A letter to my Son on his third birthday

Dearest Conor,

It's hard to believe it has been three years since I first held you in my arms. I couldn't help but smile at how beautiful you were then, and am thankful every day that you were brought into our lives.

This was a year of many firsts for you. It was the year you learned what it meant to swim, the year you found a love for the Beach, the year you discovered all things Toy Story (your first 3D movie), and the year you moved into a Big Boy Bed.

Every time I look at you, I am filled with pride. You have such a joyful disposition about you. Every morning, you show me the sunshine before I even seen the sun, tackle me with hugs only a Bear could compete with, and teach me lessons I thought I had already learned.

Despite what comes your way, you don't yet know the meaning of the word challenge. Knowing you have no boundaries to what you can accomplish, makes you an inspiration to our family.

You love to jump, dance, and play all things sports. Your absence of fear makes me crazy nervous. Still, I love to watch your tenacity. In some ways, I wish I had more of it.

You have a deep bond with your sister, looking to her for guidance and fun. The two of you walk through the days as the best of friends, and listening to the two of you reading together in the minutes before bedtime warms my heart. The two of you have already found ways to make eachother laugh, and truth be told...I think she potty trained you. This is picture I snapped of the two of you napping this afternoon. It's sweet that you fell asleep holding hands.

You are my heart. My soul. My life. Happy Birthday, Buddy!

Love, Mom

Her birthday is in three months

Every Sunday morning, the kids and I sit down at the kitchen table. Conor usually does a puzzle, and Katie and I cut coupons. For the record, Joe is usually in the kitchen making breakfast. According to Katie, he makes the BEST Tinkerbell toast. Anyhow...back to my point...Kate doesn't really cut coupons, but rather other pictures she finds of interest. This past Sunday afternoon I found this picture on our fridge neatly tucked amongst all her other artwork.

I think she is trying to tell us something, no?

The joke is on us

For years, we have scorned the groundhogs behind our house. They have stolen prized vegetables from the neighbors gardens, taughted the animals, and unfortunately lost a couple of their own to our four legged friends.

So, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that for the second year in a row, Mother Nature has pulled one over on us.

This is what we woke up to this morning...

I think there is a groundhog somewhere laughing his head off telling us it is April 1st.

A new beginning

There are moments in our lives we remember. Moments that impact us in some way and change us forever. For me, some of those include moving to California after college, meeting my husband, our wedding day, the birth of our children, Kate's first broken bone...and so on. With each, I remember where I was, how I felt, and many, many random details of the moment. On March 23, Conor was diagnosed with a severe case of Apraxia, a neurological speech disorder requiring an hour of speech therapy daily. Like so many moments before, I will remember where we were, and how I felt. I will remember that after leaving Hershey Medical Center's Pediatric Pavilion we shared many smiles over chicken nuggets and french fries at Wendy's and then spent the next couple of hours exploring the sweet smells of Hershey's Chocolate World...just the two of us. It was special. He is special. I have so much hope for this little guy, and am anxious to witness his progress in the months to come. To be sure we can celebrate and share it with him in the years ahead, this is the first entry on his journey. This is Conor two weeks shy of his third birthday.

Irish Blessings

May the blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow

and may trouble avoid you wherever you go.

~Irish Blessing

Football

It is a story we have heard a dozen or so times, usually surfacing between September and January. My husband was eleven years old, the sun was setting on the city of Baltimore, and he sat on his parent's bed watching the Mayflower trucks pull out of the city. The Baltimore Colts were moving to Indianapolis. He was in shock. Everyone was.

Some 28 years later, his support of the Baltimore Colts remains just as strong. The black and white pictures of Johnny Unitas still flank our basement walls, the pennants are proudly displayed in our son's room, and the tradition of football greats is carried on.

Lucky Number Seven

The year before we were married, we sat in crowded mission with 30+ other Catholic couples listening to testimony from married couples about what it meant to share the sacrament of marriage. It was our Catholic Engagement Encounter (CEE) weekend.

We remember one couple in particular, their names were Joe and Jill. They had been married for eleven years, and had three kids. For thirty minutes or so, they talked about "making it to year seven". The first seven years were supposed to be the toughest. They told stories of how the "honeymoon" would end, kids would challenge the relationship, and it would be hard to find time for one another.

Today, March 6, is our seventh wedding anniversary. Like a good cheese or wine, I think our marriage just gets better with age. It may not always be a party, but it's always a good time.

Happy Anniversary, Dear! There is no place I would rather be than right next to you.