Sunday's coming

I'm weary.
We're nearly half way through this deployment and the weariness has settled in my heart, like a dense Cape Fear River morning fog that mutes all the colors and makes the once familiar road ahead of you seem strange and treacherous.
I'm clinging to the fact that Greg will be home for 15 days in May for his R&R. If it gets cancelled or postponed, I feel like the fog might swallow us.
God knows I'm trying to fend it off. I've put up a mighty fight. Every day, I do the things I'm supposed to do.  I put one foot in front of the other. I keep going. Our clothes are washed and folded, our house is relatively tidy, the dog gets fed, we get fed. We play, we laugh, we snuggle, we read, we sing. I keep busy. I organize and I read and I plan and I tinker and I stay up late most nights working on this project or that project, dreading going to bed alone again.

Last Friday morning, in that space between sleeping and waking I cracked open my eyes just a bit and thought I caught a glimpse of my husband lying beside me. When I say my heart skipped a beat, it is no exaggeration. Instinctively, I reached for him, only to realize it was a mirage created by my fuzzy sleepy brain and a pillow that I had placed on Greg's side of the bed to keep Andrew from falling off during a nap the day before.
Then, last night, I let my thoughts go to a place I rarely dare. I was holding Andrew in my lap, thinking about how perfectly his little body fits in that space, as if he was shaped according to me. I love how he melts into that spot each night as he drinks his milk before bed. I remembered telling Greg something very similar many years ago, when our love was new and we were still making new discoveries about each other. There is a space between Greg's shoulder blades where I can rest my head if I'm standing behind him with my arms wrapped around him. It seemed to me then that space was created for me, as if God knew that one day, my cheek would rest in that very place and it was sculpted to the exact specifications that would make it a perfect fit.
Hot tears fell then and again later as I Skyped with Greg, finally getting a connection that allowed us to see and hear each other after several weeks of maddening spotty service. He was getting ready for work and I caught a glimpse of that place on his back that was made for me to rest my head.
I miss my husband.

One night this week, after I'd already bathed Andrew and put him into mismatched pajamas, my sister who lives just across the road, called to tell me to go outside to see a beautiful rainbow that stretched across the sky over the trees behind my house.
I grabbed my camera and Andrew and went outside. Andrew was so excited, pointing at the sky and jabbering. I told him the word "rainbow" and he began saying "bow, bow, bow." I snapped a few pictures of him toddling around pointing up at the sky.
Later, I sent the pictures to Greg as we chatted through text messages. "Wow, that's a good one, Honey," he said. "It almost looks like he's pointing at the rainbow in that first one."
My poor husband. He has missed so much in Andrew's life that he didn't realize that little baby he left is a little boy now and he WAS pointing at the rainbow.

It's Good Friday. For believers in Christ, it's a day to remember the sacrifice, to consider the price that was paid for us. Here in my neck of the woods, we are mourning the loss of another teenager tragically killed in a car wreck this morning on the way to school.
This was his facebook status, posted this morning before he left home for the last time: "On this day thousands of years ago a man was beaten and crucified for you he gave the greatest love for you so in that one day you can all live with him in paradise for that I am thankful. Just think about that, all of you who think this is just a half day (of school)."
Christians have a saying, "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming." It refers to the belief that after Jesus was crucified on Good Friday, he was resurrected on Easter Sunday.
The phrase is sometimes used when we find ourselves in a dark place, a bad situation, enveloped in sadness or grief. It speaks to the belief that things are going to get better, that salvation is promised, that time will offer healing.
And so I have to remind myself that even though this separation has made me weary and there have been days when I find myself wrapped in worry and longing, I have to lean on the fact that this too shall pass. It's Friday, but Sunday's coming.

Meanwhile, in the real world...

Some of you know what happened last week out here in blogland. I guess, from what I can gather from posts and comments, that what went down was pretty intense and feelings were hurt and toes were stepped on and noses are out of joint all over the place. If you don't know what in the world I'm talking about, well, it really doesn't matter. If you do know what I'm talking about, well, I'm going to make a lot of friends here and say it really doesn't matter.
Because this is what happened in the real world last week while a whole bunch of folks were sitting here licking their virtual wounds.
On Wednesday folks in N.C. woke to the news that in the wee hours of the morning, a father and his two daughters died in a house fire. He was desperately trying to save them. Their mother, his wife, is the only survivor. He'd just returned home a few months ago from a deployment to Afghanistan. He came home a hero and he died a hero. Please pray for his wife, Louise Cantrell.
Later in the week, just a few miles down the road from our house, a three-year-old ran out the front door of her grandmother's home and into the street, where she was hit and killed. Her grandmother was behind her, but just couldn't move fast enough.
Then, on Sunday, more tragic news. A US soldier apparently murdered Afghan civilians as they slept in their homes. I waited for Greg to contact me at the usual time and when hours went by with no word from him. I began to seriously worry. Finally, I got an email from Greg. He was fine. Later, I was able to talk with him and he described how the Humvee he was riding in had broken down and he'd had to walk a half mile or more to get to the nearest base for help. His colonel provided cover as he walked while cars and trucks driven by Afghan civilians backed up behind their broken down Humvee and cars coming from the other direction whizzed by. Of all days for something like that to happen, it had to be that day -- 9 hours after the apparent murders of civilians.
Needless to say, it was an emotional week for me. But it had nothing to do with blog rolls. Sometimes, it helps to put things into perspective.

