Here’s my heart!

Rowan and I have been discussing Valentine’s Day, what it means, how it started, and how it’s celebrated.

He has decided that I will be his valentine, we will get married, and have a date.  Yeah, I’ll start looking into therapists for him now….

Anyway, this morning he pulled out his magna-doodle and told me he was going to draw love.  I was totally intrigued, and peered over his shoulder as he drew this:

Without any prompting he said, are you ready for this?!?!   “Mama, here’s my heart for you!”  HE DREW ME A HEART AND THEN GAVE IT TO ME!  

I KNOW!!!!! 

I’ve been a little off my rocker lately, so I did tear up, and hugged him, and told him he was the sweetest valentine ever.  He let me gush over him for about 30 seconds, and then couldn’t tolerate it any longer.  Still, a very tender moment.

Now that I’ve made a total fool of myself, I’ll go.  But don’t think I won’t bring this up on his first Valentine’s day with his special someone.  I’ll totally cry and pull out that picture, and then maybe this one:

Valentine's Day 2010

Mama’s a Party

That last post is depressing as all get out, so I thought I’d offer a little pick-me-up…..

I know there is no way to measure how much I love my son, but I can certainly give examples of why I love him:

I was holding Rowan when we walked past a shelf that had a lollypop on it.  He thought that he was stealthy grabbing it, when I caught him, and asked him what was in his hand.  He giggled, and stuffed the lollypop down my sweatshirt.  I set him down, and Rowan gripped the bottom of my sweatshirt and shook out the candy. 

It fell on the floor which led to a chorus of, “Mama’s a piñata!  Mama’s a party!” 

After composing myself we each had a lollypop and a “milk shape.”

EXACTLY what I needed after such a horrible week.  He is my hero.


My parents took Rowan to church with them this morning.  I’m home alone, save for my Grandma, who will sleep the morning away.  The past four days I have been plagued with a migraine, cold-sweats, nausea, and exhaustion so severe, it’s worse than having a newborn.  I don’t know exactly what’s going on, and needless to say, tomorrow I’m going to go see my doctor, and get myself checked out.

It’s been an amazingly hard few days.  My poor little boy has kind of been put on the back burner.  Well, not really, Bapa and Nana have occupied him, and I’ve sat with him for hours, half-aware of the books we were reading, and the movies we were watching.  We’ve built towers with me laying on the floor, and colored on the bathroom floor, so I can be near the, um, amenities.  I feel horrible and guilty and like I’m depriving my son of his mother.  If the migraine doesn’t kill me, the guilt will. 

I’m being forced to dig deep, put my head down, and just plow through the pain.  It’s hard.  It’s really, really hard.  All I want to do is curl up in bed, cry, or stand in a hot shower for hours.  Those aren’t really options though, so my days have been dragging.  I’ve been going to bed when Rowan does, but have been unable to sleep soundly.  It’s just awful.

I just feel miserable and grumpy and helpless, and want to get back to our normal, lovely, happy life.  For now, it’s time to take advantage of my solitude, and rest.

Dear Rowan,

On Monday you fell off the bed and sprained your arm.  Your left arm.  That’s tough stuff for an active, independent, left-handed toddler.  Once again though, you taught me a lesson in adaptability, patience, and good ol’ fashion relaxing.

I am not exactly stellar at any of the above.  Life has a way of forcing you to learn what you need to learn, though, and who am I to ignore these lessons?  Oh, not to mention that if you try to fight it, it’s just going to come back and bite you in the butt.  So, Rowan, when things get hard, it just means God has something to teach you.  Don’t fight it, it’ll just make things harder.

Since you hurt your arm, all you really want to do is watch Air Bud.  It’s a cheesy movie about a golden retriever that plays basketball.  You love it.  No, you are OBSESSED with it.  The first couple times we watched it, I just enjoyed cuddling with you.  We snuggled, you asked me to marry you, complete with slipping a plastic purple ring onto my pinkie.  You then asked me, “Marry me means?”  I told you it meant we’d love each other for forever.  You laughed and said it would only be two more hours.  I guess the sanctity of marriage really is on the rocks… 

Anyway, after about the fourth viewing of Air Bud, I couldn’t take it any more, and started to fidget.  I was paying bills, piling books, anything I could do while sitting in a chair with you on my lap.  You were not impressed and told me to stop touching your arm.  It hurt.  So I stopped, wrapped my arms gently around you, and we watched the movie together.  This time you had my full attention, and I know you can’t express it, but I could tell by how you put your head on my shoulder that you appreciated it.  Sometimes I wonder who is the adult in this relationship.

