Family – Page 7 – Angel Wheeler

One tough camera

For nearly 9 years a disposable camera has been cruising with me in my car. A disposable camera all filled up with mystery pictures of which I can’t remember taking. What? you say. Nine years?!?!?! It’s short of a miracle I know. Never mind that I’ve had a car for 9 years, 12 to be exact, and I’m pretty proud that I’ve had a vehicle for 12 years in this day and age, but the fact that I am so huge of a procrastinator that I haven’t had filmed developed in 9 years is mind-boggling, no?

How many times in the past 9 years have I been to “The Walmarts”? To CVS? To Walgreens?

It is not due to lack of opportunity that I haven’t taken this camera into a photo lab and had it developed. The opportunity presented itself thousands of times, yet there the camera sat, in the little cubby hole underneath the factory stereo with a cassette player. What you say, is a cassette player? Well, boys and girls after 8 tracks they invented this music recorder called a cassette. You had to make sure you always had a pencil handy too when your cassette player ate your tape and you had to wind it back together…….

But I digress…..

This disposable camera has traveled more than 100,000 miles with me. It has toasted in the triple digit Texas heat locked in a car that a poodle wouldn’t last 5 minutes in, and it has froze in the below zero wind chills of winter.

At this point, there is no point in getting it developed. I am sure the film is ruined. But it is one of the cameras we bought for our wedding nearly 9 years ago and curiosity and maybe a bit of motivation got the best of me. Secretly I was hoping there might be a picture of my dad tucked away waiting to be unearthed.

I got a wild hair and took the camera to “The Walmarts” not knowing if they even still developed film the old-fashioned way. I had to ask an associate, a young girl, who looked at me as if my face had gone green, obviously clueless to what I was asking of her, and got an older lady associate to help me find the dillymebob where I drop film off. Using the word dillymebob will often cause people to look at you as if your face has gone green. You should try it.

7-10 days I waited. It’s nothing like 9 years. I actually forgot about it and received a call telling me my film was ready to be picked up.

And there they were. Pictures from 9 years ago. They actually developed if you can believe that. The Panhandle Texas weather aint got nothing on a 35 mm Polaroid disposable camera.

The only wedding pictures happened to be of my sister and I getting our hair fixed for the wedding. The rest were just of life.

Like this one, which I just love. My younger, moustached husband bottle feeding a calf while a sun bleached Ash sits astraddle. The look on her face is priceless.

Here’s my sister, who probably is going to kill me. She’s smiling big, isn’t she pretty? I’m not sure whether she was sun bleached or just bleached, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blonde.

My mom who despises getting her picture taken, but in my opinion, there’s just not enough pictures of her floating out there on the internet, and this one is good.

Then there were dune buggy riding, 4 wheeler riding, and ballet dancing pictures as well. Most things I don’t remember even occurring.

I’m glad I have these pictures to remind me.

The Hummers

I overheard them talking in the doctor’s office a few weeks ago.

You need to get ready for them.

They’re here.

We saw some at our place yesterday.

Hummingbirds.

So I heeded their advice and went to The Walmarts to buy a couple of feeders. I googled how to make sugar water (4 parts water to 1 part sugar), and I filled my feeders and hung them on the patio.

I doubted they would come. Just because I doubt most good things will come in my life. It’s a huge weakness in my character. But lo and behold, as Emma Kate and I were outside enjoying the day, the dogs, and the chickens, they came. They did! Two of them hummed their way over to the feeders and got a drink.

I was thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. I ran to get my camera and of course, as in the way things happen, they flitted away to the trees. I could still hear them tweeting and buzzing around, but they wouldn’t come to the feeders again.

I waited and waited and waited. Some might find waiting on the hummingbirds tedious and boring, their minds filled with a laundry list of to-do’s that they would rather be doing, but the simplicity of the afternoon overtook me and as I waited on the hummingbirds, I sat in the sun and let it warm me all the way to my insides. There’s something healing about a little sunshine warming the innermost.