Vingettes at 13 months

I've been trying to write this post for weeks. It was supposed to be a compilation of small moments with Andrew at 13 months old. Now, he's only a couple of days away from being 14 months old! So, I'm behind, but I still want to honor these moments and remember them. So I'll add a few of the more recent special moments and hopefully, I can get a few more posts in before he is 15 months.
This picture was taken on my 35th birthday. Andrew is very interested in trains right now, "choo choo!"
I woke up a few days ago to the sound of Andrew playing in his crib. I stretched and looked at the clock, we made it past 7, which is pretty much the norm now. I went to the bathroom and listened to Andrew say "hey!" over and over. Instead of bouncing into his room like I normally do, I slowly pushed his door open and peeped inside. There he sat, his back toward me clapping his hands and happily jabbering to his plush lamb. The lamb, who we affectionately call Jingles, because, well it jingles, was a gift from Greg's mother. For months it sat unnoticed on a shelf and then one day, Andrew discovered this new friend and now he sleeps with Jingles every night along with a lion named Leo and a dog we call Pup. Poor Bear Bear is still in there, but he is sorely neglected. I watched as Andrew interacted with Jingles, perfectly content to play in his crib. My heart melted when I saw Andrew blowing kisses to his little lamb. Then, he grabbed the lamb in his arms and hugged him and laid down and said "Tista," in a very whiny little voice.
That is what Andrew calls me now. Not mama or mommy or any other form of the word meaning mother. It's "Tista" or "Tata" if he's being lazy. It's loud and clear. A few days ago when I was trying to get him to call me "mommy" I put my hand on my chest and said "Say mommy. My name is Mommy. I'm Mommy. I'm Mom-my." And he reached his pudgy hand up and put it on my chest and said "Dat Tista."
So I sort of give up. I still remind him to call me "mama." I still refer to myself as mama. But last night, after sitting in my lap to drink his milk before bed, he slid down to the floor and sat between my legs. He laid his little head on my leg and said "Tista, I lalalala you." That's "I love you" in Andrew speak.
So how can I complain? 
Every morning now, Andrew expects us to sit in the big blue recliner snuggling together while he drinks his milk and we watch PBS. When he's ready, he gets down and starts to play and I get dressed and we start our day. Those moments cuddled up together are so precious to me.
Many times, when I go into Andrew's room to get him out of his crib, he greets me with a big "hey!" and then holds up each of his little plushies for me to hug. He even makes the "mmmm, mmmm," sound that I make when I hug him.
The words just tumble out now. "This" is still his favorite word. He uses it for everything. He points to a cup and says "this" when he wants drink, food, toys, to go outside, to come inside, to ride in the wagon, to swing in the swing. He loves the word "this!"
But he has other words -- plenty of them. He can name all the dogs in his life but he still hasn't called most of the people he knows by name. His newest four legged friend is Otis, a tiny long-haired dachschund, who is the newest member of our extended family. He either loves or hates Otis depending on the day, but he never fails to yell "O-issss" a hundred times when Otis is within earshot.
His newest obsession is going on rides with my dad in his little Ford pickup truck. Daddy will take Andrew out, sit him in his lap and circle the house or drive over to my sister's or my grandma's (not on real roads --- we're out in the country, y'all!). Andrew will stand at the door at my parents' house and point his little finger toward the truck and say "Papa, this!"
Since I started writing this post, Andrew and I made a trip up to North Dakota to see my dearest friend, Anna, and her boys (I hope to write a post about our visit soon). Since then, Andrew has decided that my name is "Mama" afterall. I'm not sure what changed his mind. He also has been stuck to me like glue. He must finally be in the "separation anxiety" phase. I don't mind it much, except when I am trying to do something and he is standing in front of me crying and clinging to my pants leg.
He still enjoys seeing his Daddy on the computer. They play peek-a-boo and blow rasberries and click their tongues. His vocabulary and ability to understand and respond to questions continues to grow everyday. For example, today my mom asked him what he had been doing before we went over to her house for lunch and he said "talk Daddy." Indeed, we had been talking to Greg on Skype.
Also today, we were coloring and I said "let's write your name. What letter does Andrew start with?" And he said "A." You could have knocked me over with a feather.
So, there you have it. Andrew at 13 -- almost 14 -- months! And, he still isn't walking. He takes lots of steps from one piece of furniture to another, but inevitably, he drops down and crawls to his final destination. I am optistic that he will become more confident in the coming weeks and officially become a walker.

