Clippers-1, Landon-0

Landon sustained his first injury today, and it was Momma's fault.

That's right, I hurt my baby. And then I cried... like a baby.

We were innocently snuggling in the glider, preparing to read our new favorite story about Little Bear, when I realized his little fingernails needed clipped. Not unusual-- they're about a millimeter away from dagger status at all times. I was just getting started on his right hand when it happened-- he wiggled, I clipped, I missed. I pinched the pad of his sweet little finger in the clippers and I cut through his skin. I made my baby bleed.

For a second he was quiet-- scary quiet-- and looked up at me with big sad eyes. And then he screamed and wailed and cried a cry I've never heard before. I held him close and squeezed him tight and bawled my eyes out. We were a mess.

Daddy came to the rescue with a Muppets band-aid and the promise that I am not the worst mother on the planet (though I sure felt like it). We calmed Landon down, wrapped up his boo-boo, and gave him lots of feel-better kisses. As far as I can tell, he's over it, but I'm pretty sure I'm never clipping his fingernails again.

Friday Letters

One of my favorite bloggers recently started a "Friday Letters" series (which originated here), so I think I'll follow suit. Be sure to check them out, and happy weekend!

Dear Landon:
I'm so glad that I have you all to myself all day long! It's bittersweet, because I know that after this month we won't have that special time very often. Things are going to get a little nutty with school and work and life but you know what? You have Gigi and Daddy to love on while I'm away, and they're pretty awesome! For now, I'm soaking up every minute of your sweet snuggles and dimply smiles, and wishing this time would last forever.

Dear Old Navy:

Stop having cute clothes. I need to buy groceries.

Dear Kindergarten Nuggets:
I MISS YOU! I never thought I would actually say that. You guys were pretty terrifying at first, mostly because there are twenty of you and at least three who need your shoes tied at any given moment. It's incredible how quickly you are learning; you've grown so much in just these first two weeks of school! In a month I'll be responsible for your sweet little sponge-like brains and it's sort of intimidating. Be kind, okay?

Dear Amazon:
I just bought a Kindle Fire in June and you're telling me there's already something bigger and better?! Stop it. We aren't friends anymore.

Dear Baby Weight:
GO AWAY! It seems like these last five pesky pounds aren't sure if they should stay or go, and I'm putting my foot down. You're the only thing that stands between me and skinny jean perfection. BYE.

Dear Frostburg Friends:
Bernie's and karaoke? Best idea we've had in a while. Let's do that again, and maybe this time I won't be feeling it on two beers. Ok, let's face it, I probably will.

Dear Cold:
I know you're there, lurking, waiting to attack. I don't have time for you. Furthermore, if my baby gets sick, we will have words and they will not be nice.

Dear Husband:

You're amazing. When I came home and caught you reading Dr. Seuss to Landon the other night (and snapped a sneaky picture of it like the stalkerazzi that I am), I wanted to melt. I always knew you would be an incredible dad! We celebrate our one-year anniversary next weekend and I can hardly believe it has been that long already. What a year <3

three months old

You are three months old today, and stealing a little bit more of my heart every second.

You've learned so many new things this month! You have mastered the back-to-tummy roll, you love showing the Sassy Go-Go Bugs who's boss...

...and you are the king of thumb-sucking (which I'm sure will be a fun habit to break).

You finally wiggled your way into 3-month clothes, and currently weigh in at 12lbs. 3oz. You are just shy of 24 inches long, and are holding your own in the 50th percentile. You were not a big fan of your first round of shots, and I don't blame you! You were screaming and I was trying so hard not to cry; we looked like a couple of wimps! We need to work on our tough-guy faces for next time.

You are losing your baby hair in awkward patches. In fact, you sort of look like an old homeless man from the back. Don't worry! You'll be rockin' that faux-hawk again in no time.

You have a new best friend, and his name is Snuggle Bunny (well, until Dad comes up with a "manlier" name for it).

For the first time in weeks, you will tolerate sleeping alone as long as you can hug your lovey. Sometimes you even put yourself to sleep! Co-sleeping is making me nervous now that you're a roly-poly, so I'm hoping your new Bunny friend continues to work his magic.

We went on vacation earlier this month, which means you experienced a big first-- your first plane ride! You were a pro, not scared one bit (while your Uncle Max screamed from a few rows back).

