She's Baaaack!

My heart and my head are finally full of something light-hearted and happy. And my belly is full of babies!

I am 19 weeks pregnant (The halfway mark in a twin pregnancy!) and due in late January, but we hope to make it to Christmas. I'm already large and in charge, scaring coworkers and strangers in my wake. You might get a belly shot or two, but don't hold your breath. Going up stairs I can't catch my breath, but I'm sleeping great. You win some you lose some.

We found out several weeks ago that I'll be the only female of the house. Our littlest boys are doing great. I've been feeling them for a while, but in the past week or two I have felt and seen them from the outside! We had our anatomy scan last week and spines, hearts, kidneys, brains and everything else looked great. They are gaining weight quickly, which is what they want twins to do! 

Baby A, aka "Tot"

Baby B, or "Tater"

Bennett is thrilled to be a big brother in waiting. He now introduces himself as "Hi, I'm Bennett, I'm having two babies." He can't wait to help assemble the cribs and has learned how to hang tiny baby clothes on hookers (or rather hangers in English.) I might be delusional, but I think he will do great with the additions and he loves to be helpful and needed. I think he was made for the job.

Otherwise, Bennett is great! Recently, I have been exploding with excitement over Bennett's artwork at home. All of the drawings I have ever had from Bennett are big crazy squiggles and lines. For. Years. Then, Monday night, he sat down and drew grass, clouds, and a network of pipes underground. You could have knocked me over with a feather. His friend was visiting and he was having trouble drawing a person. Bennett leaned over and helped draw a body, a face, hair! THEN, last night, Bennett drew the little dipper. I kid you not, stars making up a constellation. This kid is full of surprises I tell you.

With all of these changes on the horizon, I was in a big hurry to join the ranks of soccer moms and drive big ole minivan.

Basically, since we last spoke, I got big and fat, bought a gas guzzler and continued to overpopulate the globe. I honestly couldn't be happier.

Christmas 2013

I realize this post is a little late, but I finally had a minute to download photos while stuck at home with our first snow day of 2014. Of course, the snow required for a snow day is about as real as Santa. Therefore, I figure I remain relevant, even 11 days later. Without further adieu, my Christmas photo dump!

Our nine foot tree that required the emptying of our mad money fund and moving two pieces of very heavy furniture. Now that the tree is gone, we had to purchase new furniture because someone's patience does not allow for old furniture to be returned to it's rightful home. Got that? Post forthcoming. (Hope you can wait at least 11 days.)

Obligatory Christmas jammie picture.

A Cars umbrella! Everyone was surprised but me that this was such a hit.

About fourteen presents in, the child was still asking where the "monster truck with buttons was."

Success!

Bennett explaining where Santa, not the presents, come from.

He wasn't quite sure how Santa delivered a tent to his room while he was sleeping and not quite certain how it got down that chimney. But that present was money honey.

We did eventually put clothes on, pants even!

The grandparents arrived, showered the kid with even more presents and we ate some things. In true Bennett fashion the more ornate and the more raucous gifts were overlooked in light of a new collection of books. Even at three, it's becoming apparent that my child's desire for simple make-believe things will be snubbed in favor of the virtual and the violent. It's just my hope that the magic of it all keeps us all entertained and happy for another year or two.

The greatest gift of all this season and always is that precious boy and our little family.

Thankful

I hate how trite and contrived blog posts like this can seem, but this year more than ever I think I need to remind myself just how grateful I should be.

I am thankful for parents and grandparents who fill in and help out like back-up quarterback, ready, eager and grateful.

I am thankful that my husband is in a career and a job in which he excels and enjoys.

I am thankful for facebook, instagram, twitter and text for helping me feel like friends aren't too far away.

I am thankful for our neighborhood supper club to help us find our place.

I am thankful for each day we get closer to closing the chapter on 2013. 

I am thankful for waterproof mattress pads, M&Ms and Lightning McQueen.

I am thankful for my healthy, talkative, silly little boy.

