18 Months

You've gone from this...


To This...

Here's the thing... I want to halt time. I want to put it in stop mode. I want time to standstill. Just for a bit. So I can soak it in. Breathe in the moments that I miss, the moments that matter, and the minutes when nothing else matters except for he, I and my husband.

This age is magical. One of my best friends, Angela, kept telling me that 18 months is the best age and I kept not believing her until we got here. The curiosity, the personality, the loyalty, the independence, and the ability to love has proved to me that once again that being a parent just gets better with time.

To you, everything's funny

You got nothing to regret
I'd give all I have, honey
If you could stay like that
~Taylor Swift "Never Grow Up"

And We're Back... Florida 2011

And…We’re Back

We returned on Saturday from one glorious, sunny, relaxing week on the beach. I have to tell you that prior to leaving I was so consumed with the logistics that I really didn’t have time to worry about big things like airport security, the actual plane ride, the trip from the airport to Longboat Key or anything else. As we were driving to the airport, Glenn told me I was awfully quiet, which is not normal behavior for me, and that is when it sunk in that I was flying with a toddler alone.

Were there mishaps? Yep. Were there moments that I wondered if maybe traveling with a toddler alone was a bad idea? Yep. but there even more moments where I was grateful . For simple things like the sun, my parents, the sunsets, the morning run to Starbucks each day, the fresh seafood and the fact that my husband got to see his son running in to the ocean and giggle as he dumped buckets of water on himself? This week was about being a mama, a wife and a daughter and I drank every minute of it up.

Let me start with the lowlights:

Saturday, March 26^th- After getting the airport with ease, I was the RANDOM security check. Yes, with my toddler in tow, I was scanned, finger whatever, and frisked. As was my toddler’s sippy, his stroller that had to be folded up to go through the scanner as the diaper bag was being destroyed.

Sunday, March 27^th and Monday March 28^th- A good thunderstorm always makes me relax. Not this one. The lightning, the thunder and the rain were so violent that Brady was awakened and I am not sure that any of us slept more than one hour at a time. He refused to go back in his crib and nothing settled him down. So, my ma and I slept with him and it was a ROUGH night.

Saturday, April 3^rd- The flight down was so great that I wasn’t worried about the flight home. I was wrong to get too confident. We sat on the runway for quite some time since the navigation system was not working. Between the heat on the airplane, the bottle Brady drank going up, and the sippy he drank no, demanded as he snacked with our seat mate his diaper was quickly filling up. I went to the bathroom and realized there was no changing table. I asked a flight attendant and she told me that my seat was the only option or the floor. So, I begged his diaper to hold. It didn’t. It was a geyser shooting straight out of his diaper when he peed twenty minutes before we landed. My legs were soaked. My shorts were dripping in his pee. His shorts were so wet that you couldn’t tell they were wet because there was no part of them that were dry. I begged our seat mate not to notice. Off the plane and after waiting and obtaining our stroller I quickly hustled into a bathroom where I changed his diaper to only realize I did not have a change of clothes. So, I pushed him through O’Hare in his diaper. Mom fail.

Now, let me give you the highlights:

Saturday, March 26^th- Brady traveled like a rock star. Sure he took a #2 right when we got the airport but he slept most of the flight, watched Sesame and sat happily in his car seat from the airport to the condo. Then I watched as his eyes lit up with excitement when he realized the pool was one big bathtub.

Sunday, March 27^th- We woke to brilliant sunshine, we walked the beach, scoured it for shells, built castles, and jumped in the waves. All in all it was a day that was perfect that I etched in my mind.

Friday, April 1^st- I watched as my boys played in the sand and dumped water on each other. It is magical to be a mama and a wife and to watch the two most important people in my life enjoy the small things, the simple things- sunshine and each other.

Other Things That I Will Always Remember from Florida 2011

Brady learned to track planes in the sky.

Brady pointed trucks out on the street.

Brady learned to say HI and WOW! (That’s a lot for 17 month old that says very little!)

Brady ate real fish sticks.

Brady pushing the elevator door and giggling as it started to move.

Brady locking and unlocking the car for us every time we drove somewhere.

