Sunday, February 24

Letter to my Little Ones

Dear Ava and Molly,

Oh little girls.
If I could only stop time right here.
To just breath in for a little while longer
this stage of "little",
because the bigger you get,
the more the "little" fades away.

I just want to soak in the "omomomo-p" of your alphabet,
and the way you run crookedly because you haven't quite mastered it yet,
and how you pick up food with your fingers and place it on your fork before you eat it
with your eyebrows furrowed because you are concentrating so hard.
How you say "book-a-read, book-a-read" over and over until Mommy sits down and reads
and how you always back up into my lap and plop down to listen.

We've already left the days of your first da-da,
the broken in half Cheerios,
your first spoon fed meal of pears,
and walking for the first time with your alligator walker.

Those days were just here, little girls, they were just. here.
Momma blinked and they were gone.
And I'm afraid that these moments that I'm capturing now
will be gone as quick as the ones before them.

I write about time a lot, I know.
But, as your momma, I can't stop thinking about it.
And I realize that these moments that I want to pause
wouldn't have happened if I had hit "pause" sooner
and as I know I wouldn't have wanted to miss today and the days surrounding it,
I know in my heart that I don't want to miss the days to come either.

So, little girls, I won't be sad that I can't press pause.
I will just continue to open the door knob to your room each morning,
turn on the light and pick you up, smell your sweet skin,
and feel your warm cheeks on my lips as I kiss them good morning.
Each morning when I go into your room,
I will continue to tell myself to remember.
To remember this kiss. this hug.
To remember that you, Ava and Molly, will only be this age today. This minute. This moment.
That today is the only today we have. Tomorrow, today will be yesterday.

It's not a sad thing to grow up. Not for you and not for me.
Growing up means learning your ABC's, writing your name, writing your first essay.
These are all exciting things.
And it's amazing to think that it also means that one day,
you will be perched on your sofa like I am now,
writing a letter to your little ones that will probably be similar to this one
because time stops for no one....
but that's okay. Time must go on.

Just try and remember to not look backward and forward too much
and forget to look and see and do in the day you are in.
There is beauty right there. Grace there. Blessings there. Love there.
And while time doesn't stop moving,
it never moves too fast if you remember to be right where you are.

Mommy

Monday, February 4

The Trek to Terminal B

Today is exactly a month since we made our voyage to Orlando
and I think I am finally ready to describe our journey
through the Philadelphia airport
with two toddlers
four carry ons
two strollers
two backpacks holding two carseats
and 300 pounds of luggage.

I can tell you
it's probably similar to someone who climbs Mt Everest
or swims across the Atlantic
or runs a marathon backwards and barefoot.

I sort of wanted a medal
but more than that, I wanted the biggest Diet Pepsi someone could bring me
and a place I could lay down and sleep. and maybe die.
Kidding. But just about the dying part. Not the sleeping part and certainly not the Diet Pepsi part.

Here is the one tip I leave you with
for when you are traveling through the airport
with little ones and their things attached to every limb on your body.
And no, this tip isn't about how to keep your toddler from crying on the airplane
or how to pack efficiently for your voyage
because I haven't figured out those yet.

Here is my tip.
Wear fitted pants.
Not the comfy jeans.
You know the jeans I'm talking about right?
They are a little baggy and hug your hips loosely
and don't look amazing but for how they feel, they are totally worth wearing anyway.

Through the airport, my job was to push the double stroller
that was carrying two toddlers and two carry ons
and also wear the giant backback
that looked like it was holding my pet elephant
but in fact, was holding a carseat.

And while I am only a couple pounds shy away from my pre pregnancy weight,
my middle looks kind of like I'm wearing a small inner tube underneath my clothes
(slight dramatization perhaps but it's how I feel sometimes)
and I'm pretty sure people are wondering why I'm always tsunami ready.
I truly believe that my body is holding onto this middle fat
because it has trust issues with me after I asked it to hold 13.5 pounds of baby
and is worried I may ask it to do it again and wants to be prepared.

So picture me walking through the airport,
wearing my oh so comfy and loose fitting jeans,
pushing two toddlers and their carry ons
and holding a carseat on my back.
I tried to keep good posture in the beginning and look like super mom
but before long,
I looked like I was not in fact moving to Florida as super mom
but moving for my newest roll in Disney World as the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
true story.

And as I'm hunch backing along on my long trek to Terminal B
(which I'm pretty sure is about 38 miles from security)
and feeling closer and closer to waving down a nearby airplane to fly me to my terminal,
my stupid comfy pants started falling down.
And then my shirt started riding up.
And that dreaded middle that I try my hardest to conceal
with scarves and spanx and such
was out for the whole traveling world to see.

I tried to pull stuff down and up and back down again
but it was useless.
People were running and shielding their eyes
and buying travel blankets from the airport store to cover me with.
Ok. That's a lie.
But I wouldn't have minded a travel blanket or two or twenty.

And by the time we got to our terminal,
I was so sweaty and stressed and mortified
that the screaming that started to occur
by one toddler who's name rhymes with Jolly
and was literally the opposite of jolly
didn't even phase me.

That sweet little baby sobbed down the jetway
and onto the plane
and into her carseat
and out of her carseat and into Mommy's arms.
It got so intense that the people in front of us decided to move seats.
And I don't blame them.
Between the hysterics from Molly
and the fact that Ava decided at that moment
that she had an obsession with kicking things
and would.not.stop.kicking.the.seats.not.even.for.toys.snacks.promises.of.a.pony.
I almost moved seats too.
just kidding.
sort of.

Are you laughing?
I hope so.
Because I am.
Maybe not then,
but now? Sure. It's funny.
And one for the baby books.
Because I write in the baby books every day.
Lie.
That was a lie.
Sorry. I don't really write in the baby books every day. Or ever anymore.
I just wanted to see if I said it if it made it true. or made me super mom.
It didn't.

Oh... and please erase the inner tube picture from your mind.
I'm working on it.
In fact, I made a goal,
It is my final weight loss goal
before my goal of
don't-ever-justify-that-much-pizza-again-i-know-you-had-twins-but-you-still-can't-eat-pizza-like-that-mode
otherwise known as "maintenance mode"
which I am determined to get to and live in forever and ever amen.
It helps that there is not a good pizza place around here.
and I'm allllmost halfway to meeting my goal and it tastes so good.

Speaking of taste. and Diet Pepsi.
I have basically cut Diet Pepsi from my life.
Like I have one a week instead of one (or two) a day.
I actually feel better and less hungry and it's been a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.
and now I pretty much never crave it
and actually choose water or seltzer with a splash of apple cider vinegar and some ginger.

So just think,
one month ago I was a diet pepsi addict with falling down pants and airport walking problems
and now I'm a water drinking, fitted pant, a little lighter, Florida resident.
I know you're proud.