I Wanna Hold Your Hand

In my family, we talk a lot about physical features.  My sister's hands and feet are long and slender; we call them Grandma Edna fingers and toes.  My hands are the opposite of hers and I affectionately call them my pirogi fingers.  I have Grandma Midge fingers.  She was a tiny Polish woman who was pretty fierce in the kitchen, hence the pirogi fingers.  To be candid, my ring size is an 8, but I got them upsized so that when my fingers swell I wouldn't feel huge.  (Have you ever seen when a woman's rings are strangling her fingers?  Not attractive.)  It's amazing how these features can define who you are, when I look at my hands I see a hard working woman who was a nurse in WWII and raised 5 girls.

My daughter's hands are beautiful.  They're soft and chubby, kind of like mine.  She's got a powerful grip, always letting me know that she's doing more than hanging on;  she's taking my hand, holding it because she wants to.  I wonder if she will have my features?  If she will be a powerful woman?  Powerful women are awesome, but don't confuse awesome with invincible.  Even powerful women need support.

I want to hold my daughter's hand both literally and metaphorically.  Her tiny hand in mine.  One day, I know that she won't want to hold my hand and that her power will eclipse mine, I am fine with that...  Until then, I'm going to give her my hand every single time she wants it.  I'm going to pull her up and she's going to guide me through this mother-daughter-thing.  So, what I'm trying to say is, look out!, cause here comes another powerful woman; pirogi fingers and all.

Wanted: A Baby Sister

Not too long after we told the boys that they were going to have a sibling, the gender talk started.  My husband was firmly in the boy camp- thought it was a boy and wanted a boy.  I, on the other hand, thought that it was a girl and said I wanted either a boy or a girl... but I won't lie now, I really wanted a girl.  As most things went in our household at the time, I figured I would be outnumbered in the wish-upon-a-baby-boy-star, but surprisingly that wasn't the case; the boys really wanted a baby sister.  Obviously, there's nothing that we could have done at that point to grant their wish, but they were the first two people I thought of when we learned it was a girl; her big brothers were going to be happy.

So far, they love having a sister and it probably has a lot to do with the fact that she's great.  On the rare occasion that she cries for longer than 30 seconds, one of them comforts her by saying, "I'm here Sissy, don't cry."  I realize that this kindness and concern may only last for another few years, and eventually they may become the cause of her tears, but for now I'm sincerely in love with their love for her.  They are much more gentle with her than with anything else in the whole world.  When they talk to her, they both use a soothing, higher pitched voice.  They, above all else, show me that they love her and that's all that I've ever really wanted, love for my children.

This week, I've been nearly ready to put her in her crib.  (I know, I know; that beautiful nursery that I'm so proud of hasn't gotten any real use...) We've been hanging out more in her room and she's spending little periods of time in her crib to grow accustomed to it, but when all is not well and Sissy is done with the crib, her brothers come rushing in and soothe her and tell her not to cry.  And she stops and watches them and then everything is right in the world again.

Going To The Chapel

I love wedding pictures.  But I mean really, does anyone not love wedding pictures?  Probably, but by now, those people have already stopped reading.  Here are some pictures from before the ceremony that I was able to snap as Megan got ready on Saturday.

Little Moments

Recently, I haven't had a chance to connect with my family nearly enough.  It's been all long working hours spent wishing good nights over the phone and sneaking into bed and hoping I don't disturb my husband.  To say it's been challenging is an understatement, but what makes it worth it is the little moments.  Like today when we passed a motorcycle and Cullen shouted, "Ironman!"  Or when Arden mastered the word "chef" this week- these moments stop me in my tracks and I understand that just because life is moving a million miles an hour, it doesn't mean that I'm not connecting with it.

It reminded me of this moment from the beach the other week.  My Dad and I were strategically blocking Arden from making it down a flight of steep stairs, when he decided that he'd lost interest anyways and went back to do what he does best, being extremely cute while climbing on things.  This time it just so happened that he was having these moments of purely electric joy with my Dad while I had my camera and I got some great shots.  (Climbing is literally Arden's jam.  He lights up when he's scaling almost anything- a chair, a bunk-bed ladder, his crib- and beams with pride every chance he gets.)  It captures this little moment that means a lot to all of us, Arden's at his happiest, climbing up and down, I'm at my happiest getting to spend time with my son and my Dad and my Dad is surrounded by me... so of course he's at his happiest.  And it's these moments that remind me that I've gotta make the small moments work, 'cause sometimes it's not fair, but that's all I'm going to get.

So, I'm going to do myself a favor this weekend, I'm going to string together the little moments and count the memories from them and not count the minutes.