I Need a Pause Button

Spencer's dance recital is this weekend and all I can think about is how it feels like it was just yesterday that I wrote this post about her starting ballet lessons.  How has it time for her recital already?  How has  seven months passed by like it's at warp speed?  Where is the pause button, because I really need it?

I was thinking about this all day yesterday when I remembered something I'd written on here in the early days of this blog about my love/hate relationship with my DVR.  You can read the whole post here, but one of the snippets caught my eye:

And then other times I want to take my remote my control and press pause on life.  The really beautiful moments keep flying by, they never last long enough and I only get to experience it once. With a DVR, it's okay if you miss something because the phone rings- you can either rewind it and watch it again or you can press pause and it will stay frozen in time until you to return.  If you really loved something you watched, well, you can rewind and start it all over again.  There's no such thing as a lost moment with a DVR.  Why can't I do this with life?  Please, smart geniuses at MIT, invent one of these mechanisms for me. 

It seems as though those geniuses at MIT haven't really come through for me yet.  Maybe I should have made my request to Cal Tech?  I was doing my regular morning blogosphere perusal yesterday when I read this on one of my favorite blogs.  It just confirmed to me that I'm not the only one who can't believe how fast these years are flying by.  I would really love for a physicist to explain to me why in your childhood life seems to creep by inch by inch and then once you've reached that all important goal of being a "grown up," it starts to go faster than the blink of an eye.  It doesn't seem fair.  I guess I need to remind myself of this sometimes:

(print I recently bought)

Fair is Where You Get Cotton Candy.  Words to live by!

Two Weeks Notice

"If a tree falls in a forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?"  I think that best describes how I feel about blogging and my real life; if I blog something, it becomes reality, but if I don't, then I can delude myself into a lovely state of denial.  So here it is: my Spencer started preschool.

I've tried to start this post a hundred times and then I'd get all weepy and quickly abandon it.  Writing it all down meant that I was officially the mother of a three year old in preschool and I wasn't quite prepared for such a thing.  But now that we are two weeks into it, I'm now ready to say, "Hi, my name is Katie and I'm the mother of a three year in preschool."

I really wasn't expecting to feel so emotional about this, but as the first day of school approached, I felt increasingly more sad.  I mean, two days a week for three hours a day isn't exactly a lengthy separation, so why was I freaking out? There were never any doubt in my mind that Spencer would go to preschool this year- in fact, I'd started researching programs well over a year ago. I couldn't be happier with the school she's going to; I love their approach to learning, the staff, that it's strictly a preschool and not part of daycare system, and the actual building itself.  But I still felt/feel kinda heartsick.

I never really understood homeschooling your children.  Getting out and going to school provides them  a well balanced and rounded education and it gives moms a few hours to themselves to get some things done, maybe take a well deserved nap.  It probably didn't hurt that I loved going to school and would try and fake not having a temperature if I was sick so I wouldn't miss a day. (Crazy kid!)  So, naturally, I thought I would love Spencer going to school just as much as I loved going; wrong. I firmly believe one of the best gifts a parent can give to their child is a love of learning and a great education.  But in the back of mind, I'm starting to understand why some families decide to literally take on that challenge themselves.  For me, I'm jealous; I'm jealous, green with envy, of Spencer's teacher.  I want to watch her learn things and I want to see that look of excitement she gets on her face when she's learned something new.I feel like I'm missing out on something.

Even so, I'm very aware my own limitations and I know going to this preschool is what's best for Spencer.  And she loves it!  Every morning when she wakes up, she asks me "is this my school day?" And when I say yes, she always tells me "that's my favorite day!"  To which I jokingly respond, "what am I, chopped liver?" And with her most serious voice and you're-crazy-mom look, she tells me "No silly goose, you're Mommy."  It's our little morning routine.

Spencer has adjusted marvelously.  Actually, there was no adjustment for her, I walked her in on the first day and she went right into her room, sat down, and waved goodbye; no tears, no nothing.  It was as if she'd been doing this her whole life. I, on the other hand, had to fight back my tears until I made it to the car.  And then I went Sara's house so she could comfort me, haha! 

Without further ado, here are some of the pictures I took of Spencer on the first day of school.

 

 

How Does This Happen in Six Months?

