A Very Special Tree

I finally got around to decorating my main Christmas tree today.

It might not be much to look at, especially if you're into designer or theme trees.  I have a few themed trees as well.  But this Christmas tree is special.  It has taken thirty five years of love, friendship, creativity, and life to create.  I consider my Christmas tree to be one of the greatest gifts ever given to me.  I have ornaments made by my Mom.  I have ornaments made by a very dear family friend, Bonnie.  The ornaments on my tree tell the story of my life.

There are a few ornaments on the tree from my "blue" period which wasn't much of a blue period at all.  No, it was more of a lazy period.  I made this ornament in nursery school and it is blue simply because I was too lazy to find another color.  When I lived at home, I tried to give my blue ornaments a place of honor on the front of the tree, but somehow they always found their way to the back of the tree.  You can be sure the blue ornaments are front and center now!

There are ornaments that tell the story of my past.  This is the Evans Critter-the mascot from the first elementary school I attended. 

There are ornaments documenting my hobbies both old,

and new.









There are ornaments for some of the best days of my life,

and for Christmas' I don't want to forget.

There are ornaments made by Bonnie.  This is the ornament she created this year and it is quite possibly my favorite.

There are ornaments made with love by my Mom.

There are my husband's ornaments, mostly Star Wars.

And there is an ornament so special that I save it for last and cry when I put it on the tree. 

I started collections of ornaments for both the boys already and I hope that one day when they decorate their Christmas trees in their own homes they have the same feeling of love and nostalgia.  What an incredible gift.



















Everyday Miracles

Dear Sweet Jackson,

If you ever read this blog (at the rate you're going, it might be next week), I want you to know that with all this talk about miracles, you are just as much a miracle to me as your brother is.  You are the miracle who made me a mom.  You are the miracle who has made me grow as a person.  Every single day that I watch you grow, you make me believe in miracles.  You are brilliant, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom.  You are kind, loving, silly, curious and such an amazing little boy.  You make me so proud!  Today I watched you play race cars with your brother.  How is it that you know to play gently with him?  How is it that you know to use your softest, sweetest voice with him?  It must be a miracle.  Sure, your dad and I might have a little something to do with it, but truly you are a miracle!

And I love you.

Dear Peyton,

I can't believe you are four months old!  I feel like I can tell you now something I hate to even say out loud.  I did not think you were going to make it.  I spent my entire pregnancy terrified that something was wrong.  I had good reason.  If you put the words "high risk" in front of something, it can't mean anything good.  The only good thing about being high risk (besides becoming close personal friends with your ob-gyn and the entire staff of the doctor's office) is listening to the baby's heartbeat.  I lived for my appointments because I got to hear your heartbeat.  It felt like the only natural thing about my pregnancy.  Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.  The best sound in the world.  But then there were those appointments towards the end.  You were so stubborn.  You didn't want to move.  You didn't want me to hear your heartbeat.  I used to hold my breath and lay very, very still praying that you were still okay. 

Maybe that was your way of preparing me for what was to come.

I know.  You're tired of hearing your birth story.  You are so over it.  If you were a teenager, you'd be rolling your eyes at me.  You have moved on.

You have decided to just forgot all about your dramatic entrance into this world.  You don't want to miss a developmental beat.  I am constantly amazed by your strength.  For the past two nights, you keep rolling over in your crib (and crying because you can't figure out how to roll back onto your back).  You played race cars with your brother twice today. 

You are clearly healthy, so why am I still having such a hard time processing everything? 

When I hold you, I know that I am holding a miracle in my arms.  I look at you and see the gift from God that you are. 

Thank you for being my miracle!

And to my family and friends, thank you for everything.  Your genorosity has been humbling.  You are making it possible for the March of Dimes to continue to work towards their goal of one day every baby being born healthy.  As we walk tomorrow and celebrate our superhero, I will be praying for the parents who's journey is just beginning.  I will be praying for the mothers and fathers sitting helplessly at their baby's bedside in the hospital.  I will be praying for all the people in my life who want nothing more than to become parents.  And I will pray that Peyton continues to thrive.

The Joke's On Me

Ah, April Fool's Day.

I've never been big on pulling pranks, mostly because I hate when someone pulls a prank on me.  I don't think what happened to me on April Fool's Day was an actual prank.  It was one of those moments when you think to yourself, "surely I'm on Candid Camera."  Okay, so it's 2011.  Much more likely I'd end up on YouTube, but you get the idea.

I was feeling adventerous, and decided to take both boys to the store with me, all by myself, for the first time.  But first, we had to stop for gas. 

When I got out of the car at the pump, there was an adorable old couple at the same pump on the other side.  They couldn't figure out how to start the pump.  I totally knew where they were coming from.  For some reason, this gas station has the wrong message pop up.  It tells you to lift the handle to start the pump, but there is no handle to lift.  I decided to do the right thing and went over to help them and started the pump for them.

I was feeling pretty good.  It was early in the day and I already had a good deed under my belt.  They must have only been topping off their tank because in just a few minutes they were having a hard time getting a receipt.  I went over to help them again.  They were all set with their receipt and I stopped my pump.  I was putting the nozzle away when out of nowhere the gas started again and sprayed everywhere and then suddenly stopped.

And where was the sweet, adorable old man who I had just helped?  Oh, he was still there.  He walked over to my pump and said, "It goes in the car sweetheart.  You better hope no one lights a match." 

Seriously.

That is what he said.

He did not offer to help.  At all. 

I gave him the stink eye and drove the boys to the car wash.

Sometimes it just doesn't pay to be nice.

And for the record, this wouldn't have ever happened if I still lived in New Jersey.