Tag Archives: mommyblogger

May 4, 2012 · 2:33 pm

32 Months of Crazy up in Here!

Little Bear,

Good grief, kid! Do you ever stop talking, flirting, destructing, licking, kicking, or laughing maniacally?  In a word, you are VIGOROUS. You play vigorously, you eat vigorously, you hug vigorously, and I swear you even make sleeping look like a full-contact sport.

You are now 32 months old, and 32 forms of awesomeness.

This past month has been C-R-A-Z-Y.  We went skiing. We went logging. You were in the world-famous Swallowfest parade.  We decorated Easter eggs, got all fancy for Easter service and participated in a couple of egg hunts. You went mountain biking for the first time. You started some serious potty training (Yay! I get to talk about pee and poop on my blog! Who am I kidding? I always talk about that sort of thing. BOOBIES!!)

The month got even crazier from there. On our way home from your Papa Bear and Nanny’s house, we hit a deer. No one was hurt, but it totaled the car. Now, when we get in the car you keep saying, “Deer should stay off the road. Deer stay in the DIRT!”  And I totally agree.  Hey deer, for the love of all things good…please stay in the dirt!

A few days later, your dad went down on his motorcycle. Again, we were very blessed, and he was ok. It was a good wake-up call for all of us. I was thinking Daddy was all magical and stuff for having never gone down in his many, many years of riding. It happens. This is why we wear helmets, SON. So quit whining and put on the proper gear when you ride your bike.

That same day, we bought a new car and the next day your daddy and I left for Mexico on a dive trip. PHEW! On the road to relaxation. Except…your mama has some anxiety issues. And leaving you behind for a week just about did me in.

Little Bear, you OWN me.

I feel naked when you’re not with me, and there’s an ache in my heart. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a blast. But we were constantly thinking about you, talking about you, showing everyone pictures and videos of you until they threatened to throw my camera in the ocean.

Your dad and I – two painfully frugal people – paid $5/minute to call you from Mexico. MORE THAN ONCE. Dude, if that isn’t a show of Crazy Love, nothin’ is ;)

When you say things like “Look at the beautiful trees, Mama. I just want to HUG them,” I feel like I have won in the game of life. When we get to daycare earlier than usual, and there isn’t the usual fanfare of tiny friends hugging you, helping you with your coat and shouting “Wopah’s here! Wopah’s here!” you look at me questioningly, and ask “Where my kids?” as if you’re The Fonz. It makes me laugh. I can give you a topic and you will make up a song about it. When I call you dude, or buddy, you say “No. I’m Mama’s BABY!” It melts my heart to hear that coming from my stretched out, skinned kneed, constantly growing boy.

You will always be my baby.

Little Bear, you make every day an adventure and you keep me my toes by switching back and forth between a sweet little dimpled cherub to a midget terrorist at record speed. There are very few things that make me happier than hearing you say “I love you, mama” in your sweet little voice, or hearing your laugh when I’m tickling or teasing you. You are the salve to my frazzled nerves. Which is weird because you’re also the cause of those frazzled nerves…but I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

I’m proud of you beyond measure and I love you to the moon and back, Roper.

Love,

Your Mama

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April 3, 2012 · 4:27 pm

31 Months, BIRD

Dear Roper,

What’s up, BIRD?

That’s what you like to say instead of “What’s up, dog?” And then you giggle hysterically. If it gets a chuckle out of us, you’ll keep going with “What’s up, COW?” and “What’s up, KITTY?” and then laugh until you snort.

When your dad and I hug, you come racing into the room with your one arm pumping (it’s a signature run, I’m not sure why you only use one arm. Style, maybe?) and shout, “Here comes the peanut butter!!” and squeeze in-between us so you can be the best part of an already good sandwich.

You constantly crack us up. You’ve picked up a few oddities from your dad like using the word “Gandhi” instead of “gone.”  So when you finish eating your apple, you exclaim, “My apple’s Gandhi!”

