Conor's first sentences!

Overdue pictures from Zachary's first-ever day of school to come tomorrow, but for now, I just had to share with you what has motivated Conor to speak!  He sat down in front of the pantry yesterday, and very clearly articulated, "Please cracker."  Awwwww!  (And yes, Roar, I'm sure that wasn't a derogatory statement.)  Later, he mixed sign language and speaking to come up with something even longer:  "Please (sign) cracker (spoken) eat (sign), thank you (sign)."  Isn't he brilliant? 

Yeah, um, so, about that...

You know what really surprises me?  You keep coming back here.  Yes, you.  You are awesome.  Thank you for checking in.  Actually, I've known all along how awesome you are, which is partially why I have been unable to post anything.  I want to be completely honest here, so I didn't feel like I could post without sharing the thing that's been preoccupying my thoughts. 

Okay, that's not entirely the truth.  Here's part of it:  Part of the truth is that I'm lazy, and busy, and lazy, and I haven't had a lot of motivation to post.  I've got pictures and we've gone places and had visitors and I started falling behind even further than usual and there was no way I was going to catch up.  I'll work on getting over that. 

But here's the other thing.  The Big Thing.  I'm pregnant.  Yes, again.  And no, this wasn't planned, and no, I didn't think it could happen.  Certainly not at 38 when not trying, and certainly not to us.  This couldn't happen, you see, because for a decade or so, we were not trying and then trying and then trying really, really hard, and then hoping, and wishing, and praying, and testing, and testing more, until we finally got the miraculous help we needed to make Zachary, Madeline, Conor, and Samantha.  Those little guys, they were meticulously planned.

And no, I didn't learn from my girl Tanika, who experienced her own Curve Ball, at the same age, in under almost the exact same circumstances.  Miracle, I had thought.

So the day after I muzed that I couldn't remember when I last had my period, and the day that I realized I could smell the subway train, I took a pregnancy test, or ten.  I spent the rest of the evening wide-eyed and in shock, and the Husband spent it vacillating between denial and bliss.  We can't afford another child, I thought.  We don't have the room.  I'm tired.  And we can't afford another child.  I might've freaked out a little.

But the next day?  We saw our baby's heartbeat on an ultrasound. 

Miracle.

The funny thing about all of this is that even after we had twins, when people were saying, You're done now, aren't you??  Even when my head was saying, We have enough children, thankyouverymuch, I knew, I JUST KNEW, that at least one person was missing.  I knew that despite the fact that we are not financially prepared, that we don't have the space, and that I'm exhausted, our family was not yet complete.  I felt it so strongly that I told a select few people that if medical assistance did not bring us that child, I would adopt. 

So here's our baby who fought some odds to pick us.  Sooner than expected.  Not in the manner I expected.  In short, not our plan, but Someone's plan. 

I still feel too old and tired and not ready, but mostly?  I'm grateful.  Really, truly grateful for our miracle.

One

My dearest Samantha, one year ago today I held your hand for the first time.  Did you know then that with the grasp of your tiny hand, you had stolen my heart?

Just look how much you've grown!  You've gained almost 13 pounds, and you're about 10 inches taller!  You've got four teeth (two lower central incisors, and two upper lateral incisors), and just this month, you started walking.  I love how you would take Frankenstein-like steps, fall down, and then get right back up again.  You never gave up and you're almost completely steady now!

My little girl, you don't hide your emotions.  I always know how you feel, and I hope that I'll always know how you feel.  The way you light up when you see me transforms even the worst day into something beautiful, and there's nothing you like better than being held.  When you're unhappy, your shriek could break glass.  But my baby, I have never heard a softer, sweeter voice than yours.  The other day you toddled up to your daddy, saying, "Dada," and then set yourself down on his lap.  I don't know whether it was your purposefulness, or your father's pride that brought tears to my eyes, but I could've stayed in that moment forever. 

Samantha, people say that we're a lot alike (and I see it too), but you are most definitely your own person.  You are so smart – you started using sign language a couple of months ago, and you can imitate things you just saw (like when you saw me performing "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" this week).  You are generous with your smile, but you reserve your laugh for truly funny things, like when you steal the paper that mommy is reading.  You're also kind – I've seen you offer your toys to Conor on numerous occasions, and sometimes, you won't cry when he takes it.

My love, it's only been a year, but I've known you forever.  You've heard me complain, and no doubt that for the rest of my life you'll continue to hear me complain about how difficult this first year has been.  But don't doubt for a second that if I was given the chance, I'd do it all over again, just so that I could end up with you.  I love you with every ounce of my being.

Happy birthday, my sweet little Samantha. 

My dearest Conor, one year ago today, I looked into your beautiful eyes for the first time.  Did you know then that with one blink of your eyes, you had stolen my heart?

Just look how much you've grown!  You've gained about 14 pounds, and you're about 11 inches taller!  You've got five teeth (two lower central incisors, two upper central incisors, and one lateral incisor), and just last week, you started walking.  I love how you watched Samantha fumble and you practiced cruising around the room (and boy, could you cruise!), before you let go and took your first steps.  But when you did, it took no time at all for you to start taking many steps.  You're almost completely steady now!

