A Birthday

In the world of blogging, blogging mothers seem to always write a birthday tribute to their children on their blogs that is very sentimental and touching. I had no desire to do this this year. Even my journal entry on her birthday was very lack luster. Probably because I have spent the last 8 days preparing her the greatest little one-year old party I could ever think of (on a very small budget.) It was magical. I spent last Saturday at my mom’s house with just a vague idea of what I wanted to do floating around in my head; Ladybugs. So mom and I spent the day planning and practicing cakes. It took hours. There were parts that were not even fun anymore. They even, I think, stressed me out. That is, until I had a talk with myself. “Self,” says I, “This is a party. Parties are fun. If you are not having fun, and you spend this next week blowing your kid off because you’re trying to throw her a party, you are doing something wrong.” SO. I made a list of everything that needed to be done and when it needed to be done, and I stuck to it, and pretty much, I had an entire week of ladybugs and lots and lots of fun loving up the tiny party girl. Hopefully similar feats can be managed with later parties. Though I suppose there will be some of both: stress and no stress parties. I commented to a friend that I couldn’t believe how much time I had spent on these assorted lady bugs and she reminded me to think of what I would have been doing if I were still working and then I remembered, I am a mom. Just a mom now. And this is what I do, I celebrate life with my children. And celebrate we did.

Everything was ready by 6:00 when the guests started arriving. I handed Grace off to her willing aunt from Tennessee, and painted lots and lots of little faces (and my brother’s shaved head) while Paul barbecued hot dogs.

Then we ate the hot dogs with lots of salad and chips and drinks. Then, it was time for the piñata. The incredibly crafted and ingeniously engineered ladybug piñata. The design was mine, but Paul master-minded the bug's aviation. And that Ladybug sure did fly. We started with the littlest kids first and they all took swings until the biggest (Alex--age 13) punched—with his manly fist—the tar out of that bug and sent the candy and cookies and marshmallows flying (marshmallows and cookies had been wrapped in baggies days before.) The children, who had been standing in a PERFECTLY straight line behind the appointed blanket, eyes bulging with anticipation, squealed as they collected loot in everything from their shirts to their broken arm slings.

And on to presents. Grace never quite caught on to the unwrapping, but she had the playing down perfectly. And so did her cousins and friends.

Then came the cake. A four-plate, tiered, culinary feat. Gracie had a plate sized little lady bug cake complete with 3D chocolate feelers, and descending in tiered steps were three plates of 59 little lady bug cupcakes. Complete with their own coconut grass lawn; cake ball, pink-frosted, polka-dotted bodies; and of course, own little chocolate feelers.

Gracie enjoyed eating her cake one finger lick at a time, until her mom, at the suggestion of her aunt, shoved her entire hand into the ladybug’s back. Well, that was one too many party games for her and the wee girl cried because she wanted to. At which point she was wiped clean (another reason to cry) and then cuddled with her new toys as dusk fell. Like I said, we had a celebration.

And I must say thank you to everyone who came out to love my little lady, give gifts, and pitch in on food. Grandma and Papa, Blaine, Katie, Hailey, Jamie, Blake, Alli, Josh, Grandma and Grandpa, Rob, Tim, Kate, Scott, Chelsea, Addy, Crystal, Clark, October, Alfred, Jen, Karlene, Tanna, Trenton, Jim, Amy, Morgana, Sam, John-David, Julian, Tennyson, Amelia, Eleanor, Jen, Bismark, John, Lisa, Alex, Courtney, Zach, McKenna, and Jordan, Thank you. We love you.

And to you, my Little Love Bug, Happy Birthday. I love you with all of my heart.

