Three Years!

On Valentine's Day our Brooksie girl turned three. She had a wild beginning, and the spunk she showed from the start is still her signature.

Mary Brooks, I love your laugh, your fearlessness, your protective nature, your "big sister" sweetness, your (too-rare!) snuggles and your many strong opinions.

I love your perfect little face, your fading scar, your whoops and squeals and joie de vivre.

I just love that we get to be your parents. (And that I can post-date this entry so it looks like I still keep up with our family milestones.)

Happy, happy birthday to the girl who wants to be a "doctor princess" when she grows up so she can "help sick people and look in dem ears." We rejoice at the thought of God's plans for your life!

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas...

Chapman Collins Smith, the little peanut who could

...my true love turned one.

Two weeks ago today my littlest sweetheart grew up on me. Well, he's been doing that for a while, but now my Chappers is officially a year old.

His absolute delight at the world, his adoration of two besotted siblings, his sweet-natured squeals when we walk in to the room - every piece of him adds up to be just the boy our family needed.

Some people would call him a rainbow baby, the promise of hope after a storm of loss. I simply think he was just the right baby at just the right time to capture all our hearts.

We need you far more than you need us, little man, and we loved you from the very start.


You are the happiest Chappy, the most content child who wants only to be with us, to soak up the noise, giggles and excitement of two boisterous big siblings.

You/ve taught me so much, Chapman. After a season of grief over your sister's struggle and sadness at the loss of a baby before you, you taught me how to swim without sinking. I could keep moving without going entirely numb; I could be sad and still experience the joy of you. I didn't shut one bit out; I didn't lose a year of memories or pretend it wasn't happening.

You kept me going in the hard parts, kicking from the inside and beaming through big brown eyes once we met.

You've brought out the softest, most selfless parts of Mac and Mary Brooks, who I thought couldn't get much sweeter.

You, my love, were just what the doctor ordered. Thank you for growing at your own pace, for forcing your very scheduled mother to allow your strengths to develop on a timing not her own.

Thank you for being the snuggliest one yet, for grinning wider than any other peanut could have, for having a personality that belies your tiny stature.

You're finally on the charts, big boy! Without adjusting for your early arrival, you're first percentile for weight, seventh for length and twentieth for that noggin you balance between your shoulders.

I'm not sure what we did before you, Chapman, and I'm so glad we don't have to do without you anymore. May the years to come pass a tenth as quickly as this one did!

Happy, happy birthday to the best belated Christmas present I ever got.

Our First McWeekend

On October 5, our firstborn had his golden birthday: Mac is five whole years old! (Let's pretend I'm not writing this in 2015, shall we?)

To celebrate, Bradley and I decided to give him a whole weekend as an only child, doing all his favorite things with us. Two weeks before the big day, my parents happily took the little two to Columbia, and we had Mac help us set up the agenda for his first "McWeekend."


That Friday evening we had friends over for a double date (plus Mac) at home; they brought a takeout supper and, to all of our great amusement, watched Mac inhale half a pizza all by himself.


Saturday morning we slept in, and Mac requested his dad's homemade blueberry oatmeal for breakfast. Next up we took our first two boys, Blue and Mac, on an "almost 100 minutes" hike in Paris Mountain State Park.

Mac was so proud to walk close to the water, climb tricky rocks and handle other "big kid" issues he couldn't have if our younger two were with us.





After our hike, Mac picked Sonic (yes, Sonic) to try for lunch. He picked out a slushie with his kids' meal and beamed at every nibble of tater tots. How did he live five years without tater tots?



That evening, we went to watch the Clemson-FSU game with friends, and they had a giant cupcake ready as an early birthday surprise. He felt so grown-up!



I expected the post-dinner kickoff time to wear Mac out, but I was dead wrong; he stayed up for every last minute of the game - even overtime. I only wish we'd pulled out a W!



