Tracking May 2012

Aside from throwing epic third birthday parties and entertaining a neighborhood of children in the process, we have been staying busy around the house growing a baby (12 weeks! Come on second trimester, I want to get off this ship!) and traveling to Savannah, GA to congratulate my little brother who graduated from Savannah College of Art and Design.

We have also been playing in the pool at Oma’s

and sewing up a mad storm of bridal gowns and accompanying participants’ garb. It’s been a great month but I’m pooped!

 

 

Rory and Ryder have been splendid as usual. Rory has chipped in her assistance wherever necessary.

She has even threatened the nearly three-year station of one Ryder C. Mack by sitting in his home-office post for hours on end.Thankfully, Ryder was easily and seamlessly promoted to the right side station on the most respectable piano bench. The only down side of this office adjustment is the now surround-sound-cheerio-crunching-juice-slurping-hey-I’m-pregnant-and-this-is-pushing-all-I-can-muster-not-to-toss-my-cookies side effect.

And like many job promotions, there is a temporary learning curve. Ryder has found himself a new sense of will and determination to excel. However, his views on this and mine do not always match. Specifically, a certain rule never, ever, to rip a library book. But like any life lesson worth noting, it required some consequence.

We sat there and diligently taped the page back together. Then piled into the car. I talked to him about looking the librarian in the eyes and saying more than that he was just simply “sorry”, but sorry he ripped a borrowed library book. It’s more than just saying you’re sorry, it’s knowing what you are sorry for and honoring that person with the apology. I took him out of the car, unbuckled Rory and threw her on my hip, with the book under an arm and his little hand in mine, we slowly made our way into the library towards the help desk.

The librarian kindly asked if we needed help. I gathered all my parental strength to admit that my kid, my book-loving, we-don’t-rip-books kid did that very thing…in my own house! I might as well have began to admit I shredded an American flag or burned the Holy Bible. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that dramatic, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones and the end of the day tiredness kicking in. Or maybe it was when the librarian returned after asking her supervisor what the protocol was about charging us a fee for a ripped book that I found myself tearing up.

But truly, it was probably when my sweet red-headed boy, donning his monster feety jammies, his hair still damp from an evening bubble bath, looked up at that librarian with his big chocolate brown eyes and said, “I am sorry I ripped the book.” Apparently it wasn’t the pregnancy hormones because that librarian nearly melted right there on the carpet. She tried her best to keep that librarian sternness and protector of all ye books by gently smiling back and saying, “We forgive you. We will not take your birthday money to pay for the book. But have you learned your lesson?” To which he replied, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Be still my heart.

We walked out of that library a little more humble and honest. Character is being built… in all of us.

Speaking of being built. My knight in shining armor built me a hammock pergola for our 8th anniversary. Swoon!

I am not sure why exactly I love hammocks and pergolas so much, but it is a fact in my world. I had a hammock at our last house and it was a constant welcomed spot when a fussy baby was threatening my every fiber to just break down. The rocking of that big blanket-of-a-net made us both come back together by looking at the beautiful blue sky above, the blooming flowers below, the smell of tomato plants promising even greater things to come. And equally as important, it put a healthy divide between the dishes, the demands of my house, and me. Mommies’ need this. They need a place where they can step back and say, “Ah! Just forget it!”. I tried that spot being a comfy chair inside the house, but it doesn’t work. The dishes quietly sing to me like a creepy horror movie, “I know your exhausted, but clean me! Clean Me!!!” Ug. Where’s a hammock when I need one?!

And pergolas. Where should I start? Imagine, you are gorgeously fit, guiltlessly eating a five course Italian meal on the veranda (is that French or Italian?) of some beautiful estate in the Sorrento countryside. A exquisitely built pergola fits overhead like the most majestic puzzle canopy one has ever seen. Your sexy husband comes out with the final course of coffee and tiramisu while sweetly informing you the babies are all tuckered out from the day and are in bed; the dishes are done, and all I need to do is try this dessert. The flowers engulfing the pergola creep down the strong beams and frame the beautiful scene I look out at. The sun is setting, its a perfect 72 degrees, and life is all God meant it to be.

Uh hm, I um, where was I? I like pergolas. Yes, I really do. What is better than combining hammocks and pergolas? Not much, truly not much.

*A library book was harmed in this post. It has been repaired but will have long lasting scars that will hopefully be mended by many other children still reading its adventurous contents.