Tightly wound

"Would you like me to call her out of lunch or should we make this a show?" my daughter's fourth grade principal asked my husband. And of course, my husband would never hesitate at choosing the show. He had a meeting early this morning and didn't get to see Emma waking up a ""preteen." Now he was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand and wanted to surprise her at school on her tenth birthday. It was lunchtime and all the fourth grade got to see how much this dad loves this girl.  Her friends at her table all giggled and applauded with delight as Emma smiled shyly, whispering to one of them "This is so embarrassing, but I kinda really love it too."
    I remember 10 years ago, waking up thinking I was getting ready to go to my baby shower.  I had never felt more excited in my life to become a mommy and felt like I had been waiting my whole life for it.  Taking almost a year to get pregnant, the joy and anticipation of this little girl coming to take over my world was overwhelmingly wonderful.  I had many complications during my last trimester, had been hospitalized, on bedrest and now finally with six weeks to go, my doctor was allowing me to attend my baby shower.  Something felt amiss that morning and I couldn't quite figure it out.  I knew if I called my obstetrician, she would make me come in to the hospital.  Kevin didn't want to take any chances and before I knew it I was hooked up to monitors.  Things seemed ok, there was no glaring problem, but they wanted to monitor me for several hours and torturously I watched the minutes wash away along with my baby shower.  I was thoroughly depressed.  Within moments of my full blown onset of depression a team of doctors and nurses raced into my room, put an oxygen mask over me, started sticking me with needles and IV's and said they would update me on "the situation" momentarily after the storm subsided.  To say the least, Kevin and I were terrified!  After what seemed like an eternal five minutes, my doctor calmly informed me that everything would be ok, but that they needed to operate immediately and that I would meet my daughter within the half hour.  Her heart rate was dropping dramatically and she needed to come out now.  I started crying and hugged my husband, scared to death.  Kevin spoke to my mom and filled her in on the situation, to which she responded, "We get to meet Emma today!"  I remember in that moment, Kevin's anxiety started to evolve into joy that we were about to see the face of this miracle we had been praying and waiting for, and that was exciting.  Moments later I was wheeled into the OR and minutes after that, the sweetest sound to ever hit my ears was heard in the resonant voice of my little 4 pound miracle.  We wept and laughed and were filled with inexpressible joy.  She was tiny but she was vocal, strong and absolutely perfect.  I had to recover from the surgery and due to Emma's early debut, she was whisked away to the NICU.  Kevin did not want to spend a minute away from her and it was in these first early hours that this little princess that literally fit in his one hand had him wrapped around all ten of her tiny fingers.  He would come back briefly to check on me and then return, unwilling to leave her, even at any nurses suggestion to get in a short nap.  I'd never felt more in love with my husband than seeing him at these moments hopelessly obsessed with this little girl.  As the years have come and gone I couldn't be prouder of who she is growing up to be and I couldn't be fonder of the way her daddy is, even more tightly wound around her finger and, most importantly, her heart.  Happy birthday to my sweet and wonderful Emma and happy ten years of fatherhood to her amazing daddy.

The wonder years

       Tomorrow morning, my little yellow house will be for sale.  They'll put a sign in the front yard and anybody could walk through my door and decide they want to buy it.  This will be the fifteenth time I've moved over the course of my life, but it feels very different this time.  There's been a lot of life lived in this house since the first day we walked through its front door.
        There's a LOT of preparation that must go into the selling of a house and I'm exhausted!  I'd like to say I'm meticulously neat and overly clean when it comes to my home, but I'd be lying if I did.  And so as I began to scrub the doors of the kids' bedrooms, there were marks more than a few days old.  I began to peel off princess stickers and superhero, "bravest patient" award badges, crayon masterpieces hanging by visible and assymetrically aligned masking tape, handprints and finger marks and my mind began to wander . . .I began to wipe away these smudges and my mind flooded with unerasable memories of the first time my daughter walked into her bedroom and the day she raced in front of me to push open the door to introduce her new brother to his palace where they reigned.   I remember chubby little legs attempting to stand on tiptoes and trying to wriggle the door knob to  open for the first time with the greatest of determination.  I remember putting child locks in place on these doors to protect the newest toddling member of our brood. Pinched fingers as a door slammed during a game of chase without knowing little hands were there.  Behind these doors were hide and seek caverns and explosions of laughter and giggles.  Sibling rivalries and threats that boys were absolutely not allowed to enter.  Summer days where the porch door was revolving with my kids and "adopted" neighbor's kids running in and out barefoot, leaving cut grass and sprinkler footprints in their wake.  Those same doors busting open at the first snowfall with them unable to get snow boots on fast enough to catch the flakes on their tongues to soon return inside the door to steaming cups of hot chocolate. Just a few short days ago Caleb leaned all his might against his door as my three year old Lexi pleaded from the other side "Caleb I admit I'm not a patient person, but give me a chance to try again" as they worked out their conflict that ended in hugging heaps on the floor. There were closed doors as I waited on the other side of a timeout where so many of their first lessons were learned of respect, obedience and then an assurance and trust of a deep and securing love that followed.   The conflicts had and resolved, the growing and maturing, the learning and the loving, the fighting and the struggling, the joys and the tears that have all occurred beside, in and outside of, opened and closed of these doors and doorframes.   My eyes began to well as I soaked in these precious memories that only these walls and doors will know once we are gone. I brought my hand down with one last swipe to get an overlooked chocolate thumbprint that I must not have cleaned on them very well or that they snuck up while I wasn't looking.  I know there will always be new doors to open, but I must admit I'm really going to miss these ones . . .