stuff
Oh stuff. I feel like my head is full of stuff, but I just don't have a spot in there to pinpoint and start a decent blog post. There is stuff that doesn't translate well into print, stuff I can't really talk about, stuff I don't want to talk about, stuff I feel but can't write. Stuff, stuff, stuff.
I'm not really a writer. I can mush and gush about the kids, yet the words don't really encapsulate what it is I'm feeling. My life with them is so much more than the one-dimensional stuff I write on here.
Do you ever feel like you don't even know yourself? I do sometimes. I think that if I met me at a playgroup I might not even really recognize myself.
See? More stuff I can't really explain. Whatever.
Had a good weekend. We didn't do anything. There was no pressure. We hung out here with the kids, watched movies, made a mess, didn't clean up any of it. I did do some grocery shopping. It was a mess too. Thursday mornings with two kids is easier than Saturday afternoon on my own. Those stores are insane. I bought sugar snap peas. I feel so granola. Crunch crunch.
My baby is 6.5 months. It's weird, and sad and relieving to know that there will never be another new bundle here. There is nothing weird and bundled about her anymore. Gone is the pinched, scrunched newborn. Here is a mini person with arms and legs that flail all about, and just enough self-awareness and control to reach for things and roll around and possibly smack herself into things and then cry at the harshness of the big baby world. Poor kid. But she gets mum-mums and apples and time in the jumper. Lucky kid.
She's been eating the apples I prepared for her last summer. I spent hours one day, peeling and coring, slicing and dicing dozens of apples from my mom's apple tree. Doesn't get any more organic than that. I slow-cookered them all day with just a pinch of cinnamon. It smells like dessert in here when I thaw them in my microwave. Elliot thinks so too, her little mouth opens wide when she sees that spoon coming, as she gleefully smacks and slobbers and devours every last morsel of mommy's special apple sauce. I surprise myself with the pride I feel knowing that I made that for her. It's such a simple thing, but it makes me happy.
(Don't worry Grandpa, they're nothing like Mommy's special drinks)
Suppose I should take some pictures of that little girl, before she heads off to nursery school. Because it's that fast.
I remember when I was a kid, and acquaintances of my parents would bump into us and comment on how big we were and how fast time flies. We thought it was just some dumb thing that grownups said, because time was certainly not fast enough. Summer was too far away, next weekend was too far away, snack time was too far away. Ten minutes from now was an eternity.
Now I get it. I get why people get sad when their kids grow up. It's like a person you know and had with you just ceases to exist. Jordan was my very first, special baby, and that baby is nowhere to be found. Sure, I love the Jordan that's here now. I love her more all the time. It's amazing to watch her grow and change, but baby Jordan, with all her quirks and BabyJordanness is gone. And I look at my daughter now, all sweet and sassy and firey, and I know that some day she'll be 25 and I'll be 50 and today's Jordan will be gone. I can't imagine. I can't fathom it sometimes, that these kids will just disappear.
The thing about writing weird stuff like this is that I have no idea how to segue into something else. Told you I wasn't a writer.
I'm not really a writer. I can mush and gush about the kids, yet the words don't really encapsulate what it is I'm feeling. My life with them is so much more than the one-dimensional stuff I write on here.
Do you ever feel like you don't even know yourself? I do sometimes. I think that if I met me at a playgroup I might not even really recognize myself.
See? More stuff I can't really explain. Whatever.
Had a good weekend. We didn't do anything. There was no pressure. We hung out here with the kids, watched movies, made a mess, didn't clean up any of it. I did do some grocery shopping. It was a mess too. Thursday mornings with two kids is easier than Saturday afternoon on my own. Those stores are insane. I bought sugar snap peas. I feel so granola. Crunch crunch.
My baby is 6.5 months. It's weird, and sad and relieving to know that there will never be another new bundle here. There is nothing weird and bundled about her anymore. Gone is the pinched, scrunched newborn. Here is a mini person with arms and legs that flail all about, and just enough self-awareness and control to reach for things and roll around and possibly smack herself into things and then cry at the harshness of the big baby world. Poor kid. But she gets mum-mums and apples and time in the jumper. Lucky kid.
She's been eating the apples I prepared for her last summer. I spent hours one day, peeling and coring, slicing and dicing dozens of apples from my mom's apple tree. Doesn't get any more organic than that. I slow-cookered them all day with just a pinch of cinnamon. It smells like dessert in here when I thaw them in my microwave. Elliot thinks so too, her little mouth opens wide when she sees that spoon coming, as she gleefully smacks and slobbers and devours every last morsel of mommy's special apple sauce. I surprise myself with the pride I feel knowing that I made that for her. It's such a simple thing, but it makes me happy.
(Don't worry Grandpa, they're nothing like Mommy's special drinks)
Suppose I should take some pictures of that little girl, before she heads off to nursery school. Because it's that fast.
I remember when I was a kid, and acquaintances of my parents would bump into us and comment on how big we were and how fast time flies. We thought it was just some dumb thing that grownups said, because time was certainly not fast enough. Summer was too far away, next weekend was too far away, snack time was too far away. Ten minutes from now was an eternity.
Now I get it. I get why people get sad when their kids grow up. It's like a person you know and had with you just ceases to exist. Jordan was my very first, special baby, and that baby is nowhere to be found. Sure, I love the Jordan that's here now. I love her more all the time. It's amazing to watch her grow and change, but baby Jordan, with all her quirks and BabyJordanness is gone. And I look at my daughter now, all sweet and sassy and firey, and I know that some day she'll be 25 and I'll be 50 and today's Jordan will be gone. I can't imagine. I can't fathom it sometimes, that these kids will just disappear.
The thing about writing weird stuff like this is that I have no idea how to segue into something else. Told you I wasn't a writer.
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