Roly Poly Baby

As of last Wednesday, baby C is dazzling us with her newest party trick - rolling over! We have been working on this trick for a couple weeks now. Once she began rolling to her side, I started using a blanket to gently roll her back and forth while singing a silly song, making the motion fun and familiar instead of scary. Then last week, at 19 weeks old, with a look of sheer determination, she did it all by herself! I then, of course, spent the rest of the day getting her to do it over and over again while I took pictures and videos and cheered her on. 

Each day, she gets stronger and stronger. Just this morning, she began refusing to lay down for her bath. She much prefers to sit up and smile at herself in the mirror. She holds her own bottle now (with a little assistance from Mommy) and pulls it away when she's full. I love watching her become this persistent, independent little person. I just know that sitting up is right around the corner.

I always knew I wanted to be a mom. Since I was little, I had lists of hypothetical baby names and ideas of where I would live and where my kids would go to school. I have never been afraid of trading in my car for a mini van. I always knew I would be a mom. But I had no idea it would be this much fun and had no idea I could love one human being so very much. Husband and I decided the only way to even remotely describe it is that it has the intensity of your first love - the all consuming thoughts of adoration paired with infatuation, the need to be with that person every second of every day without ever growing tired of their company, the thought that you would rather die than have anything bad ever happen to them - times 10. It's unreal how much I love this little girl and how many hours I can spend staring at her, watching her roll over (over and over again), and dancing around the room trying to make her laugh.

I have a beautiful life.

To Everything There is a Season

A few years ago I took a job I wasn't entirely thrilled to take, but knew it would help Husband (then boyfriend) and I make the move back to Birmingham and would add a nice line to my resume. It was simply a building block, a stepping stone, and nothing else. It was not a dream job and was certainly not a dream company. But as I began my position as sales and marketing rep for a physical therapy company, I was lucky to meet a physical therapist who would become a great friend. That physical therapist was Jessica. We became friends over the few months I worked with that company and relished our lunch breaks together until we each moved our separate ways professionally. 

We have since attended each other's weddings and shared the joys of pregnancy and motherhood together. She is a wonderful person and her Ben and baby Catherine are going to have years of fun together. But this week, as she lost her father to a battle with melanoma, my heart aches for her and I am reminded once again how precious is our time in this world and how important are the friendships we not only make, but maintain and enjoy.

As C and I waited in line yesterday to pay our respects and hug the necks of loved ones, I looked around at the chapel full of family and friends her father had spent a lifetime acquiring. There were tears as to be expected, but there were also smiles as stories of reminiscence were being told all around me. As I hugged Jessica's mom and then Jessica, I was suddenly so grateful for an otherwise meaningless job a few years ago. Grateful that a job had brought such wonderful people into my world. And grateful that I could be there to celebrate the life of the man most precious to them.

There is little, if anything, that can be said to bring peace at such a difficult time. But I hope Gerald left this world knowing how dearly he was loved by so many. And I hope that we are reminded to love and appreciate the people in our lives every single day, however they may have entered our world.

To everything there is a season, and 

a time to every purpose under heaven: 

A time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 

A time to kill, and a time to heal; 

a time to break down, and a time to build up; 

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; 

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, 

and a time to gather stones together; 

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose;

 a time to keep, and a time to cast away; 

A time to rend, and a time to sew; 

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 

A time to love, and a time to hate; 

a time of war; and a time of peace

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Homework

I am the product of a military family on both sides. My father's father proudly served in the U.S. Army, lying about his age to enlist early and avoid the otherwise inevitable work in the coal mines of Pennsylvania. He served in Vietnam and spent years moving my dad, my aunt, and my grandmother all over the place, even spending a few years stationed in Germany. He flies his flag proudly in his front yard (above his Pittsburgh Steelers flag, of course).

My mother's father served in the U.S. Army as well. He then served as a Colonel in the National Guard and was a renowned recruiter. Once he retired, he built his business on his military passion and connections, owning and operating one of the largest military supply companies in the U.S. He made his big break during Desert Storm in '91 as he was able to keep up with the high demand with a sudden rebound of patriotism. He is 80 years old and still goes to work every single day. This country is his life.

Needless to say, my family is proudly American and celebrates accordingly. I was taught at a very young age that the 4th of July is simply the date. The holiday is referred to as "Independence Day." And for as long as I can remember, I've had a homework assignment due on the 4th of July. 

