Today, I did something not always in my character.  I didn't get bent out of shape about my chores that needed to be done.  I didn't ride Adam's ass nor hold a grudge because he couldn't help me out.  I didn't rush Patrick out the door.  I tried not to worry about how things should be.  I did only what needed to be done.

"Things don't have to be perfect all the time, Catie."

"I wish you still laughed like you used to."

These are two sentences that weren't meant to be related, but they are.  Rather, I think they are.  Adam said both of these to me one night during one of our talks.  It's probably been four months, but for one reason or another, they resonated on the inside.  Here is why: 

1.) I want so badly for the kids to have a happy childhood.  I want it so much, I become fixated on it.  Now, I don't want a you-get-everything-you-want childhood, but I want one full of happy memories and strong parents and loving gestures...and a tidy background.  I want them to remember all of their best moments in a neat and tidy space. I need this for them so much, I cannot relax until it happens.  I mean: I. Can. Not. Relax. Do the kids care? Nope.  So why do I want everything perfect? For me.  It's selfish. It's not about them at all (though I tell myself it is.). To be fair, I want my own memories neat.  Totally silly.

2.) I am happy.  In fact, I am so happy, sometimes I want to burst.  Do you know why? Because I have everything I ever wanted (minus an unlimited bank account and small boobs.)  So why don't I laugh like I used to? See above.  Also, I'm busy.  I make doctors appointments and take the kids.  I keep track of what is going on at Patrick's school.  I manage my schedule and Adam's.  I care for tiny kids and their 10,000 needs and wants.  I grocery shop and meal plan. I manage this house.  And I do it really well.  I mean, not to brag, but I'm good at this gig.  But, one could argue that I have lost part of me in the process.  I forgot about how much it means for the kids to see me having fun.  I forgot how to live in the moment.  

Today, I let it go.  It didn't bother me a bit. In fact, it was great. And I can't always just go about my day all wamsie-pamsie, I know that.  I have to own that I am forever changed by being a homemaker and caretaker of little people.  And that's okay.  Not intentionally, today I quit worrying about that nonsense. I didn't care that I had no control over the chore flow-chart. Because, even though it makes me feel euphoric when things are neat, it's also okay to have a day when everything falls apart. When I order pizza for dinner and have donuts for dessert.  When I forego folding laundry to draw maps with my boys or sit down to watch Dr. Phil while nursing my baby.  It's okay, I tell myself.  Nobody is here to judge me but me (and I'm probably the worst).

Today, nothing happened.  The house didn't fall down or catch on fire. Nobody called me a bad mom (of which I am aware). As we were saying, "cheers" over our pizza slices, I don't think the kids cared that the kitchen was unkempt or that I had a load of clean clothes in the dryer and two more loads on little Hatchie's bed. They were fine.  And I could wear my happiness on my face and not just in my heart.  And I laughed.  Silly laughed.  And it was wonderful.

Except tomorrow will be a bear, but that's ok. I bet the house won't burn down then, either.

Annie is 5 Months!

This will be short, as I'm typing on the iPad and there are few things I hate more, but here is a snapshot (literal and figurative) of my sweet Annie at five months:

1.) Sleeps 12-13 hour stretches at night in her crib.

2.) Gives great big open-mouthed kisses.

3.) Loves to be talked to and mimics expressions.

4.) Smiles and giggles constantly.

5.) Is still only breast-fed but eats like a boss.

6.) Whimpers when I leave her field of vision.

7.) Has mostly given up her paci.

8.) Can roll from front-to-back.

9.) Loves snuggles.

10.) Is very aware of her surroundings.

11.) Has the corner of one tiny tooth just barely visible.

12.) Sleeps in her pearls. (She's classy.)

In short, she's just about the best girl in this house. 

Annemarie Colleen, 01.27.14:

"There's Something Wrong With Leo"

For a few weeks, my absence has been for good cause.  You see, the holidays came and went and both were lovely.  I wish I had updated the actual details for you sooner, but I couldn't.  My mind wasn't really there.  Nonetheless, I'll give you a quick rundown.

1.) We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with both our families and Adam and I became acutely aware of how much our separate sides have just become a collective "family."  It's probably happened over time but it's become so obvious after this year.  It's a great to have such a large family support system.  It's even better to share a really good day with them all.  His siblings feel like mine, his parents like my own.  It's a good feeling.  It really is. 

2.) New Years Eve/Day, never being my favorite holiday, was actually spectacular.  Our original plans with all of the cousins were cancelled due to sick kiddos, but it didn't stop any celebrations in our own private homes.  We had a party with the kids (disco dancing, sparkling grape juice toast) and I spent New Years Day with Adam's mom and sisters at a local winery.  You can't really top that. 

But, through it all, I felt like something was wrong. 

It started like this:

On December 13, 2013, at 1am, I got a call from Adam while I was leaving work.  "There's something wrong with Leo."  I still can't think about it (much less write about it) without getting teary-eyed.  He was right.  There was something wrong with Leo, but that was the beginning of it.  While driving to meet Adam halfway on 31, I have never felt so scared in my life.  Never.  Leo was having a hard time breathing.  I don't like to mess around when it comes to kids and airways.  They make me nervous, and I don't scare easily.