ONEderful you

Oh, Andrew. There you are driving your little tow truck on the window, your first birthday balloons still floating above your head. I am there behind you, desperately trying to capture the sweet little moments of your life in photographs. You are so darned curious. Every time you see the camera, you want to touch it, inspect it, push the buttons and smudge your little fingerprints on the lens. Every once in a while, I manage to sneak up on you and get a picture that forever freezes a moment in time -- like here, when the light from the window fell on your pudgy dimpled hand as you motored that little blue truck along the back of your chair and up and down the window screen.
Your wheels are always turning. You are so incredibly smart. I am sure I'm quite biased. All mothers probably feel this way. Still, you always surprise me with your ability to reason, to imitate, to communicate. You are changing so fast and I am constantly trying to come to terms with the new you. Technically, you aren't a baby anymore, though it is hard for me to think of you as anything else.
At one, you are inquisitive to a point of hilarity. When Aunt Carol isn't wearing earrings, you peek into her ears to see where they are hiding. You  have stuck your fingers up my nose, in my mouth and in my ears as you explore.
You are talkative, you jabber of course, but you also talk -- you say sentences like "I love you, Da," when video chatting with your Dad and "I get that hello" when you reach for my cell phone. You answer questions with a resounding "Yes" or "No." Like this morning when your grandma asked you if you talked with your dad last night and you shook your head and said "No." You call me by name when you are angry or inpatient. Not "mommy" or "mama" as I have always taught you, but "Krista." I honestly don't know whether to laugh or cry when you do this. You say words like "tractor" and "cookie" one day and go back to your old standards "Papa, Mama, hello and ball" the next.
You are friendly. When we go shopping, you say "hey" to everyone we pass. Sometimes, the strangers smile and speak. Sometimes they ignore you. You do not like it when they do that.
You giggle when things bring you pleasure. Like when Papa gives you a taste of oatmeal creme pie, or I come home from a long shopping trip, or when Brody licks your fingers or when you see your dad's face on the computer screen.
You are a clown. You delight in making us laugh. If you discover that sticking out your tongue makes everyone giggle you do it repeatedly.
You are a monkey. You climb on EVERYTHING! You love to sit on the coffee table or climb into the toy box. You love to climb onto the window seat at Granny's and fling open the shutters to look outside and call for Dixie.
You are fearless. You will put your face in your bath water, reach out and grab tree branches while riding in your wagon or attempt to fling yourself out of my arms if you don't like being held or I'm impeding you from doing what you want to do.
You are bossy. You want so badly to be independent especially when it comes to feeding yourself. You love to eat. Just this week, you tried my homemade guacamole and you loved it! I adore you for that.
You can't walk yet. Well, I think you could walk but you just haven't got it all figured out yet. Of course, the fact that you don't walk doesn't stop you. You are everywhere at once and you crawl so fast you can disappear in seconds. This morning after snuggling with you in my bed as you drank your morning bottle (the only bottle left), I put you on the floor and I stretched before getting out of bed. A few seconds later, when I sat up and put my feet on the floor you were gone. I called your name and looked down the hall. Nothing. All of a sudden, your little head popped up over the other side of the bed. I called you baby Houdini.
I took you to see the pediatrician for your one-year check up. She confirmed what I have always known. You are "perfect." You weigh 27.7 pounds and are 32 inches long! You are a big healthy boy and are bigger than 99 percent of babies your age. In fact, after you got your shots, we went back to the waiting room to find your Grandma chatting with a mother who had a small baby on her lap. "How old is he?" I asked, expecting her to say he was nine months. But he was the same age as you, just a few days between your birthdays. It looked like you ate that kid for breakfast.
You are one and you are different than you were a few weeks ago. You've started showing signs that the "terrible twos" are just around the next corner. You make a horrible high pitched squealing sound when you don't get your way. You will arch your back and throw your arms back and that makes it almost impossible for me to hold on to you.
You are everything I hoped you would be but you are so much more than I could have ever imagined. Your laugh is the sweetest sound I've ever heard. Your cheek is the softest thing I've ever kissed. Your scent is the sweetest I've ever smelled. You are the sun and moon and stars. You are puffy clouds and sunshine and cool water and warm socks and all the good things in the world all wrapped up in one little human.
Sometimes, I look at you and the very fact that you exist in this real world nearly knocks me down. Here you are -- a dream that became a reality. You grew in me. I gave birth to you. And, I have fed and bathed and clothed you each day. I have held you and rocked you and caressed you and kissed you. And it has been the greatest honor of my life.

