I wanted to do a stroll down memory lane...so here we go!!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
3 years ago today
An angel was born!!! Better known as Sydney Elizabeth Proctor. And my life has been so great since then. She has brought a lot of joy to everyone who knows her.
I wanted to do a stroll down memory lane...so here we go!!
I wanted to do a stroll down memory lane...so here we go!!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
I can't believe it!!
Sydney will be turning 3 in a week. Where does the time go??? So I've been working on something for her...A letter for her to read on her 18th birthday. But you? You can read it now.
To Sydney, On Her 18th Birthday
(To be opened February 24th , 2024)
Dear Sydney,
Once upon a time, not too long ago, sweet girl, you were my baby.
When you turned three years old, you only weighed 28 pounds. Your head was round with very unruly brown hair the EXACT same color as mine, and your eyes were big and hazel and sparkling with curiosity. You held that sweet round head high, your shoulders always back, your proud chest thrust out to meet the world. You marched through life, on two steady feet, belly-forward. You were as self-assured as a much older child, and yet, you were still my baby.
You loved chicken nuggets,cheese , and chocolate. You loved your John Deere cowboy boots that Unc got you (the 2nd pair,because you outgrew the first and couldn't do without them). You wear your boots all day,every day, you sleep in them, usually we can get them off of you after your asleep but not always. You love balloons and "bacon ball" which we "think" is baseball. You love puzzles and coloring with crayons,usually on the walls. You love singing, and talking,you do not like dolls at all. You would rather play with trains,tractors or trucks.
You were walking (and rolling and climbing) with amazing speed, and were running and clambering and exploring this big wonderful world as quickly and thoroughly as you could. You were as sure-footed as a child many times your age, but you were still my baby.
You knew how to count to 20,and were starting to learn your ABC's. You tormented the cat every chance you got,you loved to make animal noises. And the phrase that melts our hearts is "Can we Mommy/Daddy?" Like whatever you want to do is the most important thing in the world and to you I assume it is.
You loved to explore, and to learn, and by the time you turned 3 years old, you had figured out how to get past anything standing in your way and how to open locked doors and you made it clear, with every step, that nothing would hold you back. You were always looking for new faces, new things, new landscapes, but you always kept one eye on the whereabouts of your Mommy, or your Dad. You delighted at encountering both the familiar and the strange. You were fearless, but you were, always, my baby.
You start every day with a squeal of delight, and spend your mornings racing about the house, chasing Callie and pulling books from the shelf and refusing breakfast because everything was just too interesting and there were just too many things to do and I looked at you and I thought, what a powerful, powerful little person my baby is. Such a little person. But still my baby.
I look at you and I am astounded: my baby, turning into a little girl. My heart pounded and swelled and broke, just a little bit, as it expanded to contain the flood of love and the flood of hope and the flood of fear. You were growing, as I watched. You were becoming you, ever more you, and, so, ever less me. The time and distance from your birth, 3 years prior, was so great that for a moment I thought that, if I were to look back, really, I would not be able to see across that distance. At the moment of your birth, you were still part of me, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. As I look at you on your third birthday, I saw – and thrilled and weep for seeing – that you were so rapidly becoming you.
And now, so many years, you are you. I know this, without having yet seen it.
I don’t know you – the grown-up you, the you of your future, of my future - yet. I’m writing this on the occasion of your near third birthday: there are many years still to come before I know the grown-up you, the you who will read this letter and wonder at her mother's sentimentality. I’m only just starting to know you, even though, in so many respects, I already know you better than I do any other being, and even though it will be many, many years before another human being knows you as well as I do. As remarkable as it seems to say so, I am only just now - in this, your 3rd year - starting to REALLY know you. It is my hope, my wish, my intention that I will always strive to know you, to understand you. It is my wish, my hope - however misguided it may turn out to be, at times - that you will always let me.