Mac finally crashed when we tucked him in at 12:45am, and he stayed in bed until 10:30 Sunday morning. I don't blame the boy!



The sweetest part of the weekend was reuniting all three siblings. As much as he reveled in his time as an only child, Mac was so excited to see Mary Brooks and Chapman again. (The little kids loved their time away, too!)

 

I'm pretending this post was written last fall, but it's actually early spring - and Mac hasn't stopped asking for another McWeekend.

We hope to make this an annual tradition, and look forward to time with each of our little people around their birthdays. The one-on-one time with our biggest boy meant the world to all of us.

A Birthday and a ReBirthday

Just over a month ago, our valentine turned one year old. And, as I did with Mac, I looked back and wondered how twelve months had rushed past me in an (insanely emotional hurricane of a) blur.


Unlike my first go-round, however, I didn't cry in the days leading up to her big moment. I felt relief, almost - something telling me I could stop holding my breath and start putting those months behind me.

It will no longer be the "first" Valentine's Day, sunny spring afternoon or otherwise notable happening, but the days ahead will be the first I remember. The first that really count.

A fashion show in her last "baby" days.

This year, my darling girl's second, is a fresh start. She's growing fast, becoming a tiny girl instead of a squishy, happy-to-snuggle bundle of baby. She's a whole new creature. 

Valentine's Day mornings, 2012 and 2013

We're inexpressibly thankful for our little valentine and for the friends and family who came to celebrate her! (We kept it sweet, intimate and extra small because, while mama adjusted beautifully, B was not keen on a big ole party. Denialville, party of one.)


Throwing together a party the weekend after Valentine's Day is easy as pie. Toss up a few pink and red decorations, lay out a table of food and another (even larger!) one of sweets and voila: a lovefest.

This beauty tasted even better than she looked!

We had a few desserts leftover for small group that Sunday...

Our best attempt.

She refused to eat a bite! How is she mine?

The best gift for every occasion!

While her birthday a party, we counted down to her ReBirthday with mixed emotions - and we didn't want to gloss over it.

Twenty days after her birthday, March 5, marked a year since Mary Brooks' surgery. I anticipated a flood of emotions, of difficult flashbacks - but they never came. From dawn to dusk that day I rode a wave of gratitude with every memory, every attempt at recalling those hours, every text message I reread that I never remembered writing in the first place.

It was an out of body experience, replaying the day in third person, feeling only a down-to-my-bones kind of thankfulness. After an excruciatingly long season of heartache, it was miraculous to feel just the upside of things - to see what the girl living that experience last year couldn't yet know.

What a difference a year makes.

It was a joy - an absolute privilege - turning a day marked by devastation into one centered on counting every last little (and big) blessing in our lives. It was an occasion that deserved cupcakes if ever there was one!

Mac and I ventured over to our favorite bakery just before a monsoon kicked off downtown that evening. We had no raincoats or umbrellas (mom fail), so I found a fleece of Bradley's and put it over his head as I whisked him down the sidewalk.

Mac couldn't stand the idea I'd get wet in his place, so he kept tossing the fleece over my face; I nearly ran into a brick wall with a forty pounder on my hip as a result.

We couldn't stop laughing, and the pair of us arrived home soaked to the bone, with four delicious cupcakes safe and dry in their box. I hope I never forget that little excursion with Mary Brooks' big brother; it epitomizes the utter giddiness I felt all day long.

After the birthday cake boycott at her party, I didn't anticipate Mary Brooks' reaction to her ReBirthday cupcake:

Her enthusiasm brought me back to Mac's very first cupcake, and it was just one more way March 5 felt more like an actual birthday than some medical anniversary. I hope we always celebrate it so whole-heartedly! (And with cupcakes, obviously...)

Mary Brooks' surgery gave her a new lease on life; medically it was considered a "near miss" with an uncertain outcome. We praise God with every breath that our story has a happy ending, and that all four of us have healed from the experience.

Thanks for celebrating with us, y'all!

