Dusting off the Nikon

The other day the kids and I were just hanging out in the living room, enjoying the warm sunshine that was pouring through the windows onto the hardwood. It had been raining nonstop since I had gotten off the plane the weekend before, and you don't realize how much you miss the sun until it's stuck behind gloomy clouds for five days.

And when I saw some of the cuteness that was unfolding before me, I jumped up and grabbed my big camera. Pushing play on my SLR, I realized I hadn't snapped a picture with my Nikon since Christmas Day. Shameful. 

As much as I love the convenience of my iPhone camera, it doesn't come close to producing the images my real camera can.

Taylor the artist

Since moving into our new house in August, I have dedicated an entire double, lower-positioned cabinet for all of Taylor’s coloring books and construction paper. The girl loves to color and draw. LOVES. In fact, we have been here merely five months and I’ve already had to clean out the pages upon pages of detailed artwork at least twice, as I want to save every single colored masterpiece she finishes. They are amazing, and each time she hands me one I am in awe.

This one literally took her ten minutes to draw. She started it the minute Chris got home from work two nights ago and had it finished by the time he had changed out of his suit. It’s a picture of all our family. From right to left:  Luke, Dad, Mom, Taylor and, of course, Beeba. My heart nearly melted out of my chest when she was explaining it.

Oh, my little peanut! She is getting so big, y’all. She’ll be FIVE in three months. Going. To. KINDERGARTEN.

Ugh.

But she is so excited about going to big-girl school. Of course she is! And when we told her she would be going to school FIVE days a week when she starts going to kindergarten, she bounced up and down in the big chair, fist-pumping the air and squealing, YES! YES! I get to go to school more!

She’s constantly thirsting for more knowledge, asking questions about numbers and letters and nature and EVERYTHING. She is her father’s brain, trapped inside her mother’s body. She is going to rule the world.

But until then, and while Chris and I are still totally responsible for raising this precious, precious girl, we will sit back and cherish every single scrap of paper she expresses herself on that she wishes to share with us. Because I have a dreadful feeling it may end when she gets older.

It’s a good thing we’ve got lots of bare walls. 

Luke the dare devil

And while his sister colors quietly at the kitchen table while watching a movie, my 21-month old son wanders into the bathroom, retrieves the step-stool, carries it into the entryway and practices his jumps.

 

Seriously? 

BOYS! 

I love this little man to pieces. He has the most loveable, adorable, expressive personality of any one-year old boy you’ve ever met. I promise you, if you spend eight minutes with this kid, you will totally understand why I have a really hard time trying to dole out any montherly-discipline. He’s just THAT cute.

I am in really big trouble.

Remembering Grandma

It was a good thing that I decided to make the trip back to Iowa for Grandma’s funeral kid-free, as right out the shoots my flight was delayed in Asheville for three hours, causing me to miss my initial connection in Atlanta. Luckily I was proactive when first learning of my delay, and I booked myself on the last Atlanta-to-Omaha flight of the night. Otherwise I would have been spending the night in Hot-lanta for the second time in as many plane rides I’ve made in the past two years.

But none of this was that big of a deal, as I was able to belly up to the bar in the Asheville airport for a much needed beer, and had already planned on renting a car in Omaha to drive the two hours to the farm. And when I landed in Nebraska at 10.30 Wednesday evening, all it took were three seconds outside in the freezing Midwestern air to wake me up enough to start my journey home.

This was the first time I had ever rented a car by myself, and I was pretty proud of how well I navigated through the terminal, picked out my Jetta and got my GPS set. However. I’ve been spoiled with all my automatic features in the Caddy, and it wasn’t until I had driven halfway through downtown Omaha that I realized the reason I couldn’t see how fast I was going was because I hadn’t turned my lights on. Whoops! So that was why all those other cars kept changing lanes to avoid me. Just when I was starting to feel good about my independence.

So I refreshed with a giant cup of McDonald’s coffee in Missouri Valley and proceeded to drive the next hour and half on two-lane roads through about eight small Midwestern towns, recognizing their names as I considerately slowed down to 35 and dimmed my brights through each one of them. I finally made the turn onto my parents gravel road at 12.30, and was face down in my pillow by 12.40. What a day!

The next day I woke up to find both my Dad and Mom having gone to work to tie up loose ends for the remainder of the week, and Libba and my sweet, sweet baby niece were able to catch up and mentally prepare for the next few days.

Up to that point, I was more focused on getting back to Iowa than the reason I was there. And now it was time to start grieving Grandma. 

