It's a new year...and I kind of miss my blog

All day today I have had the famous Ferris Bueller quote in my head: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Two thousand eleven was an absolute whirlwind. I had a baby. Larry started a new job. We bought a new home. Things have been so incredibly busy, and even though I am in the thick of it every day, I somehow feel like I am missing it.

Blogging is a way of pausing to reflect--of stop[ping] and looking around once in a while. So, in 2012, I hope to start to do it a little bit again.

Letters to Sara on her Fourth Birthday, Part Two

Sara Jo –

I am so proud of my new 4 year old! How did you grow up so fast? Gone are the days when you were shorter than my knees, or not completing words or sentences, or not having balance. Now you dance and sing and climb on the backyard wall with no problems. You aspire to be, and truly are, our princess. You make a great big sister, and baby Brady watches you whenever you’re near.

I can’t wait to see what the new year will bring. You’ve already said you want a SpiderMan party next year, but I’m pretty sure that will go through a bit of metamorphoses over the next 365 days. I can’t wait to share your 4’s with you.

I love you Boomer.

Daddy

Letters to Sara on her Fourth Birthday, Part One

My precious baby girl:

Just like that, another year has come and gone. And what a year it was. A lot of things happened, but most notably, we expanded our family, and you are now a big sister! You lived through all the changes that came along with pregnancy, bringing home a baby, and your daddy changing jobs. And, aside from a few power struggles and potty rebellions, you really weathered it all beautifully.

And you are still such a beautiful soul. This is going to sound like bragging, and it totally is, but you are the kind of kid other parents want their kid to hang out with. You are so reasonable most of the time and so even-tempered. You love to have fun and be silly, and you do like to win/go first/have what you want, but you are usually pretty good about sharing, and you are not aggressive at all. You have been great with Brady, too. You did ask me at one point, “When Brady’s done, can I have a sister?”, and you occasionally still ask for a sister, but most of the time you just try to make him smile and laugh. “Mommy, Brady’s smiling at me!” I always answer the same way: “That’s because he loves you!” You don’t like when he pulls your hair or tries to take your things, but you are always gentle with him, and he adores you!

You are such a little person now, complete with likes (dancing, singing, food, stickers, workbooks, princesses, and television), dislikes (getting your hair combed, any kind of sauce), and habits (bedtime nose-picking, looking over the top of your glasses). You have become incredibly articulate. You ask me deep questions about things like Heaven, and whether I am going there anytime soon. You are also quick to correct me when I get something wrong: “Mommy, I didn’t say that!” You have also gotten so brave. In 2010 I couldn’t get you near the water at Shaver Lake. This year, you swam around in your life vest! You have also become much braver socially. You have moments of shyness, but you don’t hide your face in my leg much anymore.

You are just such a fun, smart, precious little girl. I worry all the time about whether I’m giving you enough attention, whether I am playing with you enough, whether I expect too much, whether you feel my unconditional love, whether I’m screwing you up, and all kinds of other things. My goal is still the same as it always has been, though: to love you, and to help you become who you were born to be.

I love you, my sweet four-year-old Sara Jo. Every night, I still thank God for you. I am proud that you are my daughter, and I can’t wait to watch you continue to grow, learn, and thrive. You are still the wonderful blessing who changed my life.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living (and beyond!) my baby you’ll be.

Love,

Mommy

P.S. Did you know that peas are knees? “That’s silly! Did you know that chairs are bears?” And so on. J

Letters to Sara on her third birthday, part two

Sara –

You are a big girl: three years old now! How did time go by so quickly? I remember bringing you home like it was yesterday.

This past year was a big year for you; you started preschool and really got into your books and puzzles. You enjoy singing and dancing more each day. I am proud of everything you have become. You treat your friends and family very kindly and sweetly, and are a good listener.

This next year promises to be a big one. First, we’ll be adding to our family and you’ll get to start your lifelong job of being a big sister. You will get to climb into a “big girl bed” every night. And I think we might start introducing you to an organized sport or two (if Daddy has his way).

I look forward to seeing you grow and progress again this year, and no matter what, I love you very much.

Daddy

Letters to Sara on her third birthday, part one

November 1, 2010

My precious baby girl:

You are three years old today! I can hardly believe it. You have become such a little person in such a short amount of time.

You are so much fun now. I mean, you have been fun all along, but watching you continue to develop and grow brings your dad and me so much joy. You sing songs all the time, both ones you have learned and ones that you have made up. You love to dance, too. You also love to play pretend. You love to pretend drive and pretend cook. Sometimes you just want to pretend to be someone different altogether. On more than one occasion, I have had to be “Miss Jeri” while you pretend to be Hayden. (Jeri is the mother of Hayden, one of Ryan’s friends and neighbors.)

You’re still pretty shy around strangers, but at home you are very outspoken. “Mommy, don’t say that. “ “No, you don’t sing. I have to sing.” “Mommy, I need milk!” “Thank you for breakfast, Mommy.” “I don’t want to snuggle.” “No, you have to read this book!” “Mommy, I’m ready to be wiped!” Your world is the Sara show, and I am merely a supporting character—and I love every minute of it. I take such delight in watching you figure things out and use your creativity.