The last time we were in The Middle of Nowhere, North Carolina was March of this year.  And, to me, she still looked like a toddler with a dash of little girl thrown in.  It was a little less than six months ago that I took these pictures of Spencer with Leah, the puppy.

Leah is now officially a dog, not a puppy, although she looks exactly the same, and Spencer is, well, see for yourself:

I can't get over how much she's changed since March! How does that happen?  I think she looks like such a grown up little girl now and that makes me want to cry.  Maybe it's because she's starting preschool in less than two weeks, but I'm feeling all kinds of sad and nostalgic about how quickly she's changing right before my very eyes.  About the only thing that hasn't changed is how much Spencer loves Leah. The other night she yelled to me from the bathroom that she needed me and I went in there, and there's Leah on her leash and Spencer on the toilet.  Yep, she even brings the dog to go to the bathroom with her.  Last night she woke me up when she started sleep talking and sleep laughing about something she was dreaming.  It was a little incoherent, but there was no mistaking that she was dreaming about an entire hilarious scenario involving her and Leah. Yep, she even dreams about the dog!

The Wonder Years

I'm in the midst of a whirlwind of busy that resembles something out of The Wonder Years.  Last night was my brother's graduation party and it was all kinds of make-me-feel-so-old.  He and a few of his volleyball friends had a joint pool party and the place was teeming with teenagers all about to embark on the best four years of their lives.  You could actually smell their excitement.  Because they rented a pool, the party didn't start until 8:30pm, which in the world of Spencer, is pretty late.  Add playing in the pool and two chocolate cupcakes into the mix, and you have the perfect formula for the longest night of my life.

Tomorrow is my mom's birthday and then Wednesday my baby bro actually graduates from high school at 10am in the morning, followed by a family celebratory lunch.  I get tired just reading that sentence.  So that's where I am right now...  I'm trying to be on my best behavior, but if I hear 525,600 Minutes, one more time, I just might scream.

My Sky Was in Love

Yesterday was my Papa's birthday and my mom, Spencer, and I went to his grave to put flowers on it and sing happy birthday.  He is buried, alongside of my Mema, in the military section of the cemetery, as he was a Decorated Seaman who served in the Navy during WWII.  Since his birthday is so close to Memorial Day, his flowers always have a patriotic theme and we add a little American flag- that's what my Mema always did for him and so we continue to do it in her place. I took out the older flowers that were already there and put them on a grave with an empty vase.  That was what my Mema always did- she hated to see someone's resting place without any flowers as if they were just forgotten.  Carrying on these little traditions that are relatively small in the big scheme of their lives, somehow makes me feel the closest to them.  It's the little, probably inconsequential, things that I think they wouldn't want me to forget.

On the drive home Spencer kept singing Happy Birthday to Papa and I joined along with her.  A storm was coming in and the clouds started rolling quickly in the sky. That's when I saw it: my sky was in love.
 

 It started off small and a little undefined, but I knew in my bones what it was going to be since I'd seen one once before- and I was right

 It started to take it's shape, growing a little, but never getting very big.

.  

And then the sky started to lighten up and my little cloud of love started to roll away just as quickly as it came in.  And I knew, I really really knew, that it was my Mema and Papa saying to me Thank you for remembering. We love you.

Bullet Point Monday

I have a lot going on today, so I have to bring back the bullet points.  For some reason it's a lot easier (and quicker) to write out my thoughts this way rather than in real sentence/paragraph form- even though my bullet points are always complete sentences and usually become a mini paragraph unto themselves.  Go figure.  So here it goes!

