Letting Go

Well, I did it. I managed to hold back the tears until Buddy and I got back to the car.

It was my first time dropping Rosie off at preschool this past Wednesday. The first time in 3.5 years that I dropped her off and left her in the care of people who were not family. And although I knew she'd do great, even though I was so proud of her as she immediately immersed herself in the activity around her instead of clinging to me, my chest never felt tighter as I walked Buddy back out to the car.

For the first time I really realized what this quote meant: "Having children is like letting your heart walk around outside of your body."

I did some intermittent crying that morning, while bewildered Buddy tried to kiss my tears away. It had never been just me and him. Without Rosie, we were going to have to redefine ourselves a little bit.

We went to a play group where there were moms who understood exactly what I was feeling, as they had felt the same emotions a year or two before when their oldest kids started preschool. It was the right place to be that day. I started to bask in the easiness of just watching one of my kids, only having to get one kid in and out of the car, etc. By the end of the morning, I was still feeling shaky emotion-wise, but I was so excited to go pick her up.

One of my very good friends had assured me earlier: "The first day is the toughest drop-off but also the best pick-up."

She was right.

I opened the door to the classroom tentatively. As soon as Rosie saw me, her face lit up in the biggest smile and she ran straight into my arms for a huge hug. Again, I somehow managed to hold back the tears! I don't know how.

Meanwhile, Buddy had taken off his coat and hat. I think he thought he was starting school, too. No, Buddy, no! You're still all mine for another year or so. I can only imagine the flood of emotions that will come with sending my youngest to school.

Not going to think about that right now. Instead I'll relish pouring over Rosie's first Scholastic Reading Club flier with her. This is going to be fun.

Embracing the Introvert

"Aren't you shy?" are the words that ring through my head when I think about my childhood. "Why is your face so red?" is another one, as I blushed whenever picked out of a crowd. From the get-go, I was shy and quiet. Throughout my entire life, I have gained energy from time to myself more than I have from time with others. And up until this year, I still thought that was wrong.

Turns out, it's a personality trait. I'm an introvert.

While I very, very much enjoy being around my family and friends, it can be also quite draining when it's for long periods of time. I realize now that's why I make an effort to get up before the kids do- I literally need that hour to start my day off quietly, and on the right foot. It helps me focus and zero in on what I need to accomplish.

There was a time when I really didn't want to be this way. I wanted to be someone who craved people around her all the time, who wanted the excitement of new places and different experiences 24/7.

I am so not that person.

So I'm going to embrace this, my introversion. I like routine, order and consistency. "But you have children," an onlooker might protest. We follow a rough schedule every day. Kids like to know what comes next. I've always tried to provide consistency by being home for afternoon naps, and setting regular mealtimes and bedtimes. It works for us.

Now that I've fully realized that I'm an introvert, and that it's not a bad thing (thanks, society), the negative feelings I harbor when I don't get enough time to myself make a lot of sense. Introverts, we need that time. As much as extroverts need other people and places, we need space.

And that's okay. It's how I'm wired. I'm starting to see why they say your 30's are the decade you really get to know yourself. With this revelation in hand, I can make sure I get the space I need, not just want.

Which are you, an introvert or an extrovert? Or do you not relate to either?

Two

Dear Buddy,

Tomorrow you turn two and I can no longer say it seems like yesterday that we brought you home on a negative 14 degree night, with your daddy sick with the stomach flu. It actually feels like two years ago, and I wonder if that's because you're still our baby. Our last baby.

What does seem like yesterday is you starting to walk. Where has the past year gone? When did you become a little boy, able to follow direction, and pick up, all the while singing "Clean up, pick up, everybody do their share"? When did Rosie start asking you questions and when did you start being able to answer them?

You're quite the little guy, you know. You are as affectionate as all get out, and it never fails to tug at my heart strings. I love that you still love to cuddle, sometimes thumb in mouth, sometimes not. (By the way, I'm not worried about your thumb-sucking. Your sister stopped sucking on her fingers to soothe herself at about 2.5 years old, and I have no doubt you'll be the same way. Regardless, we'll cross that bridge when we get there!). You still love to be held and carried around on occasion, and your mama, who realizes she only has one day left of ever having a one year old, well, she's quite okay with it.

