Homecoming Presents

Your father just came back from a week long conference in Denver. He went into a store while he was on his trip and found something that he thought would remind me of Prudence.

I don't care how you rationalize it, a "tick nipper" is never going to be a romantic, "I was thinking of you" gift.

There are days

when the only thing you can do is hope and pray that the brown stuff you are cleaning off the sink, the faucet, the cabinet and the wall is Nutella.

You can thank me now

When you're older, you'll see Mommy on the computer reading through various blogs and you will lose your belief that Mom is a uber creative person who comes up with all sorts of brilliant, creative projects and games at a rapid rate. (Let me have this one, guys. ) You will finally figure out that I glean through hundreds of blogs and pick out tutorials and ideas that we try around here much to the joy of the local hardware, craft and thrift stores.

But I have never, ever, made you guys wee baby headbands, bows or stick on frilly things to identify your sweet baby heads as girl or boy. EVER. Now that you are older and HAVE HAIR, I have made you hats and hair thingies (it's a word, look it up) to keep your bangs out of your faces but I never used double sided tape to adhere some bow to your noggin. This is the part where you say, "thanks, Mom".

Now- if I could just get Eleanor to stop cutting off her hair with every available sharp implement like she did yesterday, we would be all set.

Look what I made for you

Swimming Lessons

You have been taking swimming lessons this past week. Three nights a week, we go to the pool over on Quantico. We missed the first night, but that was not because your dad and I forgot. It was because we remembered the start date wrong.

On Wednesday, you had your classes and we played for a bit before going home. On Thursday, we got there early, had a bite with your dad and then had a few minutes of play time after the class.

Grace and Eleanor were excited to show us what they had learned. And you, sweet Jordan, were becoming more and more comfortable in the water. Blowing bubbles, splashing, even wading up to your chin. Such a huge difference from your first few days there. Your dad was playing with your sisters while you and I were talking with another mom and her little boy. You were right there. Right near my leg in about 18 inches of water.

You will never know how much I regret not keeping my eyes on you.

It was ten seconds. Maybe twenty. And I looked around for you. The rest of the family had drifted over to the very exciting three feet area and were showing off their scooping hands and kicking feet and you decided to follow.

Your head was tipped back and you bounced up from the bottom to grab a gulp of air. Your hands were going underneath the water and your were bicycling your feet. A dive later you were coughing on my shoulder and I was sure the pounding in my ears was never going to stop. I cannot believe I failed you like that. I'm supposed to be keeping you safe.

We want you to enjoy going to the pool and the beach. To learn to swim and love the water. You've powered through timid and scared of the slightest wave to a girl determined not to let a little thing like lack of oxygen stop you. And that terrifies me. I want you to be brave. I want you to have the courage to try new things, to fail and to continue to try. Your dad and I just need a little help with the adjustments of attitude and the rapid rate and which you and your sisters develop and grow.

I'm not proud of letting you down. Of failing to keep you safe. Of endangering your life. I woke up on Thursday night with you bobbing in the pool - over, over and over again. At one point, I got up and went into your room just to lay down next to your bed and feel your chest rise and fall under my hand. The possible consequences of my actions are not something I wanted to think about and kept running through my head.

So I'm going to do better. Your still probably going to swallow some pool water, but we're going to be watching you daredevils much, much closer.

Although I doubt I'll be of much use as I won't be sleeping for the next month or so.

You are five.

Five years old today. You still have blue eyes like your dad and hair that was the color I had before Ms. Clairol and Loreal started helping me with my greys. You have freckles on your nose and a mole on your forehead that I find adorable.

You wake up groggy. You rub your eyes and wobble a bit, but you usually follow it up with a smile. You and Eleanor are still in love with night dresses and fight over who gets to wear you dad's T-shirt at night.

For some reason, you don't prefer milk. Oh, you'll drink it if we put it in front of you, but you would rather a glass of water any day. The cheese sticks and yoghurt that tempt your sisters hold no appeal to you, but an ice cream sandwich is welcome any day. I believe that to be universal.

You love to tell a story. You're getting better at it every day.

You're the little mother. For good and for not so good. You lead, you plan, you boss, you help, you direct, and you say "now!" a lot. The mirror I get to look into every day is not always pretty. But you read to your sisters- the most wonderful made up stories. You encourage your sisters and tell them what a great job their doing, you hang their pictures on the fridge and you always want to rub their backs and kiss any owies. God help anyone who pushes or shoves your sisters on the playground.

You make your bed every morning. "Nice and flat" just like Granne taught you. I think your Granne is so proud of this because she still hasn't trained me to make mine every morning. You are her success story.

You are smart. So smart. And I worry that the group activities that we do are not challenging you enough. I love the way you are always willing to assist your sisters, but I worry. Hopefully I'll find a lot of things for you to do this summer with just Mommy-Gracie, Daddy-Gracie time. Your dad and I are trying to find a few things for us to do with you and your sisters one on one, but we have yet to overcome our biggest obstacle- getting out of pajamas. We're working on that.

You can reach my waist. You wrapped your arms around my waist last week and I wanted to cry. When did you get so big? When did you grow so much? HOW DID I MISS THIS?? You hugged me with your wonderful strong arms and told me you loved me and all I could think was, " Jordan hugs my kness, Eleanor grabs my leg, Holy crap....."

I love you. I love your beautiful smile and your bad knock-knock jokes and your made up songs. You are five today. Five. Happy Birthday, Grace Anne.

Today is mother's day

My mom taught me

• to love reading and books.
• resourcefulness. Imagination and creativity are powerful and not to be wasted.
• to change your mascara every year. That's why we give it to each other at Christmas.
• how strong a woman could be.
• that being alone doesn't have to mean lonely.
• to always show up for weddings and funerals. This was the tip of the iceberg of "just show up" because people remember who came to a wedding and a funeral. (And to always have a black dress or appropriate clothes for a funeral because in a time of grief you're not going to want to shop.)
• to be independent
• that oatmeal cookies are for breakfast if you change the name to "breakfast cookies."
• how to sew. She taught me about quilts and then encouraged me to run with it.
• to give quietly. That helping someone else financially or otherwise has its own rewards.
• that apologies are important.
• that family is priceless.

I've had a lovely day. There were breakfast muffins (batter baked with crisco, rolled in butter and dipped in cinnamon sugar are not cupcakes if eaten before ten in the morning) church, then the hardware store, hammock swinging and lots of gorgeous Mother's Day art. And tonight? Tonight I'm going to be SO surprised when I get Mother's Day cookies for dessert!