I am thankful for his hugs, kisses and stories.

I am thankful for a calendar beginning to fill with concerts, weddings and trips.

I am thankful for heated seats, that sweet spot when your windshield wipers perfectly match the pace of the rain, and when a song from high school surprises you on the radio.

Despite the struggles and the challenges this year has brought, I know how lucky I am to have faith, hope and support. I am also so very grateful for this outlet and for the friends and connections this little space has brought. May you and yours have a lovely Thanksgiving!

And Bennett would like to add, he's thankful for race cars!

Flashback Friday: My Banshee Alien Munchkin

I woke up this morning yearning for that little feeling you have when you hold a pint-sized munchkin on your chest. I miss that sense of completeness when you hold a sweet, snuggly baby. He sleeps so deeply you can spend all afternoon leaning over to smell his newborn head.

 

Just 2.5 years later, you are left with this:

 

You ask to take his picture and he mocks you with this cheeseface. He won't sit still long enough to smell his mane and you probably don't want to because he's sweaty from playing outside. At least these days he can hold up his head and can tell you exactly why he's screaming like a banshee. That, and I'm not holding him on my chest at midnight, 2:30 and 5:00 am.

 

I stumbled across this video today that reminded me of that snuggly baby on the chest phase. It was  also a good reminder of those first few weeks when you feel like you gave birth to a tiny alien.

Also, praise the Lord Bennett didn't walk that early. We all would have been in deep trouble.

PS, What we learned 33 months is still coming. I'm just lazy. Note to future self, yes you cheated and posted it on the correct day despite your slacker tendencies.

Virginia is for Lovers

Last weekend we ventured back to Virginia for the wedding of some of Rocky's law school friends. The nuptials took place on a vintage riverboat that paddled the Potomac at sunset. It was the one day in the forecast that didn't guarantee rain and if that weren't lucky enough, we got to see a bald eagle as we cruised past the capitol building and the monuments. 

As thrilled as we were for the long-awaited union, we had lots of other reasons for the trip. There was a need for an Obama burger and Guapo's salsa, a desperation for some quality time with our best man, and a passion for a sermon from Father Leon. We also finally got to meet Tomber's offspring for the very first time, baby Grace. She was just as sweet and snuggly as I imagined. We also got to take a tour of their brand new home, within walking distance of our old one. Now, that's a heart breaker. 

We were once again reminded of all the old friends that made Virginia our home, and probably will always be a bit of who we are. We couldn't have asked for a better circle. They fixed our leaks, moved our boxes, warmed our house and rocked my baby. We'll probably be celebrating high school graduations, firm partnerships and presidential nominations before we have another occasion like this to bring this group together. We might have to invent a few more excuses because even after miles and years, it's like we still have a 703 area code. And maybe I always will.

Brave

“There are many different kinds of bravery. There’s the bravery of thinking of others before one’s self. Now, your father has never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, thank heavens. But he has made many sacrifices for his family, and put away many dreams.”

“Where did he put them?”

“He put them in a drawer. And sometimes, late at night, we take them out and admire them. But it gets harder and harder to close the drawer… He does. And that is why he is brave.”

Conversation between Mrs. Darling and Michael, from Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

I read this somewhere on the internets this week and found it particularly fitting this Father's Day weekend.
I am not sure I can capture anything more eloquent or unique on this day that I haven't already said, but the men in my life have made some incredible sacrifices for me and my family. It's a wonderful reminder that I am so darn lucky to have some incredible men in my life and in Bennett's.

Rocky made a major sacrifice for me and our boy when he left his career in Virginia and took a giant leap of faith to embark on our Tennessee chapter. He left a job and friends he loved for a year of uncertainty and stress, but man has he come out on top. Rocky is the hardest working dad out there. He truly is. He puts in long hours at the office to provide for our family that will eventually open big doors for our son. Then, he rushes home to help tuck that sweet child into bed. When the weekend finally arrives, he sweats in the yard and prays with us on Sunday. He makes lunches, walks the dog, does the grocery shopping, cooks, folds laundry and takes me to the beach. I am grateful he was brave enough to make one giant sacrifice two years ago and thankful for all the little sacrifices he makes for us every single day.