Your enthusiasm is tough to beat. When you play with your motorcycles, your commentary gets increasingly louder. “I’m riding a motorcycle, dude. Yeah, dude!! A MOTORCYCLE, DUDE. YEEAAAHH!” and then the whole town is suddenly aware that you’re playing with your motorcycles.

Speaking of shrieking…..were we not speaking of shrieking? It’s hard for me to tell, because my ears are still ringing from The Target Incident. I had to leave my cart in Target and haul you out of there, screaming at the top of your lungs, pinwheeling your arms, kicking and head-butting me, and knocking things off the shelf. To make matters worse, you biked to the store so I had to carry you – not unlike trying to hold a bobcat who just had a leg cut off with a chainsaw – AND your bike. Funsies!

Dear patrons and store staff, glaring at me doesn’t really help the situation Mainly because I can’t see you with all the sweat (mine), thumbs (Roper’s) and tears (both) in my eyes. Save your hate for the parent who let their kid terrorize the store by bike.

Oh wait, that was me. NEVERMIND.

Luckily, we survived. And at your core, you’re a sweet, sweet boy. You talk about flowers being beautiful with a reverent tone, you hug me with all your might and you make out with your stuffed animals with unrivaled passion. Actually, that last part is a little conflicting for me. It’s adorable, but also a tad disturbing.

You’re tough. The other night, you and your dad were up at the property working on the dirt bike. When you got home, your dad said something about you complaining that your finger hurt and that it needed kissed. I took a look at your fingers and two of them were burnt and blistered down their entire length. You had, at some point, put your hand against the work light (ouch!) but you were too busy playing to mention it until you got in the car.

I kissed those cute little fingers and we haven’t heard a peep out of you since. Aside from an occasional request for new camo bandages. Because those are awesome.

Little Bear, we got to camp with you for three days at the Desert 100 and it was a blast! You loved the “Rainbow camper” and totally immersed yourself in the dirt biking world. It was awesome watching you ride around on your KTM strider. I could tell that in your mind, you were on a dirt bike just like the “big kids”. I can’t wait until we can all ride together as a family. You’ll probably surpass my skill level within the first year, but it’s going to rock.

Thank you for another adventure-filled month, sweet boy. You make me proud!

Love,

Your Mama

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March 2, 2012 · 4:36 pm

30 Months of Awesome Sauce

Dear Roper,

Today you are 30 months old. Two and a half. To the rest of the world, you are two because the rest of the world doesn’t measure things in months and halve-sies. But I remember when you were first born and we were counting your life by breaths, then minutes, and finally by hours as you healed from your resuscitation and the hole in your lung.

Your strength has always amazed me

So, today is your half birthday and I intend to celebrate. Especially since it’s also your cousin’s birthday and Dr. Seuss’ birthday. ICE CREAM!!

Little Bear, you are good company. You have an amazing sense of humor and are overflowing with personality. You engage people – complete strangers – at a level that still startles me.

Sometimes you make me burst out in laughter despite my best efforts to look stern. Recently, you’ve been testing out different facial expressions and hand gestures to go along with your quirky little jokes. It has me ROLLING in the car. You are the king of sound effects and weird head movements.

You call me dude.

You are also very thoughtful. You ask where the moon goes during the day. And if we can’t see the moon at night you ask “Is the crescent moon hiding behind its blankets? Where did it go?” You pick up on people’s emotions and want to know what causes them. You give me back rubs.

Little Bear, your adventurous spirit is still running strong. You’ve become an impressive little biker – going off curbs, riding through the snow, trying out little jumps and obstacles. We took you to arena cross and you loved the monster truck ride. You went snowshoeing, are on a soccer team and adore helping your dad up at the property. You and I have guitar jam sessions in the morning. We suck and it’s awesome.

When I peek in your crib at you at night to admire you in your darling footed pajamas with your soft white hair, cherubic cheeks and pouty lips, I watch you breathe. It’s amazing to see you so STILL. It’s an abnormal state. And then I whisper, “Goodnight, Little Bear” and you, without opening your eyes, belch out “Night, Mom” in a surly tone, as you sigh and throw your arm over your eyes.

