On Motherhood/ 7/ Guest Post

 

Hello, friends.  Here's this month's guest post from Amy over at Raising Men, Finding Me.  Perfect for appreciating Autumn with the little ones... Enjoy :)
 

Here in New England, the season of autumn has arrived and it is my very favorite time of year to enjoy with my little ones. When the air becomes crisp during the day and chilly at night, my first concern is making sure that they are warm and comfortable. After a cold snap last week, I pulled out the homemade sweaters that their grandmothers had knit for them. I replaced the cool cotton sheets on their beds with flannel sheets and fleece blankets which are so soft and warm that I often find my boys snuggling under them during our day. Each morning, slippers and socks adorn their little feet, and fleecy, footed pajamas are just about the coziest part of the season. Once they are bundled, I can focus on the season’s festivities and food. Trips to the local apple farms yield bags of apples, sugar-covered donuts, and gallons of apple cider that will be snacked on for weeks. Squash soups simmer on the stove top all day, filling our home with the yummiest of smells. The beauty of the colorful, freshly-fallen leaves – admired best when you are jumping into piles of them. Hay rides out to the pumpkin patch to pick a perfectly round pumpkin which will later be carved into a jack o’ lantern for our front porch on Halloween. Halloween! Oh, how my boys are looking forward to the spooky light-up decorations, the sweet candy, and of course, their costumes – a skunk costume for Aidan, complete with a spray bottle filled with “stinky spray” to spray people, and a fuzzy blue Cookie Monster costume for Sam. Yes, so much goodness comes in the fall and, as with most experiences, I have found that the season is enhanced by my little ones and their wonder of it all.

[hands image here]

On Motherhood /6/ Guest Post

Welcome to another Guest Post from Amy over at Raising Men, Finding Me.  Today she shares about her little boy learning to ride his bike and I think it's really sweet.  (p.s. I am aware that I chose a photo (above) of a boy riding an airplane and not a bicycle, but I was aiming for the essence of her words with this one.)  Ready?  Here ya go...

At the beginning of this summer, my four-year old son Aidan began learning how to ride a bike. One day we dug out an old hand-me-down bike that was hidden beneath a mountain of plastic sand toys, dump trucks, and beach balls in the back of our garage. After some cajoling, Aidan agreed to try to ride it. Wearing his Buzz Lightyear helmet, he pedaled the wobbly blue bike down our street. It was difficult for him, but he kept at it. I held on to the bike’s seat and helped him to steer. Every few days, we would set out on that bike. Each time he did a little better than the last time, but I always had my hand on the bike, and we usually ended up walking it back home. 

At the beginning of this past week, Aidan became determined to master riding the bike. I cannot be sure, but perhaps his sense of urgency came from a realization that summer had ended and soon it would be too cold for bike riding. His determination translated into him trying new techniques to pedal the bike down our street. He found that if he leaned over the handlebars, he could get a better angle to push down on the pedals. He often jammed on the brake while he pedaled, but he discovered that if he slowed his pedaling, he did not brake as much as when he pedaled wildly, so he eased up a bit and was able to maintain more control over the brake. A few times, he fell. I thought that the act of falling might discourage him, but he laughed, and so I laughed. We called his falls “wipe-outs,” and then, he’d get right back on the bike and go. 

Mid-week he pedaled to the first stop sign where he saw the mailman delivering mail at the end of our street. Aidan wanted to show him how he could ride a bike, so he pedaled further down our street to the big maple tree, the one with a “tricky” curve beside it. Aidan negotiated the curve flawlessly. He was finding his stride. On Friday, we took the old blue bike to a bike repair shop, where for $21 they changed a worn tire and gave it a tune-up. Later that afternoon, Aidan got on his bike and quickly took off down the street, passed the first stop sign, round the tricky curve by the big maple tree and kept right on going. As he rode, he waved to some neighborhood kids, who ignored him, but he didn’t seem to mind - he kept right on pedaling. He was awesome. I was so proud of him. It felt good to watch him ride his bike down the street all by himself – full of confidence, pride, and joy. Tonight, we walked the neighborhood as a family. Aidan rode his bike while his little brother rode in the red stroller behind him, all the while observing what his older brother’s hard work and determination had accomplished during one summer on a little ol’ blue bike.

on motherhood /5/ guest post

 

Welcome to the next in a series of motherhood posts guest written by Amy, mother of two young boys, over at Raising Men, Finding Me.  I fell in love with her writing style instantly.  It's simple but adorned with the kind of beauty and insight that only authenticity can offer.  I feel so honored that Amy has agreed to share her intimate world of motherhood in her lovely and touching style once a month here on Wish List.  And I have a feeling she'll connect with so many of you mothers out there, perhaps in a way I can't.  Here are her words, her thoughts, all rooted in love. 