This morning you were feeling SO much better.  You even dismantled a train flashlight, one-handed.  You figured out how to control your world with one hand really quickly.  Faster than I could have adjusted.  You’re so adaptable, you make me want to be more like you.  When your world suddenly changed on you, you easily went with the flow, and didn’t even stumble. 

My favorite though, was when you sat yourself in your red chair, in the center of the play room, and did a one handed version of “The Itsy-bitsy Spider”.  Priceless.

I’m glad you’re feeling better Rowan. 

Love, Mama

This Moment

{This moment}-A Friday ritual.  A single photo-no words-capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment.  A moment I want to pause, savor, and remember.  If you’re inspired to do the same, leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see.

Snow day

We started by making organic peanut butter play-doh.  It’s quite simple and delicious! 
‎1/2 cup peanut butter
1/4 cup honey
4-6 oz. corn meal

Combine together peanut butter and honey. Add the corn meal until it reaches the desired consistency.

The Ingredients

   I got the peanut butter and honey from a grocery store in Lewisburg, and the corn meal was imported from Sunflower, my favorite market in Albuquerque.  I miss that city and the people…that’s a whole different post though. 

Rowan has got this cooking stuff under control. I'm just there to control the mess.



Following the play-doh party, we had a romantic picnic on the play room floor.

An organic lunch! Peanut butter and jelly on homemade bread, apples, "wine"(organic cranberry juice with carbonated water), and smarties for dessert. (okay, those aren't organic.)


Cheers! Here's to an awesome day!


After we fueled up we headed outside for a little shoveling and a little fun.

Seriously, Rowan? Must you be that cute?

Then it was back inside for popcorn and a movie!

After our viewing of Free Willy (I’m not kidding.  He loved it!), my mom, who is an antique dealer, wanted to use Rowan as a model.  She acquired an old Eton Boarding School uniform, from about 1915.  We bribed Rowan with Pez and a new truck to wear the uniform and let us take pictures so she can sell it on Ebay.

Yeah, it was as adorable as it looks. 

It was a nearly perfect day, and to counteract that perfectness, Rowan dumped a can of wet cat food into my boot, put it on, and walked around the living room.  He then took it off, walked around with cat food stuck to his sock, and then told me about the whole thing.


The Birds and the bees.

After witnessing my son get mad at CooCoo the Rocking Clown, and telling CooCoo that he needs to listen to him or get a time out (mirroring his own life much?), I teasingly asked Rowan, “Where did you come from?”

“God made me!”

“Yes, He did make you, and you grew in Mommy’s tummy.”

“See pictures, please?”

Recently Rowan has learned that he was once a baby, couldn’t walk or run, and spent most of his days sleeping.  It took him a while to come to grips with this reality, seeing as he never stops talking or running now, and sleeping has become a dirty word to him.  To help him better understand that being a baby wasn’t a bad thing, in fact he was cute and cuddly and really good, we’ve been looking at his baby pictures, and watching some home movies.

Exhibit A:

2 Month old Rowan


Exhibit B:

So after looking at these lovely examples of his awesome baby-ness, he wanted to see the photos of himself inside my belly.  He looked at the ultrasounds, and was adamant that was not him, but rather a “bug.”  Okay.

I pulled out the pregnancy photos, and he was just astounded.  He wanted to hear all about what he did in my tummy, how he got in, how he got out, and, “Please I go back in now?” 

“No Rowan.  You may not go back in.”

Is it a little early for him to be asking about this stuff?  I don’t know if it is, but I’m a firm believer in just stating the facts, using correct terms, not nick-naming body parts, or omitting facts.  I explained how he started out in as simple terms as I could, and he listened and accepted what he heard.  Mostly he wanted to get to the part where “Mom’s tummy blew up like a balloon!”

This is the last picture of Rowan in my tummy, other than ones of me actually giving birth.  He was born two days after this photo:

I cropped off my head, because I looked miserable. I don't want Rowan to think I wasn't happily anticipating his arrival.