• I have a test tonight in Sociology.  I'm not too concerned, but I missed class last week because I was sick and I never like to take a test when I've missed the preceding class.  But since our notes are on Blackboard I have no excuse for not taking the test or doing well on it.
• Yesterday my aunt took Spencer and I to Ruby Tuesdays for lunch since my parents were out of town with my brother.  Because we had on red (for Valentine's Day) we each got a $5 off coupon for the next time we eat there!
• I made Spencer brownies from scratch in the shape of hearts for the yesterday.  They turned out quite delicious, but now all she can talk about is wanting to eat chocolate cake.  Ex. Me:  Holiday of Love Spencer, what would you like for breakfast?  Her:  Chocolate cake. This afternoon- Me:  I'm making macaroni and cheese for lunch.  Her:  No.  I want chocolate cake!  Me:  After you eat your lunch.  Her:  No No No No No!!  Chocolate cake then cheese!  Pweese! 
• I can't get enough of the Olympics and especially Apolo Ohno!  I cry every during ever single montage.  I could not control the water works when Alex Bilodeau won Canada's first ever gold medal at a home Olympics.  And it got worse when he said he did it for his brother, who has cerebral palsy and can hardly walk.  He talked about what an inspiration his big brother was to him and how he never complains about his lot in life  Then it turned into a full on, I need a tissue type of crying, when they panned onto the crowd and you see his brother standing at the finish line crying cheering like crazy, just as Alex runs up to him and they hug.  Seriously, if you didn't watch it last night, you can read about it here. But grab a tissue because it's a tear jerker!
• I got the best comment from my bloggy friend Sarah the other night and it made my day.  It was regarding my new Olympic Crush, Apolo (We're on a first name basis).  She wrote "I hope he reads your blog and takes you out for dinner :)"  Awww!   
• And now for your enjoyment and amusement- a picture of me, circa 1990, at my ice skating recital- where I had a teeny tiny solo moment, which seemed HUGE to my 8 year old self.  (Don't laugh too much!)

Some Things Never Change, Like Pink Ink

One of Spencer's favorite things to do is plunder through things that she shouldn't.  The other day she found a box of my old journals and dumped them all on the floor.  I rarely go back and reread the things I wrote when I was in high school and college- more like never- or else I start feeling haunted by my future.  But as I was putting them away, I flipped through a few pages of one from my sophomore year of high school and I saw a list of my New Year's Resolutions, circa 1998.

And oddly enough, not much has changed.  I was even kinda impressed with the resolutions of my 16 year old self.  Although, I definitely did not need to lose 15 llbs.

These are still the same things I'm trying to do now, 12 years later. (How scary is that?! I was 16 twelve years ago!)  Of course I now write out the word love, instead of a heart, but I'm still writing in the same pink ink with the same Pilot Precise Rollerball pen. But it was nice to be reminded again that the old young Katie and the new old Katie are not so different.  And that's a good thing.

The Last Wednesday

Spencer and I went over to Sara's house for our last Wednesday play date before her new little man graces us with his presence. It was also out last play date at the house where she's lived since before getting married. To mark the day we made sugar cookies like we used to do and ordered our favorite pizza, a luxury we haven't afforded ourselves since having the kiddos. Even though we tried to make it memorable, it was hard to be nostalgic and reminisce since there's a one year old and a two year old running around, but now that we're back home it's starting to sink in.

They are only moving a few blocks away from their old house, so it's not that she's going too far away or anything- it's just all the memories that I have there. It was my home away from home for so long. When I graduated college and moved back in with my parents I would spend many nights there as an "escape" from feeling like I was still in high school. After I moved into my apartment during law school, I would go there to "escape" from the tedious life of a 1L. When I had to move back home because of my very unplanned pregnancy with Spencer, I spent many nights crying on her sofa snuggled up with her dogs. It was actually in her upstairs bathroom that she informed me my pregnancy test was indeed positive. After Spencer was born, her house was my place of refuge, I could go there and just be Katie instead of Katie, unwed single mother.

Good things always happened to me there. I'm not a lucky person, I never have been. I don't win contests, my slot machines never pour out the big bucks, and if a bird is flying above me and 100 other people- he'll poop on my head. But something about her house was lucky for me. I'm sure if I lived there I might feel differently, glad to get into a bigger house that has a kitchen large enough for a table and a hot water heater that doesn't go cold after 5 minutes. But that house has been the one constant thing in my life since graduating. When everything was in question and my world was spinning, I could always go there and feel at ease, just comforted by being there.

Next week when her new little boy enters this world, the final move will take place while she's still in the hospital. Most of their things are already there, but the "life blood" of their home is still at their old house. The new home is wonderful, beautiful, and spacious while the old one is small(er), crowded, and aging. But it was their starting off place, where they got engaged and where they started their real life together. It was where I started my real life, too. I'm excited to go to the new abode for our first Wednesday with three children instead of two, but I do feel like a huge chapter in our lives is closing. It's a grown up house and I still have a hard time seeing us as real adults. I often feel like I'm just playing a part in a play and any day now the curtain will close and I'll be an immature teenager again. Is that crazy? Am I the only one who feels that way?

