"The most wasted of days is one without laughter" E.E. Cummings

Have I said lately how in love with this child I am?





Tonight, before bed, Shaun asked Sully to give me a goodnight kiss and he extended his hand out instead and shook my hand. Kid, you crack me up.

Happy weekend everyone!

Habitual line stepper

Dear child of mine,

No amount of coffee could save either of us from the train wreck that I think we both can agree was this morning. Or last night for that matter.

We could talk about how for, the third night in a row, you woke up singing the Wiggles and then demanded them in the middle of gods hour. I don't care if 3:00AM our time IS 3:00 PM Australian time, you ain't getting them child. And if you don't stop, I will be forced to call Intervention and get you the help you need.

And you should know by now that no sleep, especially over 4 grown men who sing with a dinosaur about cold spaghetti, is going to make for a not-so-happy morning for all involved.

We could talk about that water bottle you decided to pour all over our barely-year-old-couch. Lets just say you owe your Nini and Aunt for saving you from that one this morning.

Or maybe we could talk about the rake you used to chase the dogs around the house with today. And when the rake was removed from you possession ...

Maybe we could talk a few minutes about the broom you used to chase the dogs around the house with today. And when said broom was removed from your possession ...

Maybe we can talk about the hockey sticks you used to chase the dogs around the house with today. And when the hockey sticks were, yes, removed from your possession ... you resorted to using the baby vacuum.

That mommy almost threw out the window.



We could talk about the flower beds and trees you decided to scale in the yard to get to the "bitey" cat. Or when you decided to run not once, not twice, but three times into the side yard where all the dog poop is. Damn kid, you're quick.

Or the toilet paper you unraveled into a mountain heap ... again.

Or the train set you took apart and then demanded put back together in a crumbled fit on the floor.

Or the tomatoes at dinner you figured looked better on the ground than in the salad bowl because you decided after biting into one and not liking it, that meant nobody could like them.

You test me. And you know, I'm fortunate for that.

And in the brief moments of insanity when I felt like this may be the day Mommy actually goes completely out of her mind, I remembered what Tammy said to the parents at our workshop last night.

"Do we want "yes" children, children that obey and do always as they are told by everyone around them, or do we want children that think for themselves? They may not be easy to handle, but when they grow up, are they going to do what everyone around them will pressure them to do, or will they be confident enough to think and stand up for themselves?"

I don't want you to be a yes child.

I wasn't a yes child.

And while your Nini smiles and declares at least once a day that you're my "payback" for everything I put her through, I smile on the inside, because, well,

...I'm okay with that.

While it would make my days less hectic and crazed, and just plain easier if you would listen the first time around or (even period sometimes), I'm happy that a gave birth to a habitual line stepper.



God knows I love that tenacious, spunky, wild-child spirit of yours.

I have to admit, the annoyance of having to run after you a third time while trying to get dinner on the table quickly disappeared as I watched you laugh hysterically running through the grass to the one place you know you aren't suppose to be. And as I ran after you, watching your still awkward movements navigate through the yard as quickly as your feet could carry you with your arms out strecthed wide, I laughed too. You had the biggest, widest, most mischievous grin on your face as I caught up to you - and honestly it made me a little sad because I knew in seconds that would be replaced with screams of anger. But because I have to be the responsible one, you still got a time out for a minute or so. And my heart broke a little as you cried those big crocodile tears, because in my mind I pictured my actual foot crushing down your actual tiny free spirit.

As I crouched down to you on the floor to explain why you couldn't be over there, again, you responded with your typical get out a free jail card - a giant unwarranted kiss - and damn you if it doesn't work like a charm every time.

Mommy's a sucker.

As quickly as you can push me to the brink, you reel it all back in with peaceful cuddles in my lap tucked into the crook of my arm just because - and finish it all off with kisses and giggles and sharing of toys and love. And I smile.

Mainly because you didn't try to escape a single time after our "talk". It could have also had something to do with threatening to let the gardeners take you home.

Either way, maybe you do listen after all.

