Happy Birthday to B and A

B and A at 2 months

On a cold, winter day in February, you arrived. B stepped into this world at 2:20 and A followed at 2:21. We joke that you could only stand to be apart for a mere minute. I think that describes your bond and relationship perfectly. I cannot put into words the first moment that I saw you. It was as if the world had stopped. And I knew nothing would ever be the same again.

I am struggling to write this. To put into words what the two of you mean to me. You are my first babies. My first loves. A piece of myself was born with you. Because of you, I fell into my destiny. I figured out who I was supposed to be.

Your mommy.

On the day of your birth, you gave me that gift. We learned together. We made mistakes together. We’ve grown together. Through it all, we’ve loved each other.

I could not be more proud of the people that you’ve become.

So bright.

So inquisitive.

So kind.

Such caring hearts.

While no one is ever perfect, you two are just perfect for me. From the beginning, we’ve just fit together.

It seems as if you are growing and maturing each day. You are constantly continuing to change. These days, I see glimpses of our future. The way you carry on conversations. The way you share your thoughts and feelings. The things that bring you joy and happiness. I see the people inside of you forming before my eyes.

The preteen years are ahead. I am longing for knowledge on how to navigate them. How to help you find your way and to be prepared. To feel confident in yourselves. To make good decisions. To be strong in your beliefs. But, I have faith in us. We’ve made it this far together after all.

You are such good children. It has been the greatest joy of my life to raise you. I love you with all of my heart. Happy eighth Birthday, babies!

My Dad

My dad has two daughters and a wife. He has spent his entire adult life surrounded by females. He’s never once complained or said that he wanted a boy.

He is one of the most patient and kind men that I know.

He’s a big guy. Six feet tall. His hands are like paws and his feet are a size 12. I like this about my dad. Even now as a grown adult, I still feel like a little kid when he hugs me.

Some might describe my dad as a gentle giant. He has that kind of demeanor. Easy going. Laid back. Not a lot gets him riled up.

Everyone likes him. His grandchildren adore him.

He is a great baseball player. All state third base. It just came naturally to him. He teaches the game to my son. They all know Papa loves baseball. His heart is broken each and every year by the Cubs. He doesn’t understand aluminum bats or water bottles at games.

My dad helps me out with the kids a lot. He is around during the day if I have a doctor’s appointment or need to volunteer at school.

He brings his grandchildren pieces of chocolate when he comes to see them.

He is at almost every game of every sport that they play.

A few Halloweens ago, he wore a scary mask and cape and scared the bejeezus out of my four year olds. They still haven’t forgiven him.

My dad loves the Beach Boys. He should have been a surfer and lived by the beach. He did once, briefly, but gave it up for my sister and I. This summer he taught B and A to boogie board on vacation.

He was crushed when it took R through her first year of life to succumb to the charms of Papa.

He likes, no loves, pizza and is upset when you don’t order enough or he thinks we’re going to be short.

Twenty years later, my dad still dislikes teenage boys. He doesn’t trust them for anything.

He took me on my Indian Princesses camping trip. We had the best time.

He has learned to text recently and talks to my sister and I throughout the day this way. He hates to talk on the phone.

If there is a cookie to be eaten, my dad is all over it.

He used to make a tent out of blankets and kitchen chairs and sleep with my sister and I in it on Friday nights.

My dad also used to let us put our belts around his neck and act like he was a large dog or horse for us to lead around or ride on his back. Again, the man has the patience of a saint.

The night that I got engaged to T, my Dad came and sat on the top stair, as I was getting ready in our hall bathroom. He talked to me for about fifteen minutes. Where were we going? Why would we be going on a horse and carriage ride? Something special going on? He tried to ask me how I felt about T. Did I love him? I think I answered flippantly. He sat there the whole time like he didn’t want to leave. He said nothing against or pro T. He just wanted to be there with me before I left.

T had not asked his permission prior to asking me to marry him. So, he did not have any knowledge that I would be getting engaged soon. But, somehow he knew. And I think he just wanted to freeze that moment in time with me getting ready for a date in the hall bathroom one more time.

That is my dad.

Happy Birthday, Dad! For all these reasons and more, I love you.