Two years old

Luke is two years old.

And maybe it’s because he’s nearly the size of a seven year old, or maybe because I’m still recovering from his first sleepless year of life, but I really do feel like he’s been with us for way longer than two years. It’s really hard to imagine our family without him. He is our court jester. He makes all three of us laugh out loud every single day. The kid’s HILARIOUS.

Yes, he’s charming. But he definitely demands his fair share of attention. Because the minute you leave his side, he is climbing on top of the table, snatching something away from his sister, rearranging the pantry or lining up and kicking all of his balls off the side porch. The boy likes push his limits, and test my sanity. He’s lucky he’s so cute.

No joke, though. The boy is good looking. Those big blue eyes and toothy smile make him pretty darn swoonable.

As you can see, he is still a big boy. His two-year checkup revealed that Luke is now tipping the scales at 32 pounds, and he stretches 32 inches long. He’s dropped down to the 90^th from the 95^th percentile, and I’m happy to report that his huge fuzzy head is starting to even out with the rest of his body. And even though he’s a rather large two year old, other than his belly, there’s not much chub to pinch. He’s solid. And he throws a wicked spiral. And shoots a jump shot. And he dribbles the soccer ball. I'm pretty sure we're raising some sort of future Olympian.

He’s also talking so much more now, and it’s such a relief to both him and I that he can now tell me what he’s thinking. Gone are the days of him frantically pointing and squealing at desired objects, as now he can either ask me to get them for him, or he just crawls up the walls and grabs them himself. And he ends every begging with the sweet words, Dank-yoo Mah-mah. Ah. My little gentleman. 

It the past two years, Luke has brought so much joy into my life that it’s easy to brush off the exhaustion. Because of him, I am a mentally and physically stronger person, and he also made me relax on some of my self-assigned pressures. I blog less. There’s a constant layer of dog hair on our floors. We eat more leftovers. I am not afraid to say that raising this energetic little man leaves me exhausted. But I’m not going to give up my playtime with him. That will go away before I know it. Laundry will always be there.

And for a such a fun-loving little dude, we had to make his day as special as possible.

Oh, we had a such a fun day! And, just like with Taylor’s day four days previous, we were humbled by all our family and friends birthday generosity and attention Luke received.  He’s a lucky kid to be surrounded by so much love.

We definitely ended the day smiling. I am so proud of my son, and was so happy that we could give him such an awesome day. He in my little man. He has made me a better mother, and I can’t imagine my life without him.

Five years old

Five years ago, I gave birth to this sweet and happy little girl.

Oh me, oh my. She is more perfect than I could have ever dreamed true. And she makes my heart swell with pride every single day. And sometimes I just grab Chris’s hand and squeeze it real tight and say, WE MADE HER! We are part of the reason she is so amazing. WE DID THAT. And just when we think we have no idea what we are doing and totally failing as parents, we’ll steal glimpses of Taylor singing, dancing, pretending, coloring, twirling, giggling or just being adorable, and we fist pump the air. We’ve done a good job so far. Because she’s perfect to us.  

Gone are the sweet chubby cheeks that once hung below her chin. Yes, I smooched those off years ago. Gone are her soft chunky arms and thighs that looked like they had rubber bands wrapped around them. In the last months, my daughter has sprouted arms and legs. She is leaning out, and if you look hard enough, you can peek in and get a preview of what she might look like as a young lady. She’s beautiful.

She’s become this real little person, with a very sweet, yet persistent, personality. And now that we’ve got a full-blown toddler boy under our roof, Taylor has eagerly accepted the role of the Big Girl. She refuses to ride in strollers or shopping carts, she wants to watch Good Luck Charlie over Doc McStuffins. She begged me to get her Shimmer Body Art for her birthday. And I did. Because she still holds my hand when we’re in public.

And she’s FIVE! And that’s a big birthday. So we had to make sure she had the most special day in the history of forever.

It was a wonderful day, and it was made super doubly special by being able to play with her friends and FaceTime with so much of our family. She is not only very very important to Chris, Luke and I, but she is loved by a whole lot of people. It’s takes a village.

And all throughout the day of her birthday, starting in the wee hours of the morning, I would reminisce about what I was going through five years ago at that point of the day, and where we were at in the process of bringing Taylor into this world. Five years ago she made me a mother. And I’ll never be able to thank her enough for that. This is the best ever.

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. 

In which my sister becomes a mother

Two weeks ago today, as I was pushing the kids out the door in order to make my 9.15 Friday spin class, I got THE call. Well, actually, I had already missed two calls within a five minutes span from my Mom. So after shuffling everyone outside and off the porch, I immediately called her back and heard those amazing, panicky, overly exciting words:  I THINK LIBBA IS IN LABOR.

And believe it that I literally stopped mid-stride and got all hushed and said, How do you know? Like, Don’t toy with me, Mom. This is SERIOUS STUFF.

