I am finding one of the things I dislike most about having to be somewhat on a “real world” schedule is lack of time to write. I suppose, I guess, that I could have been writing instead of channel surfing reality television this evening. I could have been writing in between commercials during last night’s SuperBowl (some great commercials, by the way – and some lame ones too).

But I didn’t and I haven’t and occasionally I have these ideas floating through my head, things I should write about, things I should share. I have had this post about my daughters tumbling through my head for a week now – I just need to write it. I keep wondering if I can make my words match my heart. How do I describe how truly amazing they are without it sounding cliche – or like a typical mom telling you how great her kids are? I don’t know.

So I marinate in my words.

I have a pain in my neck.

Literally.  A pain – a dull ache – the back of the left side of my neck, shoulder and a little bit of my back (trapezius? lats? I don’t know – it feels like a muscular ache back there). The pain is probably because I sleep on my left side, head propped up on two very puffy pillows. It’s been nagging at me all day – this pain.

And now, my head is tired, my eyes are heavy and this pain – and I think to myself, perhaps I should ditch one of my pillows tonight. Maybe that will help.

I have my clothes already laid out for tomorrow morning – pants, cardigan, camisole, new shoes. Anything to make my morning smoother.

Six months of this routine and it’s still such a different world than getting my kids off to school and starting my day in comfortable clothes, fuzzy slippers. The process of getting up and putting myself together is not a process I love – but a necessary one.

I miss my fuzzy slippers.

I miss writing but the words I give are not the words I want to write – and it seems I’ve fallen out of practice. I guess I’ll have to work on that. I promise I’ll try.

Today is my birthday. I am 35.

When it’s my daughters’ birthdays, I write them letters here. I fill this space with all of the things that made the past year special, all of the things I look forward to in the year ahead. I talk about their strengths, how much I love them, and the many ways they made me smile over the year.

For myself, I’m having a really hard time today.

It’s funny, because I’ve never been the type to get wigged out about age before. I’m not sure what triggered it this year – the errant gray hairs that stubbornly refuse to grow a little slower so I can at least attempt to keep up with covering them up with dye. Maybe it was the realization that I’m halfway to seventy. Or perhaps it’s because I’m now old enough to get elected as the President of the United States – some law made at some point decided that 35 was officially old enough to either ruin or make the country great.

I’m not sure.

I love birthdays – even my own – and so the fact that I’m mired with some idiotic sadness pisses me off. Today is my day and I’m supposed to be happy, and hell, I should even be wearing a tiara (and I’m sure I have one around here somewhere).

I hope this isn’t a sign of what is to come. I saw my mom celebrate her 60th birthday this year with as much enthusiasm as if it were her 20th, and I know that that is what I come from – a long line of people who love birthdays, love the celebration, and don’t really care so much about getting older, but love to have a day of their own – a day to celebrate the day you landed on this planet (sounds graceful, right? THUNK. From the heavens I fell onto the planet – from space to Illinois. Whoomp).

But I also know that changing the attitude is up to me, so, I could start by stop being such a horse’s ass about the stupid number, and just put a smile on my face and enjoy the day.

Sigh.

Maybe this is just early onset senility.

I hear that happens to old people.

I had a chaotic year, a crazy year, but I had a year where I got to travel, spend time with friends and family, meet some awesome people. I saw new places, old places I hadn’t seen in far too long. I lost a job. I got a new one. My hair grew several inches (some of those hairs were gray). I found out I’d get to be an aunt. I made cheesecakes that could make you cry, they were so delicious. I made people laugh. I made myself laugh.

I have no idea what 35 has in store for me, but I hope to quickly snap out of my funk to have my eyes open to what comes my way.

I am going to be an aunt.

I am going to be an aunt and I am very very excited about it.

Well, I am very excited about it – but surely I’m a notch less excited than my sister and her husband who have moved heaven and earth for this to be possible – who have undergone countless tests, medical procedures and heartache along the way.

I have had friends that have struggled to become pregnant – I have heard of people with infertility, and what you should say and how you should say it, and while I’ve always done my best to be sensitive – I never truly realized how devastating it is to someone going through it. Until I watched my sister and her husband go through it.

This is not one of those posts where I’m going to offer you advice on what to do when someone you love is struggling to get pregnant – there are people who do so far more eloquently than I ever could, and I can only speak for what was helpful to my sister (which is to say – not much – it’s been a very difficult road for her).

She called to tell me that she was pregnant the night before I kicked off the Avon Walk in San Francisco in July. I was in the walk hotel when the call came in. I remember jumping up and down and being so tremendously excited.

I still am.

And it’s exciting to hear her talking about baby names, and it’s thrilling to think of baby showers, and it’s fun when I send her a message and say, “That is gonna be one overly-photographed baby!” and she says, “I guess he or she better be cute then, huh?” but I know this baby will be beautiful. Not just because my sister is beautiful – because she is SO beautiful – but because this baby is already so loved. In fact, I already love my niece or nephew so much it almost doesn’t even matter if the baby is a Michigan State fan like my sister. I’ll love it anyway.

