Wordless Wednesday: Little Buzz Lightyear

(Belated) 1st Birthday on the Farm

Invitation designed by B.Nute productions.

In less than two months (CONTROL PANIC ATTACK), my son will turn two years old. I fully believe that time goes by faster with each passing year of your child's life, because I swear we are still putting away party supplies from his first birthday party--seriously…I think there are extra treat bags still next to my bed. 

So, since it has only been a few weeks since his party in my head (but 10 months in reality) I’d love to share the details of his John Deere tractor/farm  party, held at my parent’s home in the country which is surrounded by grapevines and was the perfect locale for an “on the farm” theme.

Guests were greeted by my dad’s actual John Deere 4040 tractor--this is no prop. ;) 

This was the one idea from Pinterest that my so-not-crafty self was able to execute with relative ease. The 3D cardboard letters were purchased at Jo-Ann Fabric and Craft Store and spray painted matte white, then strung with a bouquet of balloons. My amazingly talented friend Natosha Cooke of One Cute Cookie handmade a lot of the party décor to incorporate our theme, including tractor-shaped balloon charms.

For simple and easy centerpieces, I made small arrangements in 16-ounce Mason jars. I wanted the jars that were stamped with “Mason” without much other design or wording and was able to order them from a candle supply company. The 8-ounce jars held colorful fruit candies, which we refilled, lidded, and sent home with the adults as favors.

The food and beverage lables, treat bag tags, invitations and cupcake toppers were designed by B.Nute productions.

I strung the 12 pictures I’d taken of Mason every month since he was born from a green and yellow ribbon with clothespins.

We used the back of my dad’s John Deere Gator as a beverage station, which included old fashioned glass bottled sodas and organic juice boxes for the kids.

 

“Mason’s Vegetable Garden” offered snap peas, carrots, tomatoes and broccoli florets.

We took advantage of all the gorgeous fresh fruit the Central Valley has to offer to make a colorful in-season display, complete with raisins grown at my dad’s farm.

A friend of my mom’s loaned us her vintage John Deere toys to continue the theme on the food table. 

The cupcakes, tractor cake, and smash cake were made by my favorite local bakery, Frosted Cakery. Their work is absolutely phenomenal in both design and flavor. I can’t say enough good things about them, and they may know me by name when I go in to the shop. :) The cake pops were chocolate fudge and the cupcakes were a variety of chocolate, vanilla with confetti, and “green” velvet.

I have a serious sweet tooth, so planning the cake and other treats with Megan at Frosted Cakery  was my favorite part of the party. She took main elements that I knew I wanted and created a fun and very personal custom designed cake, right down to the grapevines and our family farm’s logo hanging on the fence. It was a vanilla bean cake with fresh raspberry filling.

The "Mason" banner and "Farmer Mason" onesie was created by Natosha at One Cute Cookie on Etsy (or visit OCC on Facebook), Mason's John Deere booties were ordered online from Langston's Western Wear, and the custom birthday hat was made by the seller 10candles on Etsy.  Green and yellow tractor-shaped crayons were included in the treat bags, and were also ordered from Etsy.

Our family wore matching shirts embroidered with the family farm’s logo, made by a local screenprinting and embroidery shop.

We offered pony rides for the kids...most of them enjoyed it much more than Mason did.

I’m so pleased with how the party came together, thanks to the help of many talented vendors and friends. Now to get the creative juices flowing for his next birthday…

31.

Turning 30  last year was hard. I ritualistically counted my gray hairs and lamented over not being a twentysomething anymore. Bye bye, youth.

This past weekend I turned 31. While it was not nearly as painful as last year’s milestone, I still don’t know how I’m 31 and the momma of a spunky and spirited little boy who is almost TWO!

How can it be that it’s been nearly three decades since I looked like this?

I’m willing to bet I wouldn’t look quite as adorable in pigtails and a bonnet these days.

But no regrets. I wouldn’t give up the privilege of being here on earth another year to blow out the candles and celebrate my life with the amazing people in it. Not everyone has the opportunity to grow older, take advantage of exciting new opportunities, laugh and cry and laugh some more with good friends, and watch their babies turn into little people right before their eyes.

I’m 31. And I’m thankful.

Wordless Wednesday: Good Morning, Mickey

My girls.

I have a group of friends that I didn’t meet the old fashioned way. We’re not classmates, or neighbors, or coworkers, or sorority sisters, and if you had told me four years ago that some of my dearest friends would be people who are scattered all across the United States, I would have said you were crazy. Nevertheless, I truly can't imagine my life without them in it. Our bond to each other is unique, and the way we came to know one another is somewhat unconventional.

Back in 2008, I was in my mid-twenties and had been married to my husband for two years. We both worked full time, had a comfortable home, and had lots of fun as a dual-income, no kids couple traveling and entertaining. We loved our life and decided it was time to start trying for a baby that summer…which meant I’d be pregnant within a few months (at least in my mind).

