Remember that time I was a really awesome parent?

Liam celebrated 2 years of life this month.  What I really need is a shirt for him that says, "Mommy and Daddy lasted 2 whole years!"  Because this child is a daredevil.

Liam has been dabbling in the art of break dancing.  He does this little fall to the ground and spin around on his belly, and then end up on his side with his head propped on his hand and his feet crossed at the ankles.  It's really quite impressive.  He first did it in my presence at a wedding we attended last weekend.  My little, shy son went out on the dance floor by himself and just started busting a move!  It was the hit of the wedding.

Rewind to a week before his birthday.  Tuesday.  The little break dancing boy is cutting a rug, spinning around and around until he crashes, and he just grabs his arm and starts wailing.  Thankfully, this is in the presence of Nana and Daddy, and not me.  So we do what ANY awesome parent would do- we put ice on it.  Wednesday.  He falls again.  Inconsolable wailing.  Awesome parenting move #2- we put a bandaid on it.  Mind over matter?  Maybe it will work!  Thursday, he's running to grab his balloon, falls to the floor, alligator tears all over the place.  Sobbing.  Screaming.  I look at Andy- "Maybe.  It's broken?"  Awesome parenting move #3- calling the doctor at 9:30 PM- Do we take him to the ER?




Friday.  Day out of work.  Pediatrician.  X-rays.  Cast. Two week sentencing.






















So in case you're math minded, that's FOUR WHOLE DAYS we let our son run around with a broken limb.  Think about how many times I grabbed his arm to prevent him from getting into trouble.  Think about how many times I held his arm while trying to get the wash cloth in between his fingers after eating.  Think about how many times that child told me his arm hurt, and we didn't believe him.

For his birthday, I put together a Mighty Machines theme.  I pulled out all my resources.  Working in avionics, I had access to an airplane.  (I'm also tight with the man who owns the airport adjacent to my parent's property.)  Knowing a few boys with big toys, I commandeered a big rig truck with sleeper cab, a HUGE John Deere tractor with grain bin (literally the tires alone are taller than 6'4" Andy), an awesome motorcycle, and you should've SEEN the look on that child's face when the fire truck pulled in.


























Liam just kept going from one machine to the next, touching tires and blowing horns and climbing into drivers seats.  Cast and all.  At one point, I was standing at the top of my parent's property looking down at the fruits of my labor- kids playing, parents laughing, Sesame Street Radio blasting in the background...Hopefully this makes up for Awesome Parenting Moves 1-3.  But wait-who has Liam?  THAT'S RIGHT.  Nobody.  And in awesome parenting move #4, my son is scaling the tractor, trying to get in the cab.  Cast and all.  "SOMEONE GRAB LIAM!!!!"

*facepalm*

Needless to say, my boy was a champ through this whole process.  It was me running around with the saran wrap and press and seal who had the problem.  The poor boy could hardly sleep, which isn't unusual, but it was even more difficult for a boy who sleeps on his hands. 

So okay, maybe I wasn't an awesome parent.  Maybe I made a FEW mistakes.  But who doesn't?  No child leaves childhood unscathed.  It's not an excuse to be a crappy parent, but it's more of a...consolation.  Because it's very very true that behind every amazing kid, there's a mom who is pretty sure she's doing it wrong.

Grandma's Got it Made

Last night I got to my parent's house to pick up my son, and this is what I found.

It's my dad, stuffed in a box.  My son is in there as well.  But my dad saw this box at work, and thought Liam would love it- which he did- but the box could not contain Liam AND grandpa.  This was after they were swinging on the swing set, belly down.  Liam's feet don't touch, but grandpa's feet touch a little TOO much.  But that's the ONLY way to swing, and as my dad tried to get up, I heard Liam demand, "No.  Pawpaw.  Sit down right here on tummy."  And "pawpaw" obliged.

Now, in our next exhibit, something like this would have really frustrated me.  Not only is my son IN the washbasket with the clean wash, about ten of his toys are too.  Notice the right hand side of the photo displaying Nana, looking undeterred from her folding. 

Here's PaPa T (Muzz is up at the top with Liam) but here is an example of a man with bleeding disks in his back, MUSTERING up the strength to throw the plastic baseball up the slide for the 100th time so his grandson could roll it back down.  As a witness, I was there for probably a good 20 minutes watching this all go down.  Funny how that small voice chanting "again!  again!" puts a bad back at ease...

And this.  Well.  We won't show this to the children's protection services.  But grandpa had it under control.

