My Mister

June is an interesting month. It usually sneaks right up on me and then I sit in amazement that half the year is already gone. In addition to pre-ordering next year’s calendar I also have to figure out how to help my husband celebrate Father’s Day. Now truthfully, we are still kind of new at celebrating this holiday I mean our oldest just turned four. But in four years, I have had a hard time trying to make sure my husband feels as special as he makes me feel on Mother’s Day.

I mean as far as fathers and husbands go, he’s the best. When I’m not teaching he’s the first up, so he makes my daughter breakfast. When I am teaching he gets her dressed and takes her to school. He helps with meals and tries to make most of our outings and never goes kicking and screaming, but with a smile. He even does the laundry okay maybe it started out of desperation, but this works for us. For the most part bath time is a family affair. He washes one, while I wash one. He dresses one, while I dress one. He reads to one, while I read to one. Then we pray together he puts one down while I put one down. In fact, even when he has to work late he calls and joins us for prayer.

Now, I know some of you guys are like…what. Yup, this is my normal. This is my husband and this is Morgan and Garrett’s daddy. The slightest deviation in our schedule and I am bombarded with questions about his whereabouts. Truthfully, my son will take me, but he definitely prefers his daddy and I’m okay with that. Having said all that, Father’s Day is a big deal.

But my husband is also a live for today kind of guy. So he’s almost impossible to shop for. He likes what he likes and if he sees something he likes, he buys it. No waiting list of “wants.” So as unceremonious as it sounds, usually I just ask him what he wants. This year his request was a gift certificate to Banana Republic and although I obliged, it just doesn’t seem to be enough.

I mean how can a card or a gift certificate truly let him know how appreciated, valued and loved he is? How can a gift or a day solidify his importance in our lives? The answer is it can’t, but hopefully our effort at least lets him know we see him and we indeed can vouch for one of his favorite sayings that “Real Black Fathers Do Exist.”

Thank you Garrett Taylor for being a shining example in our home and for all to see what your definition of a daddy is. I’m mighty glad to be your wife and Blessed to be the mother of your children. Father is the title you were given at the hospital, but daddy shows up and shows out everyday in our children’s lives; that’s a title you’ve earned.

 

Catch of the Day

I pretty much grew up fishing. My few day old photos have me in a playpen on what my grandma affectionately called “the fish crick.” When I got older me and my brother would compete to see who could catch the most night crawlers for the next morning. We had our own strategies for catching fish too. I would look for a shady spot; fish like that. I loved fishing right after a light rain too, seemed they always bite then. I can’t reveal all my secrets, but just know I fished often and I was pretty good at it, rarely left empty handed.

Like most kids, the older I got, the less I hung with grandma. I mean band practice, track, cheerleading etc…left little time for catching my own bait. But recently my 4-year-old has been begging us to take her fishing. I’m guessing her curiosity was sparked by something on television, because we haven’t really discussed fishing as a hobby and she wasn’t letting up.

I’ve been fishing once in the 10 years I have lived in North Carolina so I had to do some homework on finding a location conducive to toddler fishing. My friends recommended River Park North and man am I glad they did. You mean we can visit a mini aquarium, have a picnic, paddle boat, fish and hike at the same spot? Perfect.

Sounded easy, but since we had no fishing gear, no fishing license and no bait, a late night Wal Mart trip was not just part of the outing but necessary. I’m not sure if you all have been to the Wal Mart Sporting and Goods department lately but there’s a lot to pick and choose over. There were several children rods and reels, but her eye was stuck on the pink Barbie fishing rod with a matching gear box and accessories. Okay, so she probably didn’t need her own tackle box, but it did match.

Note to self, next time we will actually open our equipment before our arrival. It’s a good thing my husband has the patience of Job and me and the children were able to go on a hiking trail while he put it all together in the parking lot. When we returned we were ready to fish.

She was so excited and truthfully so was I. Taking her reminded me of all the good times I had growing up fishing. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed it and what a big part of my childhood it was. By now it’s early afternoon. The weather is pleasant, the pier isn’t too crowded and she didn’t even quiver as I baited her hook. I gave her a quick lesson on her reel and showed her how to cast a few times. She jumped at the opportunity to cast herself and she watched her bobber with intensity.

It only took about five minutes for her realize she doesn’t have the patience to wait on the fish and she certainly has no interest in being quiet while fishing. In that same amount of time, my soon to be 2-year-old was amazed at the idea of casting and his Spiderman reel became quite dangerous. If you don’t believe me ask my husband. Apparently he suffered a minor hook in the finger injury and spent a lot of time ducking and dodging our son’s feeble attempt to cast his own line.