We visited your great-grandparents in Florida, and spent the whole week relaxing together. We took you on your first trip to the beach (not a fan) and the zoo (didn't care).

Hoping that we can make this vacation a family tradition!

This month also marks the beginning of a pretty tough year! Momma is student teaching this semester and next, which means you'll be spending lots of quality time with Gigi. We're pretty lucky to have her around =] Just do me a favor and save all the big stuff for me, okay? I'm really hating the idea of potentially missing out on your "firsts" while I'm at school.

I can't wait to see what the next month will bring! You're growing up so fast. Love you to pieces, kid, and don't you forget it <3 

A Collection of Stories

If you know me at all, you know that I'm a Pinterest junkie. Recently, I stumbled upon this quote and thought I would share it with you because I love it that much. 

No one leads a textbook life, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who needs to be reminded once in a while that it's okay; in fact, it would be pretty boring if we did.

"Life is a journey, not a destination." 

[Emerson]

First Impressions

First impressions are pretty monumental. Some people are good at them, and some are, well, downright terrible.

One way or the other, first impressions set the tone for the relationships you will have with people. So what does it mean when, on the first day of student teaching, the principal sees your boobs?

I wish I was kidding.

One of the perks of being a mom who breastfeeds is the intimate relationship I've formed with my breast pump. By intimate relationship, I actually mean we're frenemies; pumping is the bane of my existence. But since student teaching means I'm away from my sweet boy for most of the day, I have to make time to pump at school. My mentor teacher located an unused conference room, showed me how to lock the door, and said I should be perfectly fine in there.

False.

There I was, half-naked and holding two plastic cones to my chest, when Someone jiggled the door knob. It was locked, so I figured I was safe. Not one minute later, Someone returned with the jingle-jangle of keys. This can't be good. The key went in, the door opened, and there stood the principal.

I wanted to disappear.

It was like a real-life train wreck, with "I'm so sorry!"s and stammered half-sentences falling all around us against the whirring-buzzing soundtrack of my breast pump. Can you picture it? Don't. There are no words.

She quickly closed and re-locked the door as I attempted to recover what was left of my dignity while still managing to hold these tools of torture to my chest. I made a point of stopping by her office later to make light out of what was easily one of the most mortifying moments of my life, and we both had a good laugh. 

I would like to think that somewhere along the way, the principal will associate me with things like stellar classroom management and brag-worthy lesson plans; she'll say things to her colleagues like, "Boy, is she an expert on Common Core!" and "She's super awesome at differentiating instruction!" and "Gee, I'm glad I hired her!" (please?!) But more likely than not, whether I'm a nobody or Teacher of the Year, that first impression is going to stick. I will always be remembered as that student teacher,
The Girl with the Breast Pump.

(Who would really love to be employed in the upcoming school year, please and thank you.)

...Like a Boss

Every time I drive past a used car lot, I think of the first time I was grounded.

Stay with me.

The details are a little fuzzy, but cut me some slack because I was only five. All I know for sure is that I was with my parents at a used car lot, and it was dark outside. In the distance, I saw it-- gleaming in the light of a fluorescent lamppost, a pile of tattered plastic bunting.

And by tattered plastic bunting, I mean decorative flags that would surely match the Pocahontas motif in my bedroom. I would decorate with all the colors of the wind, and it would be spectacular.

I asked my parents if I could take it home, and they said no, because that would be stealing and it was trash anyway. Um, hello-- had they never heard the universal motto of yard sales? One person's trash is another's treasure. And it would look great in a Pocahontas room.

Ever the problem-solver, I decided if I wanted to take it anyway, I had to ball it up and stuff it into my coat. I don't know if it was the sheer puffiness of my neon coat a la 1995, or the fact that my parents were distracted by cars and my two younger siblings, but they didn't seem to notice. I was totally getting away with it, like a boss.

It wasn't until we were driving home that it occurred to me that my parents might eventually notice this "trash" (how dare they) once it was taped to my bedroom walls. Panic set in. What was I supposed to do with this stuff? Take it out of my coat right now and admit the jig is up? I would get in trouble for taking it. Throw it in the trash when we got home? They would find it, and I would still get in trouble for taking it. Hide it in a dark corner of my closet? Bingo.

I committed to this plan and no one was the wiser, until my mom decided to clean. In my bedroom. In my closet. 

Boss status, retracted.

