Friday Letters

WOW what a crazy week! Mike and I kicked it off in NYC on Saturday, celebrating our first anniversary (more on that in another post). When we got back Sunday night, it was go-go-go all week and frankly, I don't know why I'm not passed out in some kind of stress-induced coma right now. Whoever said that working moms "have it all" must also be cracked out on Ativan. 

Enjoy this week's installment of Friday Letters, and be sure to check out this blogger and the original Letters. Happy weekend!

Dear New York Friends,

You're AWESOME! Thank you thank you THANK YOU for a perfect anniversary weekend!

Dear Brooklyn,

Hey, I just met you-- and this is crazy-- but I'm in love with you. Mike and I have always talked about moving to NYC, and I could totally see us raising our little family here. Five year plan?

Dear Landon,

I feel like I've only seen you for five minutes this week, and I hate it. The best part of my day is coming home to your dimply smiles and snuggling you tight, if only for a few minutes before I'm out the door again. Part of me is glad that you won't remember this time, because I'm not around as much as I'd like to be. I keep reminding myself that the hours I spend working and in class are going to pay off for our family in the end, but right now it sucks. It just plain sucks.

Dear Roy Rogers Bacon Cheeseburger,

You were the only semi-real food I ate all day, and you were incredible in all of your 6,000-calorie glory. My tummy (and the lard around my waistline) thanks you.

Dear Motown Artists of the 1960s (and early 70s),

Thank you for calming my child. I don't really know why he has such an affinity for your music, but we're just gonna go with it. You've been the soundtrack to many a kitchen dance sesh, and I don't hate it.

Dear Bank Account,

I'm sorry. Wishing you a speedy recovery.

Dear Mentor Teacher,

Sorry I send you an average of four emails a day. You should know that I'm a crazy perfectionist and it will probably only get worse. Don't hate me.

Dear People of the World,

If anyone else wants to see my boobs, just ask.

Dear Husband,

You're Super Dad. I would be even more of a mess than I already am if it weren't for you. Thanks for putting up with me this year; hope you're ready for a hundred more =]

More Love Letters

Wouldn't it be great to get a bunch of snail mail that tells you how AWESOME you are? I, for one, think it would be way cool. I stumbled across a blog a few days ago that aims to make this happen. The mission at moreloveletters.com is to spread the love, and I am totally on board. Join me?

More Love Letters is collecting letters (words of encouragement, basically) for three people during the month of September. You can read more about them here. Send your letters to the address listed on the website, and they will be included in the bundles being sent to Jessica, Kayla, and Wilson. 

Not sure what to say? Try an uplifting quote or a few encouraging words; sometimes two words can say more than an eighteen-page letter (FRONT AND BACK! ...Friends reference, sorry I'm obsessed).

Grab some pretty pens, write a few lines, and make someone's day a little brighter. And in case you haven't heard it in a while, YOU'RE AWESOME.

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.)