Let me count the ways

Actually, Gracie-girl, there are too many ways to count.

I love the way you jump up and dance your little booty off at the merest hint of music, including the intro to every commercial and television show.  I love the way you then yell “YAY!” at the top of your lungs and clap your hands, so proud of your moves.

I love that you are determined to get the dog to join in our “Patty Cake” and “If Your Happy and You Know It” sing-alongs, getting right into his face and clapping and calling “Dock!” loudly, because clearly he has not caught on to this whole clapping thing.

I love that you never let me get too sentimental.  I could, with you, turn into one of those sweetsy people I have always been so wary of.  But, as I sit and read books to you at night, and I take in your soft hair and baby breath feeling wistful about the days you won’t be so tiny, I sometimes reach out to hold on to a part of you…at which point you bellow “MINE!” at the top of your breath and jerk away your foot, arm, whatever, and bring me back to reality.  Thank you for that.

I love your self-confidence.  I love that whenever we pick out outfits in the morning, you put them on and declare, “Gee Gee TUTE!!”  Gee Gee is very tute.

I love that you love trucks just as much (if not more) than you love baby dolls.  I love that all the way to school you yell, “SHRUCK!!”

I love that you are a little bossy.  I love that you tell your Daddy and me to “SIT!” and “THIS WAY!” in such a commanding way that we usually do what you say before thinking about obeying a little 20-month-old tyrant.

I love the spontaneous kisses you give (even if they are usually when you have been just a little bit bad).

I love that you make me laugh out loud, even when I am trying to rock you to sleep, making funny faces and getting right in my face and whispering “HEY!”

I love our after bath routine, where we look in the mirror and you say “Mama, Gee Gee, Whoo whoo whoo” pumping your little fist in the air.

Most of all I just love you, Grace Louise, exactly the way you are.

Kitchen Nightmares

This is not the sort of thing I normally blog about, and I really don't think anybody even reads this thing anymore, but I need some help.  Well, I probably need help with a lot of things, but let's focus on one...healthy food for my family.

Some things to know:
1) I hate cooking.  I think it is because I don't know what I am doing and I hate doing things I don't know how to do (admittedly, not one of my best traits).  Also, I am really bad at it.  Family legend has it that I don't know how to make instant oatmeal.  Yes, there was once an "incident".  I would also like to add a disclaimer here that my mother is a FABULOUS cook, I just didn't seem to inherit that gene.

2) I am neurotic.  I have always been a huge fan of "moderation is key", so I don't mind Gracie eating a hot dog and a cookie here and there.  But right now I feel like she is getting a lot of overly processed school food and then not much better at home.  Which leaves me up at night freaking out that she is going to grow two heads, grow a tail- anything seems plausible around 2 am.

3) Like everyone else, I just don't seem to have enough time.  I work all day, and I don't want to spend what time I do have with my family in the kitchen.  Also, if I was in the kitchen I would probably just be standing in there for no reason because I don't know what I am doing.  Another disclaimer, Parke is a great cook and does most of the heavy lifting here...but I am in charge of the grocery shopping.

4) I like to eat.  A lot.  And I like my food to taste good, every time I read about an actress/ model who lives on steamed fish and lettuce it makes me so thankful not to be that person I run right out and buy a package of M&M's in celebration.

So, my request for anybody who still happens to read this blog...what do you feed your family?  And how do you know where to start?  What will your kids eat that is good for them? I would love to overhaul our eating habits (for the most part...like I said, everything in moderation) but that goal seems way out of reach right now.

Anybody out there who can help or offer suggestions?

Bad Dog

This weekend, Parke and I took Gracie to her very first Clemson football game.  Well, we didn't quite make it to the football, but Gracie had a blast running all over the place while we did some tailgating.  She was full speed ahead and Parke and I spent most of the time chasing after her.

At one point, Gracie found a dog.  She LOVES dogs and ran right over to get a closer look.  The dog, on the other hand, was not quite as pleased to see Gracie. Parke grabbed her just in time.  Watching all of this happen, I found myself with tears in my eyes- because this is what kills me about being a mom.

See, I want there to only be sweet, loving dogs in Gracie's world.  Dogs who, when she gleefully squeals "DAWG" with her groggy southern drawl, run over and give her a million kisses.  Because right now, that is all she knows.  I want there to be only good dogs in Gracie's world the same way I want there to only be good people.  Because right now, that is all she knows.

But as her mother, that isn't my job.  Most of life is very good, but as Gracie gets older, no matter how hard I try to stop it, she is going to encounter some bad. Bad dogs, bad people. My job is to prepare her for it, and then love her through it.  Its a tough job.

For right now, though, I will do my best to protect her innocence.  Because the best defense against bad is to know a whole lot of good.

Unfortunate

I make a fool of myself (without meaning to) on a regular basis...its just kind of who I am. I'd like to say its part of my charm, but really its just me having a lot of humiliating things happen that make other people laugh.

Yesterday I picked Gracie up from school and noticed bigger smiles than usual on her teacher's faces.  With a jaunty wave and a big smile myself, I whisked Gracie and her little book bag out of the classroom. I may have heard a giggle or two as the door closed behind us.