I don’t know what will happen (what has happened, if we are truly looking backward, from the vantage of your 18th year) between your third and your eighteenth birthdays. I don't know, yet, the stages that you will go through. I know that there will be much joy, much laughter, many smiles. I know that there will be much love, and many hugs. I know that we will have shared all of these things, in spades, by the time you read this letter.
I know, too, that we will have shared many tears. We will have shared pain. I’m certain that there will have been misunderstandings, resentments, confusion between us. I’m certain that there will have been many, many times that you will have felt such a great distance from me – and I from you – that the fact of our closeness, the fact of the bond of flesh and blood and heart between us, will have been forgotten, lost somewhere over the horizon of the space between us, mother and daughter.
But that fact – the fact that you are my flesh, my blood, my soul, my heart - will, always, remain. For as much as you grow and live and live and grow and become you – wonderful, brilliant, beautiful you; sure-footed, self-assured, fearless you – you will always be mine, you will always be my heart.
You will always, always be my baby.
I love you.
Mommy
February 17th 2009
To Sydney, On Her 18th Birthday
(To be opened February 24th , 2024)
Dear Sydney,
Once upon a time, not too long ago, sweet girl, you were my baby.
When you turned three years old, you only weighed 28 pounds. Your head was round with very unruly brown hair the EXACT same color as mine, and your eyes were big and hazel and sparkling with curiosity. You held that sweet round head high, your shoulders always back, your proud chest thrust out to meet the world. You marched through life, on two steady feet, belly-forward. You were as self-assured as a much older child, and yet, you were still my baby.
You loved chicken nuggets,cheese , and chocolate. You loved your John Deere cowboy boots that Unc got you (the 2nd pair,because you outgrew the first and couldn't do without them). You wear your boots all day,every day, you sleep in them, usually we can get them off of you after your asleep but not always. You love balloons and "bacon ball" which we "think" is baseball. You love puzzles and coloring with crayons,usually on the walls. You love singing, and talking,you do not like dolls at all. You would rather play with trains,tractors or trucks.
You were walking (and rolling and climbing) with amazing speed, and were running and clambering and exploring this big wonderful world as quickly and thoroughly as you could. You were as sure-footed as a child many times your age, but you were still my baby.
You knew how to count to 20,and were starting to learn your ABC's. You tormented the cat every chance you got,you loved to make animal noises. And the phrase that melts our hearts is "Can we Mommy/Daddy?" Like whatever you want to do is the most important thing in the world and to you I assume it is.
You loved to explore, and to learn, and by the time you turned 3 years old, you had figured out how to get past anything standing in your way and how to open locked doors and you made it clear, with every step, that nothing would hold you back. You were always looking for new faces, new things, new landscapes, but you always kept one eye on the whereabouts of your Mommy, or your Dad. You delighted at encountering both the familiar and the strange. You were fearless, but you were, always, my baby.
You start every day with a squeal of delight, and spend your mornings racing about the house, chasing Callie and pulling books from the shelf and refusing breakfast because everything was just too interesting and there were just too many things to do and I looked at you and I thought, what a powerful, powerful little person my baby is. Such a little person. But still my baby.
I look at you and I am astounded: my baby, turning into a little girl. My heart pounded and swelled and broke, just a little bit, as it expanded to contain the flood of love and the flood of hope and the flood of fear. You were growing, as I watched. You were becoming you, ever more you, and, so, ever less me. The time and distance from your birth, 3 years prior, was so great that for a moment I thought that, if I were to look back, really, I would not be able to see across that distance. At the moment of your birth, you were still part of me, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. As I look at you on your third birthday, I saw – and thrilled and weep for seeing – that you were so rapidly becoming you.
And now, so many years, you are you. I know this, without having yet seen it.
I don’t know you – the grown-up you, the you of your future, of my future - yet. I’m writing this on the occasion of your near third birthday: there are many years still to come before I know the grown-up you, the you who will read this letter and wonder at her mother's sentimentality. I’m only just starting to know you, even though, in so many respects, I already know you better than I do any other being, and even though it will be many, many years before another human being knows you as well as I do. As remarkable as it seems to say so, I am only just now - in this, your 3rd year - starting to REALLY know you. It is my hope, my wish, my intention that I will always strive to know you, to understand you. It is my wish, my hope - however misguided it may turn out to be, at times - that you will always let me.