Two.

This past week, my youngest child turned two. For me, the second birthday is a big deal because the baby years are gone. Since there will be no more baby years in our home, I say farewell to the around-the-clock feedings, trying to soothe the inconsolable crying, tending to the diaper rash while changing the blow-out diaper by the glowing night light, wiping baby spit-up off my shirt,  feeling scared-to-death when he spiked a fever for the first time, freezing wash cloths and plastic rings to ease the pain of teething, gently swaying him on my hip while waiting in the line at the coffee shop, the grocery store, and the dry cleaners, doing the laundry (oh, the never-ending laundry), living on take-out pizza, cheerios and reheated coffee, swearing at the supposed “leak-proof” sippy cup that just leaked milk all over the car seat – again, holding an overstuffed diaper bag on one shoulder while collapsing the “single-handed” stroller in a hundred degree heat, fretting over every decision while learning to live with guilt and insecurity of it all. Those hard, how-am-I-going-to-get-through-this baby years. 

And then, I remember feeling him grow inside of me – the first time I felt the butterfly flutter of his movement, and when I would rub his bottom through my large belly when he kicked me after I had drank a fizzy drink. I remember when the doctor couldn’t get him out - the quiet in the operating room and the silent prayer I offered up for his safe delivery. I remember taking long walks in the middle of winter with him and his older brother all bundled up under cozy blankets in the double stroller (it was the only way to get him to nap while occupying his brother with hot cocoa as I sipped on a much-needed mocha coffee). The endless nursing sessions. The feeling of having him fall asleep in my arms and lay on me all night. The way that his hair smelled after a bath. The first time he said, “Mama.” Those delicious, soak-them-up-while-they-last baby years. 

As I frosted his birthday cake on the morning of his party, I thought of those baby years gone by – the hard and the delicious. I will miss it all. I am excited, however, for all that is to come in the years ahead.

Happy second birthday, my sweet boy, and thank you for making our little family complete. 

 
Read Amy's other guest posts HERE.

[baby legs photo here]

on motherhood /4/ guest post

Welcome to the next in a series of motherhood posts guest written by Amy, mother of two young boys, over at Raising Men, Finding Me.  I fell in love with her writing style instantly.  It's simple but adorned with the kind of beauty and insight that only authenticity can offer.  I feel so honored that Amy has agreed to share her intimate world of motherhood in her lovely and touching style once a month here on Wish List.  And I have a feeling she'll connect with so many of you mothers out there, perhaps in a way I can't.  Here are her words, her thoughts, all rooted in love.

Chasing Fireflies.

Last night, he was supposed to be sleeping. About an hour after we had tucked him into bed, my four-year old padded down the stairs and peered around the banister, tentatively awaiting our reaction. Most nights, we would have corralled him back up to his room; on this night, however, we threw on his shoes and hurried him outside into our backyard to chase fireflies.

He raced across the lawn with his father beside him. They grabbed the small net and a little bug box from the metal hook in the garage, and then away they went to hunt for fireflies. Quietly and patiently, they observed the little bugs in flight. Many of them flew along the blooming hydrangea bush while a few were flying alongside of the tall white fence. Father and son crept carefully nearby and swatted their net with determination for a long while.

Then, they caught one.

A joyful dance and many giggles accompanied their successful capture. Daddy placed the bug inside of the box along with a few blades of grass. With the box in his hand, he rushed over to me to show me his new-found friend. After only a few moments, he released the little bug and watched it fly away up into the night sky.

“Let’s go catch another one Daddy!”

And together they ran off to hunt for more fireflies in the light of summer’s full moon.

Want to read more of Amy's guest posts on Wish List?  Click HERE.

 

[ firefly/star image ]

On Motherhood /3/ Guest Post...

Welcome to the third in a series of motherhood posts, guest written by Amy, mother of two young boys, over at Raising Men, Finding Me.  I fell in love with her writing style instantly.  It's simple but adorned with the kind of beauty and insight that only authenticity can offer.  I feel so honored that Amy has agreed to share her intimate world of motherhood in her lovely and touching style once a month here on Wish List.  And I have a feeling she'll connect with so many of you mothers out there, perhaps in a way I can't.  Here are her words, her thoughts, all rooted in love.  Enjoy them.

