To the boy whole stole my heart...and calls me Mom...

My boy turned 7 on the 25th of March.
This is the child that I look at and stand silenced by how fast time goes by.
How quickly time just picks up and runs and you just keep sprinting to get ahead of it, so you can tell it to stop...hold on one second...don't go so fast...please give me a little bit more time!

He is reading.
He sits there and he sounds out words like a champion.
The lights in his head have been going on like giant spotlights to a stage where he is the star.
He focuses. He smiles so proudly. His mind, a sponge.

He writes words he knows and wants to share on little pieces of paper.
'Mom and me.'
 'I love football.'
' I am nice.'

I adore his heart.
His giant sensitive and gracious heart.

I admire his focus.
He can sit. He sits honed in on what has captured his interest.
He will seek completion and is so intent on this task.

I love his quiet questions.
His imploring questions with such thought and honesty.
'Mommy, so what do boys do with their eyebrows? Am I supposed to take care of these?'
'Mommy, why do you think people do really unkind things to others?'
'Mommy, why do girls like to get flowers? They just die.'

He plays hard.
He dreams so much harder.

When his brother cries...unless inflicted and justified by him, he is the first responder on site.
He plays with his Jake. He teaches his Jake. He doesn't take crap from his Jake. He leans on his Jake. And he confides in his Jake.

He is the next great fashion designer of his time.
He has a great interest and eye for what he chooses to wear.
He instructs the hair stylist in just how he wants his hair 'shaped up.' What number and what product.
One of his favorite activities is getting to choose new clothes or shoes.
I can only hope to reap the benefits...someday. Right now he could care less what I wear. 

He loves to watch football.
He absorbs the rules of the game and can give you the play by plays.

He is starting to love hockey.
Tells me he would be an awesome hockey player if he could only learn how to skate.
His smile certainly looks like one now.

He enamores his big sister.
She gets under his skin, but he keeps patience longer then I even think is fair for her.
Sister better watch it...her brother is going to be drooled over by all her dear friends.

He is an artist.
His attention to detail.
His ability to tell a story with a drawing.
I love to post his art all over the place. It is so very frameable because it is so very adorable.

He is my first son.
I find boys fascinating.
Watching them grow.
Watching them do things that boys do.
Watching them interact.
Watching them eat. All day. Everything. Bowl upon bowl upon bowl of cereal.
I am like the zoo keeper sitting and watching the gorillas. Could do it all day long.

He is all lanky.
Long legs, neck, arms. His fingers long.
He will be so very tall. The nights when the growth spurts hit are so very long for him.
We spend lots of time soaking in a warm tub. Rubbing the back, arms, and legs until the advil finally kicks in and he can rest those stretching bones.

He walks with his hands in his pocket.
He smirks.
He giggles quietly.
He is a man of few words.
But screams when there is injustice.
He cannot eat too much candy.
Especially cotton candy. Do not give this child cotton candy. I swear its exorcist like behavior. I am not sure whether to run or take on the beast. I always lose. No matter what option. I need to invest in a straight jacket.

He is an observer.
Watches quietly before summing the courage to do it himself.
He hesitates before trying something new.

I love him madly.
I cannot believe he is 7.
His big brown eyes melt me.
His olive skin and smile with a dimple already have little girls chasing him on the playground.

My Ethan Thomas.
My sensitive soul.
I couldn't be prouder and I love you more each day.


My Banana Peel

I kind of feel like telling you that I am not perfect.
I kind of feel like telling you even more so that I don't strive to be perfect.
I have a long list of failures behind me and an even longer list in front of me.

I have kids that melt down.
I have kids that probably should be disciplined on certain occasions, but every now and then, I just don't.
I have kids that talk back.
I have kids that don't listen all the time.
I have kids that I sometimes cry over at night because I was too hard on them.
I have kids that I cry over at night because it's just too hard sometimes to do it right.
I have kids that I cry over at night because of the guilt I carry and the fear I have of messing up.

I sometimes say things before I actually think them completely through.
I talk out of turn.
I am loud.
I don't always say what I mean to say because the pressure I have put on myself for saying it right has made it come out sounding completely backwards.
I sometimes am really blunt.
I am sometimes really sarcastic to the point you might think I am serious.
I most likely require a censor button when asked my opinion, and even sometimes when I'm not.
I can have a mouth, that if played publicly would sometimes require bleeping every other word.

I am too sensitive.
I am self conscious.
I underestimate myself.
In many instances I anticipate what could go wrong, instead of expecting what could go right.
I hate change.
I am terrible in transitions.
I  am overly critical of myself.
I go over what I said, and what I should have said in my mind until I regret everything I said in the first place, even if it was the right thing to say.
I am the last person to stick up for myself.
I question things way too much.
I ask a lot of questions in general. 
I have a hard time believing I am worth it.
Compliments make me uncomfortable.

I have a family that loves me, but I fear being a burden.
I  love my nephew just like an aunt should...spoil him and send him home,
 but will definitely be the crazy aunt.
I have a Mom Mom who I let drive me bonkers, and then realize I do the same things.
I regret not spending more time with my Mom Mom and Pop Pop who have passed.

I have debt.
I worry about making ends meet.
I wish I had more to give more.

 I have really messy closets. And on most days, I really don't care.
I have a messy fridge and could sometimes really care less.
I hate folding laundry and putting it away.
My car is almost always cluttery and dirty.

I drive like I am being chased.
I wait too long between oil changes.
I hit pot holes and scream about them like it's all someone else's fault.
I use wind shield wiper fluid instead of scraping off the frost.
I have run out of gas and my dad has come to my rescue, at 35 years old.

I have friends I have lost because I let too much time go by.
I have old friends I miss way too much and probably just need to say so.
I have friends who have stuck by me and think they are so much better then me for it.
I have friends that have forgiven me, even though I think I probably don't deserve it.

Amongst all of this. I am me.
Feeling imperfect can sometimes be your saving grace.
Not measuring up can sometimes be your polite exit to stage left.
Failing can be your lesson for next time. And even next time, you still might not get it right, but at least you tried.

There is a saying, 'If you can't accept me at my worst, then you don't deserve me at my best.'

And this is for those that accept me.
I am constantly learning what I am and everything I am not.

I have a heart as big as the oceans are wide.
I love like I won't ever hurt.
I cry like I have PMS 30 days out of a month.
I love animals more then people sometimes.
I have stretch marks that I consider battle scars and remind me of how much I fought to bring these babies to me.

I have a family that is so close they are my dearest confidants and friends.
I will drop everything just to distract you from your pain.
I will cancel what I had planned to hang out with you because you need me to.
I will never tell you I did that and just act like coffee with you was the only thing I had planned that day.
I hurt when I see others hurt.
I would rather you be happy.
I go with my gut instinct.
I typically follow my heart.
I believe completely in my intuition. And although it can bring pain, should not be ignored.
I really do think my Pop Pop is looking over me right now, and I don't care if people think that's silly or not real, I'm just thankful he is.
I love good memories and love all the people in my past who gave them to me.
Sometimes we have ice cream sundaes for dinner.
Sometimes bed time is ignored to cuddle longer.
I messily go about almost every single day.

It might not be how you do things.
It might not be what you want me to say.

 I am definitely and clearly not perfect.
But I took my car to the car wash today.

So here's to you.
My fellow person of imperfection.
Banana Peels are going to be everywhere.
Trust me.
I slip on almost every one of them in front of me.
Just own them.
And know, you aren't the only klutz out there.