I don't usually check said book bag during the week, as most of the papers, clothes etc don't come until the weekend.  This morning I did. Thank the good lord.

Inside I found a little tied up plastic bag, the kind you usually received when your little angel has made a mess of his/hers clothes.  Inside this bag, however, was a pair of old, ratty underwear.  MY old, ratty underwear.

I can only imagine that they were somehow stuck to Gracie's sheets when I sent them (freshly washed) backed to school on Monday.  These are pre-baby, should have been thrown away years ago, only worn in desperate situations underwear.  Which now those responsible for shaping the young mind of my daughter have sent home in a plastic baggy.

Parke will be picking up Gracie this afternoon...and possibly every afternoon for the rest of the year. Cripes.

Pretty in Pink

Last weekend we painted our kitchen bright orange.  As anybody who has ever painted anything knows, it sounded like a good idea at the time.  Don't get me wrong...it's bright, but I love the color.  It was more the four coats versus one, 24 hours versus 4, tantruming out of control toddler, dog with an orange tail, husband shooting dirty looks that left something to be desired.

Not wanting to waste my "good" clothes (which are really a myth when you have a 20 month old), I threw on some old shorts and a bright pink tank top.  Later in the day I realized it was a pink tank-top I wore when I was in the hospital before Rip was born.

And because I was vaguely the color and consistency of an angel food cake after 6 weeks on hospital bed rest, I wore this bright pink tank-top and way too much blush to my last ultrasound before Rip was born.

I wore the same tank top in the weeks after my pregnancy, when life was almost all grey and a little hot pink was all I wanted.

When I got pregnant with Gracie, I wore my bright pink top in honor of the bright pink bundle I prayed and prayed for.

Maybe it was the paint fumes, but I started to think my shirt was a lot like my life.  Here it was, albeit stretched out, a little faded, but still basically the same shirt. Here I was, a little stretched out, a little faded but still the same me. The girl who wore that pink shirt to an ultrasound almost three years ago could not have imagined what she was about to go through. The years between there and here were hard at best. But that same girl with a (painted) sweet dog, (screaming, but perfect) baby girl, (might want to kill me) loving husband and a (VERY bright) bright orange kitchen could not have imagined what she would one day be lucky enough to have.

Rambling Thoughts, Mostly

Last week was our annual Hassold family beach week.  This year was so much fun for me because Gracie was old enough to play and run around, not to mention I had time to actually read a couple of books (Bossypants by Tina Fey-hilarious) while various brothers, parents, and sister helped out.  Poor Parke was struck by the stomach bug and kindly stayed away for the better part of the week but managed to make it back for some pool time with his adoring fan(s).

 My best girl

 Why we thought the boat needed such a prime spot in this pic, I don't know?

Da Da!!

Gracie and her Pop...or as Parke put it, the Oprah Winfrey of her life (she reallllly loves her Pop)

Two beautiful peeps and a tiny pink photo bomb

Not amused

Gracie recently discovered "dancing" (and yes, those quotation marks are there on purpose).  Girl never met a tune she didn't like.  I hope she never loses this trait.  Yes, Gracie, I hope you dance...

I have a lot of friends (and I know some of this is circumstantial with me, but not all of it) who have gone or are going through really hard times having their babies.  I was driving down the road thinking about this yesterday, thinking of all of these people I know who want their babies so bad.  And how these babies will probably never know how badly they were wanted.  How we wanted them so badly that our bones hurt with it.

But some day they might be driving down the road in the rain with Van Morrison on the radio and their own baby sitting in the back seat and then they might get a taste of how much they are loved.  Because loving someone so much ALL THE TIME? That is the stuff that makes you tear up at Pampers commercials and A Baby Story (no matter how many times you've seen them).

It just struck me that thirty years down the road all of these hopes and dreams who are (or will be) our babies who we have prayed for will be all grown up with hopes and dreams and babies or their own.  And that gave me comfort and also made me want to pull over and smother Gracie with five thousand kisses while she was still small enough to let me.

I warned you this was a rambler.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I realize that is one of the cheesier sayings on Planet Earth, but when it comes to being Gracie's mom that is as close to a description as I can get.

I remember holding a friend's baby when I was pregnant with Gracie, and of course this wasn't too long after Rip died.  I turned to my friend and asked, "can you believe that you get to keep her?"  My poor friend looked kind of shocked and said something to the affect of they were of course thrilled to have their baby.  It was one of those awkward moments as a baby loss mama where you know you've said the- not wrong thing- but not the thing that someone who hasn't lost a baby would have said.

I have no doubt that mama was just beside herself that she got to keep her baby, it just hadn't occurred to her that she wouldn't.

But sometimes when I hold Gracie I still get that rush of pure joy that she is MINE.  It's an attitude of gratitude.

I will be doing something like digging my shoes out of my closet and out of nowhere I will hear little feet running towards me and chubby little hands being thrown around my neck and WHOOSH there it is....sometimes I just can't believe my luck.  This little person gets to stay with me and I am so thankful.

I don't know if it will always be this way, if when she is thirteen and sassy or sixteen and (god forbid) acting trashy, I will feel so completely thankful.  I think so.  Its one more thing that knowing the alternative has given to me, as cheesy as it may be, an attitude of gratitude.