Eleven cents.

There are some days when no matter how hard we try, my oldest son Aidan and I cannot get it together. I try to be patient and calm, and he tries to figure out what I need from him, but I am human and he is three. On these hard days when we break rather than bend, I remember this:

About a year ago, the boys and I were walking into town. They were enjoying their stroller ride. I, on the other hand, was grouchy and in need of coffee. Aidan asked to get out of the stroller and walk beside me. I obliged his simple request. Shortly thereafter, he found a penny on the ground. Pennies are treasures to him; he keeps them in a small, white piggy bank. When he collects enough pennies, we roll them and bring them to the local bank, where he receives a lollipop, preferably a blue one. It takes a long time to collect enough pennies to fill a roll, and even longer time for us to get to the bank, so finding one is a big deal for him. A few moments later, Aidan spotted a dime on the ground right outside of the coffee shop. A dime! He scurried over to collect it.

Once we were inside of the coffee shop, the baby began whining and Aidan was fidgety. While I was ordering, Aidan repeatedly tried to ask me a question. Annoyed, I ignored him. He was persistent. Finally, I whipped myself around to face him, ready to snap when I see his fist outstretched toward me. “Like to put this into the tip?” he hesitantly asked me. At first, I did not comprehend what he wanted to do. It took me a minute to calm down and figure it out, but then I got it. He wanted to put the money that he had found into the tip jar. I was stunned by his simple act of kindness. I did not even know that he knew what a tip was or that there was a tip jar. I stood for a moment staring at him incredulously.

I bent down and asked Aidan if he was sure that he wanted to leave his two treasures in the tip jar. I suddenly wanted to frame them, but he was resolved in his intent. The cashier was appreciative, but I am not quite sure that she understood what his gesture meant to me or him. It meant that he would have to wait longer to get a blue lollipop. It meant that even when I was not trying, he was getting something good out of our day. It meant that I needed to slow down and not assume that he was going to misbehave. Instead, I needed to believe in him, in his goodness, because I am his mama. Mostly, it simply meant that we were going to be okay.

Now, whenever I feel angry or frustrated with Aidan, I take a deep breath and think “eleven cents.” It has helped me to see him more times than not. And then I bend a little, and so does he.

For more of Amy's guest posts here on Wish List, click HERE. 

[mother/child photo]

On Motherhood /2/ Guest Post

Welcome to the second in a series of motherhood posts, guest written by Amy, mother of two young boys, over at Raising Men, Finding Me.  I fell in love with her writing style instantly.  It's simple but adorned with the kind of beauty and insight that only authenticity can offer.  I feel so honored that Amy has agreed to share her intimate world of motherhood in her lovely and touching style once a month here on Wish List.  And I have a feeling she'll connect with so many of you mothers out there, perhaps in a way I can't.  Here are her words, her thoughts, all rooted in love.  Enjoy them.

Extraordinary moments can be found in my ordinary day, but I have to watch carefully for them because they are seemingly so small and fleeting that they are easy to overlook. They happen in between the folding of the laundry and the mopping of the kitchen floor, and they often involve my children. Last week while we were walking back from the center of our town, my littlest one dropped his pinecone and began to cry. Without any prompting, his older brother immediately offered one of his own treasured pinecones to him. My mama heart swelled at the sight of such a simple, generous act by my three-year-old son. This same son of mine who, when his younger brother was born, asked me if the garbage truck could take the baby away – away to any place other than in his Mama’s arms. After every snack and every meal, I get down on my hands and knees to wipe up the food that has fallen onto the floor. Sometimes, my littlest son will come over to me, hitch up the back of my shirt, and blow wet, sloppy raspberries on my lower back. It lightens my mood, every time. In the evening, when my children suddenly freeze upon hearing the squeak of the back door and I watch as they run to it to greet their Daddy who is returning home from work. That daily moment holds so much joy, excitement and love. Finally, at the end of each day, as I wearily lay between them, the feeling that I get during the last five minutes before the boys fall asleep, when their bodies are still and their breathe has deepened, creates perhaps the coziest, calmest, sweetest moment of my day. These moments are the ones that get me through the days when I feel that who I am and what I am doing is unimportant and small. And that is what makes them extraordinary.

Missed Amy's first guest post?  Read it HERE!

[baby photo via The Glow]