I watched my darling daughter play in the animal’s drinking water. We have a waterer for the chickens and a big bowl for the dogs, but they don’t seem to understand the distinction, so the dogs drink after the chickens and the chickens drink after the dogs, and Emma Kate drinks after both. It’s good for the immune system I say.

She got pine needles and dunked them through the water and sucked the moisture off, she splashed, and she laughed. And the laughter from a little child on a sunshiny spring day is music to the ears.

She herded chickens and hugged them from behind and Grace, our heeler dog, herded right along with her. Ever vigilant to protect Emma from chicken danger. Meanwhile, Drew, who’s a couple milkbones short of a full box, chewed on a pink bone and didn’t ever once feel his manhood threatened. Real dogs chew pink bones.

And finally as the day drew to a close, and the sun dipped behind the house, and the shadows grew longer, I got a halfway decent picture of a hummingbird. But my true treasure is the several decent pictures I got of a simple day in the backyard that soothed and healed my soul.

A Post Where I Make Fun of my Niece and All Teenagers In General

I have a teenager in my home. She’ll turn 14 in about 2 weeks.

Just in case, you don’t have a teenager in your home, let me tell you what these strange creatures do.

If they have any type of electronic device, they spend hours taking self portraits (selfies) with various faces, and posting them on social media sites near and far. They are then to be “liked” and obviously the more likes you get taking pictures of yourself, with various faces, the greater the intrinsic reward. I know this to be true, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

The teenager who lives in my home is away visiting her grandmother right now.

Today she got a haircut.

And I got a picture text, of course.

A selfie, of course. Along with the text, “What do you think of the haircut?”

I actually received two pictures. She’s got to show all angles.

It’s a beautiful haircut. She is a beautiful girl.

But what is with these faces?

We’ve talked about it before.

me: Why don’t you just smile, you know like normally?

her: that is my smile.

me: really? you raise your eyebrows and do your lips like that when you smile?

her: yeah. See? {click. another selfie}

Today, after receiving her picture texts, my husband and I immediately began making jokes.

J-Dub thinks she looks like she’s sitting on the toilet, although that’s not exactly his choice of words, when she raises her eyebrows and strains her face all up.

And then there’s the pucker, the “duck lips” as I’ve heard them called.

So, we decided to text her back and tell her we thought her hair was beautiful. We also asked what she thought of Jason’s hair in these couple of shots.

Oh my, we were laughing. I don’t know how he kept his pose or how I kept the camera from totally blurring we were laughing and snorting so hard. Tears were flowing down my cheeks which isn’t hard to do when I get truly tickled.

EK was all up in our business during this charade.

She thought she needed to have some duck lips too.

Just in case I needed a reminder that she will be a teenager one day too.

And already playing the part.

Dying Eggs

I told myself to chill. I told myself to give up the mommy control. That this whole Easter egg dying thingiemajigger is about the process, the experience, not the end product.

I think it might have been one of the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

You know how in your mind, everything works out? You plan. You think. You attempt to avoid catastrophes.

I had it under control. Sort of. I put her in play clothes. I planned to go outside. She was to sit on a towel. I had my camera ready. All the supplies were ready to go. The glasses were heavy as not to be knocked over easily. I had a whisk ready to hold the egg all neat and tidy. I had my almost 14 year old niece to assist (ha!). I was relaxed. I was ready. Sort of.

And then we started making the egg dye water and Emma Kate got the food coloring open when I turned my back for maybe 2 minutes to consult the directions. (If you know me at all, you know I am not a whiz in the kitchen and yes, I need directions to color water).

I told myself that wasn’t a big deal. It would wear off. Just keep calm and color eggs. So with Ash’s help, we got the glasses of colored water ready, we got the camera, we got the towel, the eggs, the whisk, the carton, oh and don’t forget the baby, does somebody have the baby? We went out to a sunshiny spot in the yard.