While we didn’t catch a single fish that day, I certainly caught the fishing bug and can’t wait until my first kid free fishing trip. Somebody’s got to use all this equipment.

 

 

 

Is That Me?

She stands about 2 inches tall. She has a slightly lighter complexion than me and her hair is neatly done in a chin length bob. She wears a moss green pants business suit and carries a very HOT caramel color briefcase. Oh yeah and she wears low, but classy black heels on her feet. At first glance she definitely handles her business.

So how did we meet? Well, three days per week my son is in day care. I am sure you all know the drill. You have to sign them in the morning when you drop them off and you sign them out when you pick them up. I always ask additional questions, like did he have a good day? Did he take a nap? Was he kind to his friends? So apparently, they have grown used to my inquiries and when I went to pick up my last week he was proudly carrying something, or shall I say someone in his left hand. One of his instructors approached me and said he’s been carrying her around all day. “He found her this morning,” she said. “He brought her to me and said, ‘this is my mommy’.”

She went on to say that he gave her lots of kisses, introduced her to his friends in his class and held onto her during nap time. WOW. Did he miss me terribly today? Is this how my son sees me? I immediately got teary eyed. Who knew, certainly not me. I mean for one thing the boy just doesn’t have a whole lot to say. Second, I am blessed to work from home two days per week and my mommy uniform consists of yoga pants and a tank top. That’s a far cry from my office wardrobe.

Office days are different. That’s when he sees me in my business attire. In fact, that’s how I am dressed when I wake him up. But I wasn’t aware he was paying attention. What a pleasant surprise. Who knew that a ceramic looking plastic toy could make my day? I thought a lot about the little lady, I was trying to figure out why she was even in his classroom, but I am assuming she was a prop in a make believe city.

Now, for whatever reason I didn’t pay attention to her face. So, I have no idea if she was smiling or not. I sincerely hope so, because I smile a lot. I smile, because I am so amazingly Blessed and grateful. I have an awesome family that is perfect for me. I have great careers and the flexibility to spend a lot of time with my little one’s.

My son presented me with a great gift that day. With little words, he spoke volumes on how he sees his mommy, who he thinks I am and what he thinks I look like. It was clearly one of those moments that I could never have imagined just how special it would be prior to mommy-hood.

 

 

His Turn

My four-year-old daughter does not allow grass to grow under her feet. In fact, I am sure I spend more time on her appointments than my own in any given week. She has ballet, too many birthday parties and of course her personal favorite – play dates. Some times her baby brother gets to tag along, but for the most part she prefers all girls play dates including dress-up, good snacks and lots of high pitch screaming. So imagine her surprise, when her 20-month-old brother spread his wings this week and had his first very own play date; no girls allowed.

“Why can’t I go,” she asks. “Because they are much younger than you, they’re babies,” I reply thinking the term was a deterrent. “Well, I know how to play with babies,” she responds “I do it all the time. I play with him every day.” That was just the beginning of a 5-minute dialog on why she should be allowed to attend his play date, but I wasn’t budging.

Now he attends a day care, three days per week and knows all his classmates by name, especially the girls. But his first play date was not with a classmate, it was with two cousins that he doesn’t get to see often. All three of them were born in 2011, one in January one in April and Garrett in July. One recently moved to Greenville and one lives in Georgia, the later was the motivation to get these boys together.

Their auntie, a dear friend of mine agreed to host their get together. I’m not sure Garrett knew what I meant when I picked him up early and said we were going to a play date, but I do know he was surprised his sister was not in tow. “Where’s sissy,” he asked on the way. “She’s still at school,” I said. “This is your play date.”

When we arrive he walks up the sidewalk kind of slow. He is looking at the open garage door, lots of toys and mini vehicles and two little boys about his size. He doesn’t speak, but makes his way to the bright red tricycle. Before he mounts, the oldest of the three approaches gently and asks his auntie “who’s this?” She makes the three way introduction and I ask Garrett to give the boys a pound. I know, I know, in some circles it may be considered a terrorist threat, but in my circle it’s a peaceful gesture. The boys are silent, give a few pounds and immediately make their way to separate toys to play. For two hours, they are quiet; pleasant, but silent and I am thinking this is a bust. They didn’t fuss, they didn’t hit each other, they were just chilling.

And all I can think of is how noisy Morgan’s play dates are compared to this one. How many times I have to remind her to use her inside voice and not to run and how come she can’t paint her nails for the 50^th time. Are boys really that different? Is it their age? Will this be their dynamic when they are together? Were they just feeling each other out? Or are they psyching me out? I have no idea. But I do know that so far, so good. I made it through the first of many all boy play dates.