As a mommy, and let's refine that into NEW mommy, I was never TRUELY aware of what it would be like to live life with four of these people.  It's a complicated dance from the hospital (I cannot wait to show him to my mom and dad!!!!)  to the days after getting home from said hospital (mom, can't you just stay for a few more hours so I can get some sleep??)  to a few months after the hospital (Hey?  Remember me?  The one who GAVE you this grandchild?)  to a few years after the hospital (OH MY WORD do NOT feed him that red fruit punch!!!).

It's an extremely complicated dance.

It includes hurt feelings (how do I let her know I don't want my dishes put away in ALL THE WRONG PLACES?)  It includes mixed feelings (I really don't need my flower beds tended, but since he's here doing it, I feel bad asking him to leave and it really does look nice and I really don't know when I'm going to do it...)  It includes feelings of relief (I'm so glad my parent's are watching him because he's sick and I can't miss any more work)  Feelings of resentment (We cannot keep time equal between the two sets.  There's no way we can drag Liam up there time after time).  Feelings of accomplishment (So mom said she thought I was doing a great job raising Liam...)  And feelings of frustration (I think I can't handle my own child and I don't need your advice!).

And once you get past all these feelings, and they learn where to stand you learn how to lay off...you've got "grandparents."  In the early days it's hard to do this, because new mommies understand the importance of schedule.  Because while the grandparents are excited to love and cuddle, you are desperate for some sort of "normal" again, and you do this by setting up a routine.  You know what your baby likes.  Nobody else can do it quite like you do.  And ONE LITTLE SLIP in that precious routine could cost you countless nights of sleep, and many days of trying to get that precious routine back once more.

A friend of mine has out of town grandparents.  I too have out of town grandparents.  As they were visiting for the first time, she was lamenting over the anxiety she felt leaving her child with them.  "I have to go home.  My mom is crazy.  She's not going to know what to do.  They're probably bouncing her and she hates being bounced.  And then they're going to feed her when she's not hungry because they're trying to console her because they're bouncing her and SHE HATES BEING BOUNCED!!!  I have to go home and swoop her up."  I heard myself saying those very words the first time my inlaws visited.  Because even though they're grandparents, they're strangers to our kids. 

Grandparents want to do things like...rock our babies to sleep, when we've tried to train them to fall asleep on their own.  They want to sit and eat cookies with them, even when they don't really need the sugar.  They want to teach them to blow bubbles in their milk, even when you're trying to instill good table manners in them.  They want to give those toys that you've already said no to.  They want to make comparisons between your childhood and their precious grandchild.  And then they want to give them back.

Where do we stand in all this?  We're the parents now, right?  We're grown up.  We're responsible people. 

I'm here to say that the trick is letting go.

The things that make grandparents SO COOL to your kid, is that they are an escape from the routine.  Because they'll play games with them for HOURS.  Because they don't have to rush to make supper or get groceries.  Because they teach them cool stuff like hand farts and blowing bubbles in milk.  Because they let them get away with staying up late and breaking a rule here or there.  That's what makes them special.

Memories are not made in routine.  Memories are made out of the abnormal.  Out of the extra-curricular activities.  Out of the "remember that time..."

So do me a favor and learn how to do this: roll your eyes and shrug.  Repeat after me:  "Oh those grandparents."  And apply this on a daily basis.  Unless there is something mortally wrong going on, do yourself a favor and just...let it go.

Because at some point, if your kid is anything like mine, at some point you're going to come to pick him up from Nana and PawPaw's, and he's going to wiggle himself out of a box with his grandpa and run the other way while screaming "NOOOO!!!!!  NO MOMMY!"  And then you're going to know that it's ALL good.  :)

Going out to Eat 101

There's no actual dining when you go out to supper.


Not with a toddler.


Especially not with a potty training toddler.


My friend Alyssa and I met at Panera last night with the intention of going to Target.  She brought Brynn, who I could EAT UP, and of course Liam was along for the ride.


We got our meals and Liam ate the meat and cheese and yogurt and left the bread.  Brynn was shoving her face with handfuls of sandwich bits.  By the time we were all finished, the floor looked like...well, like two kids under the age of two had just dined there.


When I go out with Liam, I do not order hot food.  There's really no purpose in heating anything up when it's just going to sit and get cold anyway.