Because for the past eight months I have talked to my sister at least five days out of the week, and about 72-percent of all our conversations have revolved around her becoming a MOTHER. It is the absolute most earth-shattering thing that can ever happen to you. And the thought of my sister experiencing that insanely overwhelming moment of finally meeting her baby made me so happy I’d just randomly burst into a smiles over it. Libba! A Mom! A brand new baby! Awesome!

So getting this phone call of course made my heart leap into my throat. Mom then followed those powerful words with:  But I think she’s mad at me. And I was all, WHAT’S GOING ON? And Mom informed me that Lib had just talked to her on the phone and she thought that she might have broken her water and that she was going to the hospital to get everything checked out. And then in Mom’s excitement, she messaged my Dad and her sister Jane who each then sent a text to Libba. And because my sister was right in the thick of thinking I AM ABOUT TO PUSH A BABY OUT OF ME! she snapped back at my Mom saying MOM! I am not even sure I’m in labor now! Don’t tell anyone!

And I totally remember from my first pregnancy that fear that I’d get all worked up only to have them turn you away at Labor and Delivery with false labor. And I knew Libba was scared this wasn’t IT. But if her water was really breaking, then it was IT. And what Mom described about Lib to me was the same situation I had going into labor with Luke. SO THIS IS IT! At least in my mind I convinced myself it was.

But after hearing how she snapped at my Mom, I was too scared to actually call her at that moment. You don’t want to upset a pregnant lady, especially one who’s having contractions. So while sitting in our driveway I frantically sent her a text, knowing her phone was in her hand, and this was the exchange:

Me:  Just heard from Mom and very anxious to talk to you but don’t want to bother you. Sounds like same thing I had with Luke.

Her:  We’re going to L&D to get checked and will let everybody know then.

Yeah. She was FREAKING OUT. And about two minutes after sending that she called me en route and just explained what was going on. She sounded very excited, but trying hard to feign indifference just in case this was a false alarm. And I got that. So I just reminded her how much I loved her and how amazing she was and how that if this was IT that she was totally gonna rock it.

But of course from that moment on, I just knew that IT was happening. My sister was in LABOR! The baby was coming. And I had this overpowering feeling that I needed to go see them. So when Dirk finally messaged me a few hours later to confirm that, Yes, Lib’s water had broken and that Baby South was coming soon, I immediately called Chris at work and let him know what was going on. And when he responded with, Well, YOU should be there! I cried out, YES! I REALLY WANT TO BE THERE! And he answered back, I’ll be home in an hour. Start packing.

And, OH MY GOODNESS!, you better believe I worked magic in those next sixty minutes. I finished my grocery shopping, made the kids lunch, threw clothes in a bag and even managed to shower, and then I kissed everyone goodbye and thanked Chris about a billion times. I had never planned on being able to be there with my sister for this life-changing moment. And the fact that I was going to be meeting my niece in just hours made my heart leap into my throat.

So I may have sped just a tad on the five and a half hour journey. I was smart. But I was FAST. And I didn’t have anybody in the car with me, so the stops were limited. I kept getting text updates from Dirk on Lib’s progress, that I had to read and respond to with SIRI – See! I am a smart driver! – but I was able to keep conversations with both Mom in Iowa and Lib’s bestie, Mary Claire, whom kept me in the loop.

As I crossed into Georgia, Lib got her epidural. She was dilated to seven centimeters as I sat in Atlanta rush hour traffic. By the time I got to the Alabama border, she was ready to start pushing and they both turned their phones off. And then the next hour and a half were the longest ever. I got into Birmingham only to get stuck in another time zone’s after-work traffic, and while stuck on 459, I finally got the call from my Mom that Parker Grace Blackwell South had been born. And that she was perfect.

As planned, I detoured to my Aunt Jane’s house, which was minutes from the hospital, and had a celebratory glass of wine with her and my cousins, Sarah and Matt. I was vibrating with excitement and anticipation in seeing my sister and meeting my niece. So when I finally got a message from Dirk saying they were ready for company, I almost jumped out of my skin.

And I when I walked into their room and saw my sister holding a two-hour old precious little baby, I burst into tears. And just thinking about that moment right now, where I met Parker Grace and seeing my little sister become a mother still brings tears to my eyes. Libba had never looked more beautiful, and both her and Dirk were so happy that their smiles were radiating throughout the room.

Oh Parker! She is so precious. And so tiny. A mere six pounds, nine ounces, little Sweet P was officially the tiniest newborn I had ever held. But she already had me wrapped around her teeny little finger.

It was an amazing weekend. And I felt so blessed to be able to be there and experience it with my sister and Dirk. Their lives are forever changed in the most wonderful, tremendous way possible, and I am lucky in that I get to say that I was there for it. And I will always be grateful that I was able to share in that moment. Thank you, South Family! I love you to the moon and back!