Well, I did get pregnant that fall. And then again a few months later. Both pregnancies ended in miscarriages, the second one on Christmas. I was heartbroken. My husband and friends tried to support me the best they could—and they were wonderful—but I felt a deep need to connect with people who understood exactly what I was going through. That’s what led me to a popular online pregnancy and parenting forum. I spent lots of time on the website’s message board that is specifically tailored to women who’ve experienced pregnancy loss. I was especially grateful to have these women to lean on when, after my miscarriages, we were faced with over a year of infertility which lead to many invasive tests and procedures. There's nothing like feeling all alone in the path you are walking, and then to suddenly find someone who can say, "You had a loss? Me too."


We met during the darkest time of our lives—while in the process of, or shortly after, having miscarriages. We use the word “met” loosely because many of us have never actually met in person. We are a diverse group of women from all across the country, each with our own story of grief. Our experiences are varied and include multiple miscarriages, infertility, second trimester miscarriage, postpartum depression/anxiety, premature labor and births, costly infertility testing and procedures, and years of trying to conceive. Through it all, we’ve been there for one another, filling the roles of cheerleader, mentor, savior, therapist, and best friend in ways that people in our everyday lives could not.

The support system we built carried us through on days when we just wanted to give up and let the darkness take over, and because of that very real and constant love, we don’t consider ourselves to be “Internet friends” or an “online support group.” After thousands of text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts, e-mails, and chat conversations, we no longer know each other merely by screen names or avatar pictures. We are friends, plain and simple. The fact that some of us have never had the opportunity to actually meet in person doesn’t change that fact. The women I have been blessed to meet are just as amazing in person, and our connection transitioned seamlessly from online to “real life.”

Along with all of the heartbreak and tears has come an immeasurable amount of joy, because there is a silver lining to our collective story. We now hold in our arms or wombs beautiful, healthy babies—true miracles in more than one sense of the word. Among our children are babies who were born 15 weeks early but are now thriving. There are babies who were conceived naturally, in spite of a devastating infertility diagnosis. There are twin girls born after three years of waiting and wishing through the miracle of IVF. These are children who are the result of countless hopes, prayers and tears, and the fact that we have been through all the joy and pain together has made our victories that much more sweet.

Although much of the pain we experienced has been healed, our hearts are not without scars. Every October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day (please visit this website for more information: http://www.october15th.com/). Raising awareness about miscarriage and infant loss and helping women cope with the many fears that come along with having experienced this kind of physical and emotional trauma has become very important to me. It is still such a taboo topic and women should know that they are not alone. There are places to talk about their loss, whether it is online or in person.

Some people in my everyday life have difficulty understanding why I still  have contact with this group of friends now, years after my miscarriages--perhaps because meeting people online is still largely stigmatized. I tend to think that it’s not much different than joining a local mother’s playgroup or signing up for a dating service like match.com. It’s just a high-tech way of connecting with like-minded people. I used to be embarrassed about these friendships because other people perceived them as weird, silly or not real. I now know none of that is true, and I have nothing to be ashamed of. I speak to a few whom I am especially close to every day and we plan family vacations together multiple times a year. There’s nothing sweeter than watching our babies (children we weren’t sure we’d ever be able to have) grow up together.  

I consider myself blessed to have a nationwide network of friends—from Alaska, to California, to Arizona, to Texas, to Florida, to New Jersey and beyond—to catch me when I fall or share in my joy, no matter what kind of goodness or sorrow comes into my life. They're "my girls."  My struggles on the the road to starting a family changed my heart and mind, and not in a way I'd ever take back. Knowing these women--crying for them, laughing with them, and cheering them on--forever changed my life's path in a way I'm nothing but grateful for. Because of knowing them (and their husbands and babies) I have become infinitely more open-minded, compassionate, informed, and—in a word?

Happy.

Wordless Wednesday: Raising a Future Disneyphile

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Wordless Wednesday: King of the Castle

Wordless Wednesday: My "Russell"

Things I said I'd never do

I had one of those moments today—the kind I swore I’d never have before I had kids and that used to invoke judgey thoughts about the mother whose kids were running amok.

I was on the way home from work, having just picked up The Boy at daycare. Typical after work routine is as follows: drive to daycare provider’s home, collect child, drive the four minutes home while multitasking, AKA HeyTelling friends, arrive home, remove work clothes and put on lounging garb, park booty on couch to nurse child and peruse social media sites.

The moment I drove by Walgreens I remembered I still hadn’t gotten DH a birthday card (um yeah, it’s today…happy birthday, babe). I fought the urge to keep driving, in spite of my fleece pajama pants beckoning me at home, and pulled into the lot.

