Queen Kelley

That’s the date when I meant to write this post. It’s been on my heart ever since. On that day three years ago, our Ladybug was born. I look at our little blondie, with her still soft, chunky body, and notice that her legs are lengthening. At her well visit this morning, the doctor exclaimed that Ladybug gained five inches in height in one year! She stands beside her big sister and lacks only a few inches before people confuse them as twins.

I think about the other ways she grew this year. Her silky blond hair that falls straight no matter how I style it now touches her shoulders. Her face, though still round and smooth, is more expressive. Her hands gained amazing dexterity that allows her to cut impossibly small shapes from paper and scatter them all over the floor.

Ladybug is a package of contrasts: adorable and rowdy; physically loving and abusive; sweetly quiet and deafening; curious and indifferent; daring and fearful.

She is a fascinating balance (and sometimes unbalance!) to her more observant, cautious sister. She makes us laugh, and she makes us wring our hands. We love her deeply, fully, and unconditionally. Always. Happy belated birthday, my spunky three-year-old!

As I’ve written elsewhere today, five years ago I was holding a chipmunk-cheeked, pointy-headed, chubby-limbed baby girl. It’s been a treat to watch her grow into a lovely little lady. Butterfly turned five years old at 8:37 this morning. Like all parents do from time to time, I stand in awe of her today, marveling that five years—some 1,825 days—have actually passed since the first moment I laid eyes on her. It’s humbling, overwhelming, and gratifying. The magnitude of responsibility I feel as her mother weighs heavily at times. What kind of teenager will she grow to be? Will she feel that she can talk to me about anything? Will she learn to make wise choices? Will she grow to treasure the mystery that is God? Will she treat other people and the earth with kindness and care? How greatly do I affect how she turns out in these areas? If I think on it too long, I get short of breath.

For now, I will save my dreams of the future for spare moments. Mostly, I’ll live hugely into the present. Butterfly is five years old! My artist who creates endless pieces that I can’t bear to throw away, no matter how high the paper pile grows. My dancer, not exactly graceful but robust with energy and delight as she twirls and leaps and stomps. My learner who asks endless questions about the world and people and life, who takes in information readily and shares it eagerly. My “reader” who can sit for long spans of time listening to the stories I tell her from picture books or from my own mind. My “writer” who draws a series of pictures and dictates tales to go along with them. My struggler who is working hard to put words to her emotions. My child of passionate emotions who bursts out with riotous laughter almost as easily as she dissolves into noisy tears.

Oh, how I love her. Happy birthday, my sweet girl!

Yesterday, we celebrated our sweet Ladybug’s 2nd birthday again. I say “again” because her big party took place last Saturday, complete with Thomas the Train decorations, an amazing train cake made by my friend Heather, and many of the people we love all under one roof. Yesterday was no less exciting, as we, the grandparents, and aunt watched big sister dance at the Cherry Blossom Festival (she did well!) and then enjoyed the frisbee dogs and a few rides at the park. Oh, and the cotton candy, which we devoured in a matter of minutes. Last night, we ordered BBQ and sang happy birthday once more over an angel food cake iced with Cool Whip and fresh strawberries. We figured we’d had enough of delectable buttercream icing and heavy cake for a while.

Front and center was the chubby, soft-skinned, blond-haired little girl who entered our lives two years ago. She fills our days with the sound of her singing—and her screaming. She entertains us with her cute sayings, like the time she glanced out the window at the sleeping dog and said, in that adorable tiny voice, “Poor Pippin. He’s so tired.” She loves us with hugs and kisses and slaps at us when she doesn’t get her way. She enjoys reading books together and playing in the sandbox. Swings thrill her and baths excite her. She wants so badly to do what Butterfly does, and yet is fiercely independent in the next moment. We love and treasure her deeply. Happy birthday, precious Ladybug!

My brilliant, energetic, creative, and beautiful older daughter, my sweet Butterfly, turned four years old this morning at 8:37. Few words can describe what it’s like to be a parent and watch your baby grow before your eyes. Right now, at four, this is Butterfly.

FAVORITE ACTIVITIES: reading books with a beloved grownup, listening to stories, playing with her assortment of Barbie and Disney Princess dolls, creating artwork from various mediums, sculpting scenes in her sandbox, “flying” around the backyard, attending dance class and preschool and mission friends, playing with Ladybug and pals, enjoying a good meal, spending time with her grandparents and aunt

FAVORITE FOODS: most sweets (she’s just like me in that respect), pizza with black olives, baked ziti, black bean and beef tacos (with plenty of cheese), fuji apples, goldfish crackers, pancakes with syrup 

FAVORITE SONGS: several selections from the Wicked musical soundtrack, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” “I See the Moon and the Moon Sees Me”

MOST PRIZED LOVEY: still Mickey Mouse!