You are my push and pull, my give and take, my daily reminder to do better tomorrow from the lessons we learn from today. And in this fine dance we do of laying down boundaries and trying to step over them; I hope that you have your days of trying to scale up them, or over them or pour them all over my couch. Because the truth is, what works best for us in our family is valuing all members. You may just be a child, a baby, but you've come prepackaged with your own feelings and thoughts and ideas and likes and dislikes ... and if we do this right, you'll grow up knowing that you've always been valued, you've always been respected - that you're allowed to say no to things and we have to be okay with that sometimes. That we're already working hard to set the foundation down for you to be a confident being, an independent thinker - someone allowed to think outside of the box and go against the flow. You're allowed to be stubborn and headstrong, because I guarantee you those are the all attributes that will one day also make you a passionate person, an outspoken person, a driven person full of determination and strength and heart.

No, I doubt not that you will ever be a yes man.

Its not in you nature.
Its not in your genes.

I know you will not always agree with our rules, you will not always be happy with our opinions, you will not always like the outcome - but its my hope for you, that you will not be afraid to every now and again run through the grass, with your arms out stretched laughing hysterically when you think nobody is looking.

You never know, I may be a few steps behind laughing too.

Vampires, we has them.

One man band

Nothing like getting a solo practice in while its drizzling outside on you

Fair

On Saturday we headed down to Seaside Park to hit up the Ventura County Fair. We ate a ton of really-bad-for-you-food, checked out the vendors, let Sully hand feed some goats and pigs and fawns and ducks and llama's and you name its, and ride his first ever pony.

I was really excited to get him on a "horse" and see how he would do. I use to horseback ride with my Papa and then later at an equestrian ranch in Moorpark after we moved. Its something I miss a lot and it brought back a lot of fun memories. It makes my heart melt a little when I see how excited Sully gets with animals, mainly because I was exactly the same way. Birds, rabbits, mice, fish, hamsters, cats, dogs - you name it, I had it. I was really fortunate to have parents that went along with it. My folks put up with more than their fair share of stray pets, and some that were not so stray pets ... but they don't know that. Well, until they read this at least. He was pointing and squealing and wanting to pet Tex the pony - that was until he actually got on Tex. He never cried, just did a lot of clawing at my arms and pointing at Daddy to save him from the crazy shit his mom makes him do.

The fair was one of the first places/events that we took Sully to last year. Its amazing to look back on those pictures and see how much he has grown.



Last year all he did was poop and sleep. This year he ate corndogs and called a llama a car. Okay so we still have a ways to go, but its progress.

We had a great time needless to say. Unfortunately I only had my shitty point and shoot camera with us because I didn't want to lug the Nikon around with us all day. Yeh, I was kicking myself in the ass for that one. The pictures needless to say leave a lot to be desired, but, its better than nothing!

Doors

Today I had the sad realization that my little baby boy isn't so much my little "baby" as much as he is my little boy.

A lot of time I'll just make nonsense chatter with Sully while I do stuff to keep him occupied while I finish whatever task at hand - in this case cutting up some fruit for breakfast. In a morning shuffle and daze, one of our three dogs got left outside after potty time. In passing I simply said "Sully can you let Murphy in please", never expecting him to actually comprehend or DO what I had actually said.

But my big 16 month old boy walked over to the back door, opened it (yes he's been able to reach for some time, he is 110th percentile height after all)and patted his knee while he said "Here, here" with the other hand on the handle still. Once Murphy was in he shut the door and signed "All done" and looked at me as if to say "Okay, now what do you want Mom?".

I smiled, and okay so I wanted to cry a little too because I realized just how quickly he's growing and learning and understanding. That he's soaking in everything like a sponge these days, and that new doors, whether I like it or not, are going to start opening - for both of us.

Number Eight

Two thousand nine hundred and twenty-one.

That is how many days Shaun and I have almost been married. This Wednesday marks our 8th wedding anniversary and our 10th year together.

My grandmother.

I know its a weird place to start with an anniversary post but it'll make sense in a moment, at least I think it will. Since I had Sullivan, I think about her more often than I have in a very long time. She would love the little guy to pieces. But that isn't where I'm really going with this right now. Back on track, Steph.