This picture was taken the last time I had seen Grandma. It was nearly a year and a half ago that I brought a three year old Taylor and a four month old Luke back to the farm for a week. We brought my baby boy up to meet his great-Grandma at the nursing home one afternoon, and even though the Alzheimer’s had stripped her recognition of me, she was more than happy to hold Luke. Because he was a baby. And Grandma loved babies.

Will and Devon arrived from Fort Collins that evening, and it was the first time my parents had all three of their kids together at the farm since Taylor was seven months old. So while circumstances weren’t ideal, it was pretty special for us all to be there. And I’m certain Grandma was watching us from heaven with a big smile on her face.

And we weren’t the only grandkids to make the trips in to help bury and celebrate Grandma, as all but four of my numerous cousins made the journey to Iowa from all corners of the country. I was able to hug and catch-up with family members that I hadn’t seen in 10+ years, and we all had fun sharing our memories of what an amazing Grandma we were all blessed to call our own.

And because Grandma truly was such a wonderful woman, it was agreed that someone should speak for the family at the funeral. And since I was kid-free and able to gather my thoughts so well, I volunteered. I was honored to be able to share my stories with the gathering of people that all loved Grandma, and I know I got most of the congregation to laugh at least once during my speech. Which was so appropriate, as Grandma was always the first to laugh at herself. Nothing was ever too serious with Grandma.

Here is the speech that I wrote, and even though I strayed from bits and elaborated on others, I just wanted to share what was written:

I'd first like to thank all of you for being here to help our family in celebrating and remembering what an amazing woman my Grandma was. She was the best Grandma a kid could have. And since hearing the news of her passing earlier this week, and in my traveling back to the farm and being surrounded with my family, my mind has been overwhelmed with all the wonderful memories I have of this remarkable woman.

While we were growing up, Grandma and Grandpa's house was always our second home. Their door was always open, and all the grandchildren knew we could always find a frozen Snicker's bar in the freezer if we wanted something sweet. But all Grandma would have to hear were the words, I'm hungry!, and POOF! there was a hot, delicious four-course meal ready for you. Your jeans were always a little tighter when you left Grandma’s house. 

She was an amazing cook. Every Sunday we would gather with our Demers family at Grandma's house and feast on meals that most families saved for holidays and special occasions. We would assemble around the two separate tables, one for cousins and one for the grownups, and stuff ourselves silly, yet always saving room for one of Grandma's famous from-scratch cream puffs with homemade chocolate sauce for dessert.

Being able to spend the night at Grandma's house as a child was like going on vacation. My sister, Libba, and I would cover our faces in Grandma's makeup and try on all her jewelry, then get clean in her jetted bath tub, munch on Grandpa's homemade caramel corn and then fall asleep, only to wake up to our choice of one of the many marshmallow-filled breakfast cereals she kept in her lazy susan. I will always think of Grandma when I see a box of Lucky Charms. 

We would help her clean out Dicky bird's cage, play pool or ping pong in her basement and sometimes she would gather her grandkids around her kitchen table and teach us how to play cards. And for as kind and sweet and loving as Grandma was, she was pretty ruthless when it came to playing cards. Grandma ALWAYS won at cards.

And when thinking about all my wonderful memories of Grandma, there of course are some pretty funny ones as well. When I was in grade school, Grandma joined me in class one morning for Grandparents Day, where we were able to work on our assignments together. That morning we happened to be working on solving some math problems, and collectively Grandma and I scored the worst in my class, which totally stressed out my teacher as she had designed the assignment in that everyone would get a perfect score. And when Mrs Stevenson regretfully told the two of us how awful we did, Grandma just laughed and waved her hands in the air, as if saying, It's just MATH. It's not that important. Let's sit down and play some cards. I bet we'd win that assignment.

Something else that was an open joke with Grandma were her driving skills. Or lack thereof. I always remember being securely buckled in as children when taking trips to Storm Lake, and then being offered the wheel once we were old enough to drive with our permits. But, as Grandma said, None of her bad driving episodes were ever really her fault. It's just that all of her cars were jinxed. Best. Excuse. Ever. 

So she was fun. And she just loved every one of us to bits. And since moving to North Carolina ten years ago, my visits with Grandma came less and less frequent. The last time I was home before this was nearly a year and a half ago, and we brought my daughter and newborn son up to see her at BV Manor. And even though she was so changed from the Grandma I grew up with, I saw that familiar smile and recognition in her as I helped her hold her then-newest great grandchild. And I will always hold that in my heart as my last time seeing her, just like I will always have all of my special memories of growing up with such a wonderful woman. We love you, Grandma!