I don’t know what will happen (what has happened, if we are truly looking backward, from the vantage of your 18th year) between your third and your eighteenth birthdays. I don't know, yet, the stages that you will go through. I know that there will be much joy, much laughter, many smiles. I know that there will be much love, and many hugs. I know that we will have shared all of these things, in spades, by the time you read this letter.
I know, too, that we will have shared many tears. We will have shared pain. I’m certain that there will have been misunderstandings, resentments, confusion between us. I’m certain that there will have been many, many times that you will have felt such a great distance from me – and I from you – that the fact of our closeness, the fact of the bond of flesh and blood and heart between us, will have been forgotten, lost somewhere over the horizon of the space between us, mother and daughter.
But that fact – the fact that you are my flesh, my blood, my soul, my heart - will, always, remain. For as much as you grow and live and live and grow and become you – wonderful, brilliant, beautiful you; sure-footed, self-assured, fearless you – you will always be mine, you will always be my heart.
You will always, always be my baby.
I love you.
Mommy
February 17th 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
I still LOVE him
Want to know a secret?? Oh wait it isn't a secret anymore.....
Michael Phelps smokes dope.
Holy Moly, the whole country is going to go to hell in a hand basket. Because obviously, that means he is not the super God we made him out to be.
I get that he is a role model. That's why Nike and Speedo and countless other corporations are willing to pay him big money to say he uses their product. And I get that because of his status as an Olympic champion and record breaking athlete, the eyes of the world are upon him.
But you know what?
This guy is TWENTY THREE years old.
Do you remember twenty three year old guys? They aren't much more mature than 16 year old guys.
I will go even further and say that men don't reach full emotional maturity until about 30. There are exceptions, of course.
Even diamonds need cutting and buffing. Raw materials, regardless of their value, still need molding and shaping to shine their brightest.
The point is....
Twenty three year old guys are not the epitome of selflessness or good judgement, gold medals and million dollar endorsement deals notwithstanding. Being a champion does not automatically center upon perfection.
Not to mention that this kid has been training HARD for years. How many things did he deprive himself of; things every normal young guy does without even thinking about it?
He sacrificed all those things to hone his body into a lean, mean record breaking machine. He pushed himself beyond his limits. He was disciplined, dedicated and focused.
He's done what he set out to do, he made us look good, AND he still has the rest of his life ahead of him.
So if the kid wants to cut loose a little bit, smoke a doobie or two, and otherwise sow all the oats he didn't sow while he was busy being an Olympic Champion...
I have no problem with that.
He's not hurting me. He's not hurting you. He's just making the mistakes that we all have to make to learn and grow.
And I certainly don't think it's going to bring about the moral decay of our youth. I don't think the Dow will fall any further, I don't think the recession will recede any further, I don't think the fat cats on Wall Street will grow any richer or Joe Q. Public any poorer, I don't think Osama will decide to launch another attack and this time make it count...
In other words, nothing much is going to happen at all, EXCEPT that one poor disgraced little merman will be forced to apologize in a very public way for doing something just about every red blooded American kid does, at some point.
The difference being that most kids get a lecture, maybe lose their driving privileges, perhaps even do a little community service, while he will lose millions of dollars. He will be humiliated, humbled and possibly dethroned.
We will make him PAY for his evil deeds.
Because everyone knows that once a person becomes famous, they are no longer allowed any human frailties. They must be perfect! Beyond reproach! Flawless!
Because we won't tolerate anything less, and because, if they are not perfect, we will find and exploit any weakness or imperfection. We will try and punish them in the media and hound them into stoop shouldered submission. Then we will leave them to pick up the pieces of their broken lives and move onto the next celebrity who has the misfortune to publicly misstep.