And that’s when I no longer had it under control. EK didn’t sit on the towel calmly like my mind told me she would. She didn’t use the whisk like it was intended. She stood and she chunked eggs in glasses with the force of a major league ball pitcher. Water splashed, she oohed and aahed, she reached in with both hands, grabbing eggs out of water cups, cramming them on top of other eggs in other cups, taking cracked, shattered eggs and breaking them apart like she was ready to scramble them up. She cheered herself on, throwing them down when she was done, picking them up again, wet and covered in grass and dirt, putting them in her mouth.

Okay, okay, I repeated to myself. Everything’s okay, I tried reassuring myself as I tried taking pictures of this train wreck while avoiding a standing baby falling on top of the glasses, squatting and knocking things over, all the while my “assistant” Ashlynn decided to bring out nail polish and paint her eggs literally, and just to be sure that you know, nail polish has no appeal to a baby!!!! Hahahahaha!

We ended up with a cracked, shattered mess of muckledydunn eggs, nail polish on our hands, clothes, and mouth, grass and dirt debris galore, and an experience. The jury is still out on whether or not it was a good experience.

I know what she learned, however. She learned whenever she sees an egg, and remember we have chickens, if she ever gets her hands on it, she will slam it into the ground like a ball.

And it will all be okay, (trying to convince myself).

List 10 things you would tell your 16 year-old self, if you could

This is question number 4 on my list of 30 things my kids should know about me.

What 10 things would I tell my 16 year old self. Oh my. I wish I could visit her. Deep down I think she was sweet, but she was flirting much too often with rebellion, sowing wild oats, trying desperately to figure out her place in the world in which she lived and using way too much hairspray.

I would sit her down if I could and somehow I would snap her out of her “I know all” attitude, and the idea that grown ups were dopes and I would tell her a thing or two. 1. Starting off I’d tell her that doing bad things doesn’t make you look cool. That smoking cigarettes, drinking, drugs, going to parties, breaking curfew, sneaking out, and hooking up with boys is not the way to make friends. People don’t think good of you, and if they do, they’re not the people to be hanging around with. Instead, it actually tarnishes you, steals from you, and makes you not like yourself either. The people you are associating with now, you won’t be associating with in 10, 20 years, so stop trying to impress them. Instead find a hobby. Pick up a camera and capture the world and people around you, write a story—you have a beautiful imagination, do a good deed for your grandmother without her having to ask you. That is what is cool.

2. Then I’d let her know that she doesn’t know a thimbleful of what she thinks she does. And the idea of needing to be pretty is from the world, which just so happens to have it all wrong. But that the word of God says beauty fades and charm is deceiving but a woman who fears the Lord, she is to be praised, the Bible also says the fear of the Lord is the beginning of all wisdom. So love the Lord, and gain wisdom for it is not fancy hair, gold jewelry, or fine clothes that should make you beautiful. No, your beauty should come from within you — the beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit that will never be destroyed and is very precious to God. Work on that instead. How awesome would it be instead of having “you’re so pretty, to a gorgeous girl, stay cool” written in your yearbook, what if instead it said, “you have a beautiful spirit, I appreciate your gentle soul”.

3. Along with the world having it all wrong about how we look on the outside, don’t let society pressure you into the status quo. In a couple of years, you’ll be reading the Lifestyle section of the local paper, and you’ll notice that your classmates will all be getting married, or so it will seem. Then they will start families, and you’ll read the birth announcements. You’ll feel jealousy. You’ll feel disappointment. And it doesn’t come from inside you, but only because you think that’s what the world expects from you: to get married and have children. But you are not in a competition with anyone. This isn’t a race to see who can get married and have babies fastest. Go at your own pace. Don’t feel pressure to do what every other girl you’re age is doing. Because, you know what? A lot of those marriages won’t last, and so settle down about that and discover who you are and what you love to do, not who you need to be with.

