Firsts & Lasts
Tiny, pudgy feet skipped across my hardwood kitchen floors. She tilted her head to the side and her long brown hair slipped off her shoulders. She smiled liked her mother did when she was three, her eyes danced around my heart, then in a soft, high voice, "Aunt Becka? You sure are getting old!" Awesome.
My Friday was filled with little Miss Ellie Mé. She entered my home and announced, "Aunt Becka, can you paint my nails? Because my nails are ruined. So can you paint them? They're just ruined" Well, a girl can't go through life with ruined nails. So after mommy's instructions, a big kiss and a last glance over the shoulder from mama, we went and checked out the nail paint. Neon pink, neon yellow and white. Subtle.
In case you're wondering, my day was not void of conversation. "Aunt Becka? Does Kayla like this color? Uncle Tyler saw a rainbow. There was purple and wellow, and red and... I like pink... and wellow... and purple... (insert every color) How much longer is this going to be? How long is a few minuths? No, Aunt Becka, I want pink dots on the wellow. <giggle> That wooks pwetty. Thank you Aunt Becka for doing this." (You're welcome, Ellie) "Now you should say thank you to me." She cracked me up!
We had a healthy snack of powdered donuts and chocolate milk as we watched Strawberry Shortcake. She was sure to tell me who the villain was. She had the theme song down pretty well too. Oh, that little girl loved to sing. Even on the potty she was singing. "On the first day, God made light..." Why that was appropriate bathroom music, I'm not sure. When we went to pick up the girls at school, "Don't stop, don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying. Don't stop, Don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying...." Over and over. And over. Did I mention it takes me 45 minutes to get the girls?
I asked her if she wanted to make cookies with me. I think when any three year old has an opportunity to make a mess, they jump in with both feet...or hands. We pulled back her hair like they do in fancy bakeries and washed our hands. As I was getting all the ingredients ready, she was paging through my cookbook. "Aunt Becka, you have a cool Bible!"
She gave me a play by play as we made the cookies, telling me what each ingredient was as we poured it in. Then told me how noisy the mixer was. We laughed. I forgot how silly three year olds were.
It's easy to forget how little my kids were. How thick and pudgy their feet were. The small and tiny hands that fit just right in yours. Silky, soft skin. Such innocence. The thirst for knowledge. The belly laughs. The way they turn and snuggle into you. Love it. Miss it.
Now I look at my 15 year old and think, man how quickly the time has flown by. Time is a thief.
Micayla was my independent one. Couldn't wait to do things on her own. I remember when Micayla was around Ellie's age and wanted me to paint her nails too. Only, she didn't wait for me. I came in the bathroom and found her sitting in her undies. She had painted her nails herself... well, her nails, her fingers and her legs... BRIGHT red. Awesome.
Dale was my content one. He rarely fussed or cried. He smiled and cooed at everyone. He was the one that in the midst of the chaos of the house, was my little puddle of peace. We had moved into a new home when Dale was around two months old. I had a "johnny-jump-up" that was in the shape of a duck. He was content to kick his tiny legs that barely touched the ground and smile at the endless river of boxes that floated by. It dawned on me that I had taken this little guy's good-naturedness for granted for a little too long and checked on him. He had cuddled against the duck and fallen asleep with all the commotion of the move. My little peacemaker.
Abrieanna. Well, ask anyone in the family and we'll all come up with different adjective to describe her. Maybe because she's the baby of the family. She loves to be the center of attention. All of my kids make me laugh consistently. Abrieanna makes me laugh hysterically. When she was around 4, I bought her a skunk costume for Halloween. She put it on, jumped down the stairs, turned around, wiggled her butt and farted! Well, she plays a part and sticks to it! She keeps us all laughing "Mom, can you hand me my pie? I'm too lazy." "Mom, you know what is crap? *honey, don't say crap* Why? Dale says crap. Well, that fan is crap!" "Mom, we have a lost and fountain at our school. It's where all the lost stuff goes." And my favorite... at Christmas time, "Mom, why do people kiss under missing toes?"
The baby and toddler stage is over. The cribs, baby gates, rattles and pacifiers have disappeared a long time ago. There are no diaper bags, potty chairs or baby socks hiding in my house. I get a little nostalgic when I see a baby or if I'm around a toddler. It's easy to forget...
Yet I remember. I remember how exhausted I was when I had to get up four times a night to nurse Micayla. And I was the only one who was able to do it. I remember the nurse calling me when she was like two or three days old and asking how I was. I burst into a thousand tears while she asked me what was wrong. I had no clue. I had a beautiful baby girl, what could possibly be wrong? She said, do you think you may have the baby blues. Umm <sob> maybe. Haha. You think?
I remember my skin glowing while I was pregnant, my hair being thick and glossy. People told me how beautiful I was. Then, after I had my baby, every pimple that was hiding for nine months came out, as well as my hair, and people were still asking me if I was pregnant as I held the baby.