 

Penny for Your Throat

It’s amazing how your day can change in lickety split. Last Sunday got off to an awesome start. After a hectic week, I was looking forward to our family’s first visit to the Dogwood Festival. The weather was great, not too hot, not too cold. When we left, we stopped by Sam’s Club to pick up a few things to throw on the grill. With two kids in tow, we decided my husband would go inside and I would stay in the car with the children. As I am on the phone with him, I hear Morgan in the backseat counting money from her cup holder. No matter the size of the coin, she counts it as one.

“One, two, three…” I hear her counting sing song like until she reaches “nine.” All of a sudden I hear her kicking and panting and yelling. I jump in the backseat and ask her what’s wrong. She is holding her throat with both hands and says she can’t breath. “Morgan,” did you swallow something?” “Yes she yells; money, I can’t breathe.” She’s panicking and I am trying not to. I ask her what color was it and she tells me it was brown. I open her mouth and put two fingers to the back of her throat. I am hoping I can see it. I can’t. I am hoping I can cause a gag reflects and it will come out. It doesn’t. “Morgan, if you can yell, you can breathe. Please calm down, breathe out your nose and tell me where it is.” “It’s stuck, right here,” she says panting slow but calmer.

She points to the center soft spot at the bottom of your neck, right before your collarbone. I feel for it, but I can’t feel it. I look down and realize the phone was still connected to my husband and I tell him he has to come and we have to go the emergency room. His initial response was one of little concern. “What did she swallow,” he asked. “A penny I respond, we have to go now, leave the basket and lets go.” I sense irritation in his voice, but he comes out and when he gets to the truck he understands the emergency and heads to the hospital.

When we arrive, I rush her in and explain she swallowed a penny and is having trouble breathing. The doctor on call is Dr. Smiley and he enters without hesitation. When he comes in we explain the situation he seems somewhat nonchalant and says  “sometimes children feel like it’s still stuck, but they have passed it to their belly, so the x-ray will determine our next step.”

Now, I have to tell you all, that yes, I too have swallowed a penny and yes, I know most children will pass it to their stomach and the parents have the unfortunate job of searching for it in their stool for the next few days. On the surface, I am familiar and understand that kids live through this type of thing. In fact, my husband too has swallowed a coin and our parents yelled, gave us some castor oil and played the waiting game. But this was different, and I knew it and I know Morgan. I knew if she said it was stuck….then it was stuck. And I knew, I had tried all the basics and I couldn’t see it or make her throw it up or make her finish swallowing it.

In X-ray we need two technicians, one to help position her and one to take the picture. I explain to her it’s a photo op and we will see her skeleton and she seems cool with that. As soon as we hear the buzzing sound of the camera click, the technician yells “Is she still wearing a necklace?” And that’s my confirmation that a foreign object is definitely stuck in my baby’s throat. No, she was not wearing a necklace; it’s the penny. It was placed perfectly in the center of her throat, like a choker.

By this time, it’s been about an hour and she is calm, but starting to drool and puffs her cheeks in an attempt to get more air. She squeezes my hand every now and again when she gets nervous. She can speak, but is scared to and I can understand that. Upon review of her X-ray, Dr. Smiley calls the Gastrointestinal Doctor on call. Within an hour we are headed to an operating room for an endoscopy to hopefully retract a penny that is lodged in my four-year-old daughter’s esophagus. Really, I mean, I was just at the Dogwood Festival watching her on kiddie rides and now she was being prepped for surgery.

Inserting the IV was the worst part for her. For the most part, under the circumstances, I was extremely calm; until it was time for her to go to the operating room, without me. Now, that was a problem and the nurses on staff knew it. The saving grace was Dr. Josie. She was calm, beautiful and sincere and put me somewhat at ease about my absence. I was grateful for her demeanor, cause Lord knows I was thinking about setting it off when told I had to leave my baby.

An excruciating 20 minutes later, Dr. Josie hands me the most expensive penny I own and a color picture of the inside of my toddlers esophagus and stomach. She then explains just how stuck the penny was and that she had to push it down into her stomach and retract it from her belly. There are a few lacerations on her throat and in her stomach, but it’s the emotional scars her daddy and me went through that will never heal and they certainly cannot be bought with a penny.

When Morgan wakes up from surgery, she looks at me dimly and I kneel down to her bedside and say “Morgan, you can talk now.” She whispers softly “Is the penny gone?” And when I tell her it is, she smiles and loudly says “it’s gone, it’s gone, it’s really gone.” A few moments later she thanks Dr. Smiley and assures him that she has learned her lesson and that’s why parents say not to put money in your mouth. I am grateful for her lesson, but my oh my it sure did cost a lot more than a penny.