Do Over

I made a dent in the project on Wednesday. The dent consisted mostly of saying my goodbyes to anyone who was left to say goodbye to, and then giving away what little of my enormous effort could be taken. I spent years in that room, thinking and creating and teaching, and on Wednesday, I began to put it away. On Thursday Paul and I went back to tackle the grunt work. I condensed 4 years of grinding, molding, and polishing into 5 file boxes and one poster box. The rest I gave away, left behind, or threw away. Some things couldn’t be given away and I think that was the hardest part. The really valuable stuff—the stuff that makes a difference—couldn’t be given away. Its acquisition is trapped somewhere in the universe of personal experience. Sure, some of it can be imitated, but the rest can only be seared in the soul through one’s personal effort. So I was left with this beautiful, painstakingly and lovingly created masterpiece—this teacher—and nowhere to put her. She’s to be thrown into the fire, melted and crafted into something else, and for a little while the thought of it hurt. I doubted about whether or not it was worth it to have worked so hard just to walk away. So for a second I searched frantically for somewhere to put that teacher, or some way to infuse everything that she was into someone else, but it was impossible. She’s simply got to be remolded. Sure, some parts of the new work will look familiar, maybe even identical, but I didn’t think about that. For a few minutes, I just let myself feel all the pain of leaving.

And then I went home—to grace.

And I was ready to start the next piece.

But for the record, you will be missed Professor Paula and Miss Jensen. Especially you Miss Jensen aka "The Bomb A." Thanks for infusing so much of you into me. Love, "The Bomb B"

And for the record, I did make normal faces at my students, just not very often.

Father's Day

Me and the Grace-face have a nasty cold but I woke up to tape little paper Gracie-handprints all over the house to tell Daddy everything that we love, love, love about him. There were 24 hands (which was not nearly enough to include all the reasons, but at 10:00 last night when I finally was able to sit down and finish them, it was enough for my brain and energy to create.) So at 7:00 this morning (which obscene around here in the summer) I taped little hand-y-love-notes all over the house with my eyes about to burst under an enormous balloon of increasing sinus pressure and went back to bed with a happy little smile (and two tablets of Aleve) about the treat Daddy would wake up to. Some time later, I made breakfast, and the decision to skip church after the Grace-face sneezed and two enormous strands of green fluid draped from her nose to her chin; I thought it best not to share such amazing feats with others. After Daddy found all the little handprints, we hugged and kissed him till I am sure that it is just a matter of time before he finds himself needing to be very careful when he sneezes too.

The rest of the morning was spent getting my very own Daddy’s present ready. It came in three parts. A box of ammo from Gracie. A big-ol’ box of clay pigeons from the Josh-man. And a clay-pigeon thrower assembled and mounted to a tire from the kids. We we’re as excited as the proverbial kids on Christmas to give our Daddy this loot. We even broke years of Bockholt family tradition this time and opened presents first, before dinner and cake and all that. Because you see, I probably have the best dad ever. He’s been faced with a mountain of hard things in his life and has come out on top, with a wife, kids, and grandbabies that love him to pieces and take pride in the fact that we share his best quirk: we start conversations in the middle of a long train of thought and leave everyone else in the room wondering where in the heck the comment came from.

So to all of our Daddies and Papas out there (Daddy Bockholt, Dad Herrick, Grandpa Riggs, Grandpa Harley, Grandpa Ron, Granddad, Gramps, and ALL the Brothers –Blaine, Blake, Rob, Tim, Scott, Christian, Mike, Matt and Brian) Happy Father’s Day. We love you. A lot.

And ESPECIALLY you, Paul.

Bug Quota

Tonight was a good night, if you disregard the part where Grace and I were pretty frustrated with each other. The part where she was bored out of her mind and I was trying very hard, without the help of a Daddy who was at work, to get us ready to go somewhere interesting. Because that part was pretty bad. She insisted on being held and I insisted on not holding her and she SCREAMED and SCREAMED and I was this close to joining her. But then I realized that with 27 years of life experience compared to her short 10 months, that me screaming would be wrong while her screaming was justified. Either way, it's hard to think rationally when so much screaming is to be had. Just saying.

BUT!!!!

We made it. We got out of the house with cheese and ham and juice and graham crackers and sweaters and sunblock and a baby WITH a cute bow dang-it and went to a great little concert in a beautiful little community garden (and I ACTUALLY used all the stuff that I brought which is great because you hate to think that you spent a bunch of time packing stuff while your kid was screaming that you didn't actually need anyway...)