The funeral went smoothly and was a wonderful tribute to a fabulous woman. Grandma was very loved, and there were many people who wanted to help share in remembering her.

But a major snag in the day was that my sister had woken up that morning running a fever and feeling sick. As soon as I saw her face and heard her symptoms, I just knew she had the flu virus that I had suffered through before Christmas. And because she had teeny tiny Parker with her and had been breathing all over her sweet babe, it was decided that they both needed to see a doctor to evaluate if Tamiflu was necessary. And being that we were in rural Iowa and the closest Urgent Care was an hour away, I drove them up to Storm Lake for a visit to the Emergency Room directly after leaving the funeral.

Poor Libba! She had flown up to the farm to be there for the funeral and had to miss it in order to stay quarantined. I knew exactly how awful she was feeling from the sickness, but I knew she was more upset about not being able to say Goodbye to Grandma. So terrible. But, thank goodness, little Sweet P didn’t get sick, and my Mom and I were able to help take care of the baby while Lib got some rest.

My flights home were very early and uneventful. I had never been so happy to see Chris and the kids as I was when I walked through the concourse in Asheville. It was an emotional, exhausting week, yet one filled with lots of love and laughing and stories about my amazing Grandma. I will miss her terribly, 

A day spent riding the emotional rollercoaster

Last Tuesday morning I was the first one in our house to wake up, which is super rare considering Chris generally has to inject two cups of French Roast into my system before I start forming words and he’s comfortable leaving me to care for his kids. But that morning I was anxious to get the day started, as I had two big tasks on hand:  Tour an elementary school and Take Taylor to get a haircut. Yeah. And by the amount of nervous energy I had, you would think Perform brain surgery with a toothpick would be on that list.

And the haircut really wasn’t stressing me out, it was the school tour. You see, for the past year I keep getting asked where I’m going to send Taylor to kindergarten this upcoming fall, and in the next month we need to make the final decision. And because we live within the Asheville city limits, we can choose whichever of the five magnet schools we like the best. Which to some of you may sound like a perfectly normal thing, but I was raised in rural Iowa, where you didn’t have a choice in the matter. That’s where you live, so that’s where you go to school.

So the fact that we’ve got to choose where she goes to school is nerve-racking. What if I choose wrong? What if in three years she looks at me and says, MOM! My life would be perfect if I would have gone to that other school. You ruined everything! So I’m trying to be calculating and informed in this process. Because I’m pretty sure Taylor isn’t going to need any extra ammo in proving I indeed have absolutely no idea what I am doing.

But you know what’s even more stressful than choosing the wrong school? The fact that my first-born is going to be in KINDERGARTEN. Oh my God. I just had to take a deep breath and shake out my hands. This is all happening way too fast.

And luckily I was already familiar with three of the closest schools to us, both from driving past regularly and from having friends with kids in each of these schools. And while I know that the physical look of a school shouldn’t be a deciding factor, the actual location is very important to me. Not only for closeness, but for safety. Some areas just aren’t as warm and fuzzy to me as others. And I’m going to be sending my baby there. Five days a week. From 7.45 in the morning until 2.30 in the afternoon. And now I’m shaking the crazy out of my hands again.

So, being the proactive parent I aspire to be, I arranged a private tour of a precious looking, highly recommended school close to us. And after dropping off Luke at a friend’s house, Chris and I toured the facility with the school’s principal. And it was awesome. There is an entire wing just for kindergarten and first grades, as well as two playgrounds, an amazing auditorium, a well-stocked art room and a fabulous music room. And just walking into each of the kindergarten classrooms and meeting each of the teachers just put my heart and mind at ease as to Taylor’s well-being. She will love everything about that school, and I all but bear-hugged the principal after the two-hour tour, saying over and over again how impressed I was.

And I practically skipped to my car when the tour was over, in that I was so relieved that we were done debating which school to choose. Chris had to leave early, and when I picked up the phone to call him and confirm how awesome it was, I noticed I had a missed call and a voicemail from my Dad.

And before I even listened to the message, my stomach had dropped. It’s not like my Dad to call that early on a weekday unless it was something important. And it was. My Grandma had passed away that morning. I sat in my car in the school parking lot, took a few deep breaths and called him back.

