RPG's first birthday party

Better late than never.  I meant to have these pictures up long ago.

I bring you a very, very picture-heavy post.

We had a very small party with family and a few friends.  I still had the decorations from Roscoe's baby shower so I reused some of them.



mooching some ice cream coffee punch off grandma





A monumental moment.  Until this picture, Roscoe wouldn't let his godpapa near him.  For some reason, he's been terrified of him since birth.  But as you'll see in later pictures, we're slowly overcoming that fear.  I love the expressions here.



I love his face here enough that I don't care about the blurriness of the photo.  His godparents gave him a great pop-up Rocket to the Moon book.

Bathtub letters that stick on the walls when wet.  Ironically enough, he's saying "Oh!" as he holds up the letter "O."  That definitely got some laughs.

Please ignore the over-the-top excitement on my face.  I'm not really sure I remember my face getting this close to the point of exploding.

(note: I am jealous of you if you are able to look at a baby and not make the same facial expression he is making at that moment.)

a little uncertain

uncertainty gone

just slightly embarrassing

my little sweetheart sharing his cupcake with me

"get me down please i'm full"

precious.  warming up.  and it only took a year ;)

Neither Mark and I, nor either set of our parents got a picture with Roscoe that day.  But my mom captured this great one of him with his godparents.  So thankful Roscoe has 6 "grandparents" to love and learn from.

We love this little guy.  He's a fireball for sure, living up to his "RPG" initials.  Looks just like his daddy and fills my days with the oddest mix of perfectly balanced frustration and joy.  I am humbled and thankful that God has blessed us with the gift of parenthood.  Bring on the birthdays, little boy.  I can't wait to get to know you.

the new year always brings a little sadness, part 2

So I feel like this whole situation is a little anti-climatic.

In part 1, I wrote of various instances that Mark was "taken away from me" around the turn of the new year.  We were prepared for him to be gone from the first of February until the end of March.  That's 2 months, folks.  And Roscoe's birthday is stuck right in the middle of that first month.  The question was "party without Mark or really late party with Mark?"

About the time we decided to just have the party on time without Mark (insert: I have such a sweet husband.  Even though he would have loved to be there, he knew the party would be a bright spot for me in an otherwise dark season of our life), we involuntarily began riding on the craziest of emotional roller coasters regarding his trip.  Looking back, I honestly can't remember the number of times his status changed from "going" to "not going" to "going a little bit" to "ok for real it's on" to "just kidding" to "has your wife divorced you yet from all this insanity?"

(That last part's a joke.  Except for the fact that people really do get divorces over this stuff in the military.)

So....we decided to hold off for the time being on the little man's first birthday party.  He doesn't know the difference.  And until we knew for sure what was going on with this supposed-to-be-2-month-long-trip.

So Mark left February 1st and we didn't really know where he was going or for how long.  He came home a few days later "until further notice," and then left again.  But this time around the 3rd day he was gone, he was given options.  He could work for the first part of his orders (until Feb 21) and get paid for that, come back immediately and not get paid, or work the entirety of the original orders (end of March), but be stuck in WV instead of the original really cool country he was going to.

So he opted for option 1.  He came home on the 21st.  Ok, actually that's a lie.  He surprised us by coming home on the 17th and we kept it a secret until the 21st.  Roscoe and I had him all to ourselves for 5 days.  It was like a vacation, only in the comfort of our home.  It was beautiful.

So anti-climatic.  Yeah.  See, he was supposed to be sleeping on a cot in a tent for 2 months and our communication was going to be slim-to-none except for emails.  And he was going to be involved in a really cool training exercise with other armies.  And it was going to be an awesome experience for him.

But there was some pretty severe and dangerous political instability where he was headed and the powers-that-be decided that it wasn't worth risking the lives of their men for training.

And I don't want to speak for all military wives when I say this, but for me, there's almost a feeling of guilt over the situation.  I was prepared for a separation from my husband for a period of time.  And it doesn't mean that I wanted him gone, but once I psych myself up for it, then it's time to do it.

