There was the year she was sick with cancer & I didn’t know how close I was to losing her, but I remember showing her my new plastic pony as she laid in a hospital bed & her telling me it was wonderful through the radiation burns.

There was the year I stubbornly refused to wear hair bows or open the car door to step into the ballet studio, & I know she felt like I was slipping away for the first time.  I remember that all I ever wanted in those days was her to simply love me.  & she did.

There were growing pains in college when I learned to stand independent from her, where I decided to drink beer too early & overdraft my account too often & be firm in my right to say “shit.”  Those years were charged with emotion & forgiveness on both ends, but we shifted from mother & daughter to the best of friends.

 She reminds me to wear lipstick & I’ve taught her that even the smallest babies matter forever, & she has remained the first person I call, only second to my husband.

Yesterday, we took vacation & drove to the outlet malls where we tried on blouses & fussed over jewelry & shared a cotton candy milkshake.  At the end of the day, I kissed her cheek & silently thanked God for making her my momma.

& when my heart yearns for another boy & the rough & tumble of being the queen of a pack, a little piece of me flips inside at the thought that if I don’t have a little girl, I won’t share the magic of a momma & daughter when my own momma is gone.

If I should smile with sweet surprise
It’s just that you’ve grown up before my very eyes
You’ve turned into the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen
Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen.
~Neil Diamond

The Momma’s pup is sixteen years old.  SIXTEEN.  We love that ol’ girl.

Also, the best way to feel like the poser douche of the century is to roll into Whole Foods in your Subaru with your Kate Spade & iPhone, then clack into the store where you order a $20 organic cake FOR YOUR DOG.

Then realize that the only cake available is already decorated with skulls, which is so inappropriately ironic that you point it out to the cashier & remind her that it’s for your geriatric dog & she starts telling you how she has birthday parties for her four cats every year.  & then you wonder if you’ll ever get to be a crazy cat lady in your old age after you just don’t give a shit anymore & weight 500 lbs at the age of 80.

Really, I don’t know why I don’t have my own reality show.

Back when I first started planning Harrison’s second birthday party (you know, the day after his first birthday party), there was nothing greater in his heart than Curious George.  Of course, Lightning McQueen & Simba came later, but the little curious monkey was our go-to for entertainment in both books & film for many months.  So it only made sense for Curious George to be the inspiration for his birthday party.  Red & yellow with splashes of aqua, mostly digging on monkeys & bananas rather than actually splashing George’s face everywhere.

Last year, I spent hours in the kitchen hand-making dips & pies when the Pillsbury sugar cookies were the first to disappear off the table.  This year, I decided to cater to the toddlers by ordering $5.00 pizzas from Little Caesar’s & filling a bowl with goldfish.  Harrison’s smallest guests sipped on watered-down apple juice while the parents enjoyed water.  & of course, I did the ever-popular pigs n’ blankets – best part of the story was when I asked a grocery store worker where he kept his “little weiners.”  That was awkward.

Cupcake toppers from the Etsy seller, ClassyAndSimple.  As Harrison’s best gal has a serious peanut allergy, the cupcakes needed to be made from home.  I mixed up a box yellow cake, then The Momma helped decorate them with cream cheese icing & sugar sprinkles.  There is something wonderfully old school about homemade baked goods at a party, you know?

I’ve got a thing for paper lanterns.  They just give a little “pop” to the decor, so we hung them from tree branches.

A lot of the details were handmade, either by me or people with far more talent.  Like Erika from Bird E. Studios, who made the gorgeous pennant that will now go in Harry’s room.  I made the rag wreath at night while we watched Mad Men & Vampire Diaries (I have a rather eclectic taste in entertainment), & sewed the poms to a red tablecloth on Thursday evening, along with whipping up the red checked backdrop for our “photo booth.”

This is a typical family photo with a two-year-old.

I purchased six yards of cotton gingham cloth, on sale for $1.97 per yard, then cut it in half & stitched the two halves together.  I didn’t worry about hemming on the edges, but did fold over the top with a quick stitch to fit a rod or ribbon through that would hold it to the fence.