4. And while you’re out looking for a life mate, stay away from the bad boys. I know you have a tendency to be attracted to them, but it’s merely physical. Remember beauty fades, and charm is deceiving. See those nerdy, geeky guys? The ones you’ve rejected? The ones you think aren’t “cool”? Well, Angel baby they have their heads screwed on straight. Find yourself a Jesus follower too. Someone who will love you and be devoted to you in the way that Jesus loves you. The long hair and tattoos may appeal to you now, but don’t be a fool for the long run. Look past the outward appearance and look to the heart. This will save you much heartbreak.

5. You haven’t been many places away from your hometown and your daddy’s hometown. But know this….there is a great big world out there. Yes, it’s good to be close to family, but go explore the world while you’re young and able. There are people to meet, cultures to experience, food to try, places to see. Go do it. Don’t think you need to be tied down to your hometown. You can rise above your circumstances. You can do all things with Christ.

6. But while you’re out there seeing the world, don’t forget to appreciate the people in your life. Spend time with your parents. This time will pass quickly, and they really are remarkable people you’ll learn someday. Write down your grandmother’s stories. Write down your parents’ stories. Write down your own stories. I know you think you are young and you won’t forget, but you will. Have your picture made with you parents and your grandmothers, your brothers and your sister. Get to know them. They are the ones who love you the most. They are the ones who will help you when you need it. They are who will support you in your dreams. Tell them you love them, and it wouldn’t hurt to tell them thanks as well.

7. Quit mooching and learn to do things for yourself. You know, like your laundry! And make your own bed! Fix your own breakfast, stuff like that. You aren’t a princess and you’re going to need to know how to do that kind of stuff very soon. Quit taking advantage of other’s kindness. Learn how to clean house. Learn how to cook good food. Spend some time in the kitchen, cook for others, make your grandmother’s bed instead of the other way around. Ask people to show you things, learn from them, then you will have confidence in your abilities. Learn from your elders and treat them right. They know much more than you.

8. Right now, Angel, you are young, you are pretty, you are resilient, and flexible, but you won’t always be young forever. It will happen….your body will age. Your knees will hurt, your joints will ache, your hair will gray, you’re going to get a real severe wrinkle right between your eyes from frowning so often. So take care of your body while you still can and smile! You only get one body, and it needs to last. Treat it right. Only put good things into it. Give it rest, but work it hard so it doesn’t grow lazy. Find a balance, strive to be healthy.

9. It’s always good to have a nest egg. Save money. But don’t be greedy. Again, find a balance. No, that’s the world talking. On second thought, be more generous. You’re too stingy as it is. If you see someone in need, help them. You’ll reap what you sow. It’s better to give than receive. You’ll probably never be rich in wealth, but you’ll have what you need. And it’s just money anyway.

10. There will be hard times in your life. At the time, you will think they are terrible times. But you will look back on them years down the road, and they won’t seem so hard anymore. Time passes quickly sister, so do good in the world. Don’t be self-centered. Don’t always think of yourself, how you can get ahead, how situations are going to affect you. It’s hard not to, but truth is, it’s not about you. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Look around, see others, see their hardships, see their pain, love them and I mean really love them…. with actions, not merely words. Put others before yourself. You won’t be a door mat if you do, you’ll be Christ-like and by doing so, you’ll not only bring Glory to God, but you’ll bring others to God through your actions. For these three remain, faith,hope, and love and the greatest of these is love.

It’s a sweet life you live, Angel. You have great rewards ahead of you, just you wait and see. Enjoy it. It’s much too short not to.

A day in the backyard with 5 chickens and two dogs

Today the weather is agreeable. The skies are a cobalt blue with an occasional fluffy cumulus cloud in the distance. The wind is slight. It’s still chilly enough to need a coat, but when you find a good place to sit in the sun, your insides begin to warm and your heart smiles.

As does your mouth. Me and little britches went outside to enjoy it for a while. The chickens were making an awful ruckus earlier in the day and I thought we’d better scout for eggs in case they’re laying willy nilly as they are prone to do.

In case you’re new here, my backyard is home to 5 wonderful chickens, two dogs and an occasional visit by me and my girl, EK.