I love you, little man. I love the way you pick a receptacle- grocery cart, pocketbook, doctor's kit, etc- and fill it with items you find interesting. I love the way you line all the trains up on the train track, and ask me to help you when they don't go together the way you'd like. I love the impish grin you give me when you find something particularly delightful, and the huge smile you give me now when I ask you to say "Cheese!" for the camera.

You really do touch the hearts of everyone you meet. You've made particularly good friends with one of the ladies who bags groceries at our grocery store, and you are more than happy to let her walk out with you to our car, with Rosie and I following behind. Rosie, by the way, adores you. She loves having you as her 24/7 playmate, even if you do take toys from her on occasion.

I can also tell you look forward to being just like daddy someday. You watch him stack the wood, and drive Grampy's truck, and I can tell you would love to join in if you could.

Thank you, Buddy, for teaching me how to be a boy mom. Not only a boy mom, but a boy mom to the very best son that I could ever imagine.

I Love You,
Mama

It Made Me Think

This week I did something so completely bone-headed, I normally wouldn't tell you about it. I'd tell the people person who needed to know (husband) but that's about it. But because it led to a heart-warming moment, I'll tell you what happened.

As I was getting ready to leave the preschool, with my happy little girl buckled into her car seat, I backed into a dumpster. Broke one of my rear lights. The blinker on that side stopped functioning.

Backing into dumpsters is not something Kristen Estelle does. I'm a pretty careful driver, if I do say so. Obviously, not that day.

I took pictures and emailed them to Steve with the bad news (since he's a teacher, it's not convenient to call him and his cell doesn't get good service at the school). I must have been talking about it aloud when I was changing Buddy's diaper, because in a soft voice, Rosie said as she played:

"It's all right, mama. Everyone makes mistakes."

It was one of those moments I just looked at her in wonder. Who was this little girl, so wise beyond her years? I mean, I know she had gotten the line from me; I had said it to her on occasion. But the fact that she remembered- and then tried to console me with it- well, it just made me think.

Maybe even though I backed into a dumpster, I am doing a few things right around here.

Preschool, Here She Comes!

So, somehow, we have a daughter who is old enough for preschool now. Granted, she was considered old enough last May, but my mommy instinct told me she wasn't quite ready yet (especially considering that she wasn't the least bit potty trained at 2 years, 9 months).

And now, at 3 years and 4 months? Completely potty trained. She hasn't had an accident in weeks at this point, not even at nighttime.

It was worth the wait. It was worth waiting for her to initiate using the potty, it was worth the major patience it took on our end, as we changed soiled underwear after soiled underwear, never punishing but always telling her that stuff belongs in the potty, not in there.

Parents- don't fear. Even when your son or daughter is almost three and your friends' kids have been out of diapers for months at the same age- don't fear. Your child really won't be in diapers forever. He or she won't want to be, and he or she will do this thing (potty training) when they are ready.

Along with her being potty trained, the last few months have brought out a maturity in her we hadn't seen before. She is a little lady. Uses her manners, shares very well with her brother. Of course she has her three year old moments, but I could tell she was ready. Ready for something more.

We visited the preschool for the first time. She loved it and didn't want to leave. We then proceeded to the store, where she picked out the pinkest, gaudiest Disney Princess backpack and lunchbox you've ever seen. I bought them with a huge smile on my face, because what's the fun in parenting, if you can't let go and let them make these decisions on their own? Personally, I was eyeing the tasteful light purple lunchbox, but I didn't say a thing. I knew she had many years ahead of her to pick the "more mature" option. You're only three once!

Rosie starting preschool is going to be a big change around here for all of us. Since I'm a SAHM, she's always been home with me. I don't know what it's like not to have her around two mornings every week. Buddy doesn't know what it's like not to have his sister around to play with. It's going to take some adjustment for all of us, but I just know it's going to result in good things.

Good things are always worth the wait.

Alopecia Areata: My Story

It was a year ago yesterday that the four of us were shopping at BJ's, and Steve uttered the words I'll never forget:

"Babe, I don't want you to freak out...but I can see a bald spot on the back of your head."

My mind raced. A bald spot? I knew I had lost a lot of hair, especially with having the babies almost back to back in less than a year and a half, but, a bald spot? He took a picture with my phone. Sure enough, there it was- a small, round spot of my scalp, completely devoid of hair. It was on the top of the back of my head.

