Apologies For My Absence

My sincerest apologies for my silence over the past week.  I was busy cleaning house in preparation for family to come visit.  Then I was busy enjoying them being here.  Then I was busy preparing for and enjoying my son's birthday party.  Today, I just enjoyed breathing.

Here's a recap of the past week's events.  My husband's mom, sis, and niece visited us from Southern California.  I really enjoyed having them here.  We had a great time just visiting and relaxing together.  We drove around and saw different parts of the metro Kansas City area, showed them where he works, and took them for, what else, barbecue!  I went with his mom and sis to a casino a couple of times.  That was a lot of fun!

Jackson's birthday party was Saturday afternoon at a local park.  It rained on Friday, it rained on Sunday.  But Saturday was very pleasant, weather-wise.  It was a little chilly but not too bad.  The cake was delicious and absolutely beautiful.  The company was delightful.  The pintata was fun.  And the look of sheer joy on his face when everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to him was priceless.

Today, we spent the day at home as a quiet family.  We did a little less than nothing and it was great.  I eventually changed from pajamas to yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt (which is basically pajamas I can go out in public wearing.)  We just hung out together, played, talked, took a walk, and enjoyed one another.

This next week, I will post some pictures of the party on Facebook.  I also promise to be more diligent in writing.  I have no doubt my two-year-old (which is so strange to type) will give me plenty of fodder!

I Said "Good-Night" To My One-Year-Old

Tonight, I said "good-night" to my one-year-old firstborn for the very last time. Tomorrow morning, I shall snuggle with my two-year-old firstborn for the very first time. I absolutely cannot believe it's been two years!

Two years ago tonight, I was eating Mexican food with some awesome friends and my hubby. And hoping this knucklehead would come soon! Later that night, he decided to cooperate and I went into labor.

I remember telling my husband to go get some sleep for an hour or two because we would have to leave for the hospital soon. Now I'm lying in bed listening to my son babbling to himself in his crib.

I remember the first time I carried him upstairs and put him in his bed. Now he walks up the stairs holding my hand.

I remember nursing him in the middle of the night. Now he insists on feeding himself.

I remember the first time he smiled. Now I have a hard time remembering a time he doesn't smile.

He has grown and learned so much in what seems like a very short time. I absolutely love bearing witness to his development, his milestones, his thoughts and learnings. I loved snuggling that tiny boy I could carry in one arm. Now I love snuggling the toddler who's legs hang half-way down my body! And I can't wait to snuggle the boy who's taller than me (which probably won't take too much longer.) I love being his mom and am so excited to see what comes next with him!

Two years doesn't seem like much time in the grand scheme of things. But these past two years have altered my life forever. I'll never be the same and I'm so glad.

One Thing We Never Outgrow

I have come to the firm conclusion that, no matter how old I get, I will never not need and want my parents. I am certainly writing this from my perspective, but I don't think I'm alone in this.

I will always want my parents' advice (preferably solicited. But sometimes I need a good, unasked for smack on the back of the head or firm talking-to.) Whether it's big or little, I use my parents as sounding boards more often than not. It's great to run things by people who know me well, love me anyways, and understand when to speak and when to just let me ramble.

I will always want their affection. Sometimes I still wish I could curl up on their laps like my little guy does with me. But I still cherish their hugs and kisses. I don't remember if I was unkind as a teen or if I offended them by seeming off-put by physical contact. I know sometimes we, as idiots, go through silly phases. And I certainly hope I did not. But I know now, especially living hundreds of miles away, how much I do appreciate that I still have two parents to hug. And I want to do that as often as possible.

I will always look to them for approval and affirmation. I am 33-years-old. I know I have caused them heartache, hurt, and disappointment many times in those 33 years. But I also know it makes me sad when I do disappoint them. I also know that in those same 33 years, I have received words of affirmation, love, encouragement, support, and approval much more often than rebukes. And I am so beyond blessed and grateful. When they tell me what a good wife or mom I am, it brings tears to my eyes. They still have such power in my life and it means so much to hear.

If you are a parent, regardless if your child is 1 or 70, guide them, love them, hug them, affirm them. A child will always need it, even if they don't recognize it at the time. And a child will appreciate it, at some point.

If you have your parents, listen to them. They know more than you think they do. And probably more than you (I know my parents do!) Love and hug them. For however long you have them. Trust me, it'll never be long enough. Believe them when they tell you what a fantastic person you are. They had a lot to do with it. Thank them. Because good, bad, or ugly, whether they were perfect parents or the worst ones you could imagine, they still shaped you. You may have chosen to emulate them or take the opposite route, but thank them anyways.