I think Rocky learned this work ethic from the best example a son could witness. Papa Rock was brave enough to want little Rock to have opportunities that extended beyond the farm, beyond the cove and beyond county lines if that's where his dreams would take him. I'm not sure he was willing to sacrifice his son to a Yankee, but that's a sacrifice Papa Rock made for me. He helped pave a path that eventually led his son to law school, but he's showing his grandson a path that could take him one way to the ivy towers of Princeton, Harvard and Yale, but perhaps also the road less traveled, back to farm and whatever it is that makes him happy. I have no doubt he would make any sacrifice for our little boy.

Then there is the man that has been making sacrifices since my beginning. My dad gave up exotic vacations and fancy houses so I could go to a good school. He gave up his Tuesday nights for twelve years to chauffeur me back and forth to dance class. Dad was brave enough to chaperon Girl Scout trips and learn to style a little girl's hair. It's always been the big things and the little things, even today. He rescues me when I get stuck in traffic on my way to daycare. He walks Atticus while I'm at work. He checks my mail and makes friends with my neighbors. He hugs me when I am sad and is my cheerleader when things are tough.

The fathers in my life don't brandish swords or fire pistols, but they fight the bears and stand up to dinosaurs, both real and imaginary. They have all made sacrifices to build this life for me and today I salute them and the many men are doing the same for you. We love you. Happy Father's Day!

Flashbak Friday: I didn't blow out my knee

Saturday I made my triumphant return to Zumba. I haven't been in years, but my manic moves from the back row proved to be as hilarious now as it was five years ago. I probably wouldn't have gone if it weren't for Aubrey. I take that back, I know I wouldn't have gone if it weren't for Aubrey. Apparently, my attendance alone was reason for her to wake up early on a Saturday.

So, yeah. I stood there in the back row "booty popping" to Rhianna and Sean Paul, sweating like a mom in spandex, dancing like a mom in spandex, each move about five seconds behind the instructor. But I felt great. Aubrey danced next to me, enjoying herself as much as I was but with nary a giggle in my direction. That right there folks is a sign of a very good friend.

Aubrey's got talent and not just in a zumba studio. She just graduated with her doctor doctorate, or M.D., Ph.D. if you are keeping tabs. And thanks to her new letters, she's leaving me and Nashville in the dust, off to practice pediatric hematology oncology and save a few lives along the way. It just so happens she can dance. 

I'm not sure there is anything like the high that comes with dancing like an idiot. In fact, that's probably how I met Aubrey. I know for a fact there is at least one incident where I bopped her in the nose with a flying arm because I was feeling the music. She was also there the night I did blow out my knee.

This was not the night I blew out my knee.

Aubrey knows I dance like a maniac. She knows I am high strung and crazy when it comes to dirty dishes in the sink or when I find a rash on Bennett's tummy or a bump on his head. But she loves me anyway. 

I can't help but thank her for dragging me back to zumba. She reminded me of all that fun we had dancing thirteen years ago. She also reminded me I can find that same exhilaration early on a Saturday morning, booty popping in the back row. I'll just be sad she won't be there to not laugh at me.

Welcome To The Family!

My mom's family welcomed a new baby girl to clan on Monday evening. My cousin Casey gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Evangeline Marie. She was a little stinker and decided to wait fourteen days past her scheduled arrival to make her debut. But she's finally here and no doubt going to grace the O'Rourkes with her fair share of shenanigans.

It's an incredible feeling seeing people you've known a lifetime become a parent. This tiny bundle is a monumental reminder of thirty years of shared memories and friendship. Casey was there for sleepovers with Kirsten and Samantha, roughed it on the prairie, tested my first soufflé, hosted my baby shower, said a prayer at our wedding and met the rough end of my snow shovel one fateful Thanksgiving. Now, she get's to join me in the adventures of parenthood.