I remember my oldest being a perfect child until my second child was born. They were 17 months apart. And we planned it that way. I would sit down to nurse Dale, and she would decide at that moment to stand on top of the table and not get down. Or pull out all the embroidery floss one by one. Or pull all the toilet paper off the roll.
I remember I had to go into Target and a certain little girl refused to get out of the car. I had a little boy on my hip and was gritting my teeth and doing the mom-pinch-under-the-arm-thing on this toddler when she took off her shoe, threw it at me and it bonked me in the forehead. This whole time a lady was getting into her car next to me and was witnessing this precious scene. She backed up and rolled down her window and said, "You have the patience of Job. While that one is throwing a fit, the other one is blowing me kisses!" Oh, if she only knew!
But then someone gave me the best advice a young mom could get: Don't wish away the years.
It's so easy to get so frustrated in the moment that you can't wait for the next stage to come. "I can't wait until they sleep through the night." "I can't wait until they walk." "I can't wait until they're in school." "I can't wait..." Oh, it goes by so fast! Time is a thief.
When Micayla turned 10 it was so profound to me. The first ten years had gone by so quickly for me, and if they went by that fast, then the next eight would go by even quicker. I wrote in my journal that night about all the firsts that I could remember. First night she was born, first time she spoke, first birthday, etc. But this is what I want to share with you:
"We've celebrated every first, but what I haven't counted on was the last. They go by unnoticed, barely acknowledge or cared about. But things I desperately long for.
"I never celebrated the last day I nursed her. The last time I was up with her through the night. The last time I shampooed her hair for her. The last time I held her on my hip. The last time I checked her closet and under her bed 'just to be safe, Mommy.' The last time she called me Mommy. The last time she gave me a fist full of dandelions. The last time she came running to me and jumped in my arms. The last time I rocked her.
"We don't celebrate them because most of the time we don't know it is the last time."
It is impossible for me to believe that my daughter is now 15, a sophomore in high school and in drivers ed. I can't believe that I have a son who is going to be 14 in three months and likes girls. It's crazy. We now have our niece living with us...Nikki. She is going to be twelve in just a few weeks. Seems like she was just born. The baby that I nearly lost in utero, is now a healthy seven year old who is incredibly sassy, and in second grade. I'm blessed.
I know that there will be many more firsts for my kids as well as many more lasts. But I think the key in celebrating the lasts is to enjoy the moment. Stop fretting; make every moment count. What if today was your last?
Tiny, pudgy feet skipped across my hardwood kitchen floors. She tilted her head to the side and her long brown hair slipped off her shoulders. She smiled liked her mother did when she was three, her eyes danced around my heart, then in a soft, high voice, "Aunt Becka? You sure are getting old!" Awesome.
My Friday was filled with little Miss Ellie Mé. She entered my home and announced, "Aunt Becka, can you paint my nails? Because my nails are ruined. So can you paint them? They're just ruined" Well, a girl can't go through life with ruined nails. So after mommy's instructions, a big kiss and a last glance over the shoulder from mama, we went and checked out the nail paint. Neon pink, neon yellow and white. Subtle.
In case you're wondering, my day was not void of conversation. "Aunt Becka? Does Kayla like this color? Uncle Tyler saw a rainbow. There was purple and wellow, and red and... I like pink... and wellow... and purple... (insert every color) How much longer is this going to be? How long is a few minuths? No, Aunt Becka, I want pink dots on the wellow. <giggle> That wooks pwetty. Thank you Aunt Becka for doing this." (You're welcome, Ellie) "Now you should say thank you to me." She cracked me up!
We had a healthy snack of powdered donuts and chocolate milk as we watched Strawberry Shortcake. She was sure to tell me who the villain was. She had the theme song down pretty well too. Oh, that little girl loved to sing. Even on the potty she was singing. "On the first day, God made light..." Why that was appropriate bathroom music, I'm not sure. When we went to pick up the girls at school, "Don't stop, don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying. Don't stop, Don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying...." Over and over. And over. Did I mention it takes me 45 minutes to get the girls?
I asked her if she wanted to make cookies with me. I think when any three year old has an opportunity to make a mess, they jump in with both feet...or hands. We pulled back her hair like they do in fancy bakeries and washed our hands. As I was getting all the ingredients ready, she was paging through my cookbook. "Aunt Becka, you have a cool Bible!"
She gave me a play by play as we made the cookies, telling me what each ingredient was as we poured it in. Then told me how noisy the mixer was. We laughed. I forgot how silly three year olds were.
It's easy to forget how little my kids were. How thick and pudgy their feet were. The small and tiny hands that fit just right in yours. Silky, soft skin. Such innocence. The thirst for knowledge. The belly laughs. The way they turn and snuggle into you. Love it. Miss it.
Now I look at my 15 year old and think, man how quickly the time has flown by. Time is a thief.