We never outgrow our parents. Whether we marry or not, become parents or not, even become the caregivers of our parents; they are still our parents. They always will be.

A Day-Long Case of...

The Giggles! That's what my son awoke with today. He "talked" all morning. I swear he sounded like a rock star warming up his voice, lips, and tongue before rocking a packed stadium. He babbled and rambled so much it was ridiculous. And set himself into fits of laughter at the various sounds each time.

He stood beside me, arm around my leg, patting and rubbing it, while I washed my coffee pot to make the necessary morning nectar. He hugged me around my thighs while I poured his milk. He gave fist bumps, high fives, and hugs to pretty much everyone all day. Me. His Dad. The waitress. Another customer at the restaurant. The lady at Target. The lady at Fantastic Sams.

He woke from his nap. Laughing. He played with his bears and blankets. He talked to himself. He was having so much fun and was so happy, I was reluctant to go get him. We went to the park with friends and a piece of cake. He loved making a loop up the stairs and down the slide. He would even intentionally not put his feet down at the bottom so he would fly off the slide and land on his tush! Then giggle, of course.

We had way too much fun today! Days like this not only feel so blessed to be a mom, HIS mom, but get me through the rough moments and days when I'd like to string him up by his toenails...

I love my giggly boy!

The "Too Beautiful" Blogger and Trayvon Martin

In case you managed to miss it, a blogger from Great Britain, Samantha Brick, recently struck an international nerve as she lamented the downsides of her life because of her alleged beauty. (Here's the link: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2124246/Samantha-Brick-downsides-looking-pretty-Why-women-hate-beautiful.html)

And in case you missed it, Trayvon Martin, a young African-American teenager, unarmed, was killed in a Florida neighborhood in February. This too, has set off a firestorm in the media.

They seem like unrelated issues. But both Trayvon and Samantha are in the news as a result of treatment based on their appearances.

I didn't intend to address either of these issues, but somehow feel drawn to it this evening. (And no, it wasn't a slow or boring day in the Nunez home.)

I would not judge a person because they were a leggy blonde or because they were wearing a hooded sweatshirt. I don't care if someone is fat, skinny, black, white, asian, latino, tall, short, or a 10-foot-tall, one-eyed, one-horned, giant purple people eater. (Okay, if you're a people eater, I do judge and take issue with you. But otherwise, you're in the clear.)

I find I often struggle with reconciling the world we live in with the world in which I want to live. I don't want to make everyone think exactly as I do. But I cannot understand kindness or disdain that exists based solely on superficiality.

Trayvon did not deserve to die because he was black, wearing a sweatshirt, or visiting a friend. Samantha does not deserve to be driven out of a job or showered with gifts by random strangers because of her beauty. But somehow, Trayvon is dead and poor Samantha is getting free champagne.

If I show love, compassion, or kindness, assume it's because you're a good person or (Heaven forbid!) I'm a good person. Maybe I'm nice just to be nice. Not because you're pretty and I want to hang out with "the cool kids." And not because you're homely and I pity you.

If you're mean, I may not care for you. But it's because you're mean. Not because of how you look.

If I'm afraid, it's because my gut, my woman's intuition, my instincts, are telling me something's not kosher. It isn't the color of your skin or the clothes you're wearing or even your gender.

If I disagree with the president, let me disagree with his politics irregardless of either of our races.

I don't understand why people act the way they do. I don't know how to explain to my son why some people are mean because of how people look. I was bullied growing up. Based on the comments, some of it was my physical appearance (frizzy perm, coke-bottle glasses, braces, and almost a foot taller than everyone else in class.) It hurt more than I wish it had. But it made me sensitive to that kind of treatment. Whether you're given the world on a silver platter because you're gorgeous or unkindly singled out and treated badly, it's not right. And I don't get it.

I don't want to get it. I don't want to understand it. I don't want my son raised seeing and hearing that it happens. I don't want him ever treating someone disrespectfully because of how they look. I don't want him befriending someone based on the label in the back of their shirt. I don't want him coming home upset because someone made a racial slur. I don't want him not learning how to work hard and be generous and earn what he wants because someone wanted to do it for him because he's attractive.

Don't misunderstand me. I will continue to try and look nice. I will continue to smile at people. I hope my smile will brighten someone's day. But I won't do it in expectation of anything else. (Well, maybe a smile in return.) I will tell my son (and any future child) to look presentable. I will encourage him (them) to smile at others and be friendly. I will tell them to be cautious of their surroundings.