It’s puzzling. You usually have the sweetest little voice. Sometimes, in the morning, you sing little songs in your crib and it melts my heart. Your voice is like cotton candy and easter chicks wrapped in soft blankets. Until you want my attention. “MOM! I’M READY TO GET OUT!” You holler in a booming voice. I come into your room expecting to find a 6-foot-tall, hairy man-child straining the seams of adult-size footed pajamas crammed in your crib.

Honestly, I can’t wait to see what you’re going to be like when you turn into that surly teenager. But I’m enjoying every second getting to that point.

We love you, Little Bear. More than you’ll ever comprehend….until you have your own little critter who shouts “I toot-tooted out of my bum-bum” and laughs hysterically until he can’t breathe. Then you might know.

Love,

Your Mama

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January 3, 2012 · 2:39 pm

28 MONTHS?!

Little Bear,

Yesterday you turned twenty-eight months old.

You are a rock star. A stud, rapscallion and scamp. You are a one-man circus. A comedian. You are a world full of love stuffed tight in a disheveled little body. You are both Cooper and Steere. You are a hungry billy goat, a filthy little rabbit and an adorable bear cub all rolled in one. You are a perfect set of lips attached to 32 pounds of pure exuberance. You are mine.

You are also TWO. You have been repeating the phrase “I want juice box” over and over and over for the last ten minutes in a high-pitched whine that makes me feel violent. Everything is YOURS and you will fight for it. You have opinions. Strong ones. You are destructive.  You break toys, furniture and appliances on a daily basis. You spit on me. You are still mine.

You are creative, defiant and messy.

You are sweet and earnest.

You are expressive and hilarious.

You roll like a BOSS.

And you complete our little family.

Thank you for another adventure-filled month!

Love,

Your Mama

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November 4, 2011 · 4:46 pm

26 Months

Dear Roper,

You are now twenty-six months old and you are at least twenty-six kinds of awesome. This past month has been a blast. You’re good company, Little Bear.

However, your mama is in the middle of her NaNoWriMo project and is a little short for time. As in, I’ve had to go to the bathroom for the past five hours, but a break hasn’t presented itself. I’m going to start wearing your diapers soon.

I hope your future classmates aren’t reading this.

So…this will be an hasty and abbreviated letter. A shame, because it was such a big month filled with fun activities.

You: wake up full of awesome every day, started riding your bike and adore it, sometimes fall asleep with your helmet on, still wear your pumpkin Halloween costume every day, think the answer to everything is “fire truck!”, miss The Outlaws who went back to California for the winter, point and say “oh, look at that!” over and over as clear as a bell, can jump off of things backwards, show no intention of potty training even though you love sitting on the potty, would be happy riding around the property on the tractor for hours, learned how to put the tractor in gear (yikes!), got to “help” your daddy hunt during The Great Steere Hunt, have three pairs of Carharts that you love to wear because you look like Daddy, keep yourself entertained at the property by “painting” with a dry paint brush, playing with trucks, trying to start the tractor and jumping over rocks, decorated your first pumpkin, fell in love with karaoke, and have decided that you no longer need naps (you do).

Your Daddy: is indescribably proud of you for learning to ride your bike so well and so fast, likes to see you in your Carharts and have you up at the property helping him, misses you all day at work, wants to crawl into your crib with you when we check in on you at night, is chomping at the bit to buy you a dirt bike, and hopes you don’t get too tall (I don’t know – I think he’s bummed that I sullied the gene pool with so much Cooper-ness. Mwahahahaaaa!).

Your Mama: didn’t know it was possible to love you this much, adores listening to the baby monitor as you sing “happy birthday” to your trucks, boots, books, and doggies in the morning, is thrilled with your ability to entertain yourself, is exhausted from trying to keep you alive, enjoys your company immensely, can’t stop kissing those beautiful lips, and takes joy in every little adventure we go on.

Little Bear, I hope you understand that I would much rather spend my limited free time playing with you instead of writing to you this month.  Time with you is far more valuable than time with my computer, so let’s go play!