My sister and I were required each year to turn in an assignment to my dad. In any artful expression we chose, we were to describe why were proud to be Americans and what Independence Day meant to us. They began as drawings in crayon on construction paper, but over the years, developed into poems, essays, and paintings. Two of my Dad's favorites being my essay written from my summer serving as a camp counselor at Camp Nakanawa in Crossville, Tennessee and my sister's very long text sent from her summer backpacking through Europe. Without fail, every year, no matter where we were or who we were with, we turned in our assignment. We were thankful. We celebrated.

This year, I'm a day late with my homework, but am thankful none the less. I am so very proud to be from a family of service men. I am so very proud to be a part of a country in which I can raise my daughter to be a strong, educated, independent woman. She will be able to attend college, to pursue the career of her choice, to serve her country if she so chooses. She is free to make any decision she wants and for this, I am most grateful. I am grateful to the men and women who serve so that we may lead a life of freedom. 

I am proud to be an American and will pass on this tradition to my children as well. They will know how important their heritage is and each year, they will express it in any way they choose on the 4th of July. 

Happy Independence Day!

Catherine expressed this year's assignment through her wardrobe! :)

Daddy's Girls

Something happens to a man when he becomes the father of a little girl. While he still maintains the manly gene responsible for finding fishing, golf, and baseball interesting, a soft spot develops in his heart, pushing the baseball cards and golf clubs aside, and making room for all things pink and frilly. 

My dad has never been the typical dad. I mean this in a good way. He was always there, ever present, wholly involved. His odd work hours which began his day at 3:00 a.m. allowed him to also be a room "mom", drive on field trips, serve as PTA president, and drive the carpool to dance and cheerleading practice. Often, he was the only dad there, comfortably chatting among the moms and passing out Gatorade and orange slices during breaks. He knows how to fix a tap shoe, how to turn a tutu into a bustle, and can fix a mean side ponytail. He hates, yet embraces, that glitter is a part of life. And, when challenged by my sister and me, he can do a headstand (well.... sort of...).

Always the "funny" dad, he made up songs about everything, gave all my friends silly nicknames, and kept my slumber parties lively. One of his silly songs still gets stuck in my head for days:

A fish is an animal that lives in the sea. It eats peanut butter and drinks iced tea.

He can quote many a "chick flick" and is only now, with both daughters grown and married, starting to get his fill of movies with car chases and explosions. He is the father of two very girly girls who after attempting soccer and basketball, settled on dance and cheerleading. His life has been full of assembling Barbie's dream house and reattaching Ken's leg and he stopped hunting the day I asked him why he wanted to kill Bambi. He's the daddy of daughters.

Father Daughter dance at my wedding

While I am very much my mother's daughter, so much of me is him. My love of writing and great Southern literature is from him as is my tendency to procrastinate (having watched him, on multiple occasions, write a speech en route to giving it). As a child, he took me on bicycle adventures and, after many painful sessions, taught me how to drive. He taught me how to change my oil, to change a tire, and how to cook. And even as I now have a daughter of my own, I am still a daddy's girl.

When I found out I was pregnant with baby C, part of me imagined how excited he might be if I gave him a grandson. Someone who would appreciate his signed Mickey Mantle ball instead of rolling it up and down the hallway like my sister and I did, diminishing its value with each toss. Someone to share his baseball cards with. Someone who would think bugs were cool instead of shrieking at their presence. 

But, when I told him we were having a little girl, he was thrilled. Thrilled to get to experience the Barbies and dance recitals and tea parties all over again. Thrilled to have a little tiny person with a giant bow shrieking to be picked up and tossed in the pool. Thrilled to now have a Poppa's girl. 

Poppa's girl

Having a daughter changes a man.

I see these changes in Husband as he snuggles his baby girl and sings Disney songs in the car. The youngest of four boys, his childhood memories mostly involve broken bones and dirt bike adventures. He spent summer nights digging for night crawlers while I spent mine catching lightning bugs. His Friday night movie selection was never The Little Mermaid. 

But, with two sweet nieces and now a little girl of his own, he gets it. He's changed a little to allow room for all of the pink and make-believe. He still loves an afternoon spent watching the Braves, but now, he does it with a tiny person in his lap, explaining to her as she listens intently how each play is impacting his fantasy team. He has mastered dressing her in little lace dresses with slips and teeny tiny buttons and he understands the importance of a properly placed flower headband. But there is oh so much more to come.

And I simply can't wait to watch him from my ringside seat over the years. 

Daddy's girl (perfectly placed
beneath the antlers on Daddy's t-shirt).

Happy Father's Day to my wonderful dad and Happy first Father's Day to my sweet Husband. We certainly are lucky girls to have such wonderful men in our lives.