I feel sorry for him, to tell the truth.
We Americans sure are fair weather friends when it comes to our heroes.
Michael Phelps smokes dope.
Holy Moly, the whole country is going to go to hell in a hand basket. Because obviously, that means he is not the super God we made him out to be.
I get that he is a role model. That's why Nike and Speedo and countless other corporations are willing to pay him big money to say he uses their product. And I get that because of his status as an Olympic champion and record breaking athlete, the eyes of the world are upon him.
But you know what?
This guy is TWENTY THREE years old.
Do you remember twenty three year old guys? They aren't much more mature than 16 year old guys.
I will go even further and say that men don't reach full emotional maturity until about 30. There are exceptions, of course.
Even diamonds need cutting and buffing. Raw materials, regardless of their value, still need molding and shaping to shine their brightest.
The point is....
Twenty three year old guys are not the epitome of selflessness or good judgement, gold medals and million dollar endorsement deals notwithstanding. Being a champion does not automatically center upon perfection.
Not to mention that this kid has been training HARD for years. How many things did he deprive himself of; things every normal young guy does without even thinking about it?
He sacrificed all those things to hone his body into a lean, mean record breaking machine. He pushed himself beyond his limits. He was disciplined, dedicated and focused.
He's done what he set out to do, he made us look good, AND he still has the rest of his life ahead of him.
So if the kid wants to cut loose a little bit, smoke a doobie or two, and otherwise sow all the oats he didn't sow while he was busy being an Olympic Champion...
I have no problem with that.
He's not hurting me. He's not hurting you. He's just making the mistakes that we all have to make to learn and grow.
And I certainly don't think it's going to bring about the moral decay of our youth. I don't think the Dow will fall any further, I don't think the recession will recede any further, I don't think the fat cats on Wall Street will grow any richer or Joe Q. Public any poorer, I don't think Osama will decide to launch another attack and this time make it count...
In other words, nothing much is going to happen at all, EXCEPT that one poor disgraced little merman will be forced to apologize in a very public way for doing something just about every red blooded American kid does, at some point.
The difference being that most kids get a lecture, maybe lose their driving privileges, perhaps even do a little community service, while he will lose millions of dollars. He will be humiliated, humbled and possibly dethroned.
We will make him PAY for his evil deeds.
Because everyone knows that once a person becomes famous, they are no longer allowed any human frailties. They must be perfect! Beyond reproach! Flawless!
Because we won't tolerate anything less, and because, if they are not perfect, we will find and exploit any weakness or imperfection. We will try and punish them in the media and hound them into stoop shouldered submission. Then we will leave them to pick up the pieces of their broken lives and move onto the next celebrity who has the misfortune to publicly misstep.
I feel sorry for him, to tell the truth.
We Americans sure are fair weather friends when it comes to our heroes.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Snow Days
*************************************************************************************
Waiting oh so patiently to go outside.
Thanks Grandma and Grandpa Proctor for the awesome snow pants!!
Look at those cold little hands..BUT she absolutely refused to wear gloves or mittens, and believe me we tried to get her too.
Throwing snowballs at Dad
Precious little boot print in the snow.
Her 1st time sleigh riding, and Mom missed it because she was at work :( No fair!
Didn't take her long to get the hang of it.
Going for a snowy slide.
As you can see, Sydney loves snow! I only wish we had gotten enough to make a snowman, maybe next time.
Waiting oh so patiently to go outside.
Thanks Grandma and Grandpa Proctor for the awesome snow pants!!
Look at those cold little hands..BUT she absolutely refused to wear gloves or mittens, and believe me we tried to get her too.
Throwing snowballs at Dad
Precious little boot print in the snow.
Her 1st time sleigh riding, and Mom missed it because she was at work :( No fair!
Didn't take her long to get the hang of it.
Going for a snowy slide.
As you can see, Sydney loves snow! I only wish we had gotten enough to make a snowman, maybe next time.
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