Margaret x One

A year ago, two kids became three; a table for four needed a fifth chair; hand me downs got handed down, Bobby moved from crib to big boy bed, Mary went from a little girl to a big helper, I enthusiastically put away my maternity clothes, and we welcomed baby Margaret into our household.  

Today, she's one year old. One year that seemingly passed in the blink of an eye. One year that was far less documented or celebrated than Mary's or even Bobby's first. My mother in law and I were laughing last week about the comparative lack of bravado for Margaret's birthday party. Mary and Bobby had beautifully printed birthday invitations; Margaret got an Outlook invite. Sorry sweetie.


A lack of time is not a lack of love. And I'm sure she feels that adoration every day.


However, to give Margaret her deserving day in the sun, here is a snapshot, or rather shots, of who she, as she turns one year old today.


You are literally a (very heavy) bundle of joy.

You love your crib and your soft Little Giraffe blanket. And the combination thereof, as well as a big bottle before you go to bed, has always made you a great sleeper.


You light up when you see me, your Mom, first thing in the morning. And then you offer your Dad, brother and sister the same generous smile. So generous, that Bobby takes it as an invitation to jump right in your crib with you.


You love breakfast, snack, lunch, dinner, dessert bottles, basically any opportunity to eat. And you have THE best thighs because of it.


You love the water. You want to jump right into the pool, hate getting out of the bathtub, and didn't flinch when Bobby sprayed you with the hose.

Let's stay on that. You have Bobby as a brother. And you are already a tough little cookie because of it. But man, does he love, love, love you. You are the one force in this household, that can actually calm the storm sometimes, and it's amazing to watch.


Your sister also loves you to pieces. She loves when you come into her bed. She loves holding you. She's given you countless bottles. And she loves picking a matching dress to your outfit du jour. 'It's like we're twins,' she'll say.


Your hair turned very blond this summer - the blondest in our family.


You are walking, almost running now, to keep up with your brother and sister.

You love being pushed in the jogging stroller and going for bike rides.

You do this thing with your nose, crinkling it up, and snorting in and out. I don't know where you learned it, but it's hysterical.


When I travel for work, and you haven't seen me in a day or so, you give me the biggest hug, never wanting to let go, and it melts my heart.


Just like your Mimi, who shares your same name, you are strong, loving, and full of life.


Margaret, your Mommy and Daddy love you so very much. We hope you had a wonderful first birthday. From the pics, it looks like it didn't disappoint.











Lo.

Pure Michigan

Just like I know a Home Depot ad, the moment the radio starts playing the catchy rhythms that make me want to week whack my lawn, bag the clippings and throw it to the curb, to the beat of course; I know there will be a promotion for my neighboring state the moment Tim Allen starts huskily reading poetry about the surprising beauty of Michigan.


The commercials lure you in. Both the ones for Home Depot and Michigan. But for the next five minutes or so, I'll focus on the latter.


If you haven't heard one of the ads, the campaign is called 'Pure Michigan.' In the Fall, the former star of Home Improvement talks about the foliage, wine tasting, and fishermen casting in the bubbling brooks. In the winter, it's the gateway to amateur sledding, skating, and skiing, just enough adventure for Midwesterners who are more comfortable flat footed. In the spring, it's the biking, breweries, and tours of Motor City. And in the summer, it's the shoreline and sunset - the other coast with sandy dunes, a crystal clear lake, thousands of boats, and spectacular vacation homes.


A year or so ago, Peter and I went to Traverse City in the Fall. It was my first time really exploring Tim's pure promise. And we loved it.


Last weekend, an invitation from my grandma in law, brought me to Holland, Michigan. Another dot on Michigan's map, made a little bigger in my mind by all that it had to offer. If Mr. Allen was to glorify it on the radio, it might go something like this.


'The perfect summer getaway weekend has a voice, and if we listen close enough, we can hear it.
It whispers, one more sunrise on the beach, one more cruise around Macatawa, just let me peak a little closer at the Devos compound. And that's their vacation home?


It whispers, pour me one more glass of Rose pleeeeease, grab one more New Holland brew for Peter, and everyone take another slice of Crust 54's pizza.






