{Welcome to My Corner of the Interwebs}

I'm participating in a blog hop this week over at D-Listed Mom Blogs and want to welcome new readers to my humble abode.

-->I'm Jamie.  I'm a working momma who teaches middle school English.  My husband is finishing his doctorate (Read: writing a dissertation) in Education which sometimes makes me feel like a single momma too.  But, I'm not.  He's amazing, supportive, and oh so perfect at everything house, marriage, and daddy related.  He's just super busy.  We have the most wonderful little boy!  He just turns 6 months old and has rewritten my understanding of life.

--> This blog started, like so many others I'm sure, as a way to keep our families updated on my pregnancy and then it didn't... because I couldn't stay motivated to write. I was pregnant ya'll. I slept every chance I got and I can't type in my sleep. As soon as Rowan was born I realized he was a much more interesting topic. The family wanted pictures and stories. I needed an outlet to feel like myself again. So, the blog was reborn, stronger and better than ever.

--> No, but really, I use to look down upon people who blogged. I was a snob. I couldn't understand why someone would create a diary for all of the world to see.  Now, I go through the day saying to myself, "Ooo I can't wait to blog about this."  So maybe I'm still a snob on occasion, but I'm a snob who blogs and really wants to be part of this amazing community of bloggers who support one another on everything from multi-colored poos to death and tragedy.  Be my friend please and I'll be yours.  It will be great! 

-->  This summer will be the first I'm not working at all.  Neither is my husband.  I can't wait for a summer full of family time, friends, blogging and photography.  Sidenote: I'm teaching myself photography.  I'm hoping this blog will be a great way to chart my progress.   

-->  At this point some of you may be questioning if I really am a teacher based on my writing skills.  I can write.  Really.  However, I spend all day teaching perfect grammar and marking on papers until they bleed green ink.  I also teach my students that the way the talk can adapt and fit their situation.  This is my blog.  My home.  Where I come to relax.  I rarely proof read and don't care if my writing is perfect.  This is a sanctuary for me, where only content matters. 

-->  I am truly blessed.

-->  I hope you come back to visit.  I can't wait to read your stories. 

-->  While your here, stick around to read about my definition of perfection, my love/ hate relationship with the universe, and - as always- some completely random facts.

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{Sweet Success}

Success. I have been stressing a lot lately about how to measure a successful day. Is it when all of my papers are graded, lesson plans written, baby fed, husband loved, dishes done, laundry folded, dog walked, all of these things, five of these things. When is it enough to feel victorious? And then, I realized the key.

Carelessness.

As in, I don't care.

I don't care what anyone thinks I should be able to accomplish in my day. I am a full time teacher (Read: I mother 120 children. I am a secretary. I am a nurse. I am a counselor. I am a friend. I am a role model. I am a mediator. I am a business woman. I am a badass.) I am a full time mother and wife. In my down time, when it exists, I spend time on myself. Yes, my dishes are still in the sink. The bathroom needs mopped, badly. And, I may wear a pair of dirty jeans tomorrow. However, I played with my boy until he laughed and his nose turned red. I held him while he dreamed. I kissed him and he hugged me. I shared a drink with my husband and listened to the events of his day. I talked to family on the phone.

I have decided that a successful day is going to bed with a smile on my face. I have found this so much easier to do now that I've stopped worrying about what I am supposed to do and started doing what comes naturally.

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{My First Mother's Day}

I woke up yesterday to slobbery kisses from my boy and amazing gifts from the hubs. Seriously, he gave me a gift for each role I play in life. Some teething bling for my momma life, a DS cooking game for my wife life, a teaching guide for my teacher life, and a novel for my me time. Beautiful. He gets me, appreciates me, and is more than I deserve. But I still couldn't wrap my head around the day being about me. After all, I wouldn't even be a mother to celebrate mother's day if it weren't for Rowan. So, I spent the whole day in absolute awe of him. I swear ever thing he did made me melt which isn't really any different than normal, but I noticed the melting. I am blessed.

Speaking of being blessed, I also had trouble focusing on me because I couldn't help but think of my own mother and how much I understand her now. It's almost uncomfortable how much I get it. Understanding a mother's love first hand is honestly the only possible way to understand it. Nothing else allows you to comprehend that depth and breadth. Knowing that someone else feels that way is almost too intimate, too personal, but alters your relationship to them forever. I know my mother's love and dedication now because I know my own. I cry when my child cries. I feel my heart burst when he laughs. I consider him with every decision I make and he never, never leaves my thoughts. At this point, I feel his emotions more intensely than he does. I love him in a way the word love doesn't do justice.

Thank you mom for loving me as only a mother can.

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{Month 6, A Little Late, A Lot of Attitude}

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

From 2010-05-09

P.S. Ignore the hideous watermark. It will be redone in a better program later. Apparently, it's a necessity since, you know, people steal photos off blogs all the time now. For real, Google it.

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{It's My Party}

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{Face Lift}

Please excuse the mess as I try to create a new look.  Updating the blog is much safer than changing my hair color. 

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{Time Is On My Side...Except When It's Not}

I distinctly remember being 3 months pregnant.  I was so thankful for hitting the 12 week mark.  I felt safe, but I was wishing away the next 6 months.  I was dreaming of nursery decor, ultrasounds, and birth plans, all the while finally sharing our happy news with friends and family.  Little did I know those six months would be some of the longest of my life.  

I also remember being 6 months pregnant.  I was sure that I was going to be pregnant forever and never would the day arrive where I would hold my sweet baby.  I felt like it had been decades since I saw that first pink line.  I, the house, the family we were all ready for R.  He however needed a few more months.  Time dragged on. and on. and on. 

R is officially six months old.  Somehow we entered a bizarre time paradox upon his birth and now the days speed by unaware of my need for them to slow.  I still stare at him in amazement, unable to believe he grew inside of me.  He is a real person now.  He smiles and laughs, his momma's laugh, a full belly laugh that rolls one into another until the tip of his nose is red.  He "talks" for an hour at a time and is only still when he's sleeping.  Well, semi-still when he's sleeping.  I used to spend hours awake at night fretting over him sleeping on his back, worrying he would roll or, or just any number of other atrocities I can't bear to type.  Now, he sleep on his belly, knees to chest, diaper padded butt in the air with his mouth wide open and his daddy's snore.  His newborn onesies didn't fit until he was nearly a month old.  Now, he sits up on his own and nearly jumps out of his jumper.  He is more like a toddler than a newborn.  I can only vaguely recall his sweet new baby smell that brought tears to my eyes instantly.  His eyes, though, they haven't changed.  The way he stares into mine, straight into my heart and soul, reminds me that he knows me.  He's heard my heart beating from the inside.  And still, when he snuggles into me at night, he lays his head on my chest and holds my heart in the palm of his hand.

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