Tough

My daughter is tough. Sure she has her sensitive moments and her dramatic moments and her silly times, too. But think twice before you mess with her, she is tough.

She has always loved to climb. She started shimmying up doorways at 4. She has mastered every rock climbing wall in playgrounds from Jersey to MA. But this weekend she outdid even herself. And I stood in awe watching my little peanut of a girl.

She spotted the rock across the field and declared, "Mom, I'm going to climb it." "Go for it!" I scoffed, never imagining it possible. She started up and made it about 5 ft before she started slipping. "Mom, Help!" I helped her down, patted her back and told it her it was just too hard.

 

"No! I'm going to do it."

Looking back now, I'm embarrassed that I tried to talk her out of it. It took her about 40 minutes. She was sweating, at times crying in frustration and fear- but always pushing herself. "I know I can do this!" she mumbled under her breath. Her nails and soccer clears scraped against the rock and I stood helplessly below her with tears of my own.

 

The crazy part is that on the other side of the rock there are several other rocks piled into a sort of staircase. So her little brother would occasionally check in on her from the top of the rock. She knew this, but refused to take the easy way.

 

I told you...she is tough.

 

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Love & A Medal

Heartfelt

We were there to offer support and encouragement. And although the Boston Marathon is over, we still feel the support and encouragement in our hearts as if we were roadside again.

I'm scared of the world my kids are growing up in. But when I start to worry, I remember to chose Hope and Love. I try to instill the same in them. I try to teach them to look for the awesomeness in our world and when that is threatened to respond with Strength and Hope and Love.

 

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Little Bits

I'm no fool. I know that time passes quickly. So, I take pictures on holidays and video my kids each year around their birthdays. I try to take notice and be present and appreciate where we are now. But still I worry. I worry because I forget. I forget the little things - the way they said a word funny, or what foods they didn't like, or how their little body felt curled into the crook of my arm. If they have to grow up, I should at least be able to remember.

This is what I want to remember from right now...

**The way they all call him "baby." The way he mimics them, follows them, and asks for them when they are gone. The way he pushed him in the swing that windy day when I ran to the car for a sweatshirt - how they didn't know I was gone or that I had come back. I want to remember how they looked at each other and smiled.

**How spunky she is. How much she loves sweatpants and despises tights. How she thinks she is so awesome at school and soccer and pretty much everything. How her hair feels in my fingers as I braid it. I want to remember her funny dance moves and ridiculous impressions of teenagers.

**I want to remember how little hands feel curled around just 2 or 3 of my fingers. How they love to sit so close to each other, sometimes on top of each other, when there are plenty of other seats. How he calls for me each morning and insists that I pour his juice and that I buckle his car seat and how he rewards me with kisses that smack.

 And then I need to remember that we are making memories at each stage and spending too much time mourning what has already passed will only distract me from the right now.

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