I am looking forward to the requests for sleep advice, sippy cup recommendations and sympathetic hugs. But she was a smart cookie and found a partner in Nick that will no doubt help with the late nights and the diaper dramas to come. She's also lucky to have one heck of a family here to cheer her on and love her, near and far.

Six Years

Today I celebrate the day I married my best friend. Sometimes, it is hard to look at those young kids with the trim waistlines and peppy optimism knowing what we know now. The path we have taken is a far cry from the dreams we made six years ago. I know it isn't all rainbows and sunshine for everyone else, but don't tell a budding bride that. I'm sure glad no one told me..or maybe I'm just glad I ignored them.

I know that despite our bumpy journey, I couldn't have asked for a better partner. Rocky has been my rock, my cheerleader and my companion. God gave me a man who enjoys relaxing on the couch as much as he does exploring new restaurants or watching me try on new shoes. He works hard for me, Bennett and our future. I hope our son will grow to be as good a husband and father. Should we have a daughter one day, may she be as lucky as her momma. Love you Rocky.

No wonder I have no blog content

...because, even when I do have an awesome weekend, I don't bother to share it with my adoring readers!

Last weekend, my dear friend Anne and her husband Pete (the one with a thing for moms and polka) came to Nashville to see the sights, see the house and see the terror toddler. We had accidentally or intentionally been able to see each other on an annual basis since their return from Japan in 2006. We've rendezvoused

on  both coasts, up North and now down South. I think as our families grow it might get a little more difficult to be sure we can catch up in person, but sometimes you just need to hug to keep an eighteen year friendship strong.

Upon their arrival, we introduced them to dining out with a toddler which must include chips and salsa and preferably dessert with their own spoon. Typically, I wouldn't take a Californian for Mexican, but desperate times call for desperate measures when dining with a tot either includes dip or drama.  The remainder of the weekend involved sightseeing, historic home tours, a craw fish boil and a fabulous dinner out sans bebe. I tried to keep all of our activities in the covert "please please relocate to Nashville" variety, but I don't suppose introducing them to realtors and Fortune 100 employers wasn't very subtle.

It was a great weekend to reconnect with an old friend and her husband who willingly takes the hint when we send the boys on errands for girl talk. I wish the visits weren't so few and far between and I imagine one day they will involve water parks and mini-golf, but I will always be grateful for the quick trips and the promise of another.

Live from The Catbird Seat

So September brought us a stressful trial, weeks of single-parenting, and scant blog posts. October brought us a credit card bill full of emotional shopping, catching up on sleep, even fewer blog posts, and a dinner reservation I had been anticipating for months. 

The Catbird Seat is a twenty seat restaurant with a quirky reservation process. Reservations open exactly thirty days in advance at midnight. Because they serve a very limited audience every night and close shop Sunday-Tuesday, reservations are a hot commodity. I tried in vain in February because they had just been nominated for a James Beard Award. I tried in vain in June when our visitors had one request, TCS. I tried in vain in August for my birthday. No dice. I finally got reservations last week only to discover I was double booked. Praise the epicurean gods when the hostess took pity on me and moved our reservation one day later. 

My friends who had already beat the system weren't all that impressed. They felt that the chefs were not successful at yukking it up with the diners gathered around the tiny kitchen. Sure, the food was better than you would find in most Nashville establishments, but the lack of a dress code at the hottest establishment in town killed the mood.  I didn't want their negativity to color my opinion and thankfully it didn't.

We arrived on time, choosing the wine pairings and let the menu unfold. Thank goodness we didn't get a preview or a chance to make requests because 90% of the meal were dishes I never would have ordered if I had had my druthers, including but not limited to: langostine, fennel, kimchi and custard served in a shell far too closely resembling a raw chicken egg. 

It was far and away the best meal I have ever had.  Dishes ranged from a simple cracker jack to a porcini mushroom oreo cookie to tender filet of wagyu beef.  The mussel with edible shell was one of the single best bites I have ever tasted.  I would easily order the cod as my last dying meal. 