Day 5: Mac

As I tucked Mac in last night, I whispered, "See you when you're three." As I closed his door, he called after me, "I'll love you when I'm three." I hope I never forget that.

Today what matters is Mac. The beautiful boy who grew from a tiny blessing.

Mac on his first and third birthdays.

The wonderful ham who adores his sister and keeps her giggling with his silly antics.

The handsome charmer who tells stories and writes songs and puts on shows for us.

The silly preschooler who prefers to wear as few pieces of clothing as possible.

The independent kid whose "no, let me!" attitude makes the occasional "will you hold me?" moments that much sweeter.

Today we celebrated with a family tour of the historic downtown fire station just down the road from our house, a lunch at Chick-fil-A and supper with his grandparents. It was a picture perfect day and I'm so very, very thankful for our boy.

We love you, Mac-Mac. You always tell us you're not "grown upped" yet, and I'm glad you aren't - but you sure are getting there fast. Take your time, baby.

*This post is day 5 in my 31 Days of What Matters.

Day 4: Fun

Some weeks adulthood feels harder than others. Health insurance paperwork requires advanced degrees to decipher, to do lists never get shorter, home ownership costs take precedence over fall fashion spending and it requires an hour each night to pluck every last gray hair that's popped up. Or is that just me?

When staring at my day planner makes me feel 93, the only solution is squeezing in a bit more fun. Cheap fun, ideally. (There's that "adulthood" voice kicking in again.)

Tomorrow our Mac will be three, and we're having a day of Mac-ness to celebrate. It starts with a top-secret tour of our downtown fire station, then a lunch at his favorite Chick-fil-A and frozen yogurt at a do-it-yourself spot where he can add all the sprinkles he likes.

It's just the kind of fun I need - watching my favorite boy get giddy about some of the simplest treats on Earth. I've been anticipating that fire station tour as though it was a walk-through of Epcot by Walt Disney himself; I understand now why Christmas was always more fun for my parents than me.

I picked Mac up from school this afternoon to find out his class had been visited by two firemen and their big, shiny firetruck. Today. Of all days.

I hope that doesn't take the luster off of our Day of Mac.  I can't imagine it will; is there such a thing as Too Much Fireman Time when you're his age? I doubt it.

All this fun (and adult, paperwork-type activities) are taking my mind off the heart of the matter: tonight I'll take in my two-year-old son for the last time.

He already looks every inch the three-year-old; it only makes sense that his actual age catches up.

I do hope a bit of good old-fashioned memory-making fun takes the sting off of baby Mac growing up before my eyes.

*This post is day 4 in my 31 Days of What Matters.

Held Another Year

It's my birthday. I'm not quite wearing my party hat; I was up 'til 2am, a knot in my stomach and a pile of nonsense in my mind.

Last weekend I had a preemptive meltdown about my golden birthday. Thirty-one on the 31st.

I'm not eaten up about turning 31 because it sounds old; I've accepted I'll never squeeze into bright orange skinny jeans and I now have to turn down caffeine after supper.

What breaks my heart is feeling I've lost so much time.

I want my life back. I want the missing months and memories and brain cells and tears back, desperately and with all my heart. If this were 5th grade recess, I'd stomp my foot and demand a do-over. But it isn't.

Thirty had its highlights: I found out we were expecting a girl, we celebrated Mac's second birthday, we welcomed his baby sister and had a golden few weeks before time stopped. Maybe now it's time to start it again.

I feel a hundred years older than I did in February. I want to shake it off, to start over. I can't get 30 back, but I'm adopting a blog friend's attitude and owning every inch and hour of 31.

Yes, I'm older. Hallelujah for that! It means more time with the people I love. (And perhaps a search for eye cream, but we'll discuss that later.)

A friend reminded me of this song today, and I wanted to share. Yes, it made me ugly cry, but it is just what I'm feeling. And while there's hurt behind it, most of all there is gratitude.