But I’ll do my best to prevent the Spartan-love.

It’s an aunt’s duty.

Dear Princess & Pumpkin:

As I type this, you are winding down for the evening and I am starting to make lists of the things that need to be done tomorrow morning before the big yellow bus pulls up at the end of the driveway to swoop you girls off to your first day of school. This isn’t your first first day of school ever, but something about the start of a new school year seems like a time filled with such potential – a new start, a clean slate, fresh beginnings.

I am excited for you.

I know that there are parents who are saddened by the first day of school – sending a child off another year older than last year makes the passage of time seem more concrete somehow. Time seems, to them, to be passing too quickly.

But I don’t feel sad.

I don’t feel sad because I’m too busy being excited – because each new year is a new start with new beginnings, new friends to make, new challenges, new things to learn. There are so many opportunities in front of you – kidwise, there probably aren’t so many times filled with as much potential as the start of a new school year.

Princess, you are in fourth grade now. When I was in fourth grade, my teacher was Mrs. K – and she was absent a lot. I remember I went to school on top of a big hill and I remember the dusty walk down the hill every day (It was in California – so you’re not going to get any “I walked up hill in the snow in fourth grade” stories from me). I was in fourth grade the year the Challenger space shuttle exploded – and that is one of my vivid memories of that year. I was also in a gifted & talented class and we did projects like… trying to design packaging that we could put an egg in so that when we dropped it off a building it wouldn’t break. We also had to create a project and make a commercial for it (I remember my team created “Ubble Bubble Bubble Bath”). I remember some girls singing “Sussudio” on the playground one time. I remember jumping rope. I remember a talent show where I did a dance to Madonna’s “Dress You Up” and I got so nervous I forgot to move and it was mortifying and awful and embarrassing. I was a goofy kid, miss.

But I remember fourth grade and I remember the age, and I know that some day you’ll be thirty-something and remembering it too — so I hope you’ll enjoy this time and enjoy these moments and know that you are already WAY cooler than mommy ever was.

And Pumpkin… You are in first grade now. I wish I could say I remember a lot about first grade, but do you know what I remember most? I remember grandpa packing my lunches. He’d make a week’s worth of peanut butter on sourdough sandwiches, wrap them in aluminum foil and put them in the freezer. He’d put one in my lunch each day. At lunch time, my sandwich was never fully thawed, and I loved eating those half frozen sandwiches. I remember me and a friend laughing because we saw the name “Regina” on a movie or something in class, and we thought it rhymed with “vagina” (In our defense, I don’t think it was a very common name back then. I had never heard or seen it before). Anyway, as kids are wont to do – we thought that was hilarious. I’m sure we laughed far more than was necessary.

I repeat: Your mom was a goofy kid. You guys are already way cooler than I ever was.

I’m very proud of you guys. I don’t get sad or worry when I put you on that bus because I know you are smart, amazing and resourceful. I know that you’re going to do fabulously. I know you will each take your classroom and your school world by storm.

And it will be good.

And you will be fine.

I am so excited for you. I love you both.

I love you with my whole heart and I am so very lucky to be your mom.

Love,

Mom

Of summer, that is.

This morning, many of my friends are sending their children off for the first day of school – and some of them performed the first day of school rituals last week, or even earlier than that. But here, we have two more weeks. Two more weeks because of a tourism law, I’ve been told, that prevents Michigan public schools from starting school before Labor Day. A law apparently created to get Michigan families out for at least one more week of traveling and spending money in the Great Lakes state before saddling us with a school year schedule and confining us to our own little necks of the woods. Oh, had they only created a law to prevent gas prices being hiked way up before Labor Day, too – perhaps more people would travel and spend money and give the economy some love.

Ah, but I digress. And I don’t want to digress on economy and gas prices because surely someone will come and argue me down, and I don’t want to hold my own there, and besides I have a whole lot of opinion and if you come at me with “numbers” and “facts”, then, I guess you win, buckaroo.

SO.

We have two weeks until school starts.

This year feels different to me than years past, and I am kind of excited about that. It feels different because though I am doing some work from home projects, the bulk of my working time these days is spent outside of the home, in an office building. I still have a bit to learn about balance as far as trying to get my “at home” projects done — I’ve been trying more to work after bedtime for the kiddos (though as I type this, which may or may not be “work”, they are happily playing in the playroom and neither is screeching at the other and I feel comfortable getting things done while they are pleasantly occupied).

Previously, summer meant a massive juggling game. Kids home all day, work expecting me to be available and tied to a laptop for x hours a week and that severely limiting when we could go out and what we could do – and while I tried to maintain balance, now that I am working outside the home part time, I can see that I didn’t do such a great job of juggling. And that’s a bit of a tough pill to swallow.

Now, while I still look forward to the beginning of school it no longer feels like it is with the harried frustration of a mom trying to “do it all” – but with an excitement for my kids to get back into a routine (I think they need it), to make new friends, learn new things and to start new chapters.

