love – Angel Wheeler

Eleanor’s 2nd bday letter

Dear Eleanor,

Happy 2nd birthday my precious one! You and me, we stayed up past our bedtime last night, you snuggled on my shoulder, and watched videos of your little life. There you were blowing out your candles, and there you were showing me how high you could jump, squatting low and raising up but your toes never left the ground. There you were reading a book and announcing “God loves me” at the end because you had been read it so often you knew that’s what it said. As we watched these videos, I couldn’t help but get a little sad. It just seems like yesterday and so long ago at the same time and I fear I didn’t pay enough attention yo all those little moments that have passed us by. It’s a mom thing. One day, you’ll understand what I’m trying to say.

You are growing up and being shaped by the world around you and I can only pray that I am being the mom you need.

You live life to the fullest. You are smart, determined, headstrong, and dare I say bossy? These sound like bad traits but they are not! You are a force to be reckoned with and steered in the right direction, you can do and will do amazing things with those traits.

You are also friendly, compassionate, empathetic, and so very playful. You love to laugh and make others laugh. You are a bit of a TV junkie and you go through obsessions where we watch the same thing over and over until you are ready to move on. So far, it’s been The Wiggles, CoCoMeLoN, Winnie the Pooh, Monsters Inc., Luca and now you are into The Good Dinosaur.

You are one of those kids who loves to carry around a teddy or a baby doll all the time and sleep with one too. You are a big talker…lots of vocabulary and can communicate all you need, you are a potty training school drop out but we’ll try again later, it’s ok. Sometimes I think I rush you to grow up and you just aren’t ready yet.

You love to read books, color, play with your babies and push them in a stroller. You love to eat food that’s not good for you and play with our new dog Puddin and our old cat Rocky. You give them hugs lay with them when they let you.

You are mischievous and a boundary pusher. You hide to poop and hate getting dressed, your hair brushed, or your diaper changed. We fight a lot. And I usually win but sometimes let you. You throw yourself on the floor on your belly and cry when you throw a fit, which happens daily over the silliest things. You still get hurt a lot but it seems to be getting less frequent. You have had a lot of boo boos in your little life.

You do love your family, although I’m your favorite. Not to brag or anything. But you don’t think anyone can do anything for you except me. You say “mom, hold your baby.” With your little arms outstretched. You’ve started practicing manners and you say “oh thank you” on the sweetest high pitched voice and you beg “peeeas” when you’ve been told no.

I just love you so much little El. You bring so much joy to all those around you. You make people smile and laugh. You are a treasure and you are teaching me so much about faith, love, grace, fun, and patience. Lots and lots of patience!!

I hope you know how much I love you and that I am always here for you no matter what!!!

Xoxo,

Mama

A Letter to Emma on her 11th Birthday

To my dear Emma Kate,

Today you are eleven years old! Happy Birthday my dear precious one!! You are a beautiful young lady, but more beautiful on the inside. What can I say about you after eleven years? You have stepped into the big sister role remarkably well and are the best big sister to Eleanor. She so loves and adores you too. I’m so thankful she has you for a role model and I can’t wait for you to be able to drive in just 5 short years so you can get her to all her things! You help me with anything and everything when I need it. You are a good friend and are always considering their feelings and how your actions will affect them when you have to make decisions.

At this stage in life, you are still dancing the ballet shoe, as Eleanor would say. I think this is your 8th year of perfect attendance in ballet. You are a beautiful, graceful dancer, and over Christmas break, you received your pointe shoes. That brought you great excitement and pride. You decided to stop gymnastics after 5 years, and that’s ok. Not everything is meant to stay with us forever. Seasons come and seasons go.

You are an excellent student, receiving many compliments from teachers. In fact, you’ve never not made the A Honor Roll in all your years so far. You always strive to do your best and that makes me very proud. Heck, all of you makes me very proud.

You are funny, weird, and a bit goofy at times, when you let your hair down. You spend your free time with friends or on the computer; playing Roblox, scrolling Pinterest or watching YouTube. Please be careful with your device time and try to keep it in check. It can really become an addiction and a wedge to relationships. You love Harry Potter and books that involve fantasy, but I do believe you’ve outgrown all the things of childhood fantasies in real life.

You are one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me and I am honored and grateful to be Mom to such an amazing person! Keep being you in these next few years, especially when everyone will want you to change to fit some mold. Although at the time it will seem very important to be in a certain crowd or to fit in, in actuality its a very short number of years of your life and you will find you place and your groove and be exactly where you need to be. Don’t take life too serious (you might be prone to do that). Make time for fun & play & always know how very much you are loved by me. I am here for you always and forever.

