cartoon.  Sure, why not.  I wanted to have a tea party with her good China.  Okay.  I wanted to be the waitress and take the guests' orders.  Alright.  I wanted to show off another dance that I had choreographed.  Aunt Vicki would yell, "Now introduuuucing....the amazing, the talented, Brooke!" and I would run out from my hiding spot in the laundry room.  We would do this all afternoon long.

And then there are some more generalized memories.  Like their honeysuckle bush in the front yard.  Uncle Steve taught me how to suck the nectar out.  Or waiting on their watermelons to ripen each summer.  On camping trips, hiking through the woods with Uncle Steve, we were always on the look out for the best walking sticks.  At the beach, Uncle Steve would fly a kite attached to a fishing pole.  It would go waaaay high.  We would scribble silly messages on a napkin and send it up to the kite.  Aunt Vicki taught me to play Crazy 8's.  Bet she regrets that.

But as these things go, I got older (read: a sassy, unappreciative teenager) and saw my relatives less.  I went to college, got married, moved away from home and started a career.  Life happened.  It wasn't until I moved to Houston, walking my dogs early one spring morning, that I caught the smell of honeysuckle in bloom.  I was immediately transported back to their front porch, circa 1984.  And I smiled and I reminisced.  What a lovely memory.

We do our best these days to stay in touch.  We see each other a few times a year.  And it's always so good to hug them and tell them I love them.  Because I do.  They are some of my favorite people.

Me & Aunt Vicki, Christmas Eve 2010

Oh, I get it

I used to watch the evening news with passing disinterest.  Specifically, stories on child abuse were horrific, but far removed from my life.  Accounts of a missing child, were just another "bless them little hearts" moment.  But in the past few months, I have gone from sympathetic to empathetic.  A complete visceral reaction consumes me when I see these same abhorrent news clips.  It's something about seeing my baby in the face of all of those other children that brings it home.  I sometimes cry and sometimes I say a little prayer.  I always hug my precious baby and vow to protect her.

I want AnnaB to grow up never experiencing anything negative.  I know she will, but a mom can hope, right?  There's a Pink song that shuffles through my Ipod that makes me sing aloud.  It's an anthem of sorts for AnnaB.  The chorus goes:
Pretty pretty please!
Don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than perfect
Pretty pretty please!
If you ever feel like you're nothing, you're perfect to me.

My wish is for AnnaB to grow up strong.  Strong in character and strong in confidence.  Because she is perfect.  And if I do my job right, she too will some day understand all of this.

Watch me outgrow my rugby bear! Annabelle, 4 months old, July 1, 2012.

Clearing my conscience

I have a heavy-hearted admission to make.   I've been neglecting my dogs.  Before the baby, they were my whole world (well, them + the hubby).  While living in Almaty and then Baku, there were some days when they'd be my only source of conversation.  Granted, it was a one-sided convo, but at least it was in English, and I have no doubt that they actually do understand a bit of what I say.

The two girl dogs have been in my life for 9 years.  They've been excellent friends.  Pete the big white dog has only been around for 7 years and he didn't make the trip overseas, but he too, has been a confidant and superior guard dog.  And then I go and betray them.  I've given my heart to someone else.  It's embarrassing to think that I could be so fickle.  It just happened.  I left them at home one morning, checked into a hospital, came back a few days later a changed person.  Suddenly they are just dogs.  I still rise before the sun to take them on a walk.  They still get 2 meals a day and all-you-can drink fresh water.  But, I'm ashamed to admit that there are nights, when I'm climbing into bed and I wonder, "Did I even pet them today?"  "Did I offer a scratch behind the ear or a word of praise?"  I feel horrible about all of this.  Honestly, it's a heavy burden.  I'm hopeful that there will be a day soon when the baby can take joy in having the dogs.  I'm hopeful that she'll laugh at their wagging tails and squeal at their wet, sloppy kisses.  And maybe then, I can make it right with the furry kids again.  When we can all join in the petting and praising, then they won't have to be on the back burner.  I want us to be one big, happy family.  Fur and all.

The whole gang, pre-baby.

Daddy and his girls doing tummy time.