You can do so many things now. You go to preschool two mornings a week, and you seem to love it. You are pretty well potty-trained during the day, and today you insisted on napping without a diaper, so we’ll see if you’re ready to give up all diapers during the day! You throw things in the trash for me, and you put your bibs in the sink after breakfast. You wash your hands by yourself, and you try to put on your “big girl panties,” but sometimes they end up kind of backwards or inside-out. You are very good at taking off your pants, shoes, and socks, and you love to “help” me with cooking and with making your meals. I think this is because you like to sneak bites of applesauce and jelly, though.

Even though you are getting to be more independent and more of a big girl, you are still—and will always be, as I continue to tell you—my baby girl. I love when we snuggle in the morning and you insist that I put on my glasses to read you a book. I love how you have to know where Baby (your lovey) is around sleep times, and how you love to hold her and kiss her. Lately, when I’m reading books to you, you kind of snuggle up against me. It might be because my belly is starting to make you uncomfortable, but I am loving every second of the snuggles. Sometimes now, when I’m rocking you for a moment, you ask to be rocked a little longer. Sometimes you just want to crawl around and act like a baby. I think you know that a big change is coming, and one time you even asked to feel the baby, even though we aren’t talking about him with you just yet.

In a year that has been so dark and so hard for me personally, you were a shining light. Your twos were not terrible; they were terrific. I have been told repeatedly that the threes are what are really terrible, so I guess I’ll hold my breath and wait to see what three brings—aside from the move into a big girl bed and the arrival of a baby brother, two events that are sure to rock your world! Whatever curveballs you throw at us, your dad and I will continue to delight in you as you embark on your fourth year. You are, and forever will be, our baby girl, our Sweet Sara Jo.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl. I still love you more than I ever thought possible, and I still thank God for you every single day. I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always; as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.

Love,

Mommy

All quiet on the blogging front

As my few (very few) dedicated readers have surely noted, the Mowles Family blog has been silent for over four months now. To be honest, I'm a little bit torn.

There have been several factors that have slowed down my rate of blogging.

1. Grief. Between our Trisomy 18 loss and an early miscarriage in February, these past months have been very difficult. I have not been or felt like my best self.
2. Busy-ness. Since I'm now teaching online during Sara's naptime, the only time to blog is the evening. By then I'm usually trying to do laundry, hang out with my hubby, and possibly do a little exercising. I also like to veg in front of the TV or the computer.
3. Facebook. First of all, it's a major time-suck. Second of all, when I post photos on there, I reach a very similar audience to the one reading my blog. Commenting is easier, too.

So, for now, I think I might try using Facebook to post pictures a bit more often. I am not ready to completely call it quits on the blog, but we'll see.

So, if you happen to be a reader of my blog who is not on Facebook, I encourage you to join!

The time I dislocated your arm

My sweet baby girl, yesterday morning you and I were being lazy at home. I had canceled our park play date due to your very runny nose and the threatening skies. It was an uneventful morning. I let you watch lots of Dora (your new favorite) while I browsed the web, started laundry, and did dishes. Around 11 am I decided you and I should go run a few errands. You lay down on the ground when I told you it was time to go to your room to change, which was my cue to take your arms and start pulling you to your room. We had done this many times before. You were laughing. And then--

Crack.

It sounded like a knuckle cracking. I asked you if you were okay, and you started to cry. Oh, how you cried. I had been on the phone with Auntie Anna throughout this whole incident, and she could hear how upset you were. I hung up with her to calm you down, and you did calm down, but you wouldn't use your right arm at all. If I touched your elbow, or if you shifted your weight onto your right arm, you started to cry.

I started to panic. I called the pediatrician's office, and thankfully, the physcian's assistant agreed to see me on her lunch break. Everyone figured you had nursemaid elbow, otherwise known as a dislocated elbow, which is very common in kids your age. The PA tried four different times to put your elbow back in its place, but she said she actually thought it was already back in place, because she didn't hear the characteristic "click" of it popping back into position. She thought it was perhaps just sore, so she advised me to follow up in a day or two.

I took you home for a nap, but when you woke, you were miserable. All night, you would not use your right arm. It was the same thing when you woke up this morning. So, today, back to the pediatrician's office we went. You got x-rays, and the pediatrician couldn't see anything. So, after a nap, off to the orthopedist we went.

The orthopedist thinks that your elbow did, most likely, get dislocated. You might be having some residual soreness, or you might have a small fracture in your joint that is not visible on the x-rays. He advised that we put you in a cast for a week. The cast will prevent you (or me!) from re-injuring your elbow. It will give your ligament a chance to tighten. It will also give any possible fracture in there a chance to heal.

So far, you don't seem to mind your cast.

Baby Girl, I'm so sorry. I feel so badly that you were injured in my hands, that I caused your injury. I'm afraid the days of that little game are now over. I love you and would never purposely cause you harm. I guess this is just one more good story you can give me grief about in the years to come:

"Hey, Mom? Can I go to the dance? Before you answer, remember the time you ripped my arm out of the socket?"