I tried not to freak out. I tried not to self diagnose, but of course, I googled it and I came up with the resounding answer of Alopecia Areata. I had never heard of it. It was an autoimmune disease, characterized by loss of hair on the scalp in quarter-size spots. In horror, I read further to discover that in 1-2% of all cases, the person loses hair on every inch of their body.

I closed my laptop and made an appointment with my primary care doctor. She also assumed it to be alopecia areata, and she referred me to a dermatologist who confirmed it. I sat there, in shock. What had caused it? Would I lose more hair?

The doctor told me that, unfortunately, there were no easy answers. Stress was thought to be a probable cause (at which point I thought- stress? But I'm finally coming out of the newborn stage- I'm feeling better than ever!). I asked him if I would lose more hair, and he said that was the finicky thing about alopecia. I might never lose any hair again, or, if I was a rare case, I could lose it all. What he was able to do was give me some cortisone shots in the spot, to promote hair growth.

I left the office feeling very self conscious. I felt like my spot was out for everyone to see. I have very thin hair, and when a breeze came, I could feel where my bald spot was. I was hanging on until Steve quietly broke the news to me that he could see another, larger spot, near the center of the back of my head.

It was at this point that I started to freak out a little. I went back to the doctor, and he gave me a cortisone shot for that area. I had days of worrying that I would lose all my hair. Then I would feel guilty, because alopecia, as scary as it is in the ways that it's so unpredictable, is not fatal. I was healthy. There were no other symptoms. I felt guilty for feeling badly about my condition- which was purely vanity- based. Pretty much, in the early months of last year, I was an emotional mess. I told my family and a few close friends, because I figured if they saw me start to wear bandanas, hats, etc they would probably wonder why. I never wear anything on my head.

I am very, very happy to report that a little over a year later, the hair in both of my spots has totally regrown, probably thanks to the treatments given by my dermatologist. I am not so naïve to think that this condition won't come back to haunt me. It totally could. I tell you my story because a little over a year ago, I assumed any woman who had lost her hair and was wearing a bandana had gone through chemo. Not true. There is a condition called alopecia areata, and while, to an outsider it is solely about vanity, your hair can be pretty key to your self esteem. It's not until you start to lose it that you realize how much it makes up part of your identity.

In With the New

Before Facebook, there was Livejournal- an online journal that you could share with your friends. I still go on there to catch up on a few people, but I haven't posted on it since 2009. Something prompted me to look back at my entries, and Wednesday, on the first day of 2014, I found this entry from January 2nd, 2008:

Prompt: What is your biggest dream? How do you plan to achieve it?

"My biggest dream is to live a satisfying, fulfilling life. Here are the things that would involve: Building and living in our house in Goshen. Creating a family together, and raising our family in the hilltowns. Having my relationship with Steve only grow stronger by the day. Having a satisfying career that I would look forward to getting up and going to every morning. Looking back at my life at age __ and saying, 'Things have been pretty good.'

We're looking into house building this spring, we both want to have kids when we're young so we'll probably get on that sometime in the not so distant future, and I'm on my way to knowing exactly what I want out of my dream job. I'm feeling very optimistic with the start of 2008!"

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Back then we didn't know my dad was going to sell us the family homestead, so we were planning on building on a small piece of land I had inherited from my grandma. I also seemed quite certain that I would be a working mom! Not too surprising that I thought this- after all, my mom had been one- but when we realized my income would pretty much be the cost of daycare, we knew it didn't make any sense for me to continue my job.

Reading this makes me really happy with how far I've gotten with my goals and dreams in the past six years. We have been blessed, and I thank God for what we have. As the quote goes: "Dear God, thanks for this beautiful life and please forgive me if I don't love it enough".

Each and every day is a blessing.

In 2013 I became more present than I've ever been. I started looking for God and found Him everywhere. These are some of the things I want to continue to do in 2014. What will this year bring? Hopefully the kind of joys, excitement and fun last year brought. Probably some heartache too, because years have a habit of bringing both the very good and the very bad.

A new year. Another chance to do things a little better. Another chance to recommit to things that matter: Family, Faith, Friends, Fitness. A chance to maybe finally kick a really bad habit to the curb (nail biting). A chance to reach again for things I didn't dream possible.

Happy New Year, everyone! Let's make it amazing.