It talks about boats that are a little taller, and a super great Grandma who can find a way to climb all the way up to the top deck to watch her great grands take the helm.







It brings loved ones together, bunks them up, and wakes them with the glowing sunrise in the morning. Or in the middle of the night. Whichever comes first.






It begs you to pick another bucket of blueberries, come aboard the Hennebreeze, eat a Corn Dog at the County Fair, cheer for a 12 year old at the Demolition Derby, and experience a little bit of the Netherlands right here in the U.S.



It says, come run along my shoreline, swim in my fresh water, get a fish, fire up the grill, sit around the table, and lift a glass to Pure Michigan.






Even though I only got to spend two days in this beautiful spot, the experiences I had were wonderful. All made a little more pure and powerful by getting to spend that time with my extended family. Thank you Super Great Grandma Shirley.






Lo.

Martha's Vineyard

Last Saturday, when we walked into the house for the first time, I peaked around, envisioning the fun we would have on vacation in Martha's Vineyard.


The patio table where we would serve Peter's fresh catch of the day for dinner.

The shed with sand toys, chairs, and a big umbrella - the perfect size to shade a big baby on the beach.


The outdoor shower where a day's worth of sand would be washed away.


The kitchen where my Dad would mix up Margaritas because the formerly dry town where we were staying didn't seem to carry them.


Four beautiful seaside bedrooms, where kids and adults alike would sleep soundly knowing they had lived their best day yet in the sun.


And the living room, where there was a puzzle.
I could have chosen to ignore it, but there it was, sitting on a puzzling table with two chairs and a lamp, begging me to do it when the rest of the house was asleep. I had work to do during naptime though. A book I could read. A nap I should have taken. But 1,000 pieces shouldn't be kept in a box and worse, apart - they too wanted to live their best day in the sun, together.


So after our first day, scoping out our part of the island, swimming at the beach, and polishing off a plate of fried oysters at the Black Dog Tavern, I set to work on the puzzle.


There is something so satisfying, relaxing and rejuvenating about doing a jigsaw puzzle. The organization of the pieces. That click you hear as one piece connects to another. The moment you figure out the frame and just how big the puzzle is going to be. When the blur of nothingness comes into focus and you see what's been hiding in front of you all along. The partner you express your frustrations to when you just can't seem to get the sky to cooperate. And that missing piece. The one that got away, or worse, the one that Margaret threw down the vent. Then the great rescue, tweezing it out, and putting that last piece in. Seeing it all come together. Feeling the bumpy surface. The accomplishment and glory.


Day after day, I put one by one of 1,000 pieces together, with help from my Dad and my Aunt Dee to form a scene straight out of the Vineyard. And as I worked on it, I thought about some of the pieces that I uncovered while on vacation.


Like the way you are really supposed to do laundry - i.e. give it the attention it deserves. Change it right away. Fold it right away. And savor that fresh laundry smell. Yes, I did laundry on vacation.


Naptimes and bedtimes are easier, when the kids are exhausted from an amazing day of play.


Long bike rides and runs are better when the views keeps changing.

Laughter is far better than stress.


Big waves are awesome.


Fireworks are overrated. Hamburgers on the grill are not.
The escalating price of added scoops of ice cream on Martha's Vineyard will never make sense.
My son is very, very tan.
Fish tastes better when it's fresh off the Skiff.
When there's a free concert in the park, you go. Especially when the band playing is the second oldest continuously playing band in the country.
Avoid the poison ivy.
Don't jump can sometimes mean go ahead and jump.


Watching your kids pick up rod and reel for the first time and catch their first fish; that's when the pieces just click together.


And seeing your husband in his element, in the light that best frames all his features, makes you wish you could stay in this place forever.

Finally, experiencing vacation the way it's supposed to be, is invaluable. Turn on the 'out of office' message, put away the powerpoint, and then remind yourself to put it away again. And just be, truly be with your family. That's what vacation is about.


Cause life is so short. Work is really hard. Motherhood is often times mayhem. Vacation is meant to be a vacation. So take it, absorb it, document it, and then keep working hard so you can take vacation again, making the next one more epic than the last.
Monday, here I come.


Lo.







Lo.