DISLIKES: brushing her teeth, washing her hands, having her hair washed (really anything involving hygiene, but we make it work); going to my work office with me; suffering through a trip to Wal-Mart when she isn’t allowed to look at the toys; cleaning up

FAVORITE BIBLE STORIES: the tale of Joseph, the tale of Moses, Jesus’ birth

These few things certainly can’t summarize my oldest daughter, but they offer a clue into her personality these days. Passionate about being independent but shameless about whining for assistance with the most basic tasks, adoring of Ladybug and impatient with her little sister’s carelessness, overwhelmingly loving and alternately hateful, amazingly creative—that’s our girl. And I wouldn’t trade her for the world. Happy birthday, Butterfly!

[The cake in the photo above was made by my incredibly talented best friend, Monica. Butterfly was able to celebrate her birthday at a double party Saturday that included Monica's daughter. The two girls were born nine days apart and have been friends basically since birth. Our party welcomed both girls and boys as fairies and Indians to the Neverland of our backyard. The children had a fabulous time!]

It’s been difficult to keep up with the blog lately, mostly due to a heavy workload. It seems that since our Wicked weekend, we’ve faced one thing after another—whether it be a deadline for an editing project, necessary overtime for the King, a UTI for Butterfly, or my own little stomach bug this week. I enjoyed my birthday weekend (I turned 31 on Sunday). We spent it attending the party of my best friend’s little girl, enjoying the company of the fabulous Macon grandparents (who aren’t really grandparents but certainly act like them), and eating chocolate cake. I even got money, some soft pajamas, and a precious homemade card from my Butterfly. Who says birthdays aren’t important once you turn 30? I try to milk them for all they’re worth.

Monday went by normally. The girls and I spent a quiet day in the house, as it was too cold and windy to venture out. We all need downtime, days when we expect nothing of ourselves but relaxed, spontaneous playtime together. By Monday night after dinner, though, I had a mild stomachache, which graduated to intense pain after the girls drifted off to sleep. As the King noted in his post, I felt too awful to leave the couch at my own bedtime and ended up tossing and turning downstairs throughout the night. Of all common sicknesses, I think a stomach bug is the worst, whether it happens to me or my kids. It’s just the worst feeling! Fortunately, I have an incredible husband who stayed home most of Tuesday, even though his workload triples mine right now. He spent quality time with the gals, allowing me to rest and read when I felt like it.

This morning, my appetite is slowly returning. I’ve missed it! The girls are playing calmly, and we’re thinking about heading to the library for storytime. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll make it to this much-anticipated Halloween and also Butterfly’s combo birthday party Saturday, which she is sharing with her best friend. Maybe….

Just a brief post to say happy birthday to my amazing husband, the King, otherwise known as the Shallow Thinker, Daddy, and John. Butterfly and I created a storybook for him today, which she presented to him this evening after a taco salad dinner. She was also most proud of the red rubber bug she chose for him at the Museum of Arts and Sciences during our trip there this morning. “Touch it, Daddy,” she said, stretching it nearly to the breaking point. Ladybug offered frequent kisses and spoken “hap buhdays” to her father. We all enjoyed a yummy dessert recommended by Aunt Jamie. You can’t go wrong with crescent rolls, apples, and lots of butter and sugar—especially when you top it with vanilla ice cream. Needless to say, we’re still stuffed at 10:00 pm. I am incredibly thankful for the King, thankful that he was born 29 years ago, thankful that his parents and siblings and the other special people in his life influenced him to be who he is, thankful for his ambition and motivation, for his deep love and affection, for his sometimes ridiculous and often intelligent sense of humor, for his unending desire to know more about God, and for his unwavering faithfulness to the girls and me. We love you!

Having children takes a toll on one’s quality of sleep. There’s no doubt about it. Ask any parent. I keep thinking that once my kids get into grade school and are able to get up and go potty all by themselves and self-soothe after nightmares, I’ll get a decent night’s sleep. I’m not entirely sure I believe it, though. The thing about having kids is that once they become yours, they’re YOURS. You love them so completely and so intensely and so possessively that they basically take over your brain. Because of this, even when I’m not with my little girls, I think of them. They are a constant presence in the room of my mind. I can go nowhere that they are not. Even a weekend getaway when they sleep in a different location will not remove them from my thoughts. As many of you know and some of you can imagine, this is a bittersweet experience.

Sleep has been particularly elusive for the King and me lately due to both girls suffering various illnesses. When they have stomach bugs, I tell myself there’s nothing worse (at least among everyday illnesses) than your kid throwing up repeatedly in the middle of the night. Then, when they get persistent coughs or ear infections, like now, I tell myself there’s nothing worse than your kid coughing her head off until she’s barely able to pull in a breath. The truth is, a sleepless night is simply bad, no matter how it happens. The funny thing is that, when we are finally able to settle them into relative silence, I lie in bed with those little marathon runners of my thoughts setting new records trying to outdo each other. I simply cannot clear my mind. This is why I think I need to learn to meditate.

We spent two nights with my family and enjoyed most waking moments—the swimming, the eating, the catching up, the laughing, the eating. We did not enjoy my girls’ whining, clinging, coughing, snotting. We did not enjoy our nights in someone else’s bed while our littlest one tossed and turned and could not sleep. Neither could we.

