Four

Four years old is a happy place.
Everyday something funny comes out of his mouth.

for instance. Today he was holding a black stuffed animal dog that I haven't seen in a long while.  What's your dog's name I ask.  "Scott," he replies very matter of factly.  "and his nickname is Scuh."  of course it is.

also, he is my backseat driver.  for reals.  He was asking me where his soccer practice was going to be tomorrow.  I told him it was going to be where Aunt Syd played her soccer tournament when she was in town.  he replies like we are in an adult conversation... "that's off of summerlin parkway, right mom?"  I reply with yep, right off of summerlin parkway.  But then it hits me.  A four year old just asked me that question.  not an adult, and how the heck does he know where summerlin parkway is?  Let us not dwell on the fact that it took me two years of living here to even be able to tell you what summerlin parkway is and how to get there.  even though I drove on it 3 times a week.

And to put the cherry on top... he ate a chicken salad sandwich for dinner.  without throwing up.  Cue the hallelujahs.  that my friends is where the real magic is at.  Never mind it takes him almost 45 minutes to eat with me sitting right next to him, spoon feeding him.  the little accomplishments, you know?!

but on the best note of this whole topic... he accepts bribery in increments of gum.  not picky about the brand.  not picky about the flavor.  you got a stick of gum, you got yourself a deal.  talk about cheap labor.

Yep, four years old is dynamite.

pretty sure I won't be needing Siri much after he turns five.

Ode to 25

I have lived for almost 26 years.  

I have learned a lot about myself this year:

my love language is talking

I don't laugh as often as I should, I am working on changing that

I like to worry about everything

I love to teach people about food and nutrition

I enjoy quiet moments of stillness

an ice cream in a sugar cone is my most favorite dessert

I enjoy traveling

I enjoy being home even more

I don't like to be crafty crafty

I enjoy diet coke. a lot. 

and it's ok

I look forward to bananas and peanut butter like it's my job

My body has imperfections.  

I wish it could make more babies

marriage is hard

marriage is worth it

I love to be connected to people

I don't like to be connected to m¥ phone

I like to see how long I can go before I fill up my gas tank

I have a voice

I have a strong voice

sometimes i'm afraid to use my voice.  

and that's ok

I let fear control me sometimes.

I recognize that I need to have more faith

tender mercies happen in my life everyday

my sisters are my people

they get me

my mom is considered one of my sisters, except with more wisdom

I've realized relationships ebb and flow

and thats ok.

I have a hard time following through with things

I like to fly by the seat of my pants.

But I like routine too

I am afraid of commitments

I always have good intentions. always.

I often times see two sides to every story. I don't always know what side is right

I like to drink water with salt in it

I talk to myself. I talk to myself a lot

and thats ok.

I am not always confident

I doubt myself too

my body is strong.

so is my mind

my happy place is the mountains.

the beach is my second happy place

I feel my Savior's love for me

mostly through other people.

I care about looking nice. I don't care about brand names

I am a very simplistic person

Big groups make me anxious

I am a doer

I fear failure like I fear the plague

and that's ok.

I'm still learning.  and while sometimes I wish that some of these things about myself were different, I realize that these things are what make me Shaylee.  

and that's OK.

Bedtime Magic

Every night I tuck in this big little boy.  We have a bedtime routine in place.  First we look at the clock to check for the time.  7:54.  Then we brush our teeth where "Dr. Mommy" gets to do dental work on patient Sawyer.  Then we check the clock again.  8:03.  Jams are next.  His choice is usually his baseball jams without any undies on "because it's just more comfy."  check the clock again.  8:07  "Mom, i'm staying up super late tonight," he tells me.  And then he moves a little slower, because by now he knows that the slower he moves, the longer he gets to stay up.  "I'm going out of your room at 8:20," I firmly tell him.  He saunders to the bathroom to take one last potty break.  checks the clock again.  8:10.  The boy is a little obsessed with time these days.  "come on son, time is running out," I report.  We kneel together as he says a sweet prayer.  And then magic happens.  The clock slows down, we snuggle under his Avengers sheets, turn on his tangerine orange reading lamp and the stories begin.  Sometimes he reads to me, sometimes I read to him... but on magic nights, we tell each other stories.  He asks me what page i'm on when I tell my stories because he's also a little obsessed with numbers.  "page 20," I make up after 1 minute of telling my story.  "Holy smokes mom, your book is going fast," he astonishingly replies.  We tell each other stories of Sawyah the ninja, of the Rebel basketball team with their star players Sully and his friends, and of cowboys and indians.  He listens enchanted by each drop of commentary.  And then it's his turn.  and I listen.  and I listen. and I soak.  and I melt.  Tonight he told me a story of a girl's Jazz team whose star player was Shaylee.  "like Shaylee the Sheep?" I tease (he's been dying to see the Shaun the Sheep movie), and we bust up giggling.  Before I know it the clock tells me it's way past this cool dude's bed time.  I stand up to tuck in my boy and ask him for a smooch on both cheeks.  He goes in for a smooch on the right cheek and my face turns right in time for him to land one on my lips.  he laughs.  He goes in for a smooch on my left cheek and my face turns right in time for him to plant one on my lips again.  he laughs.  and then I tell him I love him.  That I have always loved him and always will love him.  He tucks in his curious george and I turn on his primary songs.  "I am a Child of God please, mom"....."is the volume at number 3?"  I double check and nod.  I blow one last kiss and crack the door ensuring that the gap is neither too big or too little.  I turn to go downstairs when I hear a quiet, "Mom.... last question."  I sigh as I sometimes do because my brain is tired and my answers are not always sufficient enough and that last question might turn into last 5 questions.  "I love you mom," he says.  "Sleep good mom," he says.  "I'll come snuggle with you in the morning," he whispers.  "will you come check on me at 9:06?"  He asks.  and I answer the last Questions as I slowly walk down the stairs.  "Sleep sweet my boy, I love you." 8:45 the clock reads.