When I got through, I was talking to both my Dad and Mom on the bluetooth in  their car as they were driving up to Storm Lake. Grandma had been living with advanced Alzheimer's in a nursing home for the last five years. Her body, while frail, had endured longer than her mind, as she struggled to even recognize her own family towards the end. She passed away suddenly yet peacefully, and while we knew she was now up in heaven, it was still very sad that we would never be able to hug her again.

I told my Dad how sorry I was and reminded both of my parents how much I loved them, ended the call and then immediately phoned Chris at work to let him know what was going on. And right there, still sitting in my car at the school parking lot, I instantly switched gears from gathering details about my daughter’s future school into figuring out how I was going to get back to Iowa for a funeral.

Talking to Chris, we realized we had a lot to figure out with scheduling and kid-care before booking a plane ticket for me to get back to the farm. If it wasn’t for such a short amount of time and under different circumstances, I would have considered the idea of traveling solo with both kids across the country. But trying to fly back with two little people and then entertaining them during a visitation and funeral would have required at least three different crazy-pill prescriptions for me to survive.

Oh, and this was really the first funeral we’ve had since Taylor was born, so we hadn’t even had the death-talk with her yet. And I want to delay that for as long as possible, so it was decided early on that I was going to be making the trip home without kids.

So the rest of the morning was spent messaging and talking with Dad, Mom, Libba and Will, looking at potential flights and trying to keep Luke from doing the electric slide on the kitchen table every time I left the room. Oy! That one with the big head is exhausting.

And after picking Taylor up from school we immediately headed downtown for her hair appointment. I had scheduled it the week before, after the final of many meltdowns over combing out the tangles in her beautiful, beautiful hair. It had been nearly five months since her last trim, and when I mentioned we were getting her haircut she anxiously started squealing in excitement and making chopping finger-motions at her lovely long locks.

And her enthusiasm for the haircut kept bubbling out of her as we drove downtown, parked and made our way into the salon. And when we sat down in our stylist’s chair and were asked what we wanted to do today, Taylor grabbed about five inches up from the bottom of her hair and said, I want it THIS short! And in all of my distraction, I just nodded my head and waved my arms in the air and said, Whatever. Let’s make it healthy and easy to come through.

It wasn’t until I saw all her gorgeous curls collecting on the floor that I realized how short we were going. And my face must have said it all, as sweet little Brandlynn started sputtering, It’s OKAY! It’ll grow back!

And afterwards, as promised, I took both kids to YoLo for some frozen goodness, and I was too distraught to buy myself a serving. And when I messaged Paige to tell her I was so upset about Taylor’s short hair that I didn’t have an appetite for frozen yogurt covered in candy bar bits, she instantly called me to see if I was okay. Because that never happens.

So that night when I saw Chris drive up, I ran down to intercept him in the garage and started panicking about how I let our daughter ruin her hair. And then my wonderful husband grabbed me and said, I don’t think this about Taylor’s haircut. I think you’re having a very emotional day, and everything is going to be okay. And I pretty much lost it, finally crying for the first time since getting Dad’s message this morning.

Grieving is a tricky thing, and I managed to channel all my heartbreak over my Grandma’s passing into a couple inches of cut hair. And the haircut is great, actually. Taylor absolutely loves her new do, and I very much enjoy being able to comb through it without her screaming at me. So at least I know that years down the road, even if I end up picking the wrong school for her to go to, she cannot give me a hard time about not letting her get the haircut she wanted. 

New year. New blogging expectations.

Hello there. My name is Brooke. And I’ve been a bad blogger.

When I started this blog nearly five years ago, I was super diligent about recording all aspects of everything Amys. And that dedication lasted at least three more years until – Poof! – I’m a stay at home mom to TWO children. Yeah. That Luke is lucky he’s so cute, because he is a handful. And while I was able to sneak off for bits of time to blog when he was itty, once he became fully mobile I had to compact all household chores and personal hygiene time into the two hours when he is napping in the confines of his crib. And, you know I love you guys, but making sure my family stays fed and I don’t smell like an old running shoe trumps blogging. Most days.

But. I need to be better about recording my day-to-day adventures with these two monkeys, as well as post pictures of their every growing selves, not just for family and friends to see, but to save in order to show my kids. That’s what this blog really is:  A digital babybook for Taylor and Luke.

So. My blogging goal as of now is at least one post a week, and I hope you guys will continue to tune in for Amys family updates. I promise to keep you entertained. I mean, my day to day life is a circus. Throw a tent over us. I hope you enjoy the show.