“It’ll be super easy,” I told myself. In and out. No stroller, no cart, no Ergo needed. With The Boy on my hip I made a beeline for the card aisle as fast as my work-height heels could carry me.

So, I’m the kind of person who could spend 45 minutes looking for that perfect greeting card. I search, compare, hymn and haw. I scanned the categories looking for what I needed— “Husband Birthday” and “Birthday from Son.” I was picking up cards, reading for appropriateness, putting them back, and picking them up again, all the while carrying an oversized purse and a toddler who was becoming increasingly squirmy. And HEAVY. I decided to put him down—you know, just for a second—to rest my arm. The moment those little size 5 Stride Rites hit the ground I knew I’d made a grave error.

Within three seconds my son had two fists full of cards and envelopes and was ready to eat them for dinner. I dropped my purse and snatched the cards out of his hands (thankfully unscathed) to put them back. And of course, as I did that, he seized the opportunity to make a mad dash down the aisle. Living up to his title of “toddler,” he ran a few unsteady paces, stumbled, and did a belly flop onto the floor like a drunkard. I think he even slid a few inches on the slick floor.

Mind you, I was raised by a mother whose favorite words were “DON’T TOUCH!” I was never allowed to ride in a grocery store cart (some germophobe just like my mom probably invented the shopping cart cover) and she carried her own illness-free booster seat into restaurants for me to use. I was never to dream of touching a hand railing on a mall escalator (unless I was falling to my death…and even that was iffy) and riding on one of those grocery store carousels was out of the question. I was raised to believe public = dirty.

I scooped my kid up off the floor and he pulled the trademark back-arching, limp noodle move that I swear kids take some seminar to perfect, making it next to impossible to lift him. At that moment I caught a glimpse of us in that huge mirror that runs the length of the drugstore and realized that, oh dear GOD, I was one of those mothers whose child is throwing a tantrum all over the floor of a public place. And not only was my child on the floor, but so was I, and so was my Coach purse, its contents, and a dozen greeting cards. After all my smug years of shooting the side-eye to such spectacles, I was THAT woman.

I couldn’t help myself—I burst out laughing at myself and the ridiculously hilarious irony of the sight. I was still chuckling to myself as I thought about another thing I could never understand before: parents putting their child on a leash.

But hey, at least they look like backpacks/cute little stuffed animals nowadays, right?

…RIGHT?

Wordless Wednesday: Pumpkin Patch

Wordless Wednesday: Go 'Dogs!

One year later

It's been one year. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. And yet some days I am still in awe of the thought that I am somebody's mama.

I remember that last summer I felt like I knew what was ahead. I knew that Mason would be mine and that I would love him. I was as prepared as a person can be when their life is on the verge of irreversible change.

But while we think in generalities, we live in detail. At this time one year ago, I was well into what would be a 42-hour labor...some of the most physically and emotionally trying hours of my life thus far. Finally, after countless twists and turns and broken dreams and tears and prayers, I heard my son's cries for the first time, and I couldn't help but laugh with joy and relief. He was here.

And he was perfect.

And I realized today that it's really too bad that Savage Garden song is so corny, because those are some damn good lyrics.

I knew I loved you before I met you

I think I dreamed you into life

I knew I loved you before I met you

I have been waiting all my life

There's just no rhyme or reason

only this sense of completion

and in your eyes

I see the missing pieces I'm searching for

I think I found my way home

Happy 1st birthday to my sweet boy. You were worth everything, and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

Wordless Wednesday: The Nursery

I’m kind of an imposter.

Shortly after M was born, I knew I was going to have about 6 months maternity leave to be home with him, so I decided I should build myself a support system of other moms in the area. As much as I love my “online friends,” I don’t have many friends IRL that have kids, and the ones that do live almost an hour away.
I joined a local meet up group for moms via Meetup.com. I paid the small fee and wrote the obligatory introductory paragraph about myself and how I couldn’t wait to meet everyone.

Except I never did.

Every time I’d look at the event calendar, I think, “Ohhh, that’s not a good place to take a newborn to” or “Oh, that’s reeeally early in the morning” or some other lame excuse I concocted in my head. Some of my reasons were legit, but more times than not, I was just too intimidated to go. I eventually gave up and dropped out when it became clear I was never going to go to anything before returning to work.

See, I’m not the typical mommy you see at the park. I’ve hung on to some (OK, maybe quite a bit) of the cynicism that pregnancy loss and infertility engraved on my heart. I swore I’d never be one of those annoying moms I loathed that had nothing better to do than talk about their kid’s bowel movements and see little Junior’s annoying antics as “so cute!!”

Now that I’m on the other side, I get it. I get why moms think THEIR kid is THE cutest, and why some people have the urge to put every new milestone on blast via every possible social networking medium. There’s something amazing and hilarious and interesting and totally awe-inspiring about raising a child that makes you want to shout from the rooftops…especially when your road to parenthood was not exactly paved with sunshine.