But I refuse to raise a child with a sense of entitlement. I refuse to raise a child scared to walk around a neighborhood. I refuse to raise a child "too" anything! I want him to be well-balanced, kind, caring, and aware. But I want him to be blind to the superficial things. I still cling to King's Dream. I want my child to have opportunities beyond my wildest imaginings. I want him to have doors opened to him. Based on the content of his character. Not his height, weight, complexion, last name, first name, hair color, clothing, eye color, or the size of his ears. Not on anything but the content of his character.

Now then, how do I change the rest of the world?

Fantastic Afternoon

Friday the 13th. Gotta love it! The day started off fine, then took a very annoying turn. I was eating lunch, which consisted of ham and cheese wrapped in a tortilla. Very soft. I popped a veneer off of my front tooth biting into that very soft tortilla! Ugh!!! To say I was aggravated would be putting it mildly. Now mind you, I have had issues with my veneers repeatedly. So the veneer popping off was not unusual. But here's the ridiculous part...

This tooth popped off at the end of January or beginning of February. I had it recemented. That's when I discovered the dentist I had been going to was out of my network. Fast forward about 4 or 5 weeks, it popped off again. I found an in-network dentist, who re-adhered it. Again. I then started the process of working with the dental office and insurance company to replace that veneer and it's neighbor with crowns. That appointment is twelve days from now. TWELVE days! So I call the dental office and am told, essentially, that no one is working this afternoon and they cannot see me until Tuesday. But maybe they can recommend another dental office. Sorry. Nope. I am not paying someone else to glue my tooth back on for twelve days when you've said you wouldn't charge me. And nope, I'm not walking around snaggle-toothed for the next four days.

I wasn't mean to the scheduler. And she was kind and understanding. She went above and beyond the call of duty to help me out! One of the techs met me at their office this afternoon and stuck that puppy back on! She had something she needed to do that afternoon, so my promptness was imperative. I got there on time. So help me, I have never seen any dental professional work that quickly! I walked into the office at 3:27. I was back in my car, with my tooth in my mouth instead of my pocket by 3:44!

When I got home, I found the two guys who hold my heart playing with a golf club in the front yard. The funniest thing was how much taller the club was than the little(r) one who was carrying it! Now, I tried taking up golf in the Spring of 2009. I enjoyed it when I tried it. Then I got pregnant and time slipped away. I haven't swung a club since July 2009. Seeing them with the clubs and the bright blue skies above, I proposed a family date to the driving range.

Getting tips and help from my husband was awesome. Watching my son enamored with the clubs and balls was terrific. Watching my man demonstrate his athletic prowess was incredible. And doing not too bad myself was darn fun. Just spending time outdoors playing as a family, encouraging one another, smiling, and having fun was...well, I'm running out of adjectives!

The day seemed like the Friday the 13th-ishness was going to win at first. But it didn't! You know how "Alexander" had a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day?" Well CHRISTY had a "lovely, wonderful, no sad, very good day!"

Table Power

Weird title, I know. But bear with me. Tuesday night, something made me grumpy towards my husband. I don't know if he said or did something, or didn't say or didn't do something. I honestly do not have the slightest idea. (Which obviously shows it was not a big deal and he probably did not actually do anything wrong.) But I was aggravated! I mean, not quite fit to be tied, but while I was preparing a simple and light dinner, I was grumbling under my breath and not thrilled with him in the least. With our son having already eaten and me annoyed and it being a not-elaborate or messy meal, I would have been perfectly content to grab the tv trays and plop down in front of the tv on the couch next to him.

But then a weird thing happened. I told Lino dinner was ready. But instead of reading my mind and heading into the den, he grabbed his plate and our son's hand and walked to the table. I followed suit and went to the table with my food and a snack to occupy our son. We strapped him into his chair and, not reading my mood, smiled and reached out his hands for our prayer. I prayed. We began to eat. And we began to chat. There was no earth-shattering conversations or revelations that will lead to world peace. But sitting there, facing my husband, my aggravation melted away. I didn't confront him. He didn't apologize (which he did not owe me.) Nothing changed except the scenery, the view, the setting. We had the television off. We had eye contact. We shared our day's stories. And I found myself content, happy, at peace with him, our son, myself, and the world.