My little boy, your sunny disposition shines through almost everything you do.  Even when you're sick, we can make you smile.  When you're unhappy, you flop yourself on the ground and throw a temper tantrum (and I'm sorry, it's so unlike you that I can't help but laugh).  You're also very independent, and you're generally happy to explore on your own.  But my baby, there is nothing as sweet as cuddling with you.   The other day, you weren't feeling well, so you toddled over to me, moaning, "Mama."  I took you upstairs, read you books and sang you songs, and rocked you until you fell asleep on my chest.  I don't know if it was knowing that you felt some relief, or the joy of snuggling with you that brought tears to my eyes, but I could've stayed in that moment forever.

Conor, people say you're a lot like your father (and I see it too), but you are most definitely your own person.  You're so smart – you take in everything and then take action.  You did it with crawling and with walking, and even now, I can see you devising plans to reach the remote control that I thought I placed out of your reach.  You are generous with your smile and your laugh, and nothing is quite as funny as raspberries on your belly. You're also kind – when Zachary was crying the other day, you went over to him and gave him a kiss, and then whacked him repeatedly on the head (I knew you were trying to pat him – we'll work more on being gentle later).   

My love, it's only been a year, but I've known you forever.  You've heard me complain, and no doubt that for the rest of my life you'll continue to hear me complain about how difficult this first year has been.  But don't doubt for a second that if I was given the chance, I'd do it all over again, just so that I could end up with you.  I love you with every ounce of my being.

Happy birthday, my sweet little Conor.

_______________________________________________________________________________

A weekend at camp

I spent this Memorial Day weekend as a volunteer photographer for a camp held in a hotel in Arlington, Virginia.  Five hundred children and their families attended.  Add in the five hundred mentors paired with the children, add in the volunteers and staff, and there were over 2200 people participating in this camp. 

There were so many smiling faces

and lots of malarky.

In fact, sometimes, when I could clear my mind and just watch and listen, I could almost forget that all of these kids...

these seemingly happy, silly kids...

had lost a servicemember parent or sibling.

Every

single

one of the kids.

On Sunday morning, the kids wrote letters to their lost parents, and attached them to balloons.

and then released them.  Each balloon represents a fallen servicemember.  There were so many balloons.  Too many.

General Dempsey, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff came to visit.

And we spent Memorial Day at Arlington National Cemetery

I can imagine few things more heartbreaking than witnessing a mother cleaning off her child's headstone.  This should NEVER happen.

This is the price of freedom.  

The heroes I photographed this weekend were remembering the love, celebrating life, and sharing the journey.  The organization that made it possible is called TAPS.  I promise never to solicit you again, but if you can donate your time or talent or funds to them, please do.  They make it possible for these survivors to be among a new family -- an unwillingly huge family who understands them in a way that we simply can't, and in a way I hope that we will never have to.

Please help me out here

I just had a conversation with The Husband about forever homes.  I'd love a large, beautiful home in Virginia with great schools and with lots of land so that the kiddies can run around.  The Husband is thinking more Florida-like, but definitely warm and close to a large body of water. 

I told him that it made me a little sad that when he's thinking of forever homes, he's not taking my hair into account.  His response?

"I don't take into account my hair so why would I take into account yours?"

Hmph!
 
Um, can someone please explain to him why this was the wrong thing to say?  Lester?  :)

Three

This weekend, my little Zachary turned three years old.  How old, buddy?

To help celebrate, lot of family came into town:  Parti, Parta, Nonna, Pop, Aunt Sarah, and cousins Kayla, Angel, Bailey, and Brielle.  Zachary LOVED driving them around in his Jeep.

I had a lot of trepidation leading up to this party.  We were lucky that a neighbor offered to bring a bounce house from work, and one of the moms of the kids invited to the party offered her gigantic water slide, but  these activities required great weather.  Thunderstorms were in the forecast.  I had no idea what I would do with all of these kids inside my small house.

We had invited Zachary's buddies from daycare, Matthew and  David (a.k.a. Bestest Buddy of All Time)

At 9am when the forecast still called for party-time thunderstorms and the bounce house was canceled, we did the only things we could do:  We warned the parents to expect chaos, decorated to the hilt, and stocked up on fixings for cocktails.

After raining all morning and into the afternoon, it finally stopped, and the party-time forecast changed to 75 degrees with a 0% chance of precipitation.  Game on.

The water was so cold that it took a good 15 minutes to talk Zachary into getting into the pool.

Once he got in, he had so much fun that there was a near meltdown when it was time for him to get out despite the fact that he was shaking from the cold.

Samantha and Conor, on the other hand, had no qualms about the cold water.  Both of them wanted to sit and play in it.

When we finally tore the kids away from the water, we ate corndogs and chips, and got ready for Mickey Mouse cake and cake pops.  Here's my boy, so happy before blowing out the candles.

He took a deep breath, got ready to blow out his candle, and (I'm not going to name any names here, but)...

...MATTHEW...

...leaned over and blew out the candle.  My sweetie only stared at the candle, and then me, in stunned silence. 

Then he took out his frustrations on the pinata.

4-year old Bailey ended up knocking it off the rope, the Husband started attacking it to rip it open, and the kids swarmed (poor Lightening McQueen).  Zachary picked out two toys, and waited for the chaos to subside.

The party ended up being so much fun -- not just for Zachary, but for the adults as well, who enjoyed good company, laughing children (and cocktails).  I have rarely had the experience when I think that a kids' party was over too soon, but this one really was.

Happy third birthday, my sweet, sweet little man.  I love you more than you will ever know.