There's this little dance that mom's do when they go out to eat.  Because you know what your child will eat, and what he won't.  And when you're going out, and you're actually spending cash money on food (and not just pulling from the freezer or pantry...) you're going to put a TON of thought into what is LEAST LIKELY to end up in the trash can on the way out.  You scope out menus BEFORE you go in.  Kids menu?  Anything on it not fried?  Anything on it come without fries?  Anything on it going to make a minimal mess? 


You get into the restaurant and the hostess eyes you up. You eye the hostess up.  Those heels she's wearing are going to give her varicose veins.  Just saying.  She looks on her little white board eraser thingy for an opening in the noisy children zone.  20 minute wait.  Sure, why not?  Until you pack up your brood, get to another place with less of a wait, you should just wait the 20 minutes.


What do you do with a child under 2 for 20 minutes?  Do you remember when they were just infants and you could use this little nugget of time to breast feed politely in a corner or feed them their bottle or get out the container of cheerios in an attempt to keep them occupied.  No longer, my friend.  Because now, your toddler is capable of something called "spoiling their supper."  This happens when they find a handful of rogue goldfish snacks in their car seat on the way to the eatery.  This happens when they ask for a drink before supper and "just a little sip" turns into them handing back the cup empty. 


So you're sitting there waiting for your name to be called.  "Do you have to go to the potty?"  No.  "Yes you do, let's go."  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.  "Yes."  (Because at this point, you don't want to be the push-over parent for all to see and silently mock) so you stuff your board of a child under one arm, and head for the bathroom.  You come back.  He didn't go.  Your 2x2 foot space on the waiting bench is now occupied.  You hold your child.  You show him every number and letter you can find.  "What's this?!  An H!  H is for HOUSE.  You say it."  "What is this?  a 5?  Party of Five!  Let's count to FIVE!"  You dig deep in the diaper bag for something to do.  Oh, here's a bulletin from church on Sunday and a red crayon from the last place at which you attempted to eat!  So you draw.  Then he scribbles.  Then he's done.  Then you look and find a plastic bag that once contained snacks.  You put it over your hand like a puppet.  You put it over his hand like a puppet.  The bag rips.  You dig deeper.  You find a teething toy from when he was actually- it wasn't THAT long ago, was it??  He puts it on as a bracelet.  He can't get it off.  He wails.  "Fold your hand into a little...no listen, not a fist, no, listen make your hand like this...just put your fingers...Liam, stop.  Liam."  You get the teething ring off his hand.  Your place on the bench is now free.  Hey, weren't they their after you?  Okay, whatever, it's been at LEAST 15 minutes, your turn is up soon.  Liam lays on the floor.  "Get off the floor!!!  It's DIRTY!!!!"  He cries.  He's starving.  You pick him up.  You put him on the bench.  He purposely slides off.  You pick him up again.  He jellies himself and drops to the floor.  You hiss something in his ear about no ice cream.  He stands up straight.  He grabs you by the face and kisses you.  Baby.  Ice cream please.  "We'll see."


You take out the dreaded cell phone.  The thing you have always VOWED to take out only in times of emergency because it bothers you SO MUCH to see parents shove an electronic device into their kid's hands while acting out.  Guess what, sister?  You're that person tonight.  Thankfully it fills up the exact amount of time it takes for you to get your table and get seated.  They have a high chair waiting.  Great, your child doesn't fit in a high chair any more...and they're all out of boosters.  Of course they are!  It's fine, you'll eat with him on your lap.


You get situated and put in your order.  Salad for you,  white pizza with broccoli for him.  Baby drink.  "Let me help-" nope.  Words out of my mouth...water on my lap.  On my plate.  On my purse, on the dreaded phone.  The bus boy runs over to help.  There's a small waterfall streaming over the side of the table onto the floor.  You now have the attention of the entire restaurant.  Liam starts to cry, and then like magic, the cold water on his inevitably warm body had encouraged him to, you guessed it!  Pee down the leg.  Some people would take the high road at this point- offer to help clean up- until you catch your son splashing in the water/pee and you decided you just need to make a clean break from this place.  "Can we please get our food to go."


You shove a $5 tip on a $10 meal in the hands of the bus boy and head for the car, child on the hip, scalding hot box of pizza in your hand.


Maybe you'll try it again.


When he's 10.

365 Days Ago

On August 6th, I celebrated (observed? There was no cake, so it can't be a celebration...).  On August 6th, I observed the date I found out I had MS last year.


There was no fanfare.  I didn't make a heartfelt post on Facebook so everyone could "ooh" and "ahh" at me.  Tell me how strong I was- how BRAVE I was.  To tell the truth...I never post it on Facebook a year ago.  The thing with people is, they like a good story, they like a good morsel to talk about, but they're not long term.  Most aren't.