I am grateful for the years I stayed home with my kids, and that working from home offered me a great scenario and opportunity to have what I often referred to as “the best of both worlds”. I wanted to be making money, be contributing, and to have projects and a life beyond being needed in my home — but I didn’t want to miss all the little moments that I was able to be present for because I had a flexible schedule – field trips, doctor’s appointments, class parties, and even beyond that – first steps, first words.

When The Princess was in daycare full time after she was born, I remember having a conversation with her babysitter: If she takes her first steps while she’s with you, please don’t tell me. I saw Pumpkin’s first steps. I saw when she rolled over the first time. All of those things, I was there for. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But it was time for me to go back “into the real world” and just as they face their new beginnings in two weeks, mine was nearly a month ago. And while each day for me is a new adventure, and adapting and learning new things, as will be each day for them. I’m looking forward to sending them off to school on the first day – I’ll have to be late for work – with their new backpacks full of pencils and supplies. Part of me is so torn that I won’t be here when they get off the bus that day – that there are moments I am going to miss now – but… it’ll be okay.

New school years signal new beginnings and I’m excited for what is in store for my fourth grader and first grader. I think they’re going to have very good years. And it all begins in two weeks.

Dear Pumpkin,

Today, you are six. In fact, I’ve scheduled this post to publish at 5:53 a.m., the minute you made your way into this world – the minute I first saw your face and held you in my arms.

You’ve been an early bird since day one, waking me with contractions at 2:30 in the morning that day. Less than four hours later, you were here. When you put your mind to something, you’re determined. You’ve been in a rush since the day you were born. Still, to this day, sometimes I can’t keep up with you, and it’s certainly not for lack of trying! I realize I say this every year. Maybe next year, you’ll be less of a morning person and I won’t start your letter the same way!

This past year was a big year for you – you went to kindergarten. I wasn’t entirely sure you were ready. Sure, I thought you were READY, but every time I put a pencil in your hand, asking, pleading you to write something, you resisted. Turns out, you can totally do it – you just have to want to. You took kindergarten by storm, learning to read this year was a HUGE milestone (one that makes me insanely happy). Your teacher adored you, and said to me one day, “Her personality… she’s really funny.” To which I smiled, and said, “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Because you are. You’re really funny. You love attention. You love to entertain.  You’ve been asking lately for ballet lessons, and my gosh, I can picture you on a stage. But I haven’t decided about lessons yet. You’ve been loving swim lessons, and I like sticking with that for now. We’ll see, okay?

Your first (second, third and fourth) plane ride was this month – what an amazing traveler you are. It’s kind of nice to experience travel through the eyes of someone who is still amazed at the process – how you get in a metal tube, and then you’re in the air! I loved watching you look out the windows at the world below. I’m not a great flyer, you know – but I hope it didn’t show. I don’t want you to be scared of it like I am. I like your fearlessness. I like your courage. I like how you have no qualms about trying new things (from mangoes to roller coasters) . I admire that about you. Seems silly for a mommy to say that – but sometimes I think I could learn a lot from you.

You have the most breathtaking eyes I have ever seen. They are a clear blue with a darker circle around the iris and when I see your eyes, I feel at home. You are loving and affectionate. You like to be held, you like to cuddle. You can sense when a hug is needed and you’ll race to be the one to give it. I never grow tired of your hugs.

Sometimes when I kiss you goodnight, you press your hand to your lips or your cheek, as if to press my kiss in, to save it for later. I love to end my day that way.

You can be a stinker too, missy, and I know you know this. Sometimes the amount of noise, energy and anger that comes out of your little body stuns me. The other day at Starbucks I called you my little Grumpelstilsken. Sometimes you are.

You love people and love to play. I feel badly that there aren’t more (or ANY!) kids your age in our neighborhood for you to play with. You see your sister hanging out with her friends – your common refrain is, “It’s NO FAIR. HOW COME SHE GETS TO PLAY WITH HER FRIENDS AND I CAN’T?!” (And yes, you do it in a big all caps voice). It makes me sad – because I wish you had friends in our neighborhood, that you had the same kind of instant playdate nearby as your sister does. Maybe someday.

You love chocolate milk. You love dogs, especially German Shepherds. You love to dance. You love watching streaming cartoons on Netflix, these days Angelina Ballerina has your eye. You love to go to the library – especially looking for nonfiction books about dogs and animals. You actually know more about animals and dogs than anyone I have ever met. You can list a specie of dog for almost every letter of the alphabet. That blows me away. You like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and you never eat the crust. You can’t go to sleep at night until you’ve been read to and cuddled with. When you wake up in the middle of the night, you turn your CD player on – I’ve walked down the hall at midnight to hear your bedtime music coming from your room, having recently been restarted. You laugh when I crinkle my nose at you like a bunny. You write me notes and leave them on my nightstand. You give me stickers to wear and color pictures and leave them on my desk – or better yet, sometimes you let me choose which piece of art I want. I love it. Your creative and inquisitive mind makes me truly happy.

You make me happy.

I love you, Pumpkin. Today you are six, and I am so grateful for every day I’ve had with you.

I love you with my whole heart and I’m so lucky to be your mommy.

Love,
Mom.