Harrison had a WONDERFUL time & was a fantastic host.   Did I mention that he did not want to wear a shirt?  Within thirty minutes of the party starting, Harry was shirtless & his friend Holden was dancing on the table.  So basically, the party was amazing.

p.s. be sure to take a favor before you leave!

What started out as an, “aww, darn! momma’s outside my room again” turned into her being a security blanket.  Momma’s outside my door, everything’s okay.   If I was sick or hurting, she sat quietly with her shadow thrown onto the carpet of my bedroom, telling me to close my eyes.

I guess it’s why last night, with my little guy coughing & running a low fever, I sat down quietly on the floor outside his room.  I heard him whimper as he tried to suck his thumb despite a stuffy nose & my heart twisted.  Doug looked at me with raised eyebrow & I said, “I just want to sit until he falls asleep.  It’s the only thing I can really do, you know?”

So I sat until the hum of the humidifier was the only sound I heard.  & I wondered if The Momma felt the same way on the nights she sat for me.

p.s. childhood friends, please raise your hand if you attended a sleepover where the momma sat outside the playroom & told us to settle down.  & then we giggled.

Talking sweet tea & my recipe over at Pickles & Paisleys today…join me & share your own recipe that speaks tradition?

A typical Saturday morning growing up – staying in pajamas & making forts with my brothers in our playroom.

p.s. i’ve been saving top sheets for future forts with harrison. bring it on!

____________________________

I’ll be back soon with nonintelligent ramblings & more than photo bombs soon.  It’s just been one of “those weeks.”  I appreciate you hanging in there with me.

East Coasters, please stay safe from the ol’ skank Irene.  We’re supposed to just have high winds & rain, so my girlfriends & I are stirring up Sangria & camping out with the kiddos.  It’s like Neverland – we just refuse to grow up.  (but not the michael jackson kind with court dates & the kid from home alone, i’m talking peter pan)

oh, & wine.  LOTS OF WINE.  I needed vacation in the worst way possible & while it crossed my mind to set up guest posts or write ahead, I was more focused on making sure that I packed beach towels & Harrison’s stuffed monkey.  We pulled over the sound bridge on Saturday afternoon & I felt myself exhale as I tucked my phone into my pocket & pointed out the ocean to the boy in the backseat.  We quickly threw on our suits & headed to the sand while waiting for the rest of my family to arrive.

The toddler woke with the sun every morning & we quietly snuck out for a walk to search for shells & quiet moments with our family of three.  He giggled as Nate hoisted him over broad shoulders & I gave way to a game of chase.  I took in a deep breath, commenting that on a normal day, we’d be facing the rat race.  This slower pace of life was welcomed.

On the tiny island of North Carolina, we put down planners & live without watches.  I prefer to spend every afternoon with a book under the canopy or diving through waves.  I intended to write during naps, but found myself curled up with an iced coffee & a blanket rather than a laptop.

Harrison, of course, tackled the beach with his typical fearless smile.  He begged to be taken into the water & when his daddy & uncle swam too far, he stood at the edge of the water & cried.  My boy is ready to be a teenager already.

& since I’ve stopped sobbing over my lack of Britney Spears abs or trying to develop melanoma, my beach vacation has become exponentially more relaxing.  I slather 30+ SPF all over, slip into a one-piece, & settle into a chair with a book.  My goal is not to brown – my goal is to slip away from the every day & allow myself to really breathe.

(I never really breathe when I’m away from the ocean.  Do you have a place that helps you breathe?)

]]> http://theheirtoblair.com/2011/07/25/breathing-again/feed/ 26 http://theheirtoblair.com/2011/07/23/remember-how/ http://theheirtoblair.com/2011/07/23/remember-how/#comments Sat, 23 Jul 2011 19:47:34 +0000 heirtoblair http://theheirtoblair.com/?p=6911 I just took off without telling anyone in the blog universe to spend an entire week relaxing in the sunshine?  (p.s. if you’ve never done it, I highly recommend it)

We’ll be back this week with stories of forgiveness, belated birthday presents, & toddler beach brawls that rival anything I’ve ever seen in a bar.