We committed to one another once upon a time that our kids would grow up eating family dinners around the table. We knew it was healthy and important for their well-being. And most of our dates consist of going out to eat. Because it leads to great conversation, catching up, and reconnecting as a couple. But we had really slacked off for a long time at the whole "dinner table" concept. I think we rationalized that it would matter when our kid could, oh, talk! But my mother was right. (She usually is, you know. Really. Not being sarcastic. She's a fantastically brilliant woman.) The table should be a habit built from an early age and memory. And now I see, the table isn't just healthy for our kid. It's healthy for our family. It's for all of the relationships and dynamics within this family. It's healthy for us as individuals.

I'm glad we've gotten much better at this and hope to continue this trend. I love that our son expects the connectivity between us and with God in a meal-time prayer. And quite frankly, I don't even know what we used to watch on television, nor do I miss it. It turns out, the dining table has magical powers of which I was even previously unaware. And I grew up with the family dinners!

Tables are more important than I knew. But I will not forget or take it for granted.

Snap shot of the future?

This week, I have the pleasure of watching my neighbors' children, ages 4 and 6. Having never had a 4 or 6-year-old child of either gender, I must admit I was a wee bit nervous. I wasn't sure what to "do" with them, what to feed them, how to entertain them, etc. Today was the first day and I kind of feel like I got a small glimpse of the future.

Now granted, when I have more than one child, I'm sure it will be different. I'll be very familiar with their likes, dislikes, routines, personalities, and the likes. Jackson will (obviously) be the older child as opposed to the youngest. Having three children running around is drastically different than having one.

But it was cool and crazy and fantastic. It was fun having kids around with words. They actually told me what they wanted and didn't want. They have great senses of humor and it was ridiculously awesome to hear the "-isms" from the mouths of babes. I love their logic and rationale. The insights and observations honestly surprised me, in a really good way. It makes me so stoked for when my own knucklehead starts talking! It was nice not having to worry about coming up with things for them to do. Instead, my role was more of judge and timekeeper. "He gets the toy for two minutes, then it's my turn." "Hey, I don't want to be pushed on this lap!" "Is Jackson almost up from his nap? What time will he be done? Can we go get him?"

They all got along really well and it was a different kind of joy to be so surrounded by little ones. So it makes me excited for the possible future of having more and older kids. (Although I am absolutely LOVING this stage.) All that being said, I had a great time today. I'm looking forward to the rest of the week.

Easter Weekend

Today was Good Friday. Good Friday always causes me to pause and be simultaneously overjoyed and heartbroken. I am overwhelmed with gratitude at what Jesus willingly agreed to suffer through for my sake. I love that He was so human He begged for there to be a way not to do it. His humanity makes me trust Him. But I love that He did it anyways, without reluctance, hesitation, or whining. I am heartbroken that He suffered physically, emotionally, spiritually. I hate that He was beaten and bullied. Most of all, I hate that it was my fault. Come mid-afternoon, I can't help but wonder what it must have been like that day in Israel. Darkened sky, Temple veil ripping from top to bottom. The detailed descriptions of that day and that week always amaze me. The authors didn't just say that the veil had a little snag or even was torn. It was split all the way, starting at the top. I think if I heard and saw all that happened that day, it would have at least caused me to reevaluate things, if I didn't already believe.

Easter Sunday makes me so stinkin' happy I want to cry. I pretty much smile all day on Easter. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the gift of Life, Love, and Salvation year round. But there is something so intrinsically special about Easter morning. I mean, Christmas without Easter is meaningless. Good Friday without Easter is meaningless. Conquering death forever is pretty spectacular. And I relish in the love and joy and mercy and peace that abound because of what Jesus did Easter Sunday.

But Saturday has always intrigued me. I'm a very curious girl and time has done little to quelch that curiosity. In my mind, I refer to it as Silent Saturday. (After all, most of the other days get spiffy names.) Silent because nothing is written about the goings-on that day. Did the whole world collectively hold its breath, waiting for Sunday? Waiting to see if He was for real? What did the apostles and disciples think and feel that day? What did they do? What did they talk about and say to one another? And how about Lazarus, the recently departed and resurrected? And his sisters? What of Mary, Christ's mother? And His siblings? What must their emotions have been? I know Lazarus' sisters had been on a roller coaster of emotions (our brother's dead; our brother's not dead; our best friend is dead; is he really?)

We have all lost loved ones. Some have lost parents and siblings. Others grandparents and friends. Still others a spouse. All these losses are deeply painful. For those in Christ, we know it isn't a forever end but the pain is still real. And those deaths are permanent on this side of Heaven. How do you grieve for someone you honestly expect to see in two days? Do you grieve? Do you patiently wait, having those around you assume you're in denial? What happened on that Silent Saturday?

