Thursday, March 17, 2011

"i fawll"

It probably comes as a shock to no one that I am not so much a risk taker in anything except our retirement accounts (in which I figure we have 35ish more years to gain back anything we lose). I've had exactly one broken bone in my life (for trying to rollerblade down a mountain with my daredevil Colorado cousins, Grant and Joel - and the break wasn't that bad, I just *really* wanted that pink cast) and five stitches (for cutting my finger with a pair of scissors).

I have zero desire to sky dive or bungee jump. Ever. My bff and I once did one of those "skycoaster" things at Elitch's when we were 16, and that was enough adrenaline to last a lifetime for me. Don't get me wrong, there's plenty of stupidity in my 28 years to make you think differently, but really I value my safety and try to keep my feet on the ground at all times.

When we found out 2 1/2 years ago that B was joining us, I was at first a bit shocked, I just knew we were having a girl. It only took a few minutes for me to realize how elated I was, and am, to have a little dude - someone to watch football with and talk about bugs with, and I quickly realized I'm a boy momma at heart.

But then.

Everyone started warning me about the 492 thousand emergency room trips in our future. I mean the only time I'd ever been to the emergency room was the scissors incident. This was slightly panic-inducing for me.

Then I remembered who I married... Joey-who-has-more-scars-than-he-can-remember-how-he-got-them. Joey, who frequented emergency rooms growing up. Joey, who has a BB still stuck in his wrist from childhood. My sweet, sweet husband was about as polar opposite from my riskiness as a child as you could possibly be. I mean my goodness, if I have to take B or baby J to the emergency room for half the stuff Joey's mom did, I will just wrap them in bubble wrap.

However, there's a silver lining to this tale. So far it seems that B may have inherited 75% of my cautiousness. While he's still a boy and still a 2 year old who runs into walls and doesn't always yet see the danger in the situation, he's vitally aware of one thing: "mommy! I fawllin'!" if he feels like his safety is in jeopardy (and 99% of the time it's not). And while it makes me giggle sometimes because he's so his mother's son, my momma heart breathes a HUGE sigh of relief. Most of the time when he feels like he's "fawllin'", we have him sitting on a chair to put shoes on, or stepping off the porch stairs, etc. - we have a firm grasp on him yet he still worries that he might crash.

He's SO not the kid to climb on everything, and for that I am so very thankful. I'm quite confident now that I've written this out, baby J is already plotting his monkey skills to climb all over. But hey, 50% isn't bad, right? :)

Friday, March 4, 2011


Brecken Jace,

I contemplated how to even start this little letter to you. I don't often just call you Brecken, and I only use both of your middle names if you're in Big Trouble Mister, so most of the time, you're Brecken Jace.

I take that back, most of the time, you're Bubba, or Peanut, Munchkin, or Lovebug. However Sugar Boogers also slips out sometime (what? I promise by the time you're old enough to read this I'll have stopped calling you that).

Anyway. Today, my love, (at the time this post is published, 1:06pm) you're two years old. That's 720 mornings you've woken up (some earlier than others) ready to face the day. 104 weeks (Wednesdays to be specific) that I've noted another week passed since you came flying into our lives. 24 months we've celebrated the "4th" as another notch in your age. And now my sweet boy, I'll have to stop with the month counting and just go in simpler terms, 2. years. old.

The other day you counted to seven. A feat I didn't even know you could accomplish, because up until that point you got a little hung up on that pesky number 1. But yet there we were, descending the steps at school and you were counting as you went. It's like this a lot lately - you're completely catching us off guard with new things. But not until you're absolutely ready - we can push and push you to tell us the next letter or guess the color, but you simply won't until the time is right. You have a bit of your mom and dad in you, a fierce stubborn and independent streak that will serve you well in life. And make your parents much more patient.

You're growing by the minute it seems, in every way possible. You are all-boy with your love of Thomas, and Mickey "Maush", and trucks, "airpwanes", and "molarcycles". You can spot a Jeep Wrangler a mile away ("JEEEEEEP! JEEEEEP!"), and you get! so! excited! when we pass a city bus.

You can be rough and tumble, but you have the sweetest heart. You love giving hugs, your compassion is (literally) overwhelming sometimes to your friends at school. Momma always takes hugs though, don't stop giving them. My most favorite moments with you right now are when you're playing with your toys or watching Mickey Maush and you have this virtual wave of love come over you. You drop whatever you're doing and come over for a quick squeeze and a smooch. If you've snuck into our bed and you're waking up with us in the morning, your waves of love are abundant and the squeezes unending. I wish I could bottle up your innocence and love and give it away. The world would be happier.

Your third year of life is promising to be a big one. Your little brother ("Dude Widdum" as you call him) is scheduled to arrive in a mere 3 months, and I can't wait to see your love for him in action. You will be the *best* big brother, I am completely sure of that much. And while he might be the new baby, you will always be my first baby, you made me a mom. I have no idea what I ever did to deserve to have you in my life, and I am thankful for you every moment of every day.

I love you to the moon and back,