In the quiet hours of the night I find myself pondering over this boy of mine.  we are buddies.  we are partners in crime.  we are teammates.  we are explorers.  we are companions.  we are friends.

Dreamy

I hold in my heart this dream.  

A dream of living right next door to my twin sister and letting our kids come and go out of each other's homes.  

"Just drop Beck off while you run to the grocery store," I'd say, followed quickly to a phone call to Ky asking her what I can pick up for her at the store while I'm there.  "Go to Aunt Ky's house and score a sweet treat and play with Beck while your at it," I'd say and shoo him out the door knowing full well he would be welcomed into her home and would be loved and nurtured so I could straighten up our house.  "Let's fill up the little pool in the backyard and I'll grab some Diet Cokes,"  I'd say as we park ourselves on the back patio, sipping soda and talking about the great mysteries of life consisting of the Bachelorette and how to get the musty smell out of our towels when we wash them (vinegar, I would gladly report, and we would resume solving the worlds problems).  It would be a little too quiet and I walk on over to Ky's house to see my son playing basketball with his little cousin as Ky prepares them a little snack.  "Let's go running in the morning," I'd say and we would set our alarms to the crack of dawn and both sleep through them.  "Come over for breakfast," I'd say where we would spend our morning figuring out what splendid meal we could cook for our husbands that evening.  "Sawyer is running a fever, what should I do?"  I'd say, followed by a "I'll be there in a sec and assess the situation," followed by a "take him to the doctor and don't worry about dinner, I'm making soup and will bring you guys some."   "I'm bored," I'd say and walk over to my twin's house who is also bored... and we are bored together.  "I'm feeling so overwhelmed with life," I'd say, and she would send me out my door to take some time to myself while Sawyer could watch an episode of Curious George with his cousin.  And the best part is when no words are ever spoken, it just happens.  We sit in our lawn chairs in our driveway letting the sun hang low and watch our children run back and forth and enjoy watching. we would laugh.  and we would cry.  and our husbands would talk about sports and work.  and all would be right in the world until the street lights came on and the man in the moon announced himself and we would carry our sleepy babes inside... knowing full well we would get to do the same thing the next evening.  and the next.

Queue a reality check.

My genetic other half lives 300+ miles away from me.  We talk on the phone when there is time between tantrums and work and snuggles.  We enjoy sunsets under the same sun and same man on the moon, albeit in different states.  There are pools filled in back yards and diet cokes drank with pictures taken to prove to each other that they are happening at the exact same time.  There are recipes swapped for tantalizing dinners made for our hard working husbands, and there are alarms that are set and slept through.  And even though there are miles that separate us, we are living a different kind of dream.  and I still know Beck and he knows me.  and Sawyer still wants to show his aunt his cool new tricks.  and I still call her when Sawyer is grouchy and is driving me bonkers so she can hear him tell his emotional story of how mean his mom is for not letting him wear his favorite jersey today.  and Beck still shows me his room through the miracle of technology and I get to read him stories and sing him songs.  We are living my dream.  A different dream than I envisioned.  But still the dream.  It hurts to let go of the perfection of my dream.  It hurts to yearn for the snuggles of my little nephew.  It stings at my heart to not get to go to Beck's soccer games and basketball games.  It's rotten that I can't bake up his favorite cookie to entice him over to play.  And when I will myself to be still, I see that I am still living my dream.  in a different way. a very different way.  But I am living it. I choose not to let the dream pass me by.

Sometimes it hurts too much to dream. and so I surrender myself to black numbness and power through, willing myself to not see the colors of my reality.  Colors that are a different hue of my dream.

And so there lives and breathes a challenge.  To cultivate relationships at a distance.  To read and snuggle and nurture a nephew that is miles away.  To let go of the vibrant colored dream of my innermost heart in order to see the multi-colored hues in my everyday world. 

To dream can be lonely.  To be a dreamer can be courageous and brave.  Where is that line drawn between dream and dreamer?  Only our hearts can know.