Brady sitting with my mom at the Beachhouse listening to the live entertainment.

Brady sipping a Starbucks cup with a straw.

Brady playing with the water spicket where you wash off when you come off the beach.

Brady getting a bath from my dad.

Brady swimming with my dad and trying soooo hard to say 2 when we counted to three before he jumped.

Brady turning the fan on each morning.

Brady looking at the bird in the entry way of the condo making a "woof" noise insisting it was a dog.

Brady walking St. Armand's Square.

Brady eating his first ice cream cone at Kilwin’s.

I am sure I missing plenty more but more importantly, it's only Tuesday and I am missing the sun, my parents, the undivided attention and time I had with my boys and the ability to stop and just enjoy it all.

Legacy

I haven't written much lately or maybe I should say, I haven't posted much lately. I had written plenty but the friendly people over on twitter made me realize some things are better left not posted on a public blog, especially if it is about your job. So, this week I have been consumed with my thoughts ending with the same question, what's your legacy?

Last week the anticipation of going on a plane with my toddler alone, frolicking in the sand and waves and watching him eat his first ice cream cone from Kilwin's consumed my mind. I was racing with everything that needed to be done. All the last minute items that needed to be bought, the laundry that needed to be done and snacks that had to be packed for the plane. I was thinking of the fun to be had and the week of school left. I was glowing as I purchased a last minute ticket for my husband to join us. And then it all came to all halt on Saturday night.

"Grandpa isn't doing very well. He stopped eating and drinking and doesn't have much time left" says his mom as we are driving to a restaurant for our dinner date.

"Grandpa passed away tonight" says his mom as the rain hits our windows with a fierceness that scares even the strongest soul the next night.

Grandpa Fischer was my husband's grandpa. One of his two remaining grandparents. A Chicago Policeman, WWII veteran, and a Merchant Marine. A proud man, not overly emotional, but the kind of person you knew would help family in a heartbeat and knew the meaning of earning a living. He was quirky and set in his ways as an older man something I appreciated and deeply respected. Some laughed at the things he did, I smiled because it was him. He was himself.

But, cancer it got the best of him. He fought and he won this battle in the past, but this time it beat him and that sucks. Cancer Sucks.

As we stood in our kitchen on Sunday night, listening to the pounding rain, I watched as sadness crept into my husband's eyes. I know he was thinking about his own dad, his son, the memories, how much it hurts to lose someone you love and what this means for his family. The patriarch of his dad's side gone. And yet, all I could think was the present. Live in the now. Soak up the small things and never take for granted one minute of any day. Make sure when you leave this earth you leave with no regrets, no missed opportunities and leave a legacy. This jolt, death, though all too common lately in my life, reminds me that life is about living. My legacy.

And that is when I realized that work, its not worth talking about. Relationships, crappy so-called friends and nasty situations, they are not worth writing about. Life is about living and creating my legacy and this jolt reminded me of that.

It's not fair that cancer took him from us. We will live. We will celebrate him and we'll remember what he left us: seven kids , nineteen grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. His legacy. His family. Trust me it's what he would want us to do.

Four generation of Fischer men. They met. That's special. That's what life is about. The little guy below he is our legacy. He's what I am most proud of and today, nothing else really matters. Not work, not crappy so-called friends, not people who check their values at the door, or anything else. My legacy. My son. My life. My family.

Window to Our World

He told me he found it.

He said it wouldn’t last.

He said it was a deal.

He said it had everything we wanted.

He said it was right for us.

We turned off Belmont Avenue on to a one-way street headed south. The street was foreign to me and I wouldn’t have known it was there if I was the one driving. Nestled against the train tracks it was a narrow street and cars lined the left side of it. One stop sign. Then a second stop sign. And then we turned right on another one-way street headed west. Not exactly convenient but quiet. Cars lined both sides of the street. Were we still in the city? Where was the noise? Then we heard it. The Metra train whizzing by carrying commuters home to the suburbs heading north reminding me that yes, we were still in the city.

The street was lined with beautiful houses. Most of them were new, all brick, two stories with new windows, beautiful fences, and manicured city lawns.

