Tag Archives: parenting

Time flies, Owen.




I’ve had 100 conversations with you in my heart since I learned of your anticipated arrival date. I’m picturing what your little face will look like on the day you arrive. I’m watching over your Mama every time she feels a funny feeling, and I’m anxious to feel you move under her young belly every time she visits. I’m watching as your Daddy cries tears of joy when he opens a new gift with your name on it, and knowing that when you get here you’ll experience more love than you can ever imagine.

Oh how time flies though. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we learned you were coming? Here it is almost Thanksgiving and you’re set to come shortly after Christmas. Didn’t your Mommy just grow up herself? Wasn’t your Aunt YaYa just learning to walk? It’s hard sometimes for me to imagine how much life is about to change when you get here. Everything is ready; we have clothes, diapers, wipes, towels, blankets, a car seat, stroller, all the things that tell us “A baby is coming!” On the outside looking in, anyone can see it. They see your Mama smile when you kick, they see your Daddy working so hard at two jobs to prepare a good life for you. They see the pictures of the baby shower, the maternity photos, updates about doctor visits. Everything is in order. Now, we just wait. We wait to kiss your face and welcome you into our world. Your world.

But, time will fly, Owen. In a flash you’ll hold up your tiny little head. In a moment you’ll take your first step. In what will feel like a few days you will celebrate your first birthday. I know this because in my mind, your Mommy is still there. That bright eyed, curly headed little angel with the gumption of an Army General and the spark of a world leader bouncing in her crib, clamoring to get out and make her way. Your Mommy will think in those first few days and weeks that she may never sleep again, but in a decade she’ll long to rock you in her arms the way she is about to for the very first time. We will bookmark that first moment when we hear you cry out with your first breath in this world and remember the sweetness of it when you’re two and have said “NO!” more times than we think we can tolerate.

And time will continue to fly… I’ll turn around one day and see you becoming a young man, a husband, a father. I’ll pray over you and trust that you’ll make good choices. And when you don’t, I’ll continue to love you. You’ll pee on me, bite me, scratch me, vomit on my new shirt, and wipe boogers on my face. You’ll hate me for putting you in time out and throw a temper tantrum when I don’t let you have another cookie, but you’ll always, always know that I love you, and according to my Mama (your Nana), I cannot even yet fathom how much that will be.

So here we go, Owen. Marching through time. For now, stay busy growing and be healthy. Your Mimi loves you.

I never wanted to be a blogger…



I never wanted to be a “blogger”. In fact, in all honesty, up until a few years ago when my sister began blogging about her struggles and victories as a foster and adoptive mom (http://thelinejourney.blogspot.com/), I thought (rather naively) that the only reason people shared such deep and touching moments with the general public was to get some kind of attention or somehow have their experiences validated by getting nods of approval, OR that folks blogged for professional gain. Well, I was wrong. I’ve never been wrong before, so that was a surprise to me, too.

[insert eye rolling and laughter here]

I used to try and “journal”. I’d go to Barnes and Noble and buy the prettiest little notebook with a bright floral or paisley print, maybe a new gel pen – heck, maybe a whole set of colored gel pens, ya’ know – so I could write in different colors based on varying moods. Then I’d ice that pretty little cake with a few highlighters, just in case I needed to emphasize a particular part of a story. Er… to myself I guess?

But, I never kept it up. In fact, my past was such a potpourri of my own perceived failures that when I’d go back and read the BS it was so jolting and embarrassing that I’d shred those pages – burn them – bury them – whatever I had to do to make them permanently go away, as if that would somehow Control-Alt-Delete my life.

I never stopped telling the stories in my mind, though. Nobody does. We drive long distances to work and retell and recreate the past, we plan and act out events in the future. We line everything up neatly so that we don’t continue to make the same mistakes. In those moments in our thoughts we love the deepest, we are the most patient parents, we are the most dedicated employees, and of course we are the winners of all arguments.

So, I don’t want to blog about the things of the past, although some of it will come up as it relates to my being a grandmother and reflecting on my days as a young mom. Instead, I want to use these words to sort out these thoughts in the present, the hopes for the future; and in the interim if you’d like to laugh with me, cry with me, or even pat yourself on the back for doing things differently, please do.

Here I am, the dreaded blogger.

Emily (Mimi)