I had this thought the other night; how old am I?  Math says 22 but is that right?  Sure I’ve been on this earth for only 22 years but is that all I’ve really accomplished?  For the last couple years I have felt very ahead of my time.  And no, I don’t mean the cliche bullshit that I’m so much more mature than others my age and “Oh my God, can you believe how fucking wonderful I am?  I have no flaws and everything figured out, yet I’m only in my twenties!”  I mean where the hell did all this living come from.

Graduating from college, working the 8 to 5, getting engaged, having a 9 month old son!  Where did you come from?  Well, the baby part need not be explained, I was there for that.  But I could of sworn just yesterday I was having an estate sale, sleeping on a blow-up mattress in my living room, and drinking wine with Roth at 10am.  And I could have sworn just last week sleeping in my car in Blythe’s courthouse parking lot.  Or maybe trying to find Desert Ridge for the first time with Alyssa.  So many memories that are so fresh, yet happened so long ago.  Sometimes  I make the mistake or thinking I graduated from Ridge 8 years ago.  Sometimes I think it’s been 3.  The correct answer?  Only after some quick math can I figure out it’s been 5.  Five years of craziness.  Five years of different nicknames. (Why must everyone feel the need to rename me, btw?)

In ‘05-06.. when I became LCB.  Camping out in Tucson for the hell of it, classic rock on 24/7 and Sunday “Family” dinners at Applebees.  Then in ‘06-07.. when I became Leny.  The Mcarthy house and my dog, Rusty.  Getting robbed and getting Champ back.  And in ‘07-08.. when I was Nette.  Rodeos and Mexico.  Dance parties.  Every night like a scene from “Just Dance”.  ‘08-09… when I became Momma.  Finding out I had pretty much no real friends but wasn’t too surprised by the realization.  More importantly finding out I was going to have a baby.  And finally ‘09-10.. when I became.. Net.  “Net, like the internet,” my boss says.  Ha. Ha.  Working for the man and being an adult.  Baking cakes on Friday nights and buying house plants.

Even typed out like that I still wonder how I did all that living in those 5 years.  And I guess I’ll probably never know.

So, my son’s first birthday was a week ago.

Let me repeat that. MY. SON’S. FIRST. BIRTHday was a week ago.

Can you feel the incredulity in my voice?

Is this why he can no longer wear the cute tiny outfits from Target’s Newborn section?

My son was born 3 months early. When he arrived so impatiently, he weighed 1 pound, 9 ounces; that’s 711 grams for any metric-based readers. Just over a pound and a half. He was the size of a shoe, about the weight of a loaf of bread. I realize newborns are small, but they’re not supposed to be that small.

Given the daily prayers for growth, the celebratory texts and eMails going out to family and friends announcing every gram put on, and the steak dinner in honor of reaching the two pound mark, I thought I would be immune to a Mom’s wish for her child to stay small. The Carter’s tagline on some hand-me-down outfits was, in fact, “If they could just stay little.” When I first read it, I snorted. I literally snorted with contempt for those moms who *don’t* want their child to grow.

He grew. He continues to grow. On his first birthday, he weighed 20 pounds, 12 ounces. He is now the weight of a car tire, an obese cat or a record-breaking fish. HE’S HUGE!

I recently, carefully and thoughtfully, went through Ollie’s wardrobe. It was a daunting process. We waited for two months for him to be BIG ENOUGH to wear a PREEMIE onesie, and now that same outfit looks like it would clothe a cross-dressing Barbie doll. I unfolded a favorite froggy outfit from his first days at home and thought, “AWWW….where did my little tiny baby go?”

I wander through the Newborn department and sigh with mixed emotions. I couldn’t wait for Ollie to fit in Newborn clothes. When he graduated to 3 month size, we celebrated; another happy text to update those who were there for the NICU journey. Now I miss the cuddles of a newborn, the tiny mittens he wore, the being able to lift him without a groan and “putting my back into it.”

It brought tears to my eyes. I cried because my son has grown.

I’m getting like a regular mommy now, aren’t I?