Rowan’s favorite tummy picture though, is this one:

Rowan looked at this photo for several moments without saying anything.  He put his head on my shoulder, and sighed. 

“What are you thinking, Baby?”

“I think I was waving to the doggie.”

“You mean while you were in my belly?”

“Yes.  Kaia was arfing at me, so I waved.  Kaia looks at me growing.  She said grow big in Mamma’s tummy!  Come out now, Rowan!”

“And you did come out.  I’m glad you did.  You’re a lot more fun out here.”

“I can be more loud out here.  And I can laugh better.”

I grinned, kissed his temple, and he left.

Makes sense to me

So, the underwear over the pants has become a 24/7 occurence.  It doesn’t bother me any, though his underwear does get really dirty.  I will probably have to buy more when he’s ready to actually wear them UNDER his pants.

I finally just came out and asked him why he chooses to wear his underwear on the outside.  The answer was so obvious, that I felt kind of dumb even asking him:

“So I can see them!”

Happy (Un)Birthday to Me!

There is a door dividing the living room and Rowan’s playroom.  It’s there mostly so people can relax in the living room, watch T.V. and read, without the noise of a two year old playing with various cars, trucks, trains, and some amazingly loud barnyard animals.

However, Rowan often uses this door as a prop in his many imaginative play scenarios.  This morning he closed the door, with me on the playroom side, and him on the living room side.  He was quiet for a little while, and just as I was about to get up and investigate, I heard the familiar rustle of wrapping paper.  He has refused to admit the Christmas season is over, and has held on to a few leftover pieces of  wrapping paper.  He folds random objects up in the paper, and “gives” them as gifts to people.  I use the word “gives” loosely because he wants them back after the receiver of the gift opens it. 

So, after hearing the paper being manipulated to fully cover whatever object was being concealed, he popped his head through the barely open door, and joyfully proclaimed, “Happy Birthday Mommy!” 

“Thanks Baby!”

“Have it, Mommy.”

“Have what?”  I was truly confused, seeing as he hadn’t handed me anything.

“A happy birthday!”  He was less than amused at my ignorance, and it showed in his tone of voice.

“Oh.  Thanks, Sweetie.  I will!”  I know he takes these games quite seriously, but he makes it so hard not to crack a smile.  

He disappeared back into the living room for a few seconds.  He slowly opened the door, and walked towards me with a large, seemingly empty, crumpled piece of wrapping paper.  He handed me the festive bundle, again announced his desire for me to have a happy birthday, and instructed me to open it.

I peeled back the corners to reveal an empty box of cinnamon dental floss.  (He is forever picking through the garbage for treasures.) “Wow” I was sincerely taken aback. 

Someone must have told him that cinnamon dental floss was spicy, because the next phrase out of his mouth was, “Be careful, Mama, it’s hot!”

I gave him a hug, told him thank you, and gushed over the awesomeness of his thoughtful gift.  True to form, he took it back, and retreated to his blanket tent in the living room. 

He emerged a few moments later with a wooden piece of birthday cake.

This great set was a gift from his Aunt Melissa!

On the same plate was a piece of pizza from this set:

While serving me he sang a very unique version of “Happy Birthday” that sounded suspiciously like “Twinkle, Twinkle.” 

At any good birthday party there are games, and this party was no exception.  He announced that it was time for hide-and-seek.  I asked him if he was going to hide, or look for me?  He giggled, “YES!”  Then he ran off before I had a chance to question his response. 

Rowan rounded the corner into the front hallway, and wedged himself into a corner, where he started to count: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…..come find me!”  (I guess his “yes” reply earlier was accurate.) 

Of course I made a big stink of finding him, looking under coffee mugs, and in the pocket of his jacket.  He stifled his laughter, and I’m sure he was wondering how he got stuck with such a crazy mom, who  couldn’t see that he was standing directly in front of her. 

When he couldn’t take it any longer, he jumped out of the corner, wrapped his arms around my legs, and revealed that he was, “RIGHT HERE, MAMA!”

I picked him up, hugged him, and told him he throws a great party.  Rowan grinned, put his head on my shoulder, and asked if I would make him eggs for breakfast.

My future birthdays are going to pale in comparison to this one.  He just set the bar impossibly high.