The back half of thirty was a rollercoaster I'd prefer never to ride again. But I was held. By you and by far bigger hands, too.

This is what it means to be held, how it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive. 

This is what it is to be loved and to know that the promise was when everything fell, we'd be held.

So now there are mascara stains on a beautifully monogrammed burp cloth; I couldn't find more perfect words if I wrote for years.

The painful truth: my hope is and has been born of suffering. My Savior's and, to a far lesser degree, my family's and my own. It makes His hope and security so much more real.

I prayed over and over last night, "Remind me I'm not alone right now." And I wasn't. At no point in this journey have I been on my own.

Thank you for holding me this last year. I'd love to squeeze each of you and toast a Diet Coke (I could use an IV of it lately) to a healthy, happy, beautiful thirty-first year.

If you're reading this, you're part of the reason I lived to see 31. I've achieved full-on old lady status; may I be "old" for many, many years.

I don't know what the future holds, but looking back at the darkest moments in my recent past, I know I've been held. He has gone ahead of me; there is nothing to fear. And, just as sweet, He's given me each of you.

 

He's given me these tiny people, too. No need for candles or even a sunny, celebratory day. This birthday girl is going to wipe her tears, walk out into the monsoon and show 31 how it's done. Hallelujah and amen.

You at Two

Dear Mac,
Last week you turned two; already I can sense a definite shift in you. It sounds crazy, I'm sure, but you're just more two. More independent, more verbal, more opinionated, more sure of yourself. You're a whole new boy.

A few things I'll always want to remember about your birthday and you at this sweet, new age:

Eating "bird-day finch toast" with you and your daddy yesterday.

Watching you use the honey (I didn't give you syrup; you're sweet enough) as a hair product and a breakfast topping.

Taking you for a "birthday haircut" - anything becomes celebratory with the word "birthday" in front of it!

"Melmo get bird-day haircut, Mama!"

Letting you have not one but two cupcakes before bed.

Helping you open the presents that arrived on our doorstep during your nap. Lights and music and Elmo, oh my!

Hearing you pick up new phrases and sentences in an instant.

Listening to you recount your day and marveling at what's in that brain of yours.

Glancing around at the cards and gifts surrounding you and thinking I can't wait for you to write your own thank you notes. But I can wait for you to grow up...

You do so many sweet and funny things, Mac. I could write for ages about the times you have us in stitches, or the times we have to bite our lips to keep from grinning when it's time to be serious with you. That's another post for another day, though.

For now, I want to remember how willful and smart and independent you were on the very day you turned two. You got the memo, you moved from baby to boy and you left us all scrambling to catch up. So slow down, ok?

And be proud that this year your mom didn't cry! I'm far too proud to be sad about time flying.

We love love love you, little man.

Celebrating Early

Mac "hosted" playgroup yesterday with a table full of healthy treats complemented by the world's largest dish of banana pudding, courtesy of his great-grandmother. (I purposely didn't share forgot to put it out at his party.)

You can imagine which snack he was most interested in and how much of it he consumed. Fruit+dairy+homemade = healthy, yes?

In the spirit of "keeping it real," I present to you a bedheaded, messy-faced, crumb-covered, nap-skipping, punch drunk and giddy-for-his-own-birthday Mac.

He has been singing Happy Birthday to himself for the better part of four days. What will he do tomorrow when it's his actual birthday?

I don't know that he could muster up anymore enthusiasm than he does here, despite the fact that he's running on fumes. (See: exhausted face, bursts of energy, crazy demeanor and the fact that, midway, he stops to say, "Cheese!" after just realizing I am filming him.)

What a Weekend!

Last week was one of the hardest I can remember - but this weekend? This weekend made up for it a million times over. Can't wait to share pictures, details and some non-"woe are we" talk!

For now, I'm soaking up every last moment of the weekend that remains. (Probably forty-five minutes 'til I hit the hay, but still...)