I did text a friend, however.  A friend who has just checked in with my and stood by me.  Brought me food.  Loved on me and my family, even while she was going through her own stuff.  Got muddy with me while we ran for MuckFest.  Held my hand as we crossed the finish line.

I text her: One year ago today, I was diagnosed.


She said: I bet 365 days ago you were wondering where you'd be in 365 days.


She was totally right.  I looked back at my blog post from last year- something I never do.  My marriage was crashing, and I mean CRASH-ING.  There were talks of who would stay and who would go.  My son was not sleeping (my son will still not sleep, but it's better.)  My leg, my mind, my soul was just...numb. 


I looked back at my blog 730 days ago.  I was pregnant.  I called the cops on a woman who left her dog in the car.  I wondered that day what wisdom I would impart on my son- what would I want him to see in that situation?


What if 1095 days ago, someone would've told me- you're going to decide to have a baby in a few months- it's going to be on the first try- it's going to be a boy- his name will be Liam.


What if 1460 days ago, someone would've told me- you're going to be in bankruptcy by the end of the year.  You will need to claim everything you own.  You're going to have to sell stuff and give stuff back.  It's going to be terribly difficult.


WHAT IF 1825 DAYS AGO someone would have sat down with me and my fiancé and say- you know that sickness or in health part?  It's going to be a reality for you in many ways.  You know that richer or poorer stuff?  You're going to experience it in very tangible ways.  You know that in good times and bad stuff?  You will be able to write books about that topic.  And it will ALL HAPPEN in the next 5 years.  1825 days from now.




We drove past my high school a few days ago.  My mind did a little flashback sequence to a moment I had not remembered in many, many years.  In my minds eye, I saw a 14 year old version of myself sitting on the stairs, head in my hands, hair in curls, blue dress, white sweater, white sandals.  I think I was wearing tiny red roses in my hair.  It was a school concert, and I was supposed to meet my then boyfriend on the steps afterwards.  I waited 10 minutes.  I waited 15 minutes.  I waited 30 minutes.  A friend came out and gently told me- he wasn't coming.  He left with another girl.  It was over.  When you're 14... this is earth shattering.  Heck, when you're ANY age, this is earth shattering.  I went on to take him back time after time, and he was always unfaithful.  And then I met Andy, and then my life story really started to take shape.


But if someone would have gently told me, 15 years ago, 5475 days ago; This.  Is.  Not.  The.  End.  You will meet someone.  You will get married.  You will have a son.  You will rescue dogs from cars.  You will be diagnosed with MS.  You will experience heartache deeper than this and you will not be moved.  You will survive.  You.  Will.  THRIVE.


Would I have listened?  All those 365 days ago, would I have listened?  Honestly, I think I was listening.  It's that still small voice that whispers, "This too shall pass.  Cling to what you know.  Pray and have faith.  This is not the end."


See ya in another 365.

Are you having a "Good Day?"

Liam is potty training.


It all happened so fast.  He woke up one morning and told his daddy he had to go potty, and then it was like we were buying big boy undies and researching methodologies in the previously uncharted territory of Potty Training.


And then it's like, we became obsessed.


"Liam, you have to pee pee?"


"Liam, honey, you have to poo poo??"


"Liam, sweetheart, you're holding your wiener, let's try to potty."


"Liam, love, why didn't you potty just now?  What are the words we use when we have to go?"


And on, and on, and on.


My husband actually took the reigns of this little adventure.  After all, he's the man, right?  And Liam is technically a "Little Man" and all the parts are the same.  Why not?  After two days of letting him run naked and discussing the anatomy of it all, it was time to go buy the MUCH anticipated "Jake Big Boy Pants"


We then started taking the potty everywhere with us.  Everywhere.  To movies in the park, to concerts, on trips...everywhere.  And he was doing really, really well.  People judged us for taking the potty everywhere, but you know what?  My kid also wears a leash when we're in public.  Mind your own dumb business.


Yesterday Liam didn't do a good job on the potty at my mom's house.  He would poo, but not pee, and then throw major tantrums and then do it on the floor.  He went through all his undies- every single pair.  Today I called again, "Is Liam having a good day?" Nana reported yet another bad day.  Peeing on the floor and not sitting on the potty.  Making himself stiff and throwing himself on the floor when it's time to use the bathroom.