We pulled up. I took in a deep breath and took another deep breath out. It was damp and rainy. I shivered as I got out of the car. The sky was gray, dark charcoal gray and the wind blew and the cool wind reminded me that spring was still not here. My brain kept saying, the gray of the sky matches the gray of the siding.

Not brick, no new windows, a rickety wrought iron fence that didn’t shut, and lawn full of water from gutters neglected all winter and that refused to drain.

We walked up the steps, my stomach ever so slightly showing the bump I that had hid for 20 weeks, and he pushed open the front door. There was wood, dark, ornate wood. Crown molding thick with detail and baseboards aged so deeply that you knew it had never been replaced. There were hardwood floors and the sunlight streamed through the dirty blinds. There was dust on every surface; so thick you could see the particles floating in the light.

We approached the bathroom. It was maroon. Completely maroon. From the sink to the toilet to the tub the only color I saw was maroon. As we moved past it, he reminded me to keep an open mind and that we will renovate.

I shuffled in to the kitchen where the white ceramic tile overwhelmed the space. Grease so thick only a razor we get it off where it had settled on every maple cabinet. The appliances were old, white and looked worn out and tired from years of use and clear neglect.

Out the back window, I saw a structure. Gray peeling paint with a hint of wood underneath. Three hanging flower pots all uneven on their stands, all ready to fall to the ground and shatter underneath the two old windows that once were opened daily in the carriage house.

The tree consumed the back yard. Large, overgrown branches towered over the cable lines and hung into the neighbor’s yard on both sides of the lot.

He asks me what I think. Without hesitating I say it is not perfect but this it.

It’s our home.

Home.

Where babies were born, demolition was done and love is the constant emotion. It’s our home. Ugly to the original eye yet now beautifully understated amongst the towering homes on our street but loved and ours. Home.

I Needed Last Night...

Being a working mama is tough. I wear my working mama cape proudly. I wear it daily because there really isn't a day,even Saturday and Sunday, as a teacher that I don't work. People always tell me that being a teacher, I have the best of both worlds. Maybe. But it sure does not feel like it this week. I work my tail off. Work isn't from 8-3. Work is grading papers at night, coaching softball on Saturday, facilitating fundraisers on Friday night, and having department meetings after school. It's committees, teachers, administrators, organization and plain hard work. I am on. All day. From the minute I get in my car my brain goes in work mode. Helping kids with make up work, planning for next week lessons, writing observation reports...you name it I do it in a day. I am not asking for sympathy purely trying to show you what my days are like.

In order to be a working mama, I have to rely A LOT on my husband. Do I take it for granted? Not one day. Do I try to do anything I can to make sure the ship sails smoothly when I am working late or have to work on the weekends? Yes. Do I thank him enough? Probably not. But trust me when I say this he is a heck of a dad and I know that much so this takes a big burden off of me.

So, that gets me to this guy.


You see this summer he was OBSESSED with me since I was home with him all day. Now, not so much. And it kills me.
He doesn't want to be held by me.
He doesn't think I am funny.
He does not want me to sit on the couch and watch Sesame Street with him.
He really doesn't want much to do with me.

And although I laugh when talking about it or when it happens, a little piece of my heart breaks each time. This week, probably the worse. I have not been home at night. And so, his daddy, is his #1. (I don't blame him... I think he is pretty great too!)

So, last night I was home. We both were. And because of the MESS of a kitchen that we don't have right now, we spend a good amount of time trying to get Brady's bottle ready. We have no microwave currently. Glenn was downstairs "working" on the bottle which left me with Brady and the bath. The bath, no problems. Frankly, it doesn't matter who gives it, the kid is a "fisch" so he willing hops in.
After the bath and brushing our teeth we went in to his room to play, put on lotion and get him dressed BUT something else happened. We started playing with a baseball hat. It was silly. He would put it on my head and I would tilt my head just enough that it would fall to the floor. And then he would laugh. Not just chuckle. He would laugh a deep belly laugh that was infectious and brought an honest smile to my own face and tears to my eyes. Why? Because in those two minutes we got to laugh together. I was the only thing that mattered. I was the only thing he cared about. And last night, that was enough for me to put on my working mama's cape and go to work today.