That’s Drew, wanting his belly rubbed. It’s a dog’s life.

The dogs are sweet, albeit a bit rambunctious. And EK is a bit leery of their wagging tails, licking tongues, and overall ambitious nature.

Our girl dog, Grace, is a heeler/shepherd. A tad on the hyper side, a herder of all chickens, and may I add that she also is in heat. It’s important to the story, trust me.

She loves Emma. She just doesn’t understand her boundaries.

She wants to love on her but outweighs her by about 25 pounds.

Emma is always glad to see the dogs, as long as she’s in someone’s arms, safe and protected. I set her on the ground and told those dogs NO, and allowed the morning to progress. Drew is content chewing on a stick but Grace wants to see EK up close and personal and Emma was happy to see her.

Right until Grace rolled over on her back begging for a belly rub, bumped Emma and made her fall down. I of course, did my parental duty and ran right over to brush away the tears and scold the dog, but not before I snapped a picture or two. Not to worry, she was unscathed.

Time passed. A chicken wandered over, Grace followed.

Emma fretted, but was relieved when Grace herded the chicken along and ignored the need for a belly rub.

It’s okay, Emma. It’s ok.

Later, a new dog entered our backyard through a bad spot in the fence. A small black, high jumping dog.

We had gone inside but spotted him through the window. Was he after the chickens?

Nope. Just Grace.

We (as in J-Dub) ran him off twice, then we (as in J-Dub) fixed the bad spot in the fence.

Who knows. In a few months, the backyard may be home to five wonderful chickens, two dogs, and a passel of puppies.

All wanting their bellies rubbed.

Authors note: I started this post when EK was asleep, then she woke up and sat in my lap here at the computer. I showed her the pictures and she said “Emma” “bock, bock” “Drew” and when she saw Grace she said, “NO, NO, NO”. And then “night night”. She’s so precious.

Breastfeeding

When our little girl was born, she had to go to the NICU. We had had a very difficult labor, not like all labor and deliveries aren’t difficult, but if my memory serves me correctly, it was no walk in the park. They ended up taking me for a C-section. They were concerned about the amount of meconium (first fetal poop often caused by distress) in the amniotic fluid and if she were to aspirate it into her lungs, it could cause serious problems.

I remember lying there on the surgery table and feeling such an awesome bond to my anesthesiologist who sat at my head. He talked to me and answered my questions about what was going on. Of course J-Dub was there and a team of doctors and nurses working together like a well oiled machine. I asked the anesthesiologist, “Have they started cutting yet?” And he replied, “You’re wide open.” There was a bunch of tugging and violent pulling, and then there was Emma Kate. I remember Jason repeating over and over, “She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine.”

And I heard her cry. Then they showed her to me, and she was fine. I remember asking the nurse if I could see my placenta, because I wanted to see my baby’s life source for the past 41 weeks. She held up a pink hospital basin with a lot of green tissue in it. She told me it was so green because of the meconium.

The next thing I remember I was lying on a bed in a room with a lady sitting across from me. Not even a hospital room, but more like a staff work room. There were lockers against one wall, and hospital people would come through and exit a door across the way. The round woman sat against the lockers on a rolling chair, her big arms resting on her stomach.

“What are you doing?” I asked her when I was awakening from my fog.
“Watching you,” she answered. ”
“Why?”
“To make sure you wake up and recover,” she said.
“What a boring job you have.” I told her.
“Sometimes,” she agreed.

We sat there, she staring at me while I drifted in and out of sleep.

Then Jason came in, squatted by my head and told me they were taking Emma Kate to the NICU because she was having trouble breathing, and a doctor followed him in the room rolling her in her little isolette. She was lying in there, swaddled in a blanket, with a little cap on her head, and I could hear her grunting with each breath. He explained that they originally thought everything was okay, but then she began grunting, and they wanted to give her some oxygen and get her breathing regularly. She was then rolled away from her mama, away from the very person she needed to be nearest. I had only gotten to touch her once and wouldn’t be able to touch her again for several hours.