My fondest memories of my Grandma Alice were sitting on her red swing that was outside of her house. Its where she would share stories about my grandfather and her family. She really loved my grandfather who had passed away years prior, but that love was always really apparent in her stories. The way she would shake her head and laugh as she told these stories.

I'm learning there were life lessons that I took away then that would carry me through. Like the importance of embracing and passing down our stories. She would spend hours telling me these stories about her childhood, about my grandfather, the depression, growing up as a farmers daughter or about her mother that she never really knew. Over and over again I would hear these stories - most of them I can recount by heart, even now.

We all have a story.

Since Sullivan arrived into the picture, I'm realizing how important sharing these stories are. They are the foundation of who we were, who we are and who we will become. Late at night, when the world is sleeping and I'm cuddled in tight with my boy, I share these stories. And while in some obscure way they play into a bigger picture of his life, they are not his stories. His story begins with Shaun and I.

Ten years is a long ways to dig down and go back. Its time to start putting pen to paper, so one day, he can look back on how his story began.

Putting even a glimpse of "our" story out there is unsettling at times. Its hard sometimes for me even to articulate my thoughts to Shaun about how I feel. Its been the source of many-a-argument at times between us. But I want Sullivan to know how much I love Shaun, I want the world to know how much both of my boys mean to me.

And even though I know he knows ... I want Shaun to know how much Shaun means to me.

Three thousand six hundred and fifty-two days, give or take some days.

That is how long ago this story began.

Just 19 years old, but even then, I knew. He kissed the top of my forehead, and I knew. Every girl knows when they've found the one. Ten years later, and I still get the butterflies.

Ten years ago, he gave up everything to move back to Cali, on nothing more than a hunch and a crush on a nineteen year old girl for the sake of a chance after a whirlwind two week vacation. An honest-to-god chance to make it work. I guess it worked.

He was the cute, svelte boy with the Cheshire grin and his daddy's beat up Ford Ranger that towered over me. He had a goatee, played the guitar and could make me laugh. He still can make me laugh like nobody else. (By the way, that truck eventually caught fire on the side of the freeway and I don't think he's picked up that guitar since we got married. Well played Mr. Curtis, well played.)

A year later we found ourselves in a little apartment with our cat Pacha and a dinky pink futon couch. We ate ramen, counted pennies and listened to our Grateful-Dead lovin' roomate try to be the next big thing with his guitar singing songs about rainbows and friendship. Smoking the reefer every day will do that to you. I think back to that Shaun and Stephanie and I smile. I smile because there is something beautiful in the art of being young, struggling and making it to the other side.

The fact that I made it to the other side with him makes it all that more beautiful.

It seems like forever ago and yesterday all at once.

And a lifetime of memories have started to fill up all the spaces in between. Some good, some bad, but better for all of them regardless.

We've worked to get to where we are - in so many more ways than anyone will ever understand. We've battled and dug our heels down deep to keep this whole thing from diving over a cliff. We've changed, but we've done it together and we're better for it.

Shaun -

I think about "us" and I think about the time you took me up to the mountains in Utah and we hiked and saw my first moose and was assaulted by that chip-loving-semi-possessed chipmunk. I think about Vegas penny slots and free booze or the time we took off on a whim and ended up in San Fransisco. I think about that time we ate lunch in the back of the pickup truck along the shoreline in Malibu as the sun was settling in the sky and watched the abalone fisherman dive in the crashing waves. I think about walking along the streets of New Orleans as jazz music blazed out the bars and giving those kids a buck who tap danced for us in the middle of the road.

I think about mirror messages, midnight grocery shopping, and 10 hour lines in Hollywood to meet your idle. I think about sunsets at the beach, talking the nights away and watching countless sunrises because of it. I think about Smith's ice cream, the Dark Crystal and bringing Murphy home as a puppy. I think about the first time I stepped off that plane into a new country and you squeezed my hand, because you knew it was a long awaited dream coming true for me. I think about movie hopping and laughter and Denny's pancakes after concerts we're probably too old to still be going too. I think about landing in Tokyo and squeezing your hand because I knew it was a long awaited dream coming true for you.

