Mama’s Day

I know that this isn’t a Mama Monday considering I’m not Kayleigh, thus this must be Daddy Monday! No, Kayleigh just had a busy day and didn’t get a chance to write her post, and considering I was bad about my post on Saturday, I figure I’ll just post today.

Happy Mother’s Day (again) to this amazing mama!

Baby Boat

Our Mother’s Day started out pretty much like any other day—we were trying to get some sleep this morning so that we didn’t die and Emmy woke right up, just on time to start the fun! Typically, Kayleigh is faster than me to hop out of bed most days and get to Emmy and begin getting her on her potty and her teeth brushed and such, but today, it was my turn. Don’t get me wrong, letting Kayleigh sleep in a bit was part of the plan, but I also think that she basically put her foot down in bed and let it be known that I’d be the one going. Seems fair.

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Chaos

A typical morning is happening over at our place.

Emerson is running around, stealing the remote controls, changing all the settings on the TV. Shes over at the record player, turning the dials and blasting music to only be disappointed by the music being too loud (she understands turning the dial up but hasn’t completely grasped that the dial can also turn the music down).

She smacking the dog in the nose while Josh and I try to explain to her that she should be nice to him and give him a good-morning kiss, instead.
She’s chasing Tuffy around trying to grab onto his tail mysteriously whipping back and forth.

Josh is trying to get out the door while I try to decide what to make Emerson for breakfast this morning – my first challenge of every day.

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Hockey Practice

This post has nothing at all to do with Emerson or parenting… it’s just an essay I wrote back in college… a few weeks ago… I’m dumb.

Chop, chop, chop, faster and faster—the sound of hockey skates carving through newly resurfaced ice like the sharp, metallic scrape of the sharpening of a knife in a hectic kitchen. I’m at another predawn hockey practice, exhausting yet comforting, like curling up with a tantalizing mystery novel on a cold winter night. The hum of the electricity surging through the vacant arena is reminiscent of early-morning summer days, a distant lawnmower droning—striking in the stillness at first light. I look all around me and see the faces of my friends, my family, my team. We are here to better ourselves—all for one, and one for all.

We skate hard; we have to, which is understandable as we’re supposed to be the best of the best, the top of our division. I catch my breath between drills and breathe in the soft, crisp bite of the ice below my feet. The acoustics in the empty rink are incredible; the echoes amplified by the absence of sound-absorbing bodies.

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Indulging Without Emmy

This post is similar to what Kayleigh wrote on Monday—her Blissful Friday post—and I figured I could build off of that a little and delve a little deeper into some of the things we do when we have a little time away from Emmy.

Couple

The first thing we do is we miss her. I think it’s kinda a given for parents to miss their kids when they’re away from them for even a short time, even when said kid is just upstairs sleeping in another room! You get sort of used to the little devils being around and things can seem pretty still, too still even, when they’re not. So yes, the first thing we do—pretty much always—is we miss the little girl—even when we’ve just left her upstairs.

With that out of the way, I’m going to tell you about things we really do, when Emmy’s not around, when she’s away from us, out of our presence you may say… so here we go.

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Mama Monday: Blissful Friday

Let’s talk about bliss.

A perfect day is bliss. Yet, every day is technically perfect when you are still here. Still living. Still have your friends, your family, your support system. Even when things aren’t great, at the end of the day, life is somewhat perfect. But when you get something extra special, is when you encounter bliss.

I’m talking about an extra 30 minutes.

This was my Friday. Blissful.

While I sit here, eating my perfectly fluffy pancakes drenched in butter and syrup, reading 28 pages of my overdue library book—

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Emerson sleeps…

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