I am an adventurous eater and have eaten in my fair share of the country's top chef restaurants, Michel Richard, Wolfgang Puck, Mike Isabella, Brian Voltaggio, Mario Batalli, Jose Andres, Cathal Anderson. Perhaps it was simply because I was able to try things I wouldn't normally otherwise and the chefs were putting forward their best. Perhaps it was the adult beverages.  Perhaps it was the country star seated at the end of the bar. Perhaps it was because we were seated at Josh Habiger's station and I was allowed to chat and ask questions. Perhaps it was because Josh lived in New Brighton once upon a bad break-up. 

Whatever it is, I will be trying to game the quirky reservation system again and again. Now I just need some more excuses to do so. Bring on the visitors. Bring on the promotions.  Just please don't bring on another six week trial. 

Photo Dump

I am slacking on the B's baby book even worse than I'm slacking on the blog.  He's going to go to ask one day and think we didn't like him much.  In order to compensate for those blank pages, I'd like to immortalize the cute-ness on the internets forever and ever amen. 


Independence Day

Maybe parades are not too scary afterall?

All the cool kids hide in the laundry room.

The one day my child was attached to a blanky.

Where is Bennett?

One day at the grocery store, we had to drop what we were doing and read a math book, because McQueen was on the cover.  Of course!

 

PB&J

An inherited barnyard.

With the trial entering the fourth week, maybe I should be spending more time on the baby book and less time with the Real Housewives.  As cute as a picture is, there are so many stories and memories behind each snap I hate that I'll forget the little stuff.  I suppose even a baby book would have trouble memorializing just a wonderful, happy, interesting little boy he is becoming. 

Friends in No Places

I've waxed and waned pathetic about friendships here before.  But, I know many people of my age and generation have similar feelings about the subject.  Making friends later in life is hard.  Maintaining friendships later in life is hard. 
Last weekend a fabulous NY Times Article was published that made me feel a little less lonely.  Apparently, it's a common sentiment. 

At least I don't have to resort to this man's tactics:      

"After a move to New York in his 30s, Dave Cervini, a radio station executive, was so lonely that he would walk his cat in Central Park, hoping to stoke conversations."

For those of you that haven't read it, I recommend it.  For my old friends that have stuck by me even as they read about my lack of said friends, I love you, I miss you, we should do lunch.

Hellicopter Parenting

Those of you who know me well know that I can be wound a little tight.  I sweat the small stuff.  I worry, I fear the things I cannot change.  I knew that parenting would only make matters worse.  Parents have an entire little person to care for, make sure they are fed, clothed, roll over on time, grow at the right rate, don't hit, don't swear and brush their teeth. 

When Bennett was born, I vowed to focus on the big things and not worry if my little boy tripped and scuffed his knee or bumped his head a time or two.  I didn't want to be the mom who walked four inches behind, ready to scoop him up at every stumble and fall.  Bumps and scratches are inevitable and every little boy (and little girl) needs to learn to pick their foot up over a crack in the sidewalk and dodge that wall that came out of nowhere.  It's a method that has worked well for most of us.  His dad might catch his breath a little more often than I do, and he may have a few boo boos on his knee or an egg on his forehead at any given time, but Bennett and I are both stronger because of it.

Our track record took a hit on Saturday afternoon.  So did Bennett's head.  We were playing in the kitchen with mom and dad's pots and pans.  Bennett was very busy cooking, stirring, shifting the pans around, covering and uncovering.  He stopped to take a drink of water and spilled some on the floor.  He took a step and whoosh, down he fell, straight onto the edge of a frying pan.  I was right there, not hovering, playing sous chef. 