Having said that, I like to think I’m still at least a little bit of the same person I was before I had a baby. I still don’t think ALL kids are cute. I get annoyed by people who let their children treat a restaurant like a playground. I know that not everyone cares that my baby is [this.close] to walking or talking or doing long division or whatever.

And on top of all that, I’m a working mom. (Gasp, I know.) So no, I don’t spend all day/everyday with my child, even though most days I really want to.

A couple weeks ago, my work went to a summer schedule where everyone works four 10-hour days in exchange for Fridays off. I made a decision that I really want to make these Fridays fabulous. I don’t want them to feel like just another vacation day or holiday, where I sleep in and scuffle around the house all day in my pajamas with my hair looking like a rat has taken up residency in it. I want to get up early (but not too early) and enjoy a lovely cup of coffee in my own kitchen (instead of in my car on the mad dash to work) while M eats breakfast that I made from scratch. I want to get out in the sunshine and take M to the park, or the zoo, or the bookstore, or to lunch with a friend--and all on A WEEKDAY MORNING, OMG OMG. I want to live the life of a SAHM.

Anyway, that play group I mentioned. I joined it again. I figured that M is older now, and more mobile and social and portable. And I know it would probably be good for me to finally have a few “mom friends,” even though that term makes my gag reflex twitch a little.

So last Friday I got us out the door and to a splash park to meet some new people. After a few (OK, several) minutes of wandering around the crowded park trying to remember what some of the women and/or their kids from this effin playgroup look like, someone came up to me and said, “Are you Courtney? I’m Kerrie! And is this M?? He’s adorable! We’re so happy you’re here!”

So I’m thinking:
A. Woah, this chick did her homework.
B. What was I thinking coming here?
C. I’m so not cut out for this.

But I said:“Thank you! We’re so excited to be here. And how old is your little one?” Smile. Nod. Smile.

Here we are at the park. I'm doing the awkward "I don't know anyone so I'll just sit here and eavesdrop on your convo" thing and M is obviously thinking how he'd rather nurse than splash around in some lame ass fountains.

As the morning went on, I met probably 10 other moms whose names I forgot five seconds after they told me, and twice as many kids. Just as I’m starting to feel comfortable, one mom says how she almost didn’t come.

“You know how it is…the house is a mess; the kids won’t pick up their toys. I told Hudson that if he didn’t clean up, we were NOT going to the splash park. Well he didn’t do it but then MOMMY just NEEDED to get out of the house by then. My husband says I need to follow through when I tell the boys something like that, but he doesn’t know how it is!! HE’S not home with them all day! He gets to go to work all day and talk to adults and check his email and go out to LUNCH for crying out loud. He doesn’t GET IT.”

All the moms nodded their heads in agreement. Except me…I pretended to rummage in the diaper bag for sunscreen.

Then later, a mom was explaining how they moved to the area from an expensive metropolitan city so she could stay home with the kids because “that’s what is most important” and “they’re only little once.”

That’s when I realized that I was a total poser. I was like that girl who calls a friend on three-way just to see what they’d say about her when they didn’t know she was on the line. After all, I was at the park with my son at 11:00 in the morning on a Friday. Everyone assumed I was a SAHM. It’s not that it never occurred to me that there probably wouldn’t be any other working moms in the group. I figured there’d be one teacher on summer break, or someone with a flexible schedule, or at least a part-timer, but I knew that they might all be SAHMs.

So I was totally caught off guard when I suddenly felt very, very different. And not in a good way. I felt like a total fake. Like every word out of my mouth had been a lie because I never disclosed who I really was—a working mom. I’m not someone who can skip off to the bookstore for story time on a Wednesday. I can’t watch your kid last minute while you go run an errand. And, sitting among those women at that moment, that made me feel embarrassed and awkward and guilty. And kinda sad, because it had been a great morning…and it was so great that knowing that it was a limited time gig made the whole day sorta depressing.

I had seen the other side, and it looked good. And I couldn’t have it, at least not now.

When I left the park, everyone said how great it was to meet me, and that they were looking forward to next time. I smiled and said, “Me too!” knowing it was a lie, because unless my boss will let me have the afternoon off for the library’s puppet show, then that’s probably not going to happen.

I firmly believe that every family should do what works for them, whether that means one parent at home caring for the kids or both at work outside the home. There is no one size fits all solution, and every family’s needs, lifestyle, financial obligations, and preferences should be taken into account. I don’t think either SAHMs or WMs should be made to feel guilty or ‘less than’ for the choices they make, as long as their families are healthy, happy and prospering.
But on that day, I couldn’t help but feel like a guilty outsider.

…An outsider who just paid a year’s worth of dues to be an inferior member of the Superior Moms Club. Fabulous.

Wordless Wednesday