Abby do you believe in God?

No

I do.

Why?

I don’t know?

Well, how do you know? Where is he?

I don’t know – I think he lives with poor people…

There is a monster in my house, well not just my house, it’s everywhere. It’s real. It’s not an imagined shadow on the wall, or hidden under the bed nor does it disappear when the lights go on. This monster instills pure terror into James-z, my 3 year old, and leaves him trembling and sobbing.  I’ve seen it, I’ve even been able to photograph it. Over the last year it has used the happiness it sucks from James-z and fed its evil power to morph. It has become a shape-shifter. It menacingly takes on other shapes, seemingly innocent shapes that make most people smile. But not my little man. It shows up in different forms and different places, always taunting, always terrorizing. It is his worst enemy – his arch nemesis that strips him of his happy go lucky self and leaves him a trembling little boy scared to move until it has been exterminated, at least for the time being.

Two days ago, the monster lay in waiting for James. Lying still, it knew he would come -and he did. I was in the hall as James went flying past me laughing hysterically at his sister who was chasing him. In an instant, but almost as if in slow motion it happened, James leapt at the moment he saw it. His blood curdling scream gave him wings to fly over the top of the monster – it’s claws outstretched – reaching for him. I saw it happening and yet could not move fast enough to stop it, to help James before the beast pierced his fun with an arrow of terror. I ran into the room and scooped James up, I knew I had to hide his face, keep him from seeing the grotesque creature. But he was kicking, crying, trying to get farther into the corner away from the beast. I dropped him onto the bed and like a mother bear went after the monster.

I grabbed this thing with a fierceness that only a mother could do, it fought back. He flew out of my grasp and tried to run. I grabbed it again and took it down the hall. Looking around frantically for anything that I could use to send it back to it’s own world. Where is the portal, the magic box that once shut cannot be opened from the other side to let them into our world… I looked around frantically and then I saw it. The gateway portal to this thing’s world, I had to send it away, I had to keep it from terrorizing my son. I grabbed the golden handle and swung open the box, with a rush of part adrenaline, part “don’t mess with this momma” attitude I flung the creature high and far and slammed the portal shut.

My knees were weak, I slid down to the ground as my high from adrenaline dropped and left me drained. I realized that there seemed to be peace in the house, I had done it. My son was going to be free from the terror this horrific creature brought to him. My son was free, I was free.

Hailey, my 5-year old ran to me. I knew she was going to see me as fierce and brave; her mom, the hero. Her mouth opening I waited to hear her give me the praise I deserved;

“Uh, Mom, why did you put my singing dog in the closet?”

I just stumbled upon this site, Saving Moms Money.  From my brief venture through it’s pages, it seems really great.  And of course, how could I not share this wonderful giveaway they’re having!

Giveaway: $50 Picaboo Photo Books Gift Card!

I have heard of the term “spirited child”, but in all honesty I always thought it was a nice way of telling someone that their kid was an evil terror.  Now I am beginning to realize that there really is such a thing as a spirited child, and I believe that I have one of my very own.

Cyler has always been active.  From the time he was still in utero.  I remember during an ultrasound the technician was having a difficult time getting a good shot because he was moving around too much or blocking with his hands.  I remember nights when I would toss and turn because the little guy was doing back flips in my belly.  Once he was born, it continued.  He was always extremely alert.  Always staring intensely at whatever he was studying in that moment.  As he became more mobile, his energy levels were through the roof.  The kid never stopped moving.  And still doesn’t.  He loves to jump and can sit and bounce in his jumperoo for more than an hour straight.  If he’s on your lap, you had better hang on tight.  Diaper changes have become nearly impossible as he twists and rolls in acrobatic poses as I beg him to “hold still for 2 seconds”.  I find myself constantly having to distract him with a new toy or activity.  He will not sit contently with one object for more than a minute, before he’s onto the next.