I don't totally remember how the next part went-- the part between the finding and the punishing-- but I imagine my mom coaxed me into telling on myself before actually producing the evidence. She's always been good at that, like a special mom superpower that I can only HOPE to possess someday. All I know for sure is that I came home from my exhausting day of finger painting and snack time (kindergarten, as it should be) only to find out that she'd thrown away my avant-garde decor and I was grounded. Yes, you heard me correctly-- I was five, and I was grounded.

Boss status, reinstated.

When I told my friends at school the next day, they could hardly believe their little ears; none of us had ever been grounded. This, coming right after my exile to the Red Square Table for sticking a pencil up my nose (on a dare, I'll have you know), basically made me a kindergarten badass. So much street cred.

I remember my little friends coming to the yard to play after school, and all I could do was pout at them through the sliding glass doors while my mom told them I could not come out to play. This must be what prison's like. While I was supposed to be taking this opportunity to learn a lesson in lying, I resolved to put more energy behind not getting caught.

[My Mom and I, pre-stolen-bunting fiasco]

This was an endeavor I pursued for the rest of my childhood. And just when I thought I could pull one over on her, my mom was quick to put me in my place. There are only a few instances where I actually got away with anything, and they are obviously the crowning moments of my adolescence.

But here's the thing-- it's all of her sneaky mom-ness that turned me into a good kid. All those times she hacked her way into my MySpace account and threatened to ambush dates and sleepovers and mall-ratting (this woman had eyes everywhere) kept me on my toes, and wary of ever truly testing my boundaries. It wasn't until I was safely 200 miles away in the mountains of central Pennsylvania that I did anything remotely questionable, and even then I somehow managed to stay on the dean's list and off of the 6'oclock news.

Even now that I'm all grown up (well, mostly), I still have the feeling that she's looking over my shoulder with every decision that I make-- and I think that's a good thing. While she might not be able to ground me anymore, I have what has become an inherent need not to disappoint her. It's all of her sneaky mom-ness that has turned me into a good person.

That is easily the single hardest job of a parent, and I hope I can pull it off just as well. I hope my kids push their limits just far enough to find out where they are. I hope they get away with enough things that they maintain the confidence to defy me once in a while, just so that I can put them back in their place (like a boss). I hope that in another five or ten years, I'm the one turning their friends away at the sliding glass doors while they plot new ways to get away with things. Most of all, I hope that I've inherited enough sneaky mom-ness to turn them into good kids.

two months old

Two months, TOO FAST.

Appropriately, so much of this month can be recounted in twos:

Two big milestones-- you're smiling all the time and starting to find your little voice! Don't ask me why, but you seem to be the most outgoing when you're on the changing table. You stare up at me and smile from ear to ear, ooh-ing and ahh-ing like you're telling me a story. You're starting to experiment with facial expressions, too; it's so exciting to watch the beginnings of your personality come to life.

Two books read (almost) every night while we snuggle in the glider for your 3AM feeding. Our favorites so far are Curious George, The Cat in the Hat, Where the Wild Things Are, and Oh the Places You'll Go. I just ordered some books from The Little Critter collection and I know you're going to love them! Call me crazy, but even though you don't understand what I'm reading to you it is so, so important-- and the beginning of a very special bond =]

Two songs that calm you down, without fail-- Stand By Me and The Way You Do the Things You Do. Clearly, someone has an affinity for Motown, and I don't hate it. 

Two bottles of gas drops emptied, because you are your father's child.

Two exhausted parents, who gave in and embraced co-sleeping with open arms. I'm sure we'll be kicking ourselves one day when you're six and still sneaking into our bed at night, but I'm over it because right now it means I get to SLEEP.

Two little watchful eyes, getting so good at focusing on new things and observing your surroundings. You love checking out your reflection and watching things that spin, like ceiling fans and the bird mobile on your swing. We still can't tell if your eyes are going to be blue or brown, but we should know soon!

Two piles of newborn clothes, ready to be packed away. A part of me is sad that those first precious weeks of your life have come and gone, but I'm so excited for what's to come. You are growing more and more every day-- holding your little head up, practicing sitting up like a big boy in your Bumbo seat, kicking your way across the carpet during tummy time. I can see how much you've changed in the way your face has filled out, in the way your skinny frog legs are turning into chunky baby thighs. Watching you grow and learn and come into your own is easily the best part of every day, and I can't wait to see who you become.

Love you to the moon and back, my sweet boy.

----

"Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is youer than you."

Dr. Seuss