I started to cry.  Like it was somehow my fault that my 21 month old son was rejecting a previously victorious task.  Like it was somehow within my control to make my child well behaved for my mother at the ripe young age of "barely two."  Maybe we should stop the training.  Maybe it was a fluke that he did well for two weeks, sometimes going through the night with a dry diaper.


For a moment I reflected on the question I was asking.  "Is Liam having a good day?"  What does that even mean?  Is Liam obeying and peeing in the potty and not climbing on anything and sharing and napping and listening to instructions and...  And fulfilling all the tasks his fully grown, 29 year old mother wants him to?  I should have just asked "Is Liam being the perfect child today?"  A better question to pose, "Was Liam sitting like a little prince with his socks pulled up and his hair combed?"  "Was Liam doing all the things that he should and all the things he shouldn't?"  "Was Liam living up to the lofty expectations I have for him?"


What if this question was asked of us daily?  "Was Libbie the model employee today at work?"  "Did Libbie fulfill the expectations of a mother and wife today?"  "Did Libbie make any mistakes today?"


Holy crud buckets, what was I expecting of my child?  On a side note, those are the kids who get mothers shunned at play group.  In a world of "normal" children, nobody wants to play with the "perfect" one.  They're just not...fun.  They have no stories to tell.  ("Well, there WAS that one time little Timmy didn't finish his supper...")  Loser.  Everyone loves a good, "And then in an attempt to take his plate to the kitchen like I asked, Liam dumped it all over the floor.  And then when I was down on the floor picking up rogue corn, he decided to pee himself right in front of me, even though the potty was sitting two feet away!"  You've never heard anyone ever say, "Please stop telling hilarious stories about your super normal toddler."


So.  Are you having a good day?  I'm not.  But screw it.  The heat has made me so sleepy that even my "awake" medication is like taking two Smarties in the morning.  I'm making frozen pizza for supper.  Oh sure, I'll stop for a salad on the way to try to even out the laziness with the vegetables.  Our kitchen is currently so full of dishes and since it's the size of a postage stamp and there's nowhere to put anything, I put a plate on the floor last night.  That's right.  I said it.  I put plates on the floor because I was SO stinking tired after working and teaching and cooking supper in my hotter than hot kitchen, I didn't do dishes.  I cleaned up corn and pee and then I collapsed for the night.


Please let me be remembered for not all the "good days" I've had, but the days where I've given it my best try and prayed for grace.  Those will amount to more in the end anyway.

One and Done?

Andy and I have never really had a "plan." 


In our lives, we've discovered that 9 times outta 10, things were not going to go our way.  Take for instance, when we tried to buy our first house.  We were approved for the mortgage, were days away from settlement, were at the store buying a washer and dryer, and the bank revoked our money due to the collapse of the financial system in our county.  Sorry washer sales guy- no house, no washer.  TOTALLY saw that one coming.


We graduated from college and got jobs.  We got engaged.  We lost those jobs.  We were engaged in January, he lost his job a few weeks later, I lost mine in May.  We had everything planned for September.  Every time we would get an unemployment check, we would buy something else for our wedding.  After the fact, we took a loan out to pay my father back for all the money he had loaned us to give us the wedding of our dreams.


At 27, newly wedded and completely broke, we sat hand in hand in bankruptcy court, murmuring the mantra "we can do this.  we can get through this..."  We were trying to see our way clear of a year of unemployment while college loans mounted and the massive amount of credit card debt just piled up month after month.  We spoke in hushed tones to the bankruptcy mediator, pleading our case, which now seemed petty after hearing the case BEFORE us.  (Heart attack, no insurance, let all his employees go, economy collapsed...sigh).


And then we got pregnant on the first try.  Who saw THAT coming?  Liam was well thought out and well accounted for, but we were still blind to everything it took to raise a child.  I had a poster perfect pregnancy.  We had the perfect little infant boy. Then came the PPD, the marriage counseling, the MS, the weight gain...the weight gain...the weight gain... And then at 12 months he starts seizing in my arms...


The point is, you can't plan.  WE cannot plan.  I sat up with my sweet Liam on Wednesday night.  He was fine, 97 degree temperature, and then BOOM, 102.  No indication of what might've been wrong.  Eating, sleeping, drinking, pooping, peeing, playing- all normal.  102 temperature.  So I started the vigil- Tylenol...45 minutes...take temp...over 100, Motrin administered...cold washcloth...flip the pillow to the cool side...45 minutes...take temp...down a degree...doze off by his bed...45 minutes...take temp... and on.  And on.