He is intensely aware of all of his surroundings.  When we are somewhere new, his head is on a swivel taking in every little detail.    He cranes his neck to see the person around the corner, or practically jumps out of my arms to get a better view of something colorful or flashy.  But while this intensity and energy has left me exhausted and at times a little frustrated, I can’t help but giggle to myself on occasion at his blossoming personality.  I have a feeling that there are many silly moments ahead.  I smile to myself to think of the cute little Cyler-isms yet to be.  I know he’s going to be an entertaining little guy.  I look forward to those moments, but in the back of my head I just know, I’m in for it!

… from an ex.

My last ex was/is a really amazing guy.   I would never trade my Fiance for any other person in the world, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other great men out there.  Nor does that mean any of my exes were not great, they just were not for me.  So why is it seem so wrong that I care that his life is going well?

I just don’t understand it.  After a serious relationship, how do you just cast the other person aside like they never existed?  How are you not supposed to remember their birthday or hope they’re doing well?

Yes, I decided our relationship was over.  Yes, I thought we should go our separate ways.  But where in there does the love we had just disappear to?

I hope he’s doing well.  I hope he likes his job, has fun with friends, is dating around or has a great girlfriend/fiance/wife.  I hope things are running smoothy and that he’s happy.  And damnit, there is nothing wrong with that!

So why is so hard to write a email, “Happy birthday, hope all is well.”?  Why do I feel like the only socially acceptable thing is to pretend like he never existed and pray I never randomly see him out in public?

Who knows.. The fact of that matter is I’ve never cared what is or isn’t socially acceptable and that’s why that email is in his inbox right now.  Because I do care and there is nothing wrong with wishing someone well.

My head was pounding so I grabbed the throw pillow and blanket off the couch and curled up on the floor. Brody was playing at my feet and Jake was playing on the computer. Jake turned around and saw me on the floor and asked what I was doing. I told him that Mommy’s head hurt and that I just needed to lay there for a minuet. He got a big grin on his face and said “Oh I know what will make you feel better” as he jumped off the couch. “If I lie down and cuddle you it won’t hurt anymore!” so he put his little head on the pillow and got under my blanket. After about 30 seconds he got patted me on the head and said “See? Does that feel a little better now?” My head still hurt but my heart felt pretty damn good.

These are the moments I cherish.

After almost 8 years of a relationship and dreams of what our wedding would be like and should be like, we’re planning to not plan our wedding. Years of thinking about how I want that day to be and what special touches i want and making sure to make notes about those things that annoy me and i don’t want to be apart of our big day, I’m throwing all that away. Well, not really throwing it away, per say, since it will be more than we’ve ever dreamed of and the end result will be the same. We will be married. 8 years down the road and 3 kids later i just don’t have it in me anymore. The planning, the stress, the over thinking, the worry, the hopes, the inspirations, the time consumption, and the financial planning is taking all the fun out of it. So we are left with one choice.

Elope.

That one word makes me giddy, makes me feel alive and makes it all fun again. We are going  to go to Hawaii and pay someone else to make our wedding everything we want it to be. Simple yet elegant. Stress free. Wedded bliss. We will have a lot of pictures and a video to show off to everyone else and plenty of memories for just the two of us.

So now we are planning to not plan.. and if it all falls thru there’s still a court house right down the street!

I am a mum to 4 little girls and I have recently realized that parenting is never going to be easy. You would have thought this would be apparent after 3 kids, but no it took the 4^th to really sink in!

The reason for this lightbulb flash? Three of them are now in school. This means I get 3 sets of instructions from at least 6 sets of teachers; 3 sets of homework; 3 sets of e-mails with sometimes harmless content and sometimes nail-biting, jaw-dropping, teeth-gnashing stories.

These e-mails are new. I never got e-mails until this year. Why am I getting e-mails now? In a word: Buffy.

She is 5- precocious, sassy, smart, funny and hell-bent on giving me a full-on anxiety attack. Last month’s sassiness morphed into outright stubbornness and rude behavior followed by punching, kicking and the oft-heard “I don’t understand what you’re saying!” We have been e-mailed at least once a week. We have been called by the assistant principal.

I have talked, begged, bribed. Each day she gets on the bus I eye my inbox with trepidation…