Big Sippy Cup

Last night Adyson, in all of her 13 month old "big baby" self, sat in front of my counter in the kitchen, as i washed the dishes- and as she howled with hurt as I denied her, her bottle. The bottle sat on the counter, waiting to be washed- as she held a miniature sippy cup, that could only hold about 5 or 6 ounces of milk. She held the green cup with little excitement, continued her tantrum- and threw it across the floor.

I turned my head as I watched the cup roll and hit the refrigerator. I looked to Adyson with alligator tears streaming down her face- her mute cries breaking through every so often through the sobbing, and I,  shortly later deciding that today- would not be the day I take away her bottle. It would not be the day that I make her "Act her age".
Today would be the day, as all of the other days before- that I give in to her being a baby.
I would hold her with her bottle full of warm milk , because she refuses to drink it cold, I would rock her gently back and forth as we watch TV before bedtime and settle into our normal nighttime routine.

Today, being a new day, I sat down with the yellow pad of paper and pen, to write out the grocery list. I went down the lines crossing off all of the food and other household supplies needed for the week, as I arrived to the last line.... I half-heartedly scribbled down three words...

Big . Sippy . Cup. 

I found myself writing these words with hesitation and a little bit of sideways smirk on my face. Only half-believing in these words anyway. Knowing in the back of my mind that this cup, like others- would end up on the shelf for several more weeks until I worked up the courage to do the unthinkable.

Could I possibly take all of the bottles- box them up into a bin to put away on a shelf or store downstairs with all of the other baby things that have been put away, never to be seen again? Could I really just go cold-turkey and get rid of one of the last traces of baby-life for Adyson?

I should also note that , at daycare -- she does not get a bottle. She does not get a pacifier. All methods that Miss Beth implemented when I said, let's start trying to do the big cup instead of a bottle. And so, one day- I stopped bringing her to daycare with a pacifier, and Beth stopped offering a bottle.

Little does Miss Beth know,  Adyson still gets that bottle and Paci at night with Ma-Ma. :-) 
I think I find myself grasping for the little moments still of baby-life with her but find myself at the same time, trying to find the line between making her into a "big girl" and keeping her little. We're really just working on their timeline anyway. Change happens when they're ready for it to happen, and permanent changes happen when we're ready to let them!

Concrete Angel(s)

“A statue stands in a shaded place

An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot” 
― Martina Mcbride


Driving home today from work i found myself stopped at a corner, waiting for the cars in a hurry to pass by- off to their own destinations here and there, everyone more in a hurry than the last. So, I try to be less in an emergency myself.. and so, I  sit to wait for the traffic to move on. I look to my left then to my right to make sure all is well, but just as I start to ease forward , i notice two small children getting off of the yellow school bus in front of me.

The girls couldn't have been older than 5 and 4, give or take... and as the two held hands and continued on past the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd house past the bus stop... I found myself looking in the rear view mirror, wondering just how far these two had to go..before their mother or father- stepped out happily from their door steps - to greet them home from their long day at grade school. To unbundle them from the cool fall day.. to empty out their backpacks to see the notes from the teachers, to sit them down for a snack in front of their favorite afternoon cartoon?

Then, as i lost them in the distance... I felt overwhelmingly sad. I wondered... did they have someone waiting for them at home?

I was listening just the other day to the radio, sponsoring their annual "Roof-sit-for-kids" benefit. They announced that they raised almost 150,000 dollars to go towards prevention and other areas of need involving child abuse all over michigan. I learned several years ago though, to not pay too much listening time to that particular time of year for the radio. It's too sad.

It's a lifetime movie that you can't turn off, or switch to another happy channel- because you know that what you're turning off- is real for someone. The pain, and sorrow and awful reality of these petrifying stories of child abuse, neglect and complete lack of humanity... are true.

I always shake my head, because that's all that i can do, at stories like this. Terrifying clips on the news depicting another fatality for a child lost to the hands of his or her own mother or father, or someone else in their life who they were supposed to be in "safe hands" with. It's like we've become immune to these stories. Stories set aside in the line-up next to the evening weather, and evening sports clip... Another typical reason why i do not watch the news.

As an important side note. If there is a Hell where people who have done immeasurable Bad on Earth--- I would hope there is a special place for anyone who has done any hurt or irreparable harm to children here.

Party Animal.

"When I was a child I spoke as a child I understood as a child I thought as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things." I Cor. xiii. 11.

Every now and again I find myself getting a little stir-crazy. I have the need to get dressed up, hair curled, makeup applied to perfection , heels on my feet that are more painful than the look is worth, and a little black dress that makes me feel like marilyn monroe at least for the night. A cinderella story that makes me feel like for a few moments that I am the superstar and everyone is watching me. 

So I go through the motions:

Find the sitter. 

Tuck my hunnie-pie in bed, in her warm footy- "jam jams".

Kiss her goodnight.

Give instructions to the teen that I used to be, responsible for just more than sinking into the couch for the evening, to watch an abundance of Jersey Shore or Teen Mom- 

And off I go. 

Every now and again, these nights are needed.

 Not just the usual trip to the bowling alley donning the notorious black top with jeans and black boots. We're talking,  taking a road down the long winding, exhausting trip, better known as downtown Grand Rapids.

Ah yes, into the land where Everyone feels like they're the superstar... And where every 20 something is on the prowl for the most drunken-evening filled with loud music so obnoxious that you can't hear the person across the table saying how AWESOME this bar is.

 *eye roll. 

And then the old-lady card gets figuratively slapped on my forehead. Despite how amazing I may feel in my hot black dress and superstar mentality- I feel like I'm melting away into the distance, watching a bad Teen Movie, portraying the many annoyances that I once felt about high school.

Every girl looks exactly the same. 

Every guy is looking for the girl who looks like the last girl, who just turned him down at the bar.

Every waitress  ignores the girl ordering the beer, 

But flaunt themselves to the drunk ordering tequila and some stupid shot named after the stripper down on the local corner. 

"YEAHHH LETS TAKE A PURPLE-HAIRED-SPICY LUCY SHOT"

 YAAAAH *FIST PUMP.

And the worst part is , people like these places. People go out all of the time, weekly and sometimes more than that- to bar hop. To go to more and more of these identical bars with Irish names with notoriety for being a breeding ground for drunken disorderly conduct. 

And I find it difficult to put on the party-face, and just blend in. 

Blend in with the girl next to me who's most responsibility in life is to pay her parents 100 bucks for rent- and to make sure she can struggle through her English 101 course down at the community college to try and make it on the Dean's list. 

*sigh.  To be without obligations right? 

And I say it without an ounce of envy in my voice, I can assure you. The fact remains that with life comes maturity and growth.. IT has to. 

Yet , there are people who manage to continue on with life- acting as though they are not supposed to move forward. 

I got told the other day that my "three drink limit" followed by an early-night-bedtime, was depressing. Why does it have to be? Why can't the expectation be the opposite. That we embrace being adults and acting like normal functioning members of society, instead of feigning for the next hangover and feeling awful about poor decisions made the night previous? 

The world is filled with Snooki-lindsay lohan-reality tv star wannabe's. 

We're trained to be stupid.