The Big ONE!

We celebrated Andrew's first birthday on Friday. When we made our way over to my parents' house that morning, we were greeted by my parents and my sister Carol wearing party hats, blowing party blowers and singing happy birthday. Grandma had put a iced sugar cookie on Andrew's high chair tray and Carol had hung happy birthday banners all over the kitchen. This is one spoiled rotten one-year old!

Later that day, we picked my mother-in-law Barbara up from the airport. It was wonderful to see her and to see her with Andrew. He was a little unsure of her at first, but by the time we drove to the nearest chic-fil-a, he had warmed up to Grammy and was as happy as could be.
This was the first time Barbara has visited us in North Carolina and met all my family. It was a great visit for all of us, especially Andrew. He loves his Grammy!

I was sure I had ruined Andrew's birthday cake on Friday night by using a new frosting recipe that left his "1" shaped cake looking like it was covered in melted marshmallow.
Saturday was the big day for the party and thank God my mother-in-law was here to take care of Andrew. I really don't know what we would have done without her here. My mom and I spent the morning trying to salvage the world's ugliest birthday cake and it actually came out pretty good.

The party was great. Lots of family and friends came to help us celebrate. The theme of the party was "The Big One" and the main motif for the party was that silly "foam finger" that you see at sporting events. The colors were blue, orange and white. I made most of the decorations and they turned out great.

I also made a slide show with music, but it is indulgent and super long. Only those closest to us would be willing to invest 25 minutes to watch photos of my sweet boy go by so I won't post it here. Needless to say, it left a lot of folks with tears in their eyes.
Greg was able to sort of attend the party by waking up at 2:30 a.m. and Skype in. The connection was bad and the lighting in the room made it hard for Greg to see but it was something at least.

Our Andrew is so quick and though I can anticipate many of his moves, I failed to foresee his immediate and intense attraction to the flame on his lone candle. He grabbed it with his little fingers faster than I could react. Poor guy. I don't really thing he was burned because I couldn't even see a red spot on his hand or fingers, but everyone gasped and some people screamed when those tiny fingers touched that flame and it scared the bejeezus out of him.

After a few minutes outside, he calmed down and returned to delve into his cake, which he enjoyed very much.

I served cake, ice cream, finger sandwiches of PB&J and homemade pimento cheese, blue and orange pretzel M&Ms, an assortment of fruit, Sun Chips and lemonade. Andrew loved hitting the pinata. He laughed every time his little bat made contact. And he loved playing with his friends and cousins.
He was showered with a ton of gifts. We gave him a little chair from PB kids that has his name embroidered on it and he absolutely loves it. My dad made him a toy box, which is so special.

 Everyone was so generous and we felt very loved. All in all, his first birthday was almost perfect. The only thing missing was Daddy.

Blessings

We just said goodbye to 2011, the year that I will forever remember as the year that my sweet Andrew was born, I became a mother, Greg became a father and we became a family. There were a lot of changes, a lot of challenges. Even now, we continue to struggle with the separation of this deployment.
Christmas Eve was hard for me. Even though Greg oversaw the assembly of Andrew's Radio Flyer wagon via Skype, it just made me so sad to think of all he was missing. I am hopeful that next year, we will all be together and Greg will be wielding the screwdriver, not me. I can't wait to share that quiet, magical anticipation of being Santa with my husband.

Christmas Day was joyful despite the distance. Andrew saw all the toys Santa left for him and seemed pretty excited about the gifts until he realized his Daddy was on the computer via Skype. He went straight to the desk and started talking to Greg. We have it all captured on video and in photographs. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen. We were surrounded by our big, boisterous, loving family that day.
Greg had a pretty uneventful holiday. We tried to send him little pieces of home -- photos, baked goods, candy, gifts. In the end it was Andrew's excitement over seeing him on the computer screen that made his Christmas special.
So here we are in 2012. Only time will tell what challenges, changes and blessings this year will hold. I know that as long as Andrew is healthy and happy, I will be joyful each day. I'm already looking forward to May when Greg will probably come home for R&R.
Andrew turns one this Friday. It feels strange to type that. I've planned his party and I hope it will express the pride and joy that I feel for my sweet son. Greg's mom is actually flying in for the big day and for that I'm so grateful. It will be wonderful for Andrew to have both sides of his family represented at the party. And, I can't wait for my mother-in-law, Barbara, to see Andrew, to experience his personality and all those little things that make him uniquely Andrew.