And Grace loved watching the singer (who reminded me what I want to name the next tiny girl one day, by the way...) and then she enjoyed crawling around, and then she would have enjoyed eating the bark-chips that lined the flowerbeds, but I decided she had consumed enough bark-chips last Tuesday at Gramma's house and licked enough dirt off rocks last night in the garden that her clay-dirt-vitamin-mineral-germ-bacteria-iron-bug quota had been met this week. Plus people were watching---which is the real reason I made her stop.

And then we went to In-n-Out, bought a strawberry shake which we shared with Daddy at work while he watered plants, and then, because no one was watching this time, we let Gracie play in the water and I took a sopping wet, very happy baby home to take a bath. And when she cuddled me with her wet hair and towel draped body, I knew that in spite of its very loud beginning, the night was, well,

Perfect.

Collections

Last Friday was probably the best day ever, huh? Except that's not really fair, because then where do we rank our wedding day? Or Engagement? Or Grace's birth-day? Or that one day when we laughed really hard?

So I guess that means that life's favorite moments can't really be ranked can they?

Hmm. But do you think that maybe we could collect enough favorite memories that when it's time to go home, I mean HOME-home, that we could hold hands, and be REALLY sad, but happy at the same time, you know, because of the collection?

Me too.

But, Paul, it's gonna take me a super long, long, long, long, long time to make a collection big enough. So you can't leave me here early. I need you till the very, very end. And then I get to go first, okay?

Oh, Lover, do you really think we'll get to go Home at the same time? Cuz, that'd be great. But let's not talk about that any more. Let's just talk about that sweet little face, and how there will be a couple more to go along with it one day.

A collection of little faces to help create a collection of perfect memories. We have the best ideas.

A Day of Firsts

It was a day of firsts.

The first day I ditched work just to be with Grace.

The first day I vacuumed my car since the child came along.

The first day I baked cookies since the little one arrived.

The first day I made ALL of dinner, ALL alone since Grace.

The first day the little girl played with a pot and a wooden spoon on the kitchen floor while I cooked.

The first day I was slow. Really slow, and still happy all day long.

But it was NOT the first day that I wish I could have reruns of the rest of my life, because it was really that good. No, not the first of those. There have been many of those days since the tiny girl was mine.

All This Spare Time

Some of the ones I love most.

Teaching takes up a whole lot of time, but frankly, for the first time since I started teaching AT ALL whether it was in my major or in my career, I have time to do things BESIDES write lesson plans or panic because the lesson plans still aren't written.


It's glorious.


GLORIOUS.


So what do I do with all this ample spare time? Well the first thing I do is let you know that "ample" is a gross exaggeration, but let's think of the glass as half full. We'll say ample.


The other thing I do is love people.


I love Paul. We go on walks and talk about the future and our game plan and instill in each other the confidence necessary to move the mountains in front of us. And we admire, without ANY reservation, how dang cute our Lovey-girl is.



I love Grace. We go on walks too, and freeze our cheeks and look at the sky. Then we dance to some more Broadway tunes and she doesn't mind that my voice isn't quite as good as the one on the radio. But by golly, I sing my heart out for that kid. And we try more new foods. Like green beans. Grace has a low tolerance for green beans. The first 6 bites were good. Then she did this shuttery gag thing which I interpreted as meaning that she was done. In short. She liked them for 6 bites and then she hated them. And that seems like a normal way to handle a new food, even for a grown-up.



I love my mom. I call her. A lot. For like 12 minute intervals. And we talk about her and we talk about me and we talk about being moms and being teachers and being friends. And then we tell each other that we better go because it's time to go love someone else. 12 minutes seems to be the perfect amount of time. As long as there are TONS of 12 minute chunks.



I love my sisters. I call them, or visit. And we laugh. And we cry. And we talk about how to be better moms and better wives and why we love our children and our husbands. And we confess our mistakes and our fears and take solace in the fact that we aren't the only ones making those same mistakes or battling those same fears. We take care of each other. And that's really saying something because technically, my sisters are sisters-in-law with their very own "real" sisters but they claim me anyway and it means the world to me.



And I love my friends. My other sisters. The giants of women in my life. Who I will sit next to on rocking chairs one day, and we'll laugh, and we'll cry, and we'll remember, and we'll glory in the gift that we are to each other.



And somehow the lesson plans get done, too.



But only AFTER I flirt with Paul.


Shamelessly.