I think about us and my mind goes back to that walk and the pouring rain that started down in Ireland and you standing there on the rocks of a creek - and when everyone turned around to go back and I stepped forward you smiled, held your hand out and said "That's my girl. You ain't 'gonna let a little rain stop us." And we walked and walked and walked in the rain - completely soaked as we trekked along the countryside on that little one car road talking about life and dreams and babies and we laughed and wiped the rain from our faces and laughed some more. And we laughed and cried two months later when we came home and found out that life and dreams and babies were happening, in 9 months to be exact.

And you. Shaun. You.

You've survived my short hair (like one step away from playing for the other teams short), indecisive nature, corny jokes and mental outbursts.

You are the guy who brings me home flowers just because, buys me a book instead of jewelry because you know I won't wear it anyways, messages nearly daily just to see how I am and lets me sleep in every Sunday. You're the guy who attempts to do laundry even though you know its probably "the wrong way", got me to finally kick the smoking habit and says its the sexiest thing ever when I name off the hockey players on the Kings. You're the guy who eats my crappy cooking and knows when I need a stiff drink. You're the guy who tells me I'm beautiful and asks for kisses even when I haven't showered in a day and my hair is a rats nest on top of my head with day old makeup smeared on my eyes and I'm wearing sweat pants with chalk stains all over them and that shirt you hate with all the holes in it that also happens to have the afternoon's lunch on it and my feet are black because I just spent the last 45 minutes sitting in a dirt pile with our toddler ... and you just smile, and say shut up, and demand and hug and say "I'll take you however I can get you."

Butterflies.

You're the kind of guy who sits outside my office at 9 at night because you don't want me there alone. The kind of guy that says "we" and "our" instead of "mine" and "yours" - like when you assured me through tears my infertility issues were really our infertility issues. You're my number one advocate and have supported every single decision I've made, right or wrong, over the years. You push me to toe the line, and remind me there isn't anything wrong with staying in touch with my inner child. You love attributes most would see as a hindrance in people, like my stubborn or "scrappy" nature as you put it.

And loving you only got easier during and after Sully.

For every pregnancy appointment you never missed; for every song you sang to my belly; for every night you ran out in your pj's at 3 am to feed a hungry beast awaiting at home; for agreeing that my hippo feet were indeed actually terrifying. For coming out in your tight scrubs and dancing to calm my nerves, whispering a song in my ear moments before our son arrived - for seeing that look on your face the first time you saw your son's face.

The face of joy, and excitement, and fear, and happiness and wonder - and love. For every diaper you've happily changed, every bath you've ever given and the majority of nights to do bedtimes so I can have a few moments of peace.

And when you scoop Sully up into your arms and tip him upside down and kiss him - and he lets out a ginormous belly laugh - and you proudly declare "I FREAKIN' LOVE THIS KID! He's the BEST thing ever!" ...

There is no place I could or would imagine being other than here.

Here -

Here listening to you sing children songs while he dances, naming off his hot wheel cars or demanding he eats his banana as he throws it as you.

And I want you to know it was worth it. It was all worth it. To be here in these moments, with you, after all this time. To have shared all these experiences with you, to be sharing all these moments with you now. This is his story, and one day he'll make his own because of us.

I think back to where I was almost 8 years ago, and for the most part, that day is a blur. But I can hear myself telling my dad I have to pee as we round the corner and him telling me I'll just have to pee myself then - because the bagpiper in front of us has started to wail away already, and its marching us down that path. A unknown path of unmarked territory, and I'm scared shitless, and I'm weak in the knees and I'm not sure if I want to cry or run.

And then I see you standing there. And I see your face. And I can see us.

And two thousand nine hundred and twenty-one days later my feet continue to carry me down a unknown path of unmarked territories, head first with you, working and struggling and changing and supporting and creating this thing we call our life.

It's our story.

And I love our story.