Hope you all had a fabulous weekend, too!

The Week that Wasn't

I had a plan for this week: a thought-out, filled to the brim kinda plan. Every hour was accounted for and every day had achievable goals.

Sound nuts? Well, I knew this week would be nuts. We're finishing up house projects before Mac's party Saturday and preparing for the celebration itself. I also had a busy work week ahead with an extra (fun!) project on my plate.

Then Mac got fussy on Sunday. And feverish Sunday night. And refused to be put down for hours at a time. He wanted our arms around him at all times, our faces right next to him. Our sweet boy just wasn't himself.

Monday morning we found out why: In addition to cutting four canine teeth, he has an ear infection and hand, foot and mouth disease. We came home with a prescription to treat the ear infection and were told that only Tylenol and time could cure the rest.

By Tuesday afternoon Mac was so much worse that B took him back to the doctor for a stronger antibiotic and another look. Sure enough, the HFM had become the worst the doctor had seen in years - red bumps all over his sweet body. Miserable spots down into his throat and all over the inside of his mouth. And a double ear infection on top of everything.

B rarely takes Mac to the doctor; that's my gig. I, however, was at home curled up in bed with a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and some ginger ale in the other. It hasn't been pretty. (Neither have I.) What a week - and it was only Tuesday.

Bradley took Mac outside to swing last night, as it was the only suggestion that managed a smile out of our unhappy boy. Sadly, ten minutes outside turned into four mosquito bites on his face, bites that have since become welts. WELTS. On top of everything. My boy can't catch a break.

Mac at the doc - and not nude, though it sure looks that way here!

He's old enough to tell me his mouth hurts, his ears hurt, his knee hurts. (That last part he's just making up to get kisses, but he's so pitiful I don't blame him.)

He's young enough to be clingier than Downy-less laundry. And at nearly 34 pounds, it's an act of sacrificial love to haul this handsome hunk of a mini-man around. But I'm doing it.

I'm also emailing and phone calling and to-do listing and eagerly counting down his return to school tomorrow and grandparents' arrival on Friday. We are ready to have extra hands on deck!

Boy oh boy, I had big plans for this week. Few items have made it to fruition, but I'm thankful for a husband who goes to the pharmacy for meds and comes home with ginger ale, Gatorade and a bag of candy corn for me. (I can't eat it quite yet, but just the sight of it makes me smile.)

And our second baby (wow that's crazy to say!) is just fine. My doctor assures me that a day of liquids only won't hurt her, and heaven knows I have enough fat in reserve to sustain this child through Labor Day 2015. They did ask me to refrain from kissing our infected little guy, but that warning came days too late.

The worst is over, I hope, and the contagious days are definitely behind us. I cringe thinking about the symptom-less days before he became sick when we spread our germs unknowingly all over town. Eep.

For now, forgive our radio silence in real life and in the blog world. I hope to return with some fun pre-birthday pictures later this week and some party fun after his shindig Saturday.

Funny how a small, simple and sweet get-together becomes quite an ordeal at the end of a week like this one. Even laying out a PB&J dinner for three would be a struggle at this moment.

I'm focusing on Lysol and staying germ-free 'til Mac blows out those candles. Red spots or no spots, the boy deserves to celebrate his second year with a bang.

No Gifts, Please - Just Pass the Cake!

via

You may know of my addiction to all things etiquette and advice-related. I frequent the columns of Miss Manners, Carolyn Hax and Dear Prudence and sometimes wish I could join their ranks, but that's a story for another day.

This time I'm asking for insight from you.

The question: As Mac's second birthday approaches, how can I convey that gifts are not necessary at his party?

The background: Last year, we explicitly stated "no gifts, please" on the invite. No one complied, but we wanted the small group invited to know that their excitement was more than enough for our well-loved boy. (Obviously, Mac was overjoyed and "wrote" everyone thank you notes. But the hope was that they felt free to come empty-handed, too.)