We had to wait nearly 24 hours before we could hold her. And then nearly 48 hours before she could breast feed. When we finally nursed, I wrote on my facebook wall that she was like “a hog at the trough”. She looked like a bird in the nest getting a worm from her mama, her mouth rooting around searching desperately for the milk that would sustain her. The nurse on duty remarked, “She’s going to be a breast baby, I can tell it. Look how big she opens her mouth.”

Breast baby is a more professional way of saying titty baby, which is what she was and still is. We didn’t have the breast feeding problems many other mothers have: not being able to latch on, not producing enough, the pain, the tenderness. In fact, my biggest problem was that I was a milk machine. Abundant milk supply. When my body finally told my “bottles” how much they needed to produce, it got much easier.

I believe as strongly in the benefits of breast milk as I believe in the Holy Trinity. Powerful stuff. I wanted Emma to have breast milk, but I didn’t know how long I would actually last nursing EK. I knew it was in her best interest, even if it was a pain for me. I thought I would try it for about 3 months, then 3 months turned to 6 and 6 turned into 9, the more time passed the easier it became, and today at 12.5 months we are still breastfeeding. There have been so many times in the past year I have felt tied down and trapped. I couldn’t leave her for more than 3 hours at a time. There were times when everyone ate supper except me because I was nursing the baby in the next room. There was the loss of sleep, the 7 weeks of pumping during my lunch break and conference time when I returned to work, then afterwards the refusal to take a bottle, so back to not being able to leave her for more than 3 hours. It has been a huge sacrifice, HUGE, but I’m glad that I endured.

Now the weaning process begins. She has a terrible sleep/nurse association thinking she needs to nurse in order to sleep, waking up several times a night. It just finally became too much for me. I know that I am way behind, but I just night weaned her 4 days ago. She is waking less and less and actually slept 9 hours the other night, straight through with no wakings. This is huge for us!!! I was up at 4:00 a.m. twiddling my thumbs, but at least everyone else got a good nights sleep. I should have night weaned her months ago, but was just too concerned that she might actually be hungry or was usually too tired to attempt to wean.

So now she’s sleeping more, eating more solid foods and relying on breast milk less and less. The past year my sleep deprived, breast engorged, nursing bra-clad self has longed for this moment. Getting my freedom back. Getting my hormones back. Getting my bra size back (maybe not a good thing). And now that it’s here, yes you guessed it, I’m a little sad. My little baby is growing up. As trying as breast feeding is, it is also a precious time of bonding, cuddling, gazing into your baby’s face. And now this season is ending for us. The next season stands in waiting, peeking from behind the curtain, watching for its cue to enter stage right. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I will complain about that season too. I will long for it to end, whatever it be. Somedays I will wish it away, wish her on to the next season.

Then a day will come when it is gone too, and I will sit with my memories.

For in the end, that is all we really have.

The Party

Our baby girl turned one.

We drove to Texas early to celebrate with our family and close friends.

Here’s Emma Kate with her Grandy, who loves her so much. Let me tell you how much Grandy loves Emma. My mom (Grandy) never, and I mean NEVER allows her picture to be made. Except with Emma. Now that’s love, right there.

I tried to keep the party as simple as possible, and discovered that birthdays can easily get out of hand, and my stress level can easily go through the roof, with tears easily running down my cheeks.

Emma Kate loves Pete the Cat, especially “I Love My White Shoes”. So with a little help from Pinterest and more experienced mothers who have gone before me, we went with a Pete the Cat theme.

Let me tell you how much Pete the Cat loves his white shoes. He loves his shoes when they are white, but then he steps in a pile of strawberries and they turn red. Instead of boohooing, Pete just loves his red shoes instead. And when he steps in a pile of blueberries and they turn blue, instead of pitching a fit, he just loves his blue shoes. Then he steps in a pile of mud and you guessed it. He loves his shoes brown. Then he steps in a bucket of water and they turn all white again, but then they are wet! But it’s all good with Pete and he loves his wet shoes too.

