One. 12 Months. One Party.

I have no idea how it happened, but my sweet baby girl turned one this week.  Like every cliche in history says, they grow up so fast--only it's really true.   Promise.  I guess that's why it's a cliche?  So we had a shin-dig for the birthday girl. . .who was horrified.  She needed lots of mommy-time, but the sweet taste of cake made up for the swarms of people around her.

Not every parent can say their child is a ray of sunshine, but I can with Brooklyn.  Fiesty?  Not really.  She wakes with a smile and that good humor is typically only interrupted if she's not fed quickly enough--girlfriend has quite the appetite.  20 pounds?  Nope.  Not yet.  I'm guessing 17ish?  No one can make her laugh like her big brother.  Walking?  Nah.  Her cautious spirit just isn't ready for that quite yet.  Talking?  Not lots, but she does sign eat, all done, say "up" and wave hi.  All on her own terms, mind you.

It's been a wild ride, this being a working mom of two wee ones, but I can't imagine life without Brooklyn.  I only worry that her sweet, sweet spirit will be out shadowed by the boys that will sandwich her through life.  I'm guessing with the crystal clear blue eyes, dimple and scrunched nose smile that Chris is right--we'd better start preparing for boyfriends now.

Now for the cuteness.

Christmas Nostalgia

Sunday we went to get our Christmas tree.  Being the fab parents we are, we set out on our mad dash mission in between lunch and naptime.  It's all about timing, don't ya' know.  Half-way to our destination, I realized just how awesome we are--it's raining and we had no stroller, no baby carrier, no umbrella, and no tie down for a tree.  Turn around and go home?  Hell no.  That's for  parents with more spare time weenies.  We carried on like the determined people we are.  Our tree-picking took place in the form of a drive-by through the lot and then me sacrificing Chris to the elements to actually get and pay for the tree.  I'm nice like that.  Try not to be amazed.  Then we crept home with our soggy tree because the lot attendant warned that our precious tree was going to slide off the top of the car.  (It didn't, in case you were wondering.)

This experience of parent-fails family togetherness harkened me back to my childhood.  My family loaded into the cab of my dad's Silverado pick-up truck.  Yep.  That's the model that would burst into flames if in an accident at just the right place. 

This looks pretty much just like my dad's truck minus the bubbly do-it-yourself window tinting, funky smell and random shop rag for snotty noses under the front seat.  Can you imagine four people in the cab of this truck?  What?  Seat belts?  Nope, we didn't use those in the 80s.  You know what we did use? Flocked trees.  Mmmhmm.  Amazingness. This is what our tree doesn't look like this year, but did in my childhood.  

My childhood tree also included rad bubble lights.  Drats that they are fire hazards, because the special effects were mesmerizing.

I guess I'm now realizing all things I loved about my childhood Christmases may have been life-endangering. I'm guess that judging by Sunday, our children will have the same recollection of their childhoods.    

Bittersweet Nostalgia

Being a mother has brought some strange moments of sentimentality for me. I have long thought it was ridiculous and unwise that parents 'baby' their baby. You know the type--the youngest child is indulged and turns into a whiny, needy, demanding kid that other people shake their heads about as the family walks away. I've always wondered why or how this happens. I mean, that kid is the same as as other, so why not treat them that way? Mmmhmm. That's what self-righteous judging gets ya', a big ol' smack in the face. Damn karma. Not that I'm planning on letting Brook-Brook rule the roost or be a whiny kid, but I'm just saying I.totally.get.it. My strange attack of sentimentality? Moving B-B from the cradle next to my bed to her own crib. For reals. I know rationally that it's ridiculous, but does that change things? Heck no. I'm still all sad and mushy inside because the fact is that she's my last tiny person that belongs to me and this year is passing too.darn.fast. Too fast. Cliche, but true. The first year is so precious, so vast in the changes achieved, and while burdensome to be the sole support, a tiny baby needing nothing but mommy is one of those things that fulfills all holes in my heart. All of that fulfillment while I still yearn for the day that my body is my own again and I don't have to plan when I can have a cocktail based on feeding schedules. Should you wonder if I feel the same about my 2 year old, I do. I can hardly contemplate that he'll be three in less than 6 months because I feel like his sweet, innocent, mommy-loving stage is slipping away. I know that new, exciting developments lie around the bend for both of my chitlins and that I'll love the next stages as much as these moments, but my sappy, sentimental mommy-heart is still full of nostalgia and bittersweet feelings.