Emily Post and Miss Manners, however, believe that just mentioning gifts, even if you are asking guests not to bring any, implies that they should have thought to bring one, or that they would have.

So this year, I left that clause off. (Invites have yet to go out.) But we still want our nearest and dearest to know they needn't bring anything but themselves.

We're inviting guests so we can have a few extra voices in the mix as we warble out "Happy Birthday!" and stuff ourselves with cake; I don't want them to feel compelled to bring a thing.

Side note: This is not a judgment against people who do want people to bring their children gifts. Who doesn't want their child celebrated? And it's not that gifts are entirely unwelcome or unappreciated, just unnecessary. Coming by means enough!

Mac isn't covered up in toys, as we have gone heavy on books and light on shiny things in his two years. But he has no need for anything in particular besides cake and candles.

So the goal is: if you want to swing over for a sweet treat and the blowing out of two candles, feel free to do that, sans the trip to the toy store.

Back to the point: How we should we let people know? Word of mouth? A note after the invite that conveys we'd love to see them, but they should feel welcome to bring only themselves?

How would you do it? And was there an age (for your children) at which you stopped saying "no gifts" or is that always an acceptable concept?

(Do fifth-graders rebel at such nonsense, or are overstretched parents even more thankful then for the reprieve?)

So looking forward to your thoughts!

xoxox,
A hostess planning two dinner parties thisveryminute to appease Miss Manners' "where has non-gift-related entertaining gone?!" voice pointing out her hypocrisy.

What a One Year Old Looks Like

I'm woefully late posting Mac's twelve month update, but since I've come to rely on these looks back to remember the details of each stage, I'm posting anyhow.

In September and October Mac grew by leaps and bounds. He's almost 22 pounds now (25%) and over 31 inches long (90%). Our long and lean man still has chubby, kissable cheeks and more than a few rolls, though, with an appetite to match!

This is his "are we done with the pictures now?" look.

In his twelfth month, Mac became even more social and curious. His waves and "heys" have become even bigger and more aggressive enthusiastic. Last week he nearly assaulted a woman in the produce section with his huge, full-body wave and squeal of "Hey!!" Paired with an excited, repeated point directly at her, this poor lady looked like a deer in headlights.

Mac gets smarter and more talkative by the day, too. The apple doesn't fall from from the chatty tree, and Mac gestures and jibber-jabbers all the livelong day. It's a delight!

He isn't walking yet, but Mac is "cruising," pulling up, standing to play with his toys, crawling up stairs (thanks to Bradley), moving with lightning speed and getting his hands on whatever his little heart desires. I just can't imagine how he'll be any faster when it comes time to take those first steps! Whew.


Lately he has begun to pick up a few more signs, which is helpful when he gets frustrated at his inability to communicate. He has "more" down pat and uses "please" and "thank you" as well.

Mac is affectionate when he's in the mood, sharing sloppy kisses and blowing kisses a plenty to those he loves. (And to pretty girls in the supermarket, too. Hmm.)


He's still sleeping twelve hours a night and napping twice (sometimes only once) a day. He's a big, busy boy these days and we love keeping up with him.

My fears about whole milk in the sippy cup turned out to be for naught, as he is a milk-drinking machine. Weaning was a cinch - almost a non-event. We're both doing wonderfully and he never missed a beat with the transition.


He's become much more willful with food, though, spitting out chunks of things he enjoyed the day before or turning his head. I worry that he doesn't chew enough food and will be stuck eating the same meals over and over, but I remind myself that he'll eat when he's hungry and he tends to regulate himself well.


For now, I'm busy kissing our growing toddler and watching each new development with wonder. A year ago I was excited when he first made eye contact with me; now I expect him to stand up and run any moment now. What a miracle his little life is!

We love you, Mac-Man. Thank you for another fantastic month, and for proving to your mom that not being a "baby" isn't the worst thing in the world - it's actually pretty wonderful!