I love my son DEARLY, and would not trade him for anything in all my life.  But when people allude to us having another one...I want to cut them.  I went to my yearly OB/GYN appointment and I sat as far away from the pregnant lady as possible.  It's not catching, is it?  I double checked with my provider- my birth control isn't going to fail with this other med, is it?  If we double up on birth control, we could be EXTRA EXTRA sure this won't happen again, right???


I hear of my friends (Now FOUR sets of them) all with number two on the way, TWO of my friends from high school have THREE little ones.  Everyone looks to us for our next "big news."  There isn't going to be any.  Not for a LONG time, if ever.  I spoke of giving some of my maternity clothing to a young, un wed mother at church.  The woman next to me sat slack-jawed, "But what will you wear for your next pregnancy??"  My next pregnancy?  Is one not enough? 


There are no plans in this family for the next child.  The mere MENTION of another child turns my stomach.  We have found this "new normal" everyone speaks of, and we're just hanging out here until something else unexpected throws us for a loop and we have to completely reinvent ourselves, just as we have SO MANY TIMES since 2007.  Our child has JUST STARTED TO SLEEP.  Just.  18 months, people.  18 months of no sleep.  Yes, let's start that again in nine months.


Call me selfish, but I don't feel the need for a huge family right now.  You can do anything with ONE child.  Our house is big enough for ONE child.  My mom can handle ONE child during the day.  It's good for us right now.  It's working.  One and done?  Maybe.  But all the baby stuff is still in the attic in case we plan on losing our minds some day.

Seperation Anxiety

It's Easter this weekend!  LOVE LOVE LOVE Easter.  Oh my GOODNESS, I love Easter.  Because it's impossible to be unhappy when you're watching all the little girls running around in their lovely little dresses.  It's impossible to be burdened when you're giggling at all the little boys in ties and untucked shirts (they WERE tucked in earlier, I'm sure).  And it's impossible to feel anything but joy when you're singing hymns at the top of your lungs in a Sunday morning service, surrounded by your family and friends.


Then you eat.


Oh MAN.  Food.  I have been good about the NOT weighing myself/Lent thing.  I was sort of forced into it at two doctor's apps, but I did NOT step on the scale at the gym with the intention of weighing and breaking my promise to myself.  I'm proud of that.  I'm learning to be content with who I am and what I look like.


This is boring.  Let's talk about something else.


We took Liam to his first Easter egg hunt last week.  He and his PawPaw (my dad) had been practicing ALL week.  Pick them up, put them in the basket.  Over and over.  Hide them again.  Find them again.  For the solid week, my dad became the enabler for this egg-hunting addiction my son has established.  It was going to be GREAT.

The siren sounded, and 100 little 2 and unders toddled out to the field of brightly colored eggs and tiny golden candies.  With his daddy's help, he picked the eggs up one by one and gently placed them in his basket.  On to the next.  And the next.  At one point, he and another little boy attacked the same egg.  MY little boy stood back and let him have it.  What a sweet boy.  :)


Nine eggs, and a chocolate crusted smile, later, we were in line for the bouncy slide and then the moment we were all waiting for: the barrel tractor ride.  Liam had been pointing at the ride all day, making the tractor noise and running towards it while we weren't looking.  It was FINALLY our turn.  PawPaw strapped him in the barrel, showed him the horn and the wheel, and off they drove.


We heard the squeak of the horns as the other little ones honked away, waving at their parents from afar.  The little tractor drove across the playground and Andy and I stood, arms wrapped around each other- there he goes!  Music lightly played in the background.  The camera panned out...  I imagined this moment to be just like sending him off to college...  JK.  It was a barrel ride at an egg hunt.  But we were still teary.

The elderly gentleman, who had probably waited all month just to haul out his prized ride and take the kids for a spin, pulled past where we were standing and I heard Liam before I saw him.  "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY!"  SCREAMING my name.  Tears running down his face.  I was immedietly like a marathon runner, leaping over trash cans and pushing small children and strollers out of my way to get to my son. 

It was horrible. He clung to me like a baby kangaroo. "It's okay!!! Mommy's here!!!!" Andy joined us and wrapped his arms around both of us. We stood in embrace, all three of us sobbing like we just lost the family dog. Until Liam popped his head up and asked, "Again?" Pointing to the train. 

No. No more. Mommy and daddy can't handle it. 

Happy Easter, everyone :) He is risen indeed :)