Of course we needed strawberries and blueberries. We had a little chocolate pudding for the mud, and then just some one year old friendly foods like crackers and goldfish, with some grown-up friendly food like sandwiches

I was planning on cake balls and a cake, but making the cake turned into a fiasco. A fiasco, I say.

Mostly because I procrastinate, and because I am so NOT Betty Crocker, I can barely get the stove turned on. It would make more sense to order a cake, but somewhere in my perfectionist mind, I needed to make the cake myself, knowing good and well it wouldn’t be perfect.

Of course I found a recipe that involved way too many tricks and steps, of course I had to run to Walmart that day, of course at 1:00 I still didn’t have a cake made when the party was at three, of course tears were dripping into the batter as I frantically mixed and folded egg whites and sifted flour.

The icing turned out to be way too sweet and runny, but thanks to my dear husband who donned his Superman cape and convinced me that store-bought icing is not from the devil, then in the blink of an eye ran to the store and purchased it, then whisked back in a nanosecond and iced the cake beautifully, we had a decent cake before three o’clock. No cake balls, but a decent cake.

Notice I said “we” had a beautiful cake. Emma had one with sickening sweet icing.

Which probably explains this look and why she chose to eat three strawberries and barely touched the cake.

She was a champ at opening presents and sat there and looked at each and every one of them without tiring.

She adores presents and wants to stop and play with them all.

She even loved her cards.

Despite my anxiety, the party was a success and the love Emma received was awesome.

So here’s to planning birthday party #2 eleven months early.

Maybe that way, we can have cake balls.

12 months

It’s unbelievable.

It’s inconceivable.

It’s unfathomable.

I’m sitting up in bed with you sleeping soundly beside me, studying your precious face and shaking my head in disbelief. Can this really be true?

One year, Emma Kate. One year.

This time last year, after a serious ordeal of labor and delivery, you made your appearance and have been a joy to me every single day since.

Let me tell you a little about yourself. First off, nearly every recent picture I have of you is blurry because you are on the go all the time. You took your first wobbly steps almost 4 weeks ago, and now you are practically running.

You love songs, books, babies, dogs, fish, cats, bath, outside, and your momma.

You dislike someone trying to feed you, laying still to get your diaper changed, having something taken from you, sleeping alone, and being left with strangers.

You can talk a blue streak. Some new words you began saying this month are juice, more, fish, Elmo, Emma, and no, no, no.

You love to talk on the phone and often have someone’s cell phone up to your ear pretending. You like to put things in little hidey holes too. I opened the pots and pan cabinet and found a sippy cup and found a sock in a cereal box.

A blurry picture of you with your necklace.

Your daddy thinks you might be a girly-girl because you love bracelets and necklaces and wear them around the house. Even if it’s not a “real” necklace, you turn it into one. You were wearing a cell phone cord around your neck, dragging it on the ground the other day, and you’ll put anything on your wrist that’s circular and then walk around holding your arm up so it rests on the crook of your elbow.

You like to watch Elmo’s World and sing the Barney song with your Grandy. When she starts singing, you begin to sway back and forth and give a big hug (with a grunt) and blow a kiss too.

You’re really super affectionate mostly and pat the people you love on the check and give kisses and hugs. But with people you don’t know very well, you are reserved and solemn, barely cracking a smile or interacting, but instead sitting back and watching.

You make us laugh all the time at your new antics. And I love to watch you walk. You have this funny side-step-shuffle with your elbows bent upward. You also learned to drink from a straw this month.

You still only have 6 teeth, your eyes are big and beautiful, you are cute as a bug, and you have learned how to really cry hard when you aren’t getting something you want or something is being taken away from you.

You still don’t sleep all night long, but I guess there’s worse things in life, and we’ll all survive. We’ve made it 12 months so far, I’m sure a few more months won’t kill us.