I scooped him up and there was blood everywhere. We ran upstairs to the bathroom and by the time I set him on the sink he was already done crying.  I called Rocky to come home because I wasn't sure if this was an ER situation.  It was 5:01, sixty seconds after the dr's office closed on Saturdays.  While I was explaining to Rocky what happened, my parents walked in the door, just dropping by on their way home from church.  Thank God I had more capable back-up, capable grandparents who know how to hover.  Rocky got home just in time for the nurse's line to tell me to head straight to the emergency room. 

We raced to the car and were sitting in the waiting room not 30 minutes after it happened.  The bleeding had stopped.  Bennett was smiling at the big kids, asking to look at  the train in the lobby.  Asking for snacks, his water, the phone.  If it wasn't for the drops of blood on his shirt, no one could have imagined anything was wrong, his hair hiding the wound.

We talked to nurses and EMT's, consulted with family and friends who all work at the children's hospital.  Each one had to hear me make excuses for my failed parenting, secretly hoping they would all agree that every kid plays with commercial-grade stainless-steel skillets.  "And I was right there, supervising, I swear."  I couldn't believe I let this happen right before my eyes.

My penance was to rub my little baby's sholders as the nurse's aid kept him pinned to the table as they sewed four stitches in the first cut and three in the other.  He wailed as he was obviously very frightened that he couldn't see beneath the surgical paper.  But when they were finished, he sat on my lap and I rubbed his back.  He sniffled a few more times and then waved good bye to the nurses on our way out the door.

After a milkshake supper and a good night's sleep, he was up and at 'em and bumping his head again on Sunday.  This time, we're never more than a foot behind him.  What is hard is knowing that wouldn't have changed the outcome the last time.  We have to navigate new boundaries, new safety measures and perhaps buy a helmet.

Flashback Friday: 10!

Ten years years.  Ten years!  That is a whole lot of years folks.  Ten years is a respectable amount of time no matter how you look at it.  Ten years of friendship?  A lot of years.  Ten years since graduation?  A lot of years.  Ten years in the clink?  A lot of years.  More than ten years of the same hair cut?  A lot of years.

Ten years ago today Rocky and I went on our very first date.  Ten years ago, I told my roommate I was going on a pity date with that annoying kid from down the hall.  Ten years ago I didn't want our new group of snarky friends to give us a hard time.  It was a summer fling, why bother getting into details?  I was secretly thrilled.  He was funny, opened doors, and obviously was going to pick up the check.  How could I say no?

We ventured to Georgetown for Italian and then met up with said group of snarky friends for a bad movie. I enjoyed hearing about the farm where he grew up, stories about Senator Thompson, and his other summer gig, driving golf carts.  The conversation was easy and I even got to introduce him to something exotic, caesar salad.  Thanks to an audience, I didn't have to worry about awkward good night kisses.  I didn't have to worry if he would call me or not because we'd most likely bump into each other on the hallway back from brushing our teeth, shower caddies in hand.  Rocky was only in D.C. one more week and there was no pressure, we just had such a good time.

Here we are a decade later.  We just celebrated our five year wedding anniversary a few weeks ago.  We've had a baby, bought two houses, moved half-way across the country, graduated from law school, undergrad, started new careers, made new friends, traveled, ate, laughed and cried. 

Some people say that young relationships are doomed because you grow old and grow apart.  I believe we have simply grown up together.  We've helped shape each other as the adults we've become. He's more liberal and I'm more conservative.  His southern ways have become mine.  We have learned to love fine wine and fine chocolate together.  We have grown from those young naive teenagers that were afraid of what our friends thought.  I look forward to growing old together for another ten years, and many, many more.

Happy Dad's Day

I feel so happy that I'm sharing the job of parenting with Rocky.  He steps right in with even the tough stuff, the boring stuff, the mundane stuff.  He helps me laugh, helps me cry and helps with the cleanup on aisle seven.  Bennett is such a lucky little boy to have a dad to play golf with, hang around with, read good books, watch bad television, and take in the great outdoors.  We love you Rocky!

We also love our Bompa and Poppa Rock who taught us to be kind, patient, and hardworking.  Happy dad's day to all the fathers!