A Candid Look at the Last 20 Minutes

8:56 Grace was pretty mad a second ago. Not sure if that little lovey is going to sleep yet. I think she may be hungry still. That or her teeth hurt. Teething is the pits.

Tangent: So in spite of Wednesday night---you know the one where Paul found me in the fetal postion on an unmade bed with tears running down my cheeks and a baby yelling from her crib, you know, THAT Wednesday night, so inspite of THAT---Thursday night was perfect. The house was picked up, my classroom was put back together, I was a loving wife, a playful mom, Paul was home, and Grace slept all night. It was SO nice after Wednesday's fiasco.

8:57 She's still not sleeping. I think she wants more food. And maybe some Tylenol. It could be a long evening. Hang on.

9:04 I am back. She ate more and had some Ora-gel. She's still fussing. Sad face.

Tangent: I swear, when I put her down and she has her little fusses, my ears go on super-human decibel detection. I can hear the beginning of a fuss before she's even convinced herself that she wants to fuss. I am not sure what's wrong tonight (teeth?), but nights like this where I put her to bed multiple times are frustrating. And to be honest, I think her ears go on super human decibel detection too. And she picks up on EVERY sound that might indicate that SOMEONE SOMEWHERE is going to get her up.

9:05 Wait. Hold it. She stopped fussing.

9:06 This very moment I am pushing off hope that she is down for the night because---I have learned the hard way---Hope wakes her up too.

Tangent: She did however, love sweet potatoes, gnawing on celery sticks, and painting with apple sauce earlier this evening. I entertained us both by singing random Broadway Hits that played on Pandora. I think she likes it when I sing. That's the stuff that made tonight (Friday) perfect. That and how she smiles SUPER huge in the bathtub. And how there's nothing more precious than a tiny naked baby splashing in the tub. Really. There isn't.

9:08 It's getting harder to push off the hope that she is down for the night.

Tangent: It's not that I don't want her awake to play with, it's just that when she is supposed to go to bed and she doesn't, I know it's the beginning of a long night. And truthfully, some of those nights have some very wonderful memories attached to them (like a baby coping with her cold by licking her Mama's chin and her mama laughing so hard that tears fall) but really, the mama finds herself getting more and more desperate for sleep and the next day, it's the daddy who seems to hear the most about the lack of sleep. Ummm...Sorry about that Lover.

9:10 She's out. Let's see how long this lasts.

Tangent: Lately, I have become and expert at the art of being REALLY QUIET. So that the sleeping baby stays asleep. I swore I would raise babies who slept in spite of noise. I read all those books. Well. I lied. Some battles, at the end of the day, aren't worth fighting. Mainly because it's the end of the day. And I am WAY too tired. Plus, with Super Human Noise Hearing Girl just two walls away, I am bound to lose anyway.

So I am just quiet.

9:16 Good night Tiny Girl.

Not to the swift

Me and Him. June 2008

College for him has been rough.
Like a race that everyone said he had to run.
They said it was really important.
So he agreed to run.

But he only knew some of the rules.
And even the rules he knew, he didn't understand.
But he ran.
And, inevitably, he fell.
Because he still didn't know the rules.

He ran again.
And, again, he fell.
Because the rules still didn't make sense.
But all the coaches kept saying it was really important to run this race.
So off he ran.
Just to fall.
Again.


So instead of finishing that lap, he stumbled off to the bleachers to have himself a good think.
He thought about why he was running.
He thought about whether or not it really was as important as they all said it was.
He thought about the rules
The mental ones, and the social ones, and the emotional ones, and the physical ones.
The ones he kept breaking,
The ones that kept him falling.
And he thought and he thought and he thought.


And then he prayed.


And then he ran again.
And the rules were making more sense.
And he ran because HE knew it was an important race.
And he may have tripped a time or two more, but he was done falling.


And now he's got one more lap.
And he knows the track.
And he knows the rules.
And he knows his Coach.
And he knows his two greatest fans.
And he runs for them.
And for himself.


And in April,
He'll break that final ribbon.
And the victory will be sweet.
For all of us.


And know what?
He's signing up for the next race.
And me and her are going to watch him run
And cheer for him till our lungs break.