Even so, I think the trip was worth it. To visit my dad’s brothers, whom I rarely see, my aunt and cousins, even my great-great-aunt and great-great-uncle (I think that’s right). To hug my grandmother and grandfather (Mom and Pop), who have been such a constant in my life. To spend time with my parents and sister, viewing photos and hearing stories from their recent trip to Scotland. To remember my beloved great-grandmother, Nana, whose birthday we celebrated every July 4. To watch my girls, overtired and ill as they were, being adorable with all my relatives. It was worth it.

It’s sometimes tough for me on Independence Day. I can’t appreciate the sacrifice of so many United States service men and women without also thinking of the sacrifice of untold thousands of Native Americans. I can’t be grateful for my freedom without remembering the capture and domination of those people who first cared so deeply for this land. I can’t enjoy fireworks and barbecues without mourning in my heart those early peoples’ loss of the life they knew. So I am incredibly appreciative of those who have served our country through the years, winning us independence and keeping us that way. I am overwhelmingly grateful for the freedom we have to worship, speak, work, and live as we choose. I certainly enjoy all the celebratory aspects of our nation’s holidays, including fireworks and good food. But I also remember the original inhabitants of our land, and my heart is sad for them.

I’m remiss with my second daughter. I barely sneaked the last few photos into her “52 weeks” scrapbook (one photo each week since her birth) in time for her Elmo party last Saturday. I haven’t journaled about her in months. Let’s not even get into her first year scrapbook, the one that should include photos from birth and through each month, along with carefully written descriptions and loads of enhancements. Now I’m late with a post about her birthday. It is certainly true that my slack in these areas indicates nothing about my feelings for Ladybug.

She was born Wednesday, March 21, 2007, at 4:52 pm, weighing 7 pounds, 15.7 ounces and measuring 19 1/4 inches. She was chubby and short and let out the cutest cry that sounded like a little kitten mewing. Since the day we brought her home, all sleepless nights aside, she’s been a joyful “day” baby–smiling nonstop; first cooing, then chatting; loving to snuggle and cuddle and give hugs and kisses. These past few months, it’s been delightful to watch her personality burst forth. Ladybug’s hobbies are dancing to music, playing with toy cars, looking at real cars, touching people’s jewelry and saying “Pitty” (pretty), being outdoors, eating, looking at books, observing her big sister (and trying to do what she does!), practicing walking, and spending time with her daddy. She’s learning a new word nearly every day. (Tonight, as we dined with friends to celebrate Easter, the word was “Cookie!”)

With her creamy skin, right-cheek dimple, yellow-blond fuzz, and crystal blue eyes framed with long, light lashes, she’s a little doll to watch. On occasion, it’s sad to know she’s moving rapidly away from babyhood, but as I enjoy her every day, I thrill to every sweet moment and look forward to the little girl she’s becoming.

Happy birthday, my sweet Ladybug! Know how much you are loved. 

My Butterfly is stretching her wet wings even farther today, struggling to fly higher above my head even as I pull her back cautiously. Around 8:37 this morning, Butterfly came into the world…three years ago. I wouldn’t trade today for that moment, as it happened after long hours of labor. After delivering Butterfly, I felt like I had been sorely beaten in a boxing match. My entire body was exhausted, my face swelled, and my eyelids bruised. But she was there, all 8 pounds and 3.7 ounces of her, with fat chipmunk cheeks and soft folds all over. In the tiring weeks and months ahead, we discovered a dimple in her left cheek. Her eyelashes grew long and black, framing deep blue eyes. The transformation between ages one and two was astounding. She went from baby to little girl in a year’s time. Around her second birthday, she finally began to get more than a mullet’s worth of hair. Now at three her solid body is lengthening so that pants she wore well last year leave an inch of bare skin around her ankles. She stands by her growth chart, and in six months we see that she’s grown an inch and a half. Aside from the numerous physical changes, we listen to her speech and hear words and phrases that sound impossibly grown up from lips set in a babyface. She can sit for hours at a time creating with Play-doh, building homes for plastic Care Bears with foam and wood blocks, painting faces complete with “nosebrows,” coloring Mickey Mouse and his friends, or taking care of her stuffed animal babies. Conversation between us is more give and take now than ever before. It’s amazing to watch her learning to reach out to her sister and friends, struggling to enjoy playing with others without arguing over toys, and continuing to explore our wide, wide world.

Happy birthday, my precious Butterfly. Life is all the sweeter with you in it.

Yesterday was my thirtieth birthday. I’ve never been one to obsess over numbers, but I’ll admit this one seemed fairly monumental to me. Thirty years, though relatively a brief span of time, is actually quite a slice of someone’s life. In thirty years, I learned to walk, talk, read, write, do math, be social, draw, sing, love, ride a bicycle, rollerskate, make friends, be obedient (and disobedient), drive a car, meet deadlines (or not), say goodbye to dying loved ones, live with siblings and then roommates, edit books, use the internet, type, recognize the perfect conditions for a rainbow, enjoy the company of dogs, spend quality time with the people I treasure, be a wife, go through pregnancy, mother my girls, worship my God. What a full life. And in only three decades.

Here’s to the next three! Perhaps a published book is in my future.