This past year, you have taught me to love more than I ever knew I was capable of. You have taught me to savor the moments because they vanish so quickly. You have taught me to see the world with the same kind of newness you do, and to adore chubby little bellies and dimpled hands. You are my baby girl. And even though your first year is now behind us, and we are moving into toddlerhood, you will always, always be my baby.

I love you so very much sweet one.

XOXO,

Mama

Birthday Letters

On January 16, 1943 my dad was born. I don’t know anything about his birth. Whether he was born in a hospital or at home. Whether he was a good baby or a tyrant. How much he weighed or if he sucked his thumb.

Today if he were still living, he would have turned 70 years old.

He wrote himself a birthday letter a fews years back. I happen to have a copy.

Jan-1998

Happy Birthday, Bob—–Happy 55 years. A real milestone. I feel like celebrating this b.d., unlike my 30th, which went by unnoticed. Unlike my 40th which went by with hardly a ripple or even my 50th, supposedly the biggie, hardly made a dent on my psyche.

But 55 is the short side of the century mark. So that makes it a milestone in my books, and I’m finally at the age where it makes not a tinkerers damn about anyones books but my own.

A brief synopsis—–I was born into a family of five siblings, a bootlegger father, and my mother was a housewife. My family was mildly dysfunctional to say the least, my parents divorced when I was 11 and my mother struggled to keep her brood together.

I went to High school here in town, finally got laid, got drunk and enlisted in The Marine Corps just a few days after graduation. Spent four years in The Corps, traveled around the world, went to work for various construction companies in West Texas and never once let college cross my mind. Made a lot of parties—-a few friends and generally went around with my heart on my sleeve.

Anne, my wife and I had a wild, roller coaster, wonderful relationship from day one when we met in The Crystal Lounge bar, a downstairs dark, dank place where people drank, fought and loved with equal fervor.

Anne had two boys from a previous marriage that I was too young and dumb to see the joy in. We later had two daughters that have remained the light of my life to this day. The boys have forgiven my shortcomings and remain friendly toward me, too. Thanks boys.

55 years—-that must seem like an eternity to someone in their 20’s or thirties, but to me it has been but a short journey on this meandering train we call life. Meandering, wandering, everlooking for the path of least resistance, just like the nameless creek near Hoover, Texas where I gathered clover blossoms to plait into a braid for Anne’s hair.

~1998~

Happy Birthday Dad—-happy 70th. Two birthdays have now passed since you left us. And lots has happened. I miss you, but it does get easier with time, but there are still days that sadness is all around me, thick as fog. I love you more than I ever have, and I’m so thankful for your writings that you left us. I feel I know you better now than I ever did in real life. I wonder why we feel like we can’t open up to others, and especially the ones who love us most? I know I’m just as guilty.

You were a good dad. That’s probably all you wanted to hear while you were living, and I don’t know if I ever told you. But you were. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

You tried your best, I know that now. It’s certainly not easy being a parent, I know that now too.

I never realized just how tender you were. You were always so tough and big and strong, that I guess I didn’t think about your feelings much. I’m sorry for that.

Thanks for being a number one dad to me. Thanks for supporting me in everything I ever did. Thanks for taking time to spend with me, even if it was laying in the floor taking kissing bets during a bowling tournament on T.V. or skipping rocks on the Illinois. I have fond memories, and those are what I carry with me now. It’s all I’m left with, the memories and your stories.

You’d really love Emma. Sometimes I imagine that you are here and see you laugh at her or hug her close. She reminds me of you sometimes. Especially now as she’s learning to walk. She’s got this stumble about her, that’s very Grandpa-esque. Or sometimes they way she lays while she’s sleeping or a look on her face makes me think of you. You are a part of her.

I know you’re in Heaven and I’m going to be there someday too. It’s good that this life isn’t all we’ve got, isn’t it? So, until we meet again Dad, enjoy yourself, and I’ll do the same. There’s much happiness here still, and memories to make with others.

I love you bigger than Hog Eyes and Sauerkraut Mississippi.

Until then……

Love,

Angel