I'm sure it's painfully obvious to anyone reading this that I have a difficult time accepting change. It's why I've let bad, bad relationships go on too, too long, why I have nightmares when even entertaining the thought of a new hair style, why I resisted getting a DVD player for years after they became standard fare (I had over 200 VHS tapes! I didn't want to start an entire new collection), why I keep my size 4 pants in the bottom of my drawer (because of course I'm going to fit into them one day), and why I insist on blowing out the number of candles of the age I'm turning on my birthday (I can still blow them all out, even with 27!). And as I get older I'm realizing that things are changing more often and much more quickly than I'm wanting it. I guess that's just a part of growing up and being a real adult.

But I'm a fake grown up, remember?

It Started Off Like Any Other Day

I was walking to an early morning class and I was a jumble of nerves. The night before had been my boyfriend's 21st birthday. I was only 19 so I didn't want to be a drag on the festivities of the evening, since I knew the plan was a crawl through town. In my mind this was a huge sacrifice on my part, but in reality I had an early class the next day, had celebrated with him over the weekend, and was in the middle of sorority rush (before I was a Kappa). But I had this sick feeling in my stomach that bad was going to happen and I was so worried. He hadn't called me, like he promised he would, when he was safely home and I just knew this meant that he was either in bed with someone else or in the hospital.
 (What can say, I was a drama queen).

All these thoughts are racing through my mind and spilling out of my mouth, as I told my best male friend as we walked together. He said all the right things, but I could tell he was thinking I was acting nutsy. We walked into Morton and it was eerily quiet, we looked at the clock and it was a few minutes before 9am. As we got to our classroom I saw the tv turned on, there were students gathered around it. No one said anything, tears glistening in their eyes. Neither of us still had any idea what was going on, we saw the first tower on fire with a hole in the side, but the reality had yet to sink in.
And then we saw something else, it was like a horror movie where you're helpless to do anything but watch. The second plane zoomed into sight, obviously headed in the direction of the World Trade Center, and then it disappeared into the other tower, as though it had been swallowed whole. A ripple of cries, screams, and gasps went through the room and then the building.

Everything I had been worried about before left my mind, I was now convinced that this was the End of Days and the end of the world. No one on the news was able to give an explanation other then America was under attack. A few minutes later we learned that a plane had crashed into the Pentagon, which was only 90 minutes from Richmond. The next speculation we heard was that "they" were moving down the East Coast, and that the FED in Richmond was being evacuated, as the possible next target. Our cell phones wouldn't work and the Internet had crashed. I felt so helpless. But it got worse when they speculated that the next hit might be the nuclear power plant, which is in the Williamsburg zone or Camp Peary, in Williamsburg, which is a CIA training ground.
I felt trapped. Against the advice of my friends, I hopped into my car and drove home. No matter what happened, I wanted to be with my family. I was only a sophomore and we weren't allowed to have cars yet, I just happened to have mine because of rush. The roads were empty. I saw only a handful of cars on the hour drive to my house.

And we watched the news, listened to the stories, and then came the realization-the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. It's easier to forget that day, to pretend that it didn't change the course of American history forever. It's not a day I like to think about, but I feel a responsibility to remind myself of it every September 11th. For those of us who were lucky enough to not loose anyone we love, I think the anniversary can become an abstract day of remembrance and ultimately "just another day." But for so many, it's when lost their life as they knew it- something impossible to forget because it's defined their every day since then. And it's for them that I choose to remember.

The Day Before the First Day of School

To me, Labor Day has always meant the last day of summer vacation, the day before school starts, and the beginning of fall. I guess this technically changed when I started college, but I didn't really notice or pay attention to it because we still had classes on that day. It wasn't until my first post-graduation Labor Day that I felt sad- it no longer represented what it once did.