Love,

Your Mama

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October 13, 2011 · 1:21 pm

New Protocol

I’ve decided that the word “protocol” in the medical field is synonymous to “outrageously expensive” and “more difficult than running a marathon upon implementation”.  I’m going to start using the term as such.

Woah, Eloise! That new hip is totally PROTOCOL!

So, a little over a week ago I started a new protocol for fibromyalgia. For those of you unfamiliar with this blog, I have ridiculously poor health for an active and, ahem, YOUNG person. I am on a mission to improve it.

This new plan involves a super-strict elimination diet, buckets of supplements, new meds and physical therapy. Oh, and a few lifestyle changes. As in…quit trying to work ridiculous hours while caring for a maniacal two-year-old, writing a novel, building a house and fighting debilitating health issues, YOU MORON.

So I cut the dairy, beef, wheat, oats, rye, barley, sugars, majority of fruits, artificial sweeteners and alcohol.  I reduced my chicken and egg intake. They let me keep the caffeine for now (you lucky bastards). Someone must have known that they’d be held accountable for a homicide if they took that away immediately. WE HAVE GUNS IN OUR HOUSE, PEOPLE.

I take so many supplements in the morning, I think half of my daily caloric intake is in pill form. Please note, pills are not nearly as delicious as a doughnut. Plus, I’m taking the new meds and doing my exercises and basically being a Very Good Girl. Even with ice cream, pizza and wine in the house. Ice cream! Pizza! Wine!

Where the hell is my trophy?!

You guys, Tuesday was my trophy. Although I wasn’t farting sparkles and dancing in glee – I felt better. I didn’t use any anti-inflammatories, pain killers or muscle relaxants. I didn’t even realize it until the next day, but then the awesomeness hit me.

So THAT’S what it’s like to be normal!

But then…I went to physical therapy, aka Camp Awkward & Painful, where they tortured me and promised future pain. Leaving, I could tell my neck and shoulders were about to knot up. My shoulder was creeping up above my right ear and completely reducing the need for me to wear a Halloween outfit because I was shape shifting into a super awesome zombie. Hey y’all, FREE COSTUME!

I immediately had to eat a banana (GASP! The sugars!), and take ibuprofen and muscle relaxants.

But Tuesday – Tuesday was progress. And although it didn’t have quite the same comforting effect as a diet Coke, it’s something. I’ll hang on to that. In the meantime, can someone PLEASE eat a bag of candy corn for me while I eat this bowl of spinach?

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October 5, 2011 · 3:57 pm

25 and Live!

Dear Roper,

You are now 25 months old. In the real world (that strange place outside of this blog) I no longer have to refer to your age in months. I think that two years is the universal age when you can stop the “he’stwentymonthstwoweeksandthreedays” insanity.  We’ve graduated to half years now.  However, in this blog world, you will be 192 months old when you get your driver’s license.

Speaking of stats….you sir, are 31 pounds of Pure Awesomeness.

You get your concentration and good-natured attitude from your dad. But your personality, whooooo boy! Little Bear, you have my personality MULTIPLIED BY SEVENTEEN. And I hope you never learn to dampen that personality and enthusiasm just to fit in.

Your current exuberance is like me when I’m over-caffeinated, energized about a project and walking into Caffe Mela to get even more coffee. No filter, and everything is REALLY EXCITING. The people who run in to me then get the true Molly. I hope you remain unfiltered and true. You have an amazing spirit, a contagious grin and just being yourself is the way to go because you’re the best at being YOU.

Together, we’ll probably embarrass your dad a lot in the years to come. And it’s going to be AWESOME!

After much discussion and deliberation, we have decided that your personality – your MOJO if you will – may indeed be housed in your hair. So your dad and I have decided to hold off on cutting it. Yes, I put it in a ponytail and you looked like a darling little girl, but I didn’t care. Your dad didn’t even mind. Well, he cringed a bit but he didn’t go running for the scissors.

Your mojo is too important to just chop off. It lights up people’s live and I just can’t take that away from your fans. It’s like taking away Steven Tyler’s microphone scarves, Angus Young’s short pants, or Eddie Vedder’s red, black and white guitar.