But then came the roller coaster.  And we just went with it.  The changes.  Certainty.  Uncertainty.  It's just so much easier if you roll with it and don't fight it.  If you waste all your energy and emotion on the roller coaster, you're not going to have any left to deal with the final decision.  Poor analogy, I know, but it best describes how it felt when we were in it.

But that feeling of guilt comes in when I think about the fact that he's supposed to be gone now--serving--and he's here with me.  He's home.  He's been home for a couple weeks.  And compared to what we had prepared ourselves for, it's like he never left.  And it kind of makes me feel like we cheated the system somehow.

So the new year always brings a little sadness, but this year, it was a little different.  Glad it's over.

Contradiction

I love being organized.  I love it when everything has its right place.  But....

I have such a hard time keeping up with any sort of cleaning routine while Mark is gone.  (I think I've said this before.)

I have no clue why.  Little things still bother me.  Toys on the floor must be cleaned up.  Dishes get washed.  Counters wiped off.  Bathroom stays clean.

But laundry?  Ha!  I can live an entire 2 week period out of a laundry basket (of clean clothes) in front of our closet.  I don't mind if the opposite side of the bed has little piles of stuff on it.  (Maybe it keeps me company at night?)

But when Mark is home....  Totally different story!  I find myself getting frustrated at little piles in our room.  "Babe, is this pile of laundry by your dresser clean or dirty?"  "Would you mind finding a place for this?  It's cluttering up our room" etc.

Um.... Hello, hypocrite!

What in the world?  I'm trying to drum up an explanation for this...

it's like i've always known him

I've been very nostalgic the past week as we approach Roscoe's first birthday (this coming Monday.  For real?).  There've been lots of moments of just staring at him and remembering back on how he's changed in appearance over the past year.  From coming out with a scrunched up old man face, to his skeleton-like long and lean structure, to his more current somewhat chubby (for him at least) and very handsome state.

Before he was born I used to wonder what he would look like.  Would he look predominantly like Mark or me?  Would it be a perfect mix?  Would he be big or small?  Would his temperament be wide open or subdued?  What color eyes?  All of it a mystery that my best attempts couldn't conjure up.

But now, when I get lost in those moments of staring at him as he plays on the floor with his toys, the sweet face that's become so familiar is the furthest possible thing from a mystery.  It's actually the opposite.  I look at him and feel as though we've always known each other.  Like even though we only met face-to-face a year ago, he's been a part of me forever.  Those beautiful blue eyes framed by thick curled lashes, that button nose, the way his lips contort into a curious smile or a mischievous grin or a frustrated cry.  All of it is so....natural.  So normal.  So perfect and right.  So..... always.

The best part is that when I'm lost and spinning uncontrollably in those moments, he usually looks up and me and we stare at each other for a moment, like we're thinking the same thing.  Recognizing each other, affirming silently our bond that seems to transcend even time itself.  And then he breaks it with a light-up-his-whole-face smile.  It's typically accompanied by a squeal or other happy noise.

And, oh boy, those moments.  They're the ones that seem to erase the power of every sleepless night, every puke-covered sheet, every poop-smeared mirror or article of clothing, every feeling of failure or inadequacy, every fear.

predicaments

I knew this day would come.  And I've said that when it did, I would stick to my guns.

Because there is one way--and ONLY one way--for the toilet paper to hang.  Flap over front, not behind.

Correct

Incorrect

But when you have an exploring baby, the logistics of the proper way for hanging toilet paper are challenged.  See, if the flap hangs behind (the improper way), a child can spin the toilet paper roll all he wants without making a pile of toilet paper on the floor.  But when the roll is positioned properly, with the flap over front, any spinning will cause disaster.

Generally speaking, the bathroom door stays closed.  Because I like to sit down and blog and drink coffee and check out pinterest and other sort of time wasting things in the morning, rather than follow roscoe all over the house to make sure he's not getting into anything.  So, close doors, put protectors in outlets, and let him go.  He goes between his room, the living room, and the kitchen.  So the toilet paper isn't an issue until I'm getting ready.

