Hibernate Blog

The hubbie, kids and I vacationed in Virginia (or more accurately: orchestrated a “shlep-fest”) for the holidays. Long car rides, that actually went remarkably well, led to crazy-fun time with family, huge doses of of Wii Rock Band, memories made with Gramma and Grandpa, playing with cousins, great food, a delightful win at Texas Hold-em ( I swear I’ve never played before), and warm weather.

Melissa with her new nephew, Alexander, enjoying 65 degrees

Hard-core Wii champs, Mark and Sara…tired but not stoppin’.

In addition to the holidays, my baby turned seven…Unbelievable! Like us moms say, “It seems just like yesterday she was a baby, where did the time go?” Now it’s High School Musical, the Jonas Brothers on CD and texting with her Nintendo DS to her friends. Wow.

And The Nater, who has definitely found comfort in his own skin and silly sense of humor, got his Kawasaki 4-Wheeler from Santa (although shown here with his cousin’s super-dooper new bike, thanks Hannah!) and is growing up so fast. He whizzes around the garage on the 4 wheeler like he’s been riding one for years. Must be a boy-thing.

Notice the tough-guy Pooh helmet

The ball has dropped in Times Square and the last of the holiday decorations are packed away. Although my kids love the holidays (I did too when I was little) I must admit it’s not my favorite time of year. Maybe it’s the cold of upstate New York, the frenzy of the parking lots, or the memories of losing my Mom on a cold December day. As I type the numbers 2.0.0.9 the past couple of days, I am very thankful to have a little time now to finally hit the pause button on my life, take a crystal-clear look back at ‘08, reminisce, and breathe a deep, well-deserved breath. We’ll see if I can catch it.

It can be startlingly easy to forget the blessings in one’s life, whether it’s due to the hustle and bustle of school pictures and business meetings, or leaf raking and laundry folding, it happens to the best of us. Here in the Adirondacks we live amidst some of the most beautiful terrain in the country. The local Chamber of Commerce uses the tag line, “Live like you’re on vacation.” Unfortunately if you are plowing through each day with your head down you miss it. It’s the same with parenting, the pursuit of 3 square meals, clean underwear and matched socks can make you careen off path.
Every once in a while something happens, sometimes it’s by design, other times it’s pure serendipity, but you get awakened.
A couple of weekends ago it was a sunny Saturday and a lark.

“Wanna go to Hick’s? We can take the kids and pick some apples.”

And the fog clears. A three year old in blue jeans and a hoodie, luminous eyes looking up at you, “We goin’ to pick apples?” followed by a sniff and a swipe at his little button nose with his shirt sleeve. A smile spreads across his face and butterflies alight in your tummy, like a crush, but better.

“Yeah, let’s go pick apples.”

Six and three grab your hands, “Mom, Dad? We love you.”

And so it is that instead of flitting between the laundry room and the kitchen, you find yourself between trees heavy with Macouns and Cortlands, breathing in the scent of your sweet baby’s head as your husband watches you with a smile that brings back early day memories to the soundtrack of your daughter’s laughter.

You can add to that long list of “Things they never tell you about babies,” that babies will cry just when you least expect it. Or, perhaps more precisely put, they will cry when you least want them to, in this case, in the very gentle and kind face of a stranger.

We were in the elevator this morning on our way to the ABC Kids Showcase. There were only a couple of people in the elevator. One had a badge that read Fit Pregnancy on it. “Oooh,” I thought, I want to talk to him. He was looking at Finley with a huge grin, “Look at all that hair,” he said, “I’m jealous.” We all tittered as he had a very noticeably shaved head.

He leaned in, “Well hello, pretty little one. Hello.” He was beaming and about to reach for her foot when her whole body went tense, her feet kicked out and she shrieked as if in pain. What followed were three minutes of unabated screaming and sobbing and floor after floor of, “Oh, poor thing doesn’t like elevators.” After the second or third comment he said, “No, she just doesn’t like overly friendly bald men.”

There was not soothing her, nor was there any real chance to smooth things over. I ached for the kind stranger and for Fin, both were equally traumatized I am sure. If he’s reading this…

No worries! She shook it off nicely.

Repurposing, we’ve all done it. A ribbon for a belt, a coat for a pillow, a basket for a basket. Ok, so the last one doesn’t sound that impressive, but I have to tell you, in the flesh it was incredible.

My husband decided a few months back that our daughters would love The Wizard of Oz. They fell hard for the Wicked soundtrack so he thought between the music, the ruby red slippers, and Glinda it would be a slam dunk. It was harder to find than we imagined, managing only just this week to snag a copy from a friend.

He was right, the girls adore it. Avery talks about watching, “the girl take a walk,” and Briar, ever the performer and enchantress wants to live it. Yesterday she took our diaper caddy and emptied the contents tidily next to a small table. She then proceeded to stand, little basket in hand, watching the movie and every so often jumping to mimic the dance number skips that Dorothy does, all the while clutching her little basket.

Repurposed to truly spectacular effect.

Anyone know where I can find a pair of ruby red slippers?

Add to the list of the things you can never truly understand until you are a parent:

Sometimes celebrating a milestone feels like saying goodbye.

Last weekend Nate learned to ride his bike. The sight of him, little feet barely able to reach the ground, neck straining to hold the added weight of his helmet, and eyes alive with excitement, brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Watching his sister hungrily, we had known it was only a matter of time before he put all the pieces together and caught up to her. It is just hard, no matter how proud we are, to remember that he isn’t pedaling away from us, he’s moving forward.

Nate, my little guy, you are getting to be such a big boy, but no matter how far you pedal or how high you climb, you’ll always be my baby.