Changes abound

Eleven months. Our Andrew is 11 months old. All of a sudden, I am busy planning a first birthday party and weaning him from bottle to cup and gently starting to potty train.
You've come a long way, baby! But, I think your Mommy has come even further. It's easy to see the changes in Andrew. Here's a little run down of his latest feats, big and small:
Words, words, words! Andrew is talking up a storm and surprising us everyday with new words and keeping us laughing with what seems to be pitch perfect comedic timing. Mama, Dada and Papa are still his most commonly said words, but he also says stop, go, bye, Dixie (my parent's dog), Dee Dee (for Brody), Nea Nea (for cousin Nathan and Aunt Renee), cracker, ball and small sentences like "I love you," "I love grits," "I got it," "I drop it," and his latest and cutest phrase "ho ho ho" for Santa Claus and snowmen. His communication skills both verbal and non verbal continue to amaze me.
He is not walking yet, but is cruising around and will stand alone while playing with a toy or reaching for something. It seems he has stretch arms and will work and figure out ways to get things that are out of his reach. For example, he has an Elmo place mat at my mom's and he pushes it underneath the napkin holder, salt shaker or sugar dish and then carefully slides the mat back to him, bringing with it the object of his desire.
He is a happy baby, content to play on his own but equally happy to have me or one of his cousins down on the floor with him playing invented games. One of his newest skills is pushing toy cars, trucks, tractors and trucks along while he's crawling and about a week ago, he started making motor sounds for all his automobiles as they roll along.
Though I have certainly allowed him to play with all types of toys, his favorite things are balls and things with wheels. Some things just come naturally to little boys, I suppose. He also loves books and can "point" with his thumb at certain pictures in some of his books when asked to do so. He can respond to certain commands like, "look at me" or "give me that" but when told "NO!" he usually gives me a mischievous grin and goes on with what he's doing. He looks so much like his father and acts so much like him that he would make a good case study in the nature vs. nurture argument. His dad isn't even around and I see him doing things like Greg does or making facial expressions just like Greg makes. He loves to wrestle with Brody and I'm thankful that Brody is a tolerant and gentle playmate. He still does a great job sleeping at night and he is completely fed from the table now. He loves most every food he's tried but bread appears to be his favorite food. Like father, like son. He is an expert imitator. He tries to talk on the phone, use the remote, brush his hair and his teeth just like he sees mommy do. He doesn't want me to feed him anymore but has yet to get food on the spoon and get it to his mouth with food still on it. For about two weeks now, he has used the potty every morning. He is a pretty regular guy and after reading about potty training in one of my mom's old Dr. Spock books about his toilet training methods, I decided that I didn't need to wait any longer to get Andrew accustomed to the potty. So, every morning after he's had his bottle, I put him on the potty and every morning with only one exception he has had a bowel movement in the potty. I know that he isn't trained and probably won't be for another year or so, but he is comfortable on the potty and seems to understand exactly what to do when he sits down and he doesn't try to get up. So, I take that to be progress. Andrew wears 12 and 18 month clothes. He weighed 24 pounds on Halloween so I'm sure he's up to 25 by now. Oh and he has four teeth -- two bottom and two slowly coming down on top.
So, that's the long and short of all things Andrew. He is a sweet natured baby who loves to cuddle, kiss and hug. And I am more than happy to indulge him!
I guess it's not so easy to see the changes in me. Well, unless you count the extra weight I'm still lugging around (I don't want to talk about it). I'm a different person than I was a year ago. I'm not sure I could ever explain how being Andrew's mother has morphed me into this other person who is a better, truer, fiercer version of my former self. Every day I wonder how there was ever any joy in my life before Andrew because he simply fills every moment of the day with a happiness that is pretty amazing. I tell Greg all the time that I don't know how I would make it through this year without Andrew. The days pass quickly. There is laughter, singing, cuddling, learning, playing and wonder in every day. There are long, luxuriously tender afternoon naps together. There's a sense that I am not alone even though Greg is not here. I have our son here with me and the light he shines into my days fills up the dark spaces created by this deployment.
I suppose I could have predicted this joy. I suppose I could have predicted the love. I could have predicted the pride I would feel in my son. I guess what would have eluded me a year ago would be the enormity of it -- the magnitude -- the way my relationship with my son would leave me completely humbled and grateful and awed.