It’s the number of years my son has blessed my family with his presence.  It’s the number of years I’ve known the coolest kid on the planet, and it’s the number of years my heart has gone walking around outside of my body.  That bittersweet time of year has come again.  Rowan is celebrating another birthday, and I am cherishing every last second of his two year old-ish-ness.

The past year has been a great one.  Rowan has learned and taught and grown.  As have I.  He’s gone from a baby that said a few words here and there to a kid that tells elaborate stories about everything that he sees.  His sense of adventure is strong.  He’s smart and witty and curious and a total trouble maker.  He’s everything a little boy should be.

I can already tell that three is going to be a tough age.  We’ve reached a whole new level of sassy-ness and button pushing.  Rowan has started saying no just because I say yes.  When asked to put something on the table, he’ll put in on the floor.  He throws some mighty tantrums, but his hugs are worth a million bucks and totally make everything worth it.  My limits as a mom are going to be tested in the coming year, and while I know we’ll both survive, I pray neither of us are too traumatized.  😉

My parents bought Rowan a play house for his birthday, which he won’t be getting until the 24th.  My dad and I hauled away four truck loads of brush to clear off an old foundation in our back yard.  (I think there used to be a garage there or something of that nature)  We’ll put the house on there once it’s totally cleaned off.  Rowan and I spent a lot of time yesterday and today shoveling the thick layers of dirt and sand that had piled up in the years Grandma has lived here.  It was filthy work, but somebody had to do it.  🙂

Dad built a floor for the house, and we’ll put up a little fence around it, put some plants in the flower boxes, and he’ll have his own little property.  It’s going to be insanely cute.

About two weeks ago I found myself in the hospital with a puke bug, a migraine that wouldn’t quit, and a UTI.  After a couple of failed antibiotics, they found that I had a kidney infection, switched meds again, and I’m good as new.  I was down for the count for a while there, and hated every second of it.  My mom picked up a lot of my slack, leaving me feeling guilty and helpless.  Thankfully, I’ve regained my strength and energy and have returned to my normal (crazy) life.

Grandma is still going strong.  That is to say she’s still a little nuts, but she’s a healthy kind of nuts.  We’ve had a few bumps in the road, but she’s my grandma and I love her.  Overall everything is stable with this part of our lives.

These next two weeks are going to be jam-packed with lots of good stuff.  Between Rowan’s party, my Grandma Jean’s 91st birthday, Rowan’s actual birthday on the 24th, our vacation starting on the 26th, and my aunt and uncle visiting, it will be a blast.

Life is so unbelievably good.

Dear Rowan,

Hey Rowan!  Rowan……Woohoo…..Roooooowan.  Remember me, your mother?  No?  i din’t think so.  That’s okay.  It only hurts a little bit, but I understand thtat the only people you really want to hang out with are that ones that don’t make you brush your teeth or clean  your room or eat your vegetables.  While you can’t fault someone for just doing their job, you can ingore them and pretend they don’t exist, especially when they are repetitively  calling your name in various levels of pitch.  In case you were lost by this point, it’s me.  Mommy, or “mom” as I am so reluctantly called.  I stand firm by the fact that I am  too  young to be called anything other that Mommy or mamma.

The past few days you have  been out and about-either playing with 12 year old Emily up the street, hanging out at your  friend’s house , or spending time with Baba at the go-cart, the playground by the river, or going out to lunch.   You’ve  been coming home everyday filthy, famished, and exhausted, and with stories that take so much time and breath to tell that you have to sit down RIGHT NOW! and probably split a Popsicle  and move outside to the porch where you have much more room to flair your arms with the wonder of the day.   As soon as we were settled on the front porch swing, the stories start, ones about trading bikes in the barn, to the cow having a calf, to going out to lunch, or having ice cream, but by the time you get to seeing the go carts, and  I was just about to get a proper hug out of you,  you remembered there was a worm in the driveway that had only been run over two full times, and a third would certainly seal the deal.  So my purple-lipped tornado of energy and purpose charged by, mounted his bike and repeatedly ran over that worm, until is was declared “Dead and ready to eat.”

So as no need to interrupt such an important ritual , I’ll just watch from a distance, feeling my heart claw it’s way into my stomach every time you start to slip.  You correct  your position, and push on, riding off into the car port to start the next phase of your plan.

So until your chores are done, the worms are squished, and Bob the turtle had been picked up an put down so many times, he just stayed in his shell until you were was safety across the street tormenting a caterpillar, I’ll wait.

I joined you a few  moments later, but you were already involved with grilling with  Bape.  I’ll just say it now. I love you Sweet Potato. I’m looking forward to another day with you. ……even if you forget I’m  here.  🙂


Love, Mommy