The Picture Says It All...

To say this past week has been filled with bumps and bruises is an understatement.

What was supposed to be a dream week filled with my parents being in town for five nights, granite counter tops being laid in our almost finished kitchen, ending with a fun weekend in Lake Geneva with nine other couples took a dramatically bad turn mid week.

You know that feeling when you know something is going to wrong but you can't pinpoint what it is? I had that feeling all last weekend. Should have trusted my gut, literally, because a bruising week is what we got.


Wednesday I went to a conference. No problem. And I ate Panera Bread for lunch. And this was the beginning of the end. I woke Glenn up Wednesday night and told him I thought I was sick. We trudged downstairs (his idea so I wouldn't wake the toddler up barfing) and I laid on the bathroom floor. I "thought" I was okay, so I went back to bed without incident. I wasn't. An hour later I woke up by throwing up in the most violent spasms I have ever experienced and made it no farther than our upstairs bathroom . Random unnecessary fact in all this was that every time I threw up I peed my pants. I blame having a kid for this one. God LOVE my husband he was a saint. Getting me new clothes, trying to give me water, wetting washcloths, listening to me sob and corralling the toddler away from the bathroom.

If you know me in real life, I am not a puker. Never have been. (Except for that time at freshmen orientation at U-High that changed my high school years forever but that glorious story is for another day.)

Fast forward to Thursday morning at 5am. I have been up most of the night and wondering how I am going to do anything let alone write sub plans, cook for Lake Geneva, or pack. I wake up my parents and tell them we need some help. (In hindsight, thank god they were there or we would have been in REAL trouble). So, I crawl back in to bed alternating between sleeping and sprinting to the toilet and the morning flies by. I talk to Glenn who convinces me to call the doctor. Every SIP of water sent me back to the toilet...time to get the professionals involved. Off to the doctor I go... no need to go in to the gory details about this part. Tests run, samples given and me holding a puke bucket for most of the afternoon.

By Thursday night, it is decided the toddler must head to my in-laws. All I could think about was this was bad, but it would be worse if it was two of us puking and my husband trying to care for both of us. My parents were scheduled to leave and needed to leave. My husband armed with pedialyte, gatorade, rags began his efforts to get fluids in me. My parents left once Brady went to bed.

I woke up Friday feeling like a mack truck hit me. Glenn, the saint that he is, slipped in to single parent duty. Running errands, feeding and dressing Brady and getting him ready for his trip to his grandparents. Brady went to the suburbs to his grandparents and came home with this beauty on Sunday. We aren't concerned by the way. He is a bruiser and it could have happened anywhere. It just so happened the coffee table got in his way.

Glenn headed off to Lake Geneva with our friends upon my insistence. It is such a fun weekend, from what I remember since this is now the THIRD year I have missed it. So, I wanted him to go. So, I licked my wounds. I mourned the lost weekend, my missing toddler and husband and planted myself on the couch. Normally, the quiet house would be my dream. But this weekend, my nightmare.

I am happy to report that I am somewhat back to normal. I can eat again, drink again and I am starting to feel like myself again. Just in time for softball season.

How was your weekend?

I Wonder If He Knows...

...that the sound of his deep, wet, bronchial cough causing his eyes to water and nose to run as a result of an awful cold makes me shiver with fear that something worse could ever possibly happen to him

...that his sweet sighs while he drinks his bottle before bed reduces me to tears as I look at how fast these months have gone by

...that the curiosity in each stride as he explores new things make me hopeful for whats to come


...that the simple waves to strangers while running through Target makes me proud of compassion and empathy he is already showing

...that the pointing to what he wants exasperates me yet shows his personality is brightly shining and alive but fierce and strong.

...that when he gets his own shoes and brings them to me a little piece of me dies inside knowing his independence is beaming through.

...that when I walk in the door to a pizza faced toddler in a high chair, I feel good, right and just where I am supposed to be.

...that he is my life, my love and my boy. And I am just happy to be his mama.