Micayla was my independent one. Couldn't wait to do things on her own. I remember when Micayla was around Ellie's age and wanted me to paint her nails too. Only, she didn't wait for me. I came in the bathroom and found her sitting in her undies. She had painted her nails herself... well, her nails, her fingers and her legs... BRIGHT red. Awesome.
Dale was my content one. He rarely fussed or cried. He smiled and cooed at everyone. He was the one that in the midst of the chaos of the house, was my little puddle of peace. We had moved into a new home when Dale was around two months old. I had a "johnny-jump-up" that was in the shape of a duck. He was content to kick his tiny legs that barely touched the ground and smile at the endless river of boxes that floated by. It dawned on me that I had taken this little guy's good-naturedness for granted for a little too long and checked on him. He had cuddled against the duck and fallen asleep with all the commotion of the move. My little peacemaker.
Abrieanna. Well, ask anyone in the family and we'll all come up with different adjective to describe her. Maybe because she's the baby of the family. She loves to be the center of attention. All of my kids make me laugh consistently. Abrieanna makes me laugh hysterically. When she was around 4, I bought her a skunk costume for Halloween. She put it on, jumped down the stairs, turned around, wiggled her butt and farted! Well, she plays a part and sticks to it! She keeps us all laughing "Mom, can you hand me my pie? I'm too lazy." "Mom, you know what is crap? *honey, don't say crap* Why? Dale says crap. Well, that fan is crap!" "Mom, we have a lost and fountain at our school. It's where all the lost stuff goes." And my favorite... at Christmas time, "Mom, why do people kiss under missing toes?"
The baby and toddler stage is over. The cribs, baby gates, rattles and pacifiers have disappeared a long time ago. There are no diaper bags, potty chairs or baby socks hiding in my house. I get a little nostalgic when I see a baby or if I'm around a toddler. It's easy to forget...
Yet I remember. I remember how exhausted I was when I had to get up four times a night to nurse Micayla. And I was the only one who was able to do it. I remember the nurse calling me when she was like two or three days old and asking how I was. I burst into a thousand tears while she asked me what was wrong. I had no clue. I had a beautiful baby girl, what could possibly be wrong? She said, do you think you may have the baby blues. Umm <sob> maybe. Haha. You think?
I remember my skin glowing while I was pregnant, my hair being thick and glossy. People told me how beautiful I was. Then, after I had my baby, every pimple that was hiding for nine months came out, as well as my hair, and people were still asking me if I was pregnant as I held the baby.
I remember my oldest being a perfect child until my second child was born. They were 17 months apart. And we planned it that way. I would sit down to nurse Dale, and she would decide at that moment to stand on top of the table and not get down. Or pull out all the embroidery floss one by one. Or pull all the toilet paper off the roll.
I remember I had to go into Target and a certain little girl refused to get out of the car. I had a little boy on my hip and was gritting my teeth and doing the mom-pinch-under-the-arm-thing on this toddler when she took off her shoe, threw it at me and it bonked me in the forehead. This whole time a lady was getting into her car next to me and was witnessing this precious scene. She backed up and rolled down her window and said, "You have the patience of Job. While that one is throwing a fit, the other one is blowing me kisses!" Oh, if she only knew!
But then someone gave me the best advice a young mom could get: Don't wish away the years.
It's so easy to get so frustrated in the moment that you can't wait for the next stage to come. "I can't wait until they sleep through the night." "I can't wait until they walk." "I can't wait until they're in school." "I can't wait..." Oh, it goes by so fast! Time is a thief.
When Micayla turned 10 it was so profound to me. The first ten years had gone by so quickly for me, and if they went by that fast, then the next eight would go by even quicker. I wrote in my journal that night about all the firsts that I could remember. First night she was born, first time she spoke, first birthday, etc. But this is what I want to share with you:
"We've celebrated every first, but what I haven't counted on was the last. They go by unnoticed, barely acknowledge or cared about. But things I desperately long for.
"I never celebrated the last day I nursed her. The last time I was up with her through the night. The last time I shampooed her hair for her. The last time I held her on my hip. The last time I checked her closet and under her bed 'just to be safe, Mommy.' The last time she called me Mommy. The last time she gave me a fist full of dandelions. The last time she came running to me and jumped in my arms. The last time I rocked her.
"We don't celebrate them because most of the time we don't know it is the last time."
It is impossible for me to believe that my daughter is now 15, a sophomore in high school and in drivers ed. I can't believe that I have a son who is going to be 14 in three months and likes girls. It's crazy. We now have our niece living with us...Nikki. She is going to be twelve in just a few weeks. Seems like she was just born. The baby that I nearly lost in utero, is now a healthy seven year old who is incredibly sassy, and in second grade. I'm blessed.
I know that there will be many more firsts for my kids as well as many more lasts. But I think the key in celebrating the lasts is to enjoy the moment. Stop fretting; make every moment count. What if today was your last?