 

Two Decades

My graduating class in high school was the first in our city to have been together since 7^th grade. As we trucked along in our awkward middle school years, our school was converted to the high school and well, let’s just say we grew up there. With over 400 students, in theory there were enough of us to get lost in a crowd, but I never did. Seems like I remember just about everyone when I look in the yearbook.

Man, I can’t believe I kept up with that thing and I really can’t believe we are gearing up for our 20^th high school class reunion. Towards the end of our senior year I remember being in the cafeteria and a group of us trying to calculate this year. Math never was my strong suit. But I know enough to figure out that 20 years equals not one, but TWO decades.

For the most part, we couldn’t fathom what 2013 would look like, feel like or be like. I remember someone mentioning Jetson cars, flying from one location to the next.

Some of us were glad to move on to bigger and better things. Some of us were convinced high school was the best time we would have in our lives. Some of us wanted to kick rocks and run as far away from our hometown as possible and others couldn’t imagine living a day without Mohawk Valley air.

But all of us were clueless about the people we would become, the things we would do and the places we would travel. None of us predicted Facebook keeping us in touch with each other and allowing a sneak peek into each other’s lives and families anytime we want. So as I review our official announcement of our upcoming reunion this summer, I am kinda of excited.

Now with that excitement comes some reservations. I mean, I don’t really remember who I had beef with, I hope they don’t either. And I don’t really remember a whole lot of names, I hope they don’t take offense, but I’ve been busy the last two decades; you know….living. In addition, I ain’t really trying to be the chick who doesn’t look the same, so off to the gym we go for the next four month.

But oh what fun it will be to show my husband why I know all the words to Love Shack and to taste tomato pie and to introduce him to folks who knew me, when.

I have mixed feelings and a ton of emotions about Utica, NY, but it will always be the place I grew up, the place I learned how to be a good friend, the place I met so many wonderful people, the place where I was introduced to more cultures, religions and ethnic backgrounds than some people meet in a lifetime.

I guess it’s true what people say, time really does fly when you are having fun, and home really is where the heart is and a part of mine will always be in tucked away off exit 31 from NY Interstate 90. See you in July Proctor family.

 

Fit for a Princess

About six months ago my then 3 year-old daughter asked to bring in birthday number 4 with a princess theme and real princesses in tow.  At the time, I remember thinking what a tall order. Where in the world am I suppose to find real princesses? So me and my small circle of friends accepted the personal challenge and got to work. Then, after visiting a skating rink, my little princess changed her mind and the theme. She wanted to skate and wanted all her friends to skate too.

So on Saturday, March 30, 2013 we went skating to help Morgan celebrate her 4^th birthday; all 42 of us. Yes, you heard me right 42 people drove at least 20 miles from several different directions to meet us at a small town skating rink. Luckily, it was a holiday weekend and not overcrowded.

I think the owners figured out real quick that we were used to beating to our own drum. We didn’t use their birthday décor, we brought our own, including plates and flatware. We didn’t use their cake and ice cream…we brought our own. We didn’t even let them serve the food; we had our own servers. We have routines. We like things a certain way and I am grateful to have friends that always help me execute those ideas.

Yes it’s true her birthday is a production and what is a production without a crew?

So I have a few special shout outs: Many thanks to my husband and “the best daddy in the world” for designing the buttons for her guests and writing the necessary checks; my sister and Morgan’s personal hair stylist and auntie for hooking up the rainbow beads and cornrows; my cousin, soror, friend, photographer extraordinaire and Morgan’s Godmother for designing the special cake toppers; my cousin, friend and sudo-auntie for picking up cupcakes at two different locations and my friend and sudo-auntie for staying up all night to design and make labels, buttons, gift bags and everything else.

Yes, the crew was fabulous, but so were the guests. At least three babies left kicking and screaming against their wills. As a fellow mommy, I feel for you guys, but as a party host…that was one heck of a shindig.

And after countless hours and hundreds of dollars the entire fiasco was summed up by her two-second birthday wish as she blew out the candle “I just want to say thank you God, I have the best mommy and daddy in the world.” Is that even a wish? Well, with that said, she is either the sweetest baby in the world and we are blessed to have her OR we are entirely gullible and she has us right where she wants us. Either way, that’s one more birthday for the books and as soon as I recover it’ll be time to gear up for Garrett’s birthday in July.

4th Birthday wish