But keeping him out of the bathroom when I'm getting ready is like trying to catch and contain a waterfall in a water bottle.  It's impossible.  (Unless I close the door, which I won't do because then I can't hear what he's doing.)  So I run back and forth between him and all sorts of things I don't want him touching--the toilet, trashcan, plunger, toilet brush, toilet paper roll--all while trying to apply makeup or fix my hair.

All that frustration, you ask, and you won't just turn the toilet paper around?

No, no I won't.

the broken mug; an excerpt from Roscoe's journal

Background:  tonight, Roscoe broke my favorite mug that I made in ceramics class.  I used that thing more than any other mug.  I loved it.

I wrote in his journal tonight.

There are so many things I've thought about you that I wish I could remember to tell the adult-you.  That's why I have this journal, and I'm not using it like I planned.  I was hoping to get something written in here at least once a month during the time you're with us.  So I've missed 6 consecutive.  That's 50% of your life so far.  I hope that's not indicative of my filling up the rest of these pages.

I've often questioned my motives in doing this.  Why am I doing this?  What's the purpose?  Is it for me or for you?  Will I give it to you only to have you shrug your shoulders at it because you could care less?  If that's the case, do I even care?

 I don't think I do.

Because if you're that flippant about this kind of communication, it's by your choice--not our fault.  Your dad and I so want you to learn to appreciate the little things--well, what on the outside appears to be little (notes, for example)--because those add up and are really the bigger, more treasured things in life.

So on that note- I'm going to tell you about a thing.  An item.  A creation.  It is/was tangible, and it had no eternal value whatsoever.  But I loved this thing.  I made it.  I used it multiple times a week.  It was by far my favorite...coffee mug.

You broke it tonight.

And I could say things like "if I hadn't gotten you out of bed to play because you couldn't sleep, my mug would still be in one piece," but as soon as I think that I mentally slap myself.  Because that piece of burned clay can't make me smile, laugh, swell up with the deepest feelings of contentment and love like you can--like I experienced tonight when you were up WAY past bedtime.

It really is just a thing.  It held liquid.  I own approximately 2-3 dozen other perfectly functional liquid-holding vessels.

But I was so upset when you flung it off the end table and I watched it shatter on the floor.  Upset, sad, angry, frustrated.

Over a thing.

Remember those little things I just talked about?  For me, the little thing manifested itself in a sneaky way tonight--from 8:30-10 pm when you were so happy to be in the living room working out your energy instead of crying in your crib.

And that is something I'll treasure more deeply than any thing I could ever own.

a night at the circus

A few months ago, Mom and Dad saw that Ringling Bros were coming to town and decided to buy tickets for those of us children (and our children) who were in the area.  Unfortunately, neither my brother Andy nor my husband Mark could make it.  So Mark's parents (lucky guys) got to take their tickets.

I didn't get nearly the pictures that I wanted to.  But I got a couple of Roscoe that I loved (of course).

Oh, I have to mention that Sherri (Mark's mom) rivaled the 7-year old Liam in level of excitement.  I honestly think that she was the most excited child that attended.  Love ya, ma! ;)

Attempt #1 at getting a picture of me and my little man.  I had just put him in the wrap and he was giggling and trying to squirm out.

Attempt #2.  A little better.  With grampa and cousin Gilly in the background.  (I love his little squinty eyes and smile.) (Roscoe's, that is.  Not grampa's.)

And success!  Love this guy.  And his circus-inspired hair-do.


The circus started at 7:30 and was over around 10.  Roscoe's normal, average day bedtime is 8:00, for no other reason than that's the time that he hits his must-go-to-bed-now wall.  He got a little squirmy around 9, just before intermission, but other than that I was so proud of the way he handled his fatigue.

Here are some post-circus pictures.  He looks a little tired:

Grampa just loves Roscoe to pieces, by the way.  That's the reason he's the only other person in the pictures.  He was right beside me helping with Roscoe all night.  He tends to do that when Mark's out of town.  Thanks, Dad Grant.

So thanks, Mom and Dad, for the night at the circus.  We had a blast.  I do wish I had gotten some pictures of the actual circus, but I was a little preoccupied and pictures probably wouldn't do it justice anyway.