Much love,

XOXO Mama

8 month old Eleanor

My Dearest Little Elly,

This letter is very delayed, as we have lost a very special person to us. Your Grandy, my mom, passed away on October 5, and we buried her on your 8 month birthday October 8th. Your momma has been overwhelmed with sadness, questions, and busyness and although I have never forgotten about you for one second, it has been hard to find the time to write you a letter. Your Grandy called you Elly. She would say I have my Emmy and my Elly and she loved you so, so much. You will grow up not knowing her, but I will try to keep her memory alive for you. She was a spit fire, much like you. She was loud, much like you. She was fearless, much like you. She loved big, and she loved people, much like you. She was so happy you were here. She had prayed for you and prayed for you, that’s what she told me. And in fact, the very last voicemail I have saved from her on my phone, is her calling to check on you when you were sick last month. When you’re older, I’ll show you a video of you and her. I’ll show you a video of when I told her I was pregnant with you. I’ll let you hear her voice as she called to check on you. But for now, we carry on. That’s the cycle of life. We lose life and we gain new life and it is truly a beautiful thing that we experience while we are here on this earth. It’s not something we ever want to think about, but you will experience losing your mom too. Hopefully it will be a long, long, very long time. Having you at my age does make our time together much shorter, it’s just our reality, but we are going to embrace it, live it up, and relish every day we have together! That’s what we’re doing so far and we will keep on finding the happiness, joy and love on this side of Heaven. I’m so happy you are here. You and your sister keep me going. You both are who I live for, and you occupy my mind and my time during this season of grief.

This month, you gained 2 new teeth on top. You learned how to crawl properly. You began eating table food mostly. Your hair sticks straight up and you kinda remind me of a Fraggle, haha. You’ll have to look that up someday. You give the best expressions ever and you are absolutely the cutest! You have the chunkiest little legs and you are healthy and happy, and I think God for that.

You are still such a busy little girl. A full time job. Full of life. You are not afraid to be heard. You let people know what you need. You are observant and very smart. You are a grabby little thing and your dad said you would make a good pickpocket you are so sneaky and fast about it! You are pulling up and trying to navigate around the furniture, but you are so wobbly someone has to be with you constantly. You do not sleep as you must be afraid you’ll miss out on something. You hurt yourself numerous times a day and you must have the hardest head of anybody around by now. God bless you. You’ve taken 2 really big tumbles and you usually have a bruise on your head or face. You are a bit overambitious, trying new stuff before you are ready. You have learned to point your little finger, click your tongue, and now clap and patty cake. You think it’s great to learn new things and you practice them for several days and then just stop and find something else to do. You absolutely love your bath time and when I lay you down, you kick and kick and kick until your face is covered from the splashes jumping up on you. Outside is one of your favorite activities and you are usually very pleasant when you are outside.

You are just a joy, my little love. You will keep me young that’s for sure. You are here for a reason and a purpose and I can’t wait to see who you grow into. I am looking forward to so many fun adventures with you, my darling. New memories are to be made. I love you more than you could ever know.

Love,

Mama

xoxo

7 month old Eleanor

You’ve been blessing our lives for more than 7 months Eleanor and we think you hung the moon! This month has been quite an adventure for you. Unfortunately, you had your first really bad sick spell and got Covid. It really knocked you back for several days and had us very worried. We were all sick and if you weren’t sleeping, you were crying and it was just so, so hard. So hard. I had just decided that was how it was going to be from there on out. That you were a miserable grouch and there wasn’t anything to do but tolerate it. That I would just have an unhappy child who grew into an unhappy adult. I was sure glad I didn’t name you Joy, because you were anything but. You’ve got a real optimistic mom, don’t you? It was the virus, it just zapped us all.

But you finally got over your fever, pulled through the old nasty virus, and lo and behold, a smile reemerged on that sweet face of yours and it hasn’t left it yet. We were all relieved when you turned the corner and it helped us all get better. You have the sweetest smile, and you have the cutest little smirks too. You have a twinkle in your eyes and a mischievous disposition.

You pay attention to everything and are observant to your surroundings, whether it’s watching someone walk through the room, hearing a car pass by while outside, or listening to the clock chime. You usually stop what you are doing to check it all out with your big eyes.