And Jesus - what must His soul, His spirit have experienced during the time His body was deceased? I cannot even fathom. I believe in near-death experiences. But this was not an NDE. This was really, truly, all the way dead. Did He want to put back on the shackles and pain of humanity? I mean, I know He was willing to because it was the only to reconcile. But what happened on that Silent Saturday?

That's what I'll be continually pondering tomorrow. And probably one of the first questions I'll ask on the other side of Heaven. But until I get there, I'll just have to wait and wonder.

Refuse to be a Victim

Life happens. Adversity happens. We all face some level of challenge, trial, or pain. Sometimes, it's of our own making. Sometimes, it things far beyond our control. But regardless of the source of adversity, regardless how big or small our challenge is, we all get a choice in how we react and handle it. Life isn't a competition of who's life is better or who had it worse. It's about how we play the cards we're dealt, whether we're the dealer or not.

People die. People get abused. People make poor choices that negatively impact the lives of those around them. People are abandoned. I am not trivializing any of these occurrences. They suck. They're hard to get through and hard to face. I hate them and wish none of us had to face trials. But the people I admire are those who refused to play the victim. I am inspired by those who refuse to say, "Woe is me." I am in awe of people who have every right to shut down, but who rise up, who become more than the sum of their parts. I love it when people choose to find the positive in nasty circumstances, who learn from other people's pasts.

I know someone who is grateful for the work ethic instilled in them by someone who also caused great heartache and pain. I know another who didn't know their parents, was raised in the system, ended up on the streets in a bad way, but now has a beautiful life with a spouse and child. I admire a person who's father didn't show much affection, didn't give hugs or tell them they were loved very often, who is now an amazing, loving, affection, and giving spouse and parent.

There are so many people who have been victimized in some form or fashion. But I know and respect numerous ones who refuse to be victims. I also know people who've had it seemingly pretty good. Life's been kind and easy. Yet their outlook, their attitude, is one of "poor, poor, pitiful me." They're never satisfied. They never have enough.

Life is all about attitude. It's how we handle the good, the bad, the ugly. Do we choose to be victimized? Do we choose to roll over and say "uncle" when crummy things happen? Do we check out of life when the unimaginable occurs? Do we choose to be jealous because someone else has the latest, greatest, spiffiest toy? Are we sad because someone else's house is bigger or car is fancier?

Or do we wake up in the morning, glad that we woke up that morning? Do we relish the time we had with a loved one instead of lamenting what never was? Do we look at how bad someone else's life has become through their own choices and know we can refuse to walk that same path?

There are always choices in life. Not in what happens, but in how we respond. Refuse to be the victim. Remaining victimized turns people bitter. Instead, we must choose an attitude that allows healing. If we let it, Life will become sweeter again.

Can't Believe it's April!

I cannot believe it is already April. If the calendar didn't exist, I would even go so far as to argue the point. But I suppose the old adage is true...time waits for no man.

It's April. That means my son is having another birthday. Can you believe the audacity of this child?!? He is having the nerve to turn 2! I used to laugh at my sister-in-law when she would tell me she wanted to put bricks on her sons' heads to keep them as they were. Now I get it. Where are cinder blocks when you need one? I can't believe it's been almost two years already.

Two years since I went into labor. Two years since my little boy was born. Two years since my husband, the Elvis fan, announced our child's birth to my parents on the phone by telling them, "Jackson has entered the building!"

Two years since I wondered what he would be like, look like, act like, sound like, smell like. Now I know, at least two years worth of answers. I wonder what the next year, and five, and twenty, will be. But I know the first two have gone too quickly already.

Two years since I first held that little boy with big ears and bird legs. He's grown into his ears nicely and his legs have filled out. (I once had someone tell me he reminded them of a Shar-Pei because his skin was so loose! I laughed.) Two years since I discovered that getting spit-up on by your own kid isn't nearly as gross as when anyone else's kid does it. Two years since my life was irreversibly and fantastically flipped upside down.

This sweet little boy has captured my heart and imagination. He's affected lots of lives around him. He's impacted people's days and moods, through even the briefest of interactions. I have come to the full knowledge and acceptance that I may well be known from this time forward as "Jackson's mom." And that's just fine. Two years ago, I was Christy. I was a daughter and a friend and a wife. Now, I'm a mom.

A lot can change very quickly in life. But if we let it, let God, life can be more than we ever dared to dream. Almost two years ago, my craziest, wildest, and boldest dreams were blown away by reality. I love my little man.

Now, where's that brick?