I know a lot of states start school sometime during August, but in Virginia, when I was of the "school aged," we had something known as the Kings Dominion Law. It mandated that public schools were not allowed to start the year before Labor Day- in large part because of the tourism industry.
I've always loved going back to school, school supply shopping, and getting my new school year wardrobe. It was something I was so ready for by the beginning of every August. There was never any dread about starting school again, just the anticipation of all the great things I imagined would happen that year. I could never sleep the night before, even more so than on Christmas Eve. (Isn't that crazy?) My dad took me to breakfast every year on the first day, even in high school when we had to get up at 5am because my ride was picking me up at 6:30. (Yes, I was too cool for the bus by the 9th grade).

I guess I'm one of the lucky ones who have nothing but glorious memories of my formal schooling years. I guess I'm doubly lucky that I have nothing but the same memories of college, too! But that's beside the point. Erma Bombeck once said "There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child." And how true is that? I've spent every year since I stopped believing in Santa Claus trying to recreate that magic- the magic I once felt. But I also think there's something very sad about waking up on Labor Day and knowing that you aren't going to have your first day of school tomorrow. That those years have passed, this is now an ordinary day, and tomorrow the school supplies will all go on sale.

I'm sure when Spencer starts kindergarten the same feelings will return, but I can't think about that now because it makes me teary. I know people always say that some of the Christmas magic returns when your children start believing in Santa, so I'm hoping the same thing applies to this craziness I feel about the first day of school! Sometimes I can't believe that era of my life is over- it will never happen again- it just doesn't make sense to me. When I was growing up I always remember adults telling me to enjoy my youth because it goes by too fast. I used to think they were nuts, because I was enjoying my youth! And now I think that might have been really bad advice, because I loved my youth so much that it's really, impossibly hard for me to let go of.


I've always thought it's unfair that we're young for such a short period of time and then old for the rest of our lives. Now that I'm getting older my definition of old is of course changing a bit, haha, but the day is going to come when there will be no about it- I'll be old. (The Lord willing.) And it's days like today that remind me of how fleeting this whole thing is. One of the Bible verses that's always haunted me is James 14:4 - You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. And there's nothing I can control about that.

Today is my bestie's birthday and we celebrated as we have done every year, reminiscing about old times and the good old days while wondering about our futures. A song came on the radio from that time, reminding us of our youth, and suddenly the memories came flooding back of the angsty days gone by. And I was happy. As much as I loved my youth, I'm looking forward to what's still to come. There are still the feelings of butterflies and anticipation about the tomorrows in my life. I'm so lucky that I have such wonderful memories but I'm even more thankful for all the ones I still have to make.

Happy Birthday Sara!

High School

College

And Beyond!

Show Us Your Life - School Pictures

This week's topic on Show Us Your Life is all about your school pictures. I'm not sure if this means first day of school pictures, yearly pictures, or just plain old embarrassing pictures from the "ugly years." In the spirit of openness, sharing, and some loud laughs at my expense, I'm posting a wide variety :)

Just to warn you, give you a heads up, I started off cute. Some (me) might say adorable. Then came the ugly years. Or as my family calls it, "the awkward times." I rebounded okay, I guess, but those years were difficult. Well, difficult might be the understatement of the year, they were torture! I'm glad I can laugh about them now, because back then, to me, it was NOT funny.

I know this isn't a school picture, but it will help you appreciate the later years more!

What a cute kid I was! This was after the first day of school in kindergarten.




3rd Grade, I was 9 years old. This was the last "semi cute" picture I would take until I was 14. That's 5 years of bad pictures!

I can't believe I'm putting this out there for the world to see. 3rd Grade talent show.

My 5th grade picture. I got the dreaded glasses, sigh. Not so cute, haha

This was in the 5th grade, too, these were taken on Valentine's Day. Just in case you wondering why I'm in ALL red.




You know you wanted a close up of this "classic picture!" haha

7th Grade. It's a little improvement, but not much.

This is probably the picture that shows the biggest jump- this was at the end of 8th grade, one year after the picture right above. I was 14.

++++

These were before my Senior year, I'm not 100% sure where exactly, but I think I'm 16 and 17, respectively. But I could be wrong.




Senior year, at our last game. I'm third from the right.




High School Graduation



My 20th birthday




Last day of my Junior year of college- 21 years old

College Graduation

Me now. 27 years young!

**More Show You How I Live Posts**

My Baby Shower
Favorite Vacation Spot
I Have a Child. The Jig is Up.
Here Comes the Maid Of Honor