Sally's 5!!!

My Dear Sweet Sally Ann!  My heart has been exploding with love for you these past few weeks.  I don't know if it's because you're giving me a glimpse in to a more mature five year old or the weepiness of your mama, knowing you'll soon be entering Kindergarten.

You show your emotions something quite fierce.  When you're happy everyone around you knows it.  When you are frustrated you certainly let your mama know it :)

You have the kindest most empathetic heart of any five year old I know!  You know you are meant to make people's days a little brighter and you take that job so seriously.  You don't care if it's the baby inside Mommy's belly or the policeman parked aside us waiting for the light to turn green {true story!}. You will smile, wave and say hello to anyone and everyone.  I hope you don't every lose that twinkle of love in your eye!

Your sister so adores you and everything you do.  For the most part you are an excellent big sister to her.  It's a tough job and you have taught her many things.  I love to stand within ear shot of the two of you playing, to hear your little conversations.  I can only imagine that bond to grow stronger as you start to share a room and you head off to Kindergarten.

You already have a big place in your heart for baby.  I can't count how many kisses you give my belly, daily.  You remember the baby in your prayers and whenever you're counting how many people will be in one place. 

You and your Daddy, you're one in the same.  You certainly know how to push each others buttons and the next minute make the other laugh until they cry.  He loves his special one on one time that he gets with you every once in a while during quiet time.  He loves you a crazy amount!

Your Dad and I are so very proud of who you are becoming. You are one of a kind Sally Ann.  We're so blessed to call you ours.  Happy 5th Birthday Sweet Girl.  Thank you for being you, I love you!

Sally's 5th year:




Yesterday in Sally's interview, I realized I forgot to ask her what she wanted to be when she grew up.  She has recently said that she wants to be a Sheriff.  Reid asked her if she knew what a Sheriff did and she responded, "Yep, they keep everyone safe!"

Yesterday we were at a rather long red light and we pulled up next to a cop.  The girls waved, like they always do and the cop rolled his window down.  My heart skipped a beat.  {Crap, am I in trouble? Are the girls not buckled correctly??} I rolled my window down.

Hello there, good morning! Said the Officer.

The girls wanted to say Hi and give a thumbs up.

Officer: Enjoy the day, Girls.  Drive safely!

Girls: Thank you for doing what you do!

Just another moment to be remembered :) As the light turned green I explained to Sally that, that was a Sheriff.  Is that what you want to be when you grow up, Sally?

Yes, Mom, but I want to ride a horse, not drive a car. {There's a new show on Disney Junior called Sheriff Callie's Wild West...}

Sentimentalby Annie Flavin

“You’re so sentimental now.”

I respond defensively at first.

But then,

I think,

how would I otherwise

make it through?

I pour myself

a glass at 5pm,

or meet friends at a park,

to laugh off the day.

But then,

when it’s the middle of the night

and the bottle’s empty

and the friends are asleep,

but my baby is awake,

what then?

When I’m so tired

that anger is the first emotion

I feel

when the few minutes of sleep

I’ve gotten

are interrupted,

I stop myself.

I’ve dreamed of you.

I’ve wanted you.

You are everything to me.

If I don’t take a moment,

to watch them while they sleep on me,

how can I deal with them

while they’re awake?

If I don’t take a moment

to notice and remark

on their tiny hands and pudgy feet,

how can I stand

the trail of disaster

they leave in their wake?

Is a toddler whiney?

Is a teenager moody?

A mother is sentimental.

I’ve seen the mother

of older kids

glancing at me in the grocery store

as I corral my children.

She looks

wistfully

at the chaos

and says,

“Enjoy it. It goes by so quickly.”

She’s a sap, too,

like all of the mothers before her.

Just like me. Just like you.

Just like all of us

when we remember

our baby asleep

on our chest.

In the Closet

by Annie FlavinI sit down to take a bite –

the first bite,

the last bite;

they want it all,

except if it’s on their own plate.

I would give them

any organ in my body,

any breath they needed,

my life.

Yet I hide

in the kitchen,

in the pantry,

over the sink,

and eat my food –

shovel my food –

into my mouth

before they can ask for it.

“Mama?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Why does your mouth smell like chocolate’s in there?”

“There, there, sweetheart.

Go to sleep.”

 

Snapshots

by Annie FlavinI take a picture of her

in my mind.

I record her words

in my heart.

If I can, I snap a picture.

If I can, I write it down.

I do this for the day

she yells at me,

or mumbles under her breath

if she’s learned anything at all,

“I hate you”

or “You don’t understand me”

or “It’s not fair”

in ten years.

Please,

let it be ten years

before that is here.

It will still feel like it is tomorrow.

I do this for tomorrow

when she melts down into a puddle of a child

before nap time.

I do this for myself so that

I can calmly scoop her up

and into my arms

because

I remember her.

She,

in her pink tutu and ruby red slippers,

frolics down the street

brushing the blond wisps of hair

out of her blue moon eyes.

“Mama, I love you like a rainbow loves.

Big and colorful, and so big.”

Hop, skip, twirl.

Light, free, joy.

The sun shines brightly

on what’s left of her blond pig tails.

I use these snapshots to pad my heart.

For all of the tomorrows to come.