                                                 

 

Leo spent the night in the emergency room (with me and Annie.)  He was admitted.  The next day, though, Leo left the hospital, and we thought we were in the clear.  The worst was just coming, though.  Despite his difficulty breathing, Leo had recurrent fevers of 104+. 

 

Christmas Day was the first time it clicked with me that something really was wrong with Leo. He couldn't eat, he went from nearly 37 pounds to 28.6 pounds in a short period of time. His eyes were sunken, his lips cracked and bleeding.  He was drinking water by the gallons, it seemed, but never looking hydrated.  I kept telling myself that it was a virus and it would pass.  The day after Christmas, I told my mom, "I can't take him in today.  If I take him in, they'll admit him."  In hindsight, he probably needed some sort of intervention, but I was scared of what was going to be done: the work-up, the fluids, the swabs and the monitoring.  I didn't want any of it.  I felt I could nurse him back to health myself.  I tried, but as the mucles in his legs started to waste and the bones in his feet became apparent, I became tearful.  And scared.  We ran through the possibilites. 

 

Was it cystic fibrosis?  Diabetes?  An immune deficiency? I'll spare you all of the "what-ifs" that were thrown about.  They weren't good.

 

I looked at the family photo we had taken shortly after Thanksgiving and I cried.  The Leo in the picture was not the Leo we had with us.  Our new Leo was sad and vacant. 

 

Adam said very little.  Except, as I got off the phone with my dad one day, visibly upset, Adam seemed angry.  "F---."  That's all he said as he got off the couch and headed for the stairs.  I asked what was wrong and, after a few seconds of silence, he quietly said, "Leo."  Thirty minutes later, Adam had gone upstairs and not returned.  This is what I found when I went to check on him.

 

The recent polar vertex meant that the inevitable doctor's appointment for Leo was cancelled.  But a miraculous thing happened while we were stuck at home: Leo started to smile again.  After four weeks of absolute inactivity and expression, he was playing with his brothers.  Granted, it was slow at first, and very careful, but he was playing.  His lips looked better.  His cheeks turned pink.  He seemed like Leo.  And he was ravenous. 

 

In the last week,  Leo has made drastic improvements. His eyes still look a little distant, but his face is filling out again.  He's eating everything in sight.  As of today, he's back up to 33 pounds.  He's getting better. 

 

He's still going to get the work-up and the doctor's visit that I so stupidly put off for so long.  We still want to know if there is something wrong with Leo, but most of the serious possibilities are no longer a concern.  It took a long time, but our Leo is coming back. 

 

Last night, he was up at ten, asking for ham and beans and cornbread.  He got that, and then carmel corn, crackers, a cheese stick, chocolate milk.  I'll give him anything he wants if he just keeps getting better.   

Now, I'm not writing this for pity, more for my own recollection.  Clearly, Leo is getting better and we couldn't be happier.  Some family knew how sick Leo was, others didn't.  If this is the first you are hearing of it, I'm sorry. We weren't really into talking about it.  But, now we can.

 

Yesterday, Adam and I went room to room together and watched each child as he/she slept.  We snuggle a little longer with the kids now.  We take naps with them.  We practice patience.  We try to be present when we spend time with them. Leo's illness, whatever it was, was a sign that we needed to slow down--to enjoy each other--to stop taking all of this for granted. 

 

And so we will.

 

And perhaps we'll look for help a little sooner next time the kids get sick.  Lesson learned.  I'd like to think we're decent parents, but we're clearly not medicine men.  Clearly.

 

Three cheers for Leo Alexander.  To health, to weath, and to happiness.

 

God bless.

 

And Now I Cannot Put Her Down

Annemarie was baptized this past weekend, and while I know I have been absent for the last couple of weeks, I'll catch you up on that later.  For now, let's talk about this.

I look forward to our children's baptisms before they are even born.  For me, it's the best day of their lives (so far), and while I have planned for this day for a year, there are always the unexpected curve-balls--the weather, for example.  The weather!  Snow and slick roads and poor visibility...all a disastrous combination for an evening celebration for our lttle girl.  But people came.  Our family drove in from out of town (you know who you are), the house was packed and hectic and I was sweating from trying to keep it all controlled, but it was wonderful.  Annie, your cake was beautiful, the food was abundant, the house was loud and full of laughter of the people who came for you.  You won't remember the day, but we will.  It is so touching to be surrounded by the people we love...and who love us...and who so clearly love our children.  I'm still beside myself with appreciation (though the house is still not put back together.) 

And, still feeling so high on the love, I cannot seem to put Annie down.  She is so happy and so snuggly and so completely pure.  She's so loved.  Above all else, I want her to know that.  Based on the outpouring we have received so far, I don't think she'll ever have reason to doubt that.  Things go wrong and people go wrong and some days are bad, but none of that matters, sweet Annie, because you are loved.  You have a great big family of people who love you.  There is nothing, nothing in the entire world that is better than that. 

So, sleep, sweet girl, while I hold you and watch you dream pretty dreams.  Snuggle and feel safe and happy because life is good for you.  We'll make sure of it.  You deserve no less.

And, to anyone who may read this who came to celebrate with us, or who kept us in their thoughts or wished her good wishes, thank you.  Thank you for giving our sweet girl a good start.  Thanks for being there.  Thank you for loving us. There are no better people than you.   

Pictures to come.