Last week, we went to a birthday party for Brooke, our sweet little friend. Here is the difference from last May and this May....
May 2010
May 2011
Do you see what I am talking about?!!
April 29
14 years ago
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Slow Down
My girls are growing up way too fast! I know that this is better than the alternative, but seriously.....do Mommy a favor, and slow down just a bit!
Last week, we went to a birthday party for Brooke, our sweet little friend. Here is the difference from last May and this May....
May 2010
May 2011
Do you see what I am talking about?!!
Last week, we went to a birthday party for Brooke, our sweet little friend. Here is the difference from last May and this May....
May 2010
May 2011
Do you see what I am talking about?!!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Birthday Party Season!!!!
I am a party girl, and my girls are party girls. I love that about them! So, in true Gaymon girl fashion, we have been flitting from one Birthday party to another celebrating the lives of our friends and family. Here are some pics from a few of the parties....so fun!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Mother's Day
I love my mom and my mom-in-law! There is always plenty of reasons to celebrate them year round. For the past few years (Mother's Days), however, I have appreciated all of their selflessness even more. Like most of us, since I have become a mother, I am now experiencing just how tough it is to be a mother.....rewarding, but tough. My prayer is that I am half the mother that my mom was to me and that my mom-in-law was to Matt. Thank you both for the past and present sacrifices, love, and support! Happy Mother's Day to two of my favorite moms!
I stole this from the Reese girls' blog. It is a must read, but go ahead and get out the tissues....
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.” “We’re taking a survey,” she says, half-joking. “Do you think I should have a baby?”
“It will change your life,” I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. “I know,” she says, “no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations.” But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking “What if that had been MY child?” That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by Motherhood.
She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s at McDonald’s will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.
However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years — not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children’s future.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.
My daughter’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret it,” I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter’s hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God . . . that of being a Mother.
— Author Unknown
I stole this from the Reese girls' blog. It is a must read, but go ahead and get out the tissues....
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.” “We’re taking a survey,” she says, half-joking. “Do you think I should have a baby?”
“It will change your life,” I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. “I know,” she says, “no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations.” But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking “What if that had been MY child?” That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by Motherhood.
She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s at McDonald’s will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.
However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years — not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children’s future.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.
My daughter’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret it,” I finally say. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter’s hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God . . . that of being a Mother.
— Author Unknown
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Bargain Decorating!
I have recently scrounged up the money to buy fabric for draperies in the living room and dining room! Hooray! Then, after a trip to the gold exchange, and a could-not-pass-up-find at a nearby high-end consignment store, I am now the proud owner of a beautiful traditional dining room table!!! It is formal, exactly what I had in mind, and it was a steal! I am one happy lady!
While surfing the net for ideas, I ran across this....
How fun is this playroom?! We will not be decorating our bonus room/playroom in the near future ( more than likely, we will be working on a nursery before that)! But, I couldn't help but share! Oh, how I love inspiration!
While surfing the net for ideas, I ran across this....
How fun is this playroom?! We will not be decorating our bonus room/playroom in the near future ( more than likely, we will be working on a nursery before that)! But, I couldn't help but share! Oh, how I love inspiration!
Monday, May 2, 2011
A Royal Crush
I have to admit it....I have a major crush on the Royal Newlywed! No, I am not talking about William. Although he is nice and all, I have to say I would take my own Prince Matthew over William any day. I am talking about my girl crush on Princess Catherine!
Loved, loved her traditional dress!
Seriously....isn't she gorgeous?! No, I don't want to BE Princess Catherine. I do not envy her position and the lack of a private life. But, if she could just pass along her wardrobe, cute dimples, and beautiful shiny hair, that would suffice!!
Thank you, Kate, for being the Princess we can all crush on from across the pond!!
Seriously....isn't she gorgeous?! No, I don't want to BE Princess Catherine. I do not envy her position and the lack of a private life. But, if she could just pass along her wardrobe, cute dimples, and beautiful shiny hair, that would suffice!!
Thank you, Kate, for being the Princess we can all crush on from across the pond!!
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