It’s true that I don’t give you enough credit or recognition.  It’s not because I do not want to shout from the rooftops about how awesome you are, but more that you & I have just always had this “thing” where we understood each other.

We have that same thing where we want to be quiet & brood when we’re upset.  We have that same sharp wit that gets us in trouble, but thankfully we also share a wide smile & (hopefully) good heart deep down.  You told me it was okay when I dropped programming in college & I told you it was okay when you had to work late.  When I chose my husband & others whispered skeptically, you understood what it was like to marry “different.”  We get that same weird fire in our eyes when we talk about business & economics & I am so thankful to have a kindred spirit – would anyone else understand the ironic humor of fake grenades on our desks?  I think not.

I’ve never told you this, but on days where I think I cannot handle a career, parenting, marriage & a home one more moment, I think about you.  I think about all the days you spent twelve hours behind a desk, only to come home & sit around a fake campfire wearing fake Indian feathers on your head.  On Saturday’s when I know you just wanted to rest, you took us out for bike rides on the Greenway, mowed the lawn, painted my room blaring purple.  You did beautifully as a working parent & I hope that one day, Harrison will be able to say that I always put him first just like you always made me a top priority.

Today, I thank you for always being my biggest fan.  For that time you sat down at the kitchen table with me & told me to never, ever do math with a pen & that it was okay to take an entire page for an algebra equation – be damned what the teacher says.  For the time you sat in the ER with me on a Saturday when a back-handspring broke my ring finger.  Thank you for all the years you sat on cold bleachers, more proud of your cheerleader daughter than any football dad.   Thank you for telling me that I would be okay, even at my darkest.  Thanks for the texts that say, “I loved today’s post!” or “You sound like a sailor” because I know you’re my best blog reader.

p.s.?  thanks for never commenting.

I’m proud to be your girl.

I love you always.

• She raised three children she birthed.  & then she adopted my two cousins.  Because it’s what Jesus would do.
• Did I mention she birthed two of those kids sans epidural at over 10 lbs apiece?
• Because she is a cancer survivor.  Because they gave her less than a 20% chance of survival & with three young children at home, she gave them the middle finger & became a member of the research that now saves lives at Duke.
• Also, she was a part of the drug test group as an alternative to medicinal marijuana.  I always thought that was cool.
• Because she taught me to always use cloth tablecloths & napkins.
• All the nights when I was in middle school & she held me while I cried, reminding me that I was beautiful & that the ugly duckling turned into a swan.
• She can hand out one hell of a butt-swat when you’re askin’ for it.
• Because sometimes, she forgets the bread in the oven.  & those sweet imperfections make her more perfect.
• She bleeds Carolina blue & still screams “GO BABY, GO!!!” over the din of UNC football crowds.
• Because I know the jingle of her keys over any other sound, even if we’re in Target.  She jingles her keys & I come running.
• She always smells of make-up, Elizbeth Taylor’s “Passion,” & soap.
• She’s a nurse.  On hands & knees daily, serving other people in their sickness.  She is their angel.
• Last year, she was my angel.  Holding me when I felt I could not stand the pain of PPD, crying with me & telling me we would survive this.
• Because she does not know the meaning of “selfish.”
• She refuses to give into grey & stays a blonde with a snazzy haircut at 62.
• Because she washed dirty football gear for over 10 years without complaint.
• She tells me that I remind her of her mother.  & it warms her heart.
• In this recession, she still holds 10+ hour workdays because it is what her family needs.
• She’s my shopping buddy.  My coffee buddy.  & the first person I call at the end of a great day (shh, don’t tell my husband).
• Because there is always a bed made at her house with fresh sheets, should we need a place.
• Because to this day, I still call her “Momma.”

Love you, Momma.