You are not crawling yet; this month has been spent with lots of love and snuggle time, but you sure are wanting to stand up. You are trying your best to grab our legs and pull yourself up and if we are holding you, you are standing in our laps. I can’t wait to watch you grow and learn.

You have the sweetest little laugh that’s more like a cough than a laugh and you are super grabby, taking hold of everything and anything you want before we even know what’s happening. You had your 7 month sticker pulled off and wadded up in your mouth faster than I could say licketysplit. You are starting to eat more and lately are loving avocados and potatoes.

You’re a little busy body, but man we are so glad you are and are so happy to have you back to your old self. I can’t believe you’re already 7 months and these next few months are going to be so fun, I can hardly wait! We love you so very much, little one. Thanks for coming and choosing us!

Ordinary, yet precious

Life is made of moments. Many are magical. Most are merely mundane.

Ordinary life. But within every second of mundane and ordinary, lies the power. The power to be present. The power to choose your words carefully. The opportunity to connect with others. The opportunity to love, show love, and be love. All we really have is this moment.

Life is made of moments. Some day, the moments will only be memories. Time is precious and people are precious and that’s really all we need to know. Treat both as such.

A Daughter’s Love

Last night, way past a normal bedtime for a 5 year old, my little EK and I were snuggling in. Saying our prayers and our I love yous. When suddenly she said, “I’m probably going to forget you when I grow up.” Why, I asked. Why would you forget me? She answered because she would be all grown up. I tried to explain to her that girls don’t forget their mothers, while believing this with all my heart, but also hopefully convincing her that she wouldn’t forget me, that she couldn’t forget me. My momma heart felt a moment of fear and heartache at the thought that my time with her was limited, that some day it would end. Which of course it will, but not by forgetting. Never by forgetting.

In my convincing, I tried to explain in the best way I could that I’m all grown up and I haven’t forgotten my mom and even my mom hasn’t forgotten her mom. And I desperately explained how when she was all grown up we would talk on the phone and visit one another if she moved away. That we could text on cell phones and take trips together. My mind was a flurry of all the grown up things we will do. In my vision, I was hanging on to her grown up self by a thread, knowing that it could so easily snap in an instant with her own life, her husband, her family, her busyness.

We were lying on our sides in an embrace, our noses practically touching. She said if she lived next door, I could just come over and visit. That thought gave me some relief. Yes, next door. That sounds wonderful. Then I said what all mom’s say at some time to their sweet preschoolers, yet to become tumultuous, unruly teenagers. “And you don’t ever have to move out, anyway. You can live with me forever.” I’m sure some day I will try to cram these words back down my throat, claiming I’ve never uttered them. But for now, the thought of her leaving, even to live next door is more than I can handle.

Then that sweet girl, with her big brown eyes, and her little mind that works all the time said. “And when you die, I’ll bury you in my front yard, so I can visit you all the time.”

I didn’t even know how to react to this. It is at the same time both very loving and yet bizarrely disturbing. So we said our good nights and our I love yous and I realized once again how immense love is.

What this day means to me

The calendar hanging on the wall reads May 20. But I don’t need the calendar to remind me. I’ve actually been thinking about this day all month. I’ve been thinking of this month all year. I couldn’t let this day slip past without an acknowledgment, because this day is pretty significant to me.

Today is the due date of my second child.
I have no crib set up.
There is no freshly painted nursery.
No hospital bag is packed and waiting by the door.
There is only a what if and a why.
There is only my thoughts of how different my life would be right now… if only.

I think of her a lot. I call her Ivy Quinn. I don’t know that she was a girl, she didn’t make it long enough to find out, but I have a hunch.

Physically, she was only a part of me for a few weeks, but she will be a part of me until I take my last breath. She was mine regardless. Her life ended, but mine continues. Her heart stopped beating, but mine beats on–even with a hole in it.

There is pain. There is heartache. There is something missing that was to be. Then suddenly wasn’t to be.

I never felt her kick or held her in my arms, but I hold her in my heart and I always will.

I wash dishes in a sink full of suds, but there is no baby bottle to rinse. I fold clothes and stack them in piles on the couch, but they are absent of tiny gowns.

I can’t help but feel guilty. All the ‘ifs’ haunt me. If I had only wanted her more? If my initial reaction hadn’t been one of inconvenience? Would it have made a difference. If only she had known how very much she would have been loved? If I hadn’t been so overcome with doubt, worry, and fear? Would it have mattered. If I had felt more excitement? If I had told more people?

We had a photo taken. It was clever and cute and we were going to announce it when the time was right. I hung it in our bedroom. We told our little Emma. She was so excited. Then I had to tell her the hardest thing I’ve had to tell her yet. She was quiet and then she said maybe the baby will come back later. Then nothing else was said. Ever. I put the photo away in a drawer.
Out of sight, but not out of mind.
Especially today.
On May 20.
The due date of my second child.

jesus-with-children-0408

When Motherhood Becomes a Battle…….the Side I Choose

We danced in the rain, arms outstretched, face upwards.

We water-colored and crayon colored.

We cooked and sang.

We kicked a soccer ball and practiced writing the letter S.

We read books and looked for hidden objects in the pictures.

There are a million things my mind tells me I should be doing. Like packing to move 400? miles away. And cleaning the house. And fulfilling commitments that I promised I would do. I should be doing laundry and keeping a more daily skin regimen and I should not be eating icing from the can with a spoon.

I sneak in my “Me” moments, (which are not “Me” moments at all, but just the stuff you have to do to keep life running) at times when I can. I try so hard to balance the attention I give her with the other things that need my attention. Am I harming her more than helping, I can’t help but wonder. Will she turn into one of those entitled, selfish brats that I read so many articles about because of my “overparenting”?

Those are the things my mind tells me. And my heart tells me that sticky fingers do indeed wash and wearing the same jeans two days in a row is not the end of the world. That knowing she is loved and cared for is truly more important, isn’t it? Isn’t it the most important? My heart tells me this time with my daughter is short; shorter than I realize. I have friends posting graduation pictures of their children on social media, and I count the years remaining. Fifteen. I actually count those years more often than I should. Fifteen years until I can have an uninterrupted conversation with my husband. Fifteen years until I can sleep late again. Fifteen years until I can go to the bathroom without someone barging in. Actually, I have way less than fifteen, I know.

Motherhood is such a battle at times. Your heart battles your mind. Your shoulds battle your should nots. Your selfishness battles your self-sacrifice.

Some days I wish it were easier. I wish that I could be assured that everything I’m doing is right and good and that this little person is going to grow up with fond memories of family and fun and me. That she will possess responsibility, integrity, morals, and high standards. That she will grow up self-sufficient and independent, yet never act arrogant nor pretentious. That she will grow up and know love, and be able to show love to others. I choose to give her my time and my attention. I choose to help her know she is important and she matters. Only time will tell if I’m doing it all wrong.

We picked a fluffy dandelion and she asked me what I wish for. I looked into her deep brown eyes and said I already have everything I could ever need. I wish for her wishes to come true. She looked around the yard and saw her purple chair and said she wishes for a purple chair.

Perhaps we both already have everything we need.

That’s what I hope.
Visit Angel’s profile on Pinterest.

Sunday Dinner

There are not many memories in my mental Rolodex that cause me to feel as warm and fuzzy as the memories of Sunday dinner (dinner meaning lunch here) at my mother’s mother, Grannie Silcott’s, house. The menu didn’t vary much. It mostly consisted of roast, potatoes, corn, and green beans. There was leeway at times with an additional hot roll or carrots or a salad, but there was always the top 4–roast, potatoes, corn, and green beans. Grannie S. would put the roast in the oven in the morning before she struggled into her stockings and applied a little rouge on her cheeks and off we’d hustle to Central Baptist Church for Sunday school and church.

You see I spent almost every weekend of my early childhood with my Grannie Silcott. She was widowed and now that I look back on it, I suspect she was lonesome. She was my safe place. She had a cozy home that was predictable and routine, not at all like my own. We would sit together on Saturday nights in her little TV room and watch Golden Girls followed by 227, and Cagney and Lacey. Then we’d head off to bed together. We would recite “another day, another dollar” even though neither of us had made a cent while she rubbed some awful smelling ointment on her knees for her arthritis. Then she’d lay down, pull up the covers, and roll away from me. I would ask her to snuggle me, but she wouldn’t. “You snuggle me,” she’d answer. So I’d wiggle myself up to her back and bury my nose until I grew used to the smell of that awful arthritis ointment and fall asleep.

She’d always rise early and have the roast on before I was up. We’d recite “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it” before preparing ourselves for church where we sat about seven rows from the back.

At the end of each Baptist sermon, the preacher would have an altar call.

“With every head bowed and every eye closed,” he’d begin his prayer for the lost souls. I knew this was the time. I’d peek up at Grannie and she’d be gathering her purse, and with every head bowed and every eye closed, we’d sneak out the back door. We had a roast in the oven!

She wasn’t one to try to teach me how to cook; I was more of an inconvenience so she’d let me watch and at least I got to use the electric can opener to open the cans of green beans and corn. And setting the table. What kid doesn’t grow up having to set the table? I’d set her colorful Fiesta dishes around the old round table and always have to ask which side to put the fork on. I still don’t know the answer to that. We’d drag in some extra chairs from the living area and just as the potatoes were being mashed, the rest of the family would begin arriving. Cousins, aunts, and uncles. Grannie would be putting the food on the table as everyone was making their way to a chair. Then a day of fun and family would commence, with everyone talking at once.

It was in my early teenage years, after my mom and dad had separated, that Sunday dinner held a new purpose. My dad had left Pampa and moved back to Tahlequah. It was the time before cell phones and social media. Back when it cost money to call long distance. Grannie Silcott had upgraded from a rotary phone to a cordless that set on the desk in her kitchen. Just like clock work, every Sunday around 12:30 the phone would ring and it would be my dad calling to talk. Of course it interrupted our meal, but he knew it was the only time he absolutely knew he could catch us there together and could talk to me and my sister. I remember his voice on the phone, making jokes about what we were eating. “Let me guess,” he’d say. “I bet you’re having roast, potatoes, green beans and corn.”Most of the time he was right, but some times I got to tell him he forgot the rolls or the carrots or salad. He’d tell me he wished he was there. I always thought he meant because of the meal, but now, many years later, I understand it wasn’t the meal he was missing.

After Grannie Silcott died in 2004, the Sunday dinners died with her. We don’t get together as a family much anymore. Of course, there’s the big dinners: Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter. And of course we always try to celebrate birthdays but it isn’t like it used to be.

In the past two and half years that me and J-Dub moved away from Pampa, I have come to understand the importance of family. Of memories. Of cousins and aunts and uncles. Of Sunday dinners. It takes just a little absence of family to begin to realize that it’s because of them we live and breathe.

Our world moves so fast. Our lives are complicated. We’re too involved in keeping our kids schedules cram packed that we often can’t sit down for a meal with extended family without an excuse like a wedding or a funeral. I want my kids to have the memories that I cherish. The love that was shown by my grandmother each and every week putting a hot meal on the table for all her kids. I want my kids to have some traditions they recall fondly when they’re grown.

So today I did it. I put a roast in the oven before I struggled— not into my stockings—- but into my skinny jeans for church this morning. I applied a little blush to my cheeks and hustled out the door. We returned to a house smelling like Grannie Silcott’s on Sundays. It wasn’t exactly the same. It wasn’t even remotely the same. There were more differences than similarities between my Sunday dinner and hers, but it’s a start. One that I hope to continue.

grannie and pop — This is my Grannie Silcott and Pop. Taken before I was born, as I never remember her hair any shade of color except gray. She was 69 when I was born and was old all my life.

Look Who’s Three!

My dearest Emma Kate,

Last night you went to bed as a two-year old and today you woke as a three-year old! But not technically. You actually have until 2:47 this afternoon until you can officially say you’re three. You are the absolute most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I love you so much.

You are smart, beautiful, and funny. I am easily entertained by your antics, whether it is the funny things you say or the silly eyes you make, you always can make me smile.

You enjoy coloring and painting. Of course you love your books as you always have, and your cat Rocky Muffin. You are super smart, knowing and recognizing all your letters and your numbers to ten. You have begun to know how to make the letter E, and then you just scribble some m’s like mountain tops and a dot for the A. You love all things princess related and we celebrated this past Saturday by having a Princess dress up party. Three of your friends joined us and we had the best time. Everyone had at least one wardrobe change. We played Hide the Slipper and Pin the Kiss on the Frog. Then we decorated foam crowns to wear. I had a lot of fun making you a cupcake princess dress and seeing your sweet face full of excitement. You were so good and well-behaved and truly acted like a princess should.

The funniest part of the story is that you are convinced since we already had a birthday party that today you are four years old. You insist that, “I’ve already been three!” You are trying to convince me to have a farm party for your fourth birthday. I hate to break it to you, but birthdays only come once a year. You need to not rush things anymore than they already are. It seems like yesterday that you were that bright-eyed, alert newborn baby.

You will always be my baby, no matter how old you get. I thank God for you everyday and for the time I have to spend with you watching you grow. You are my blessing, one I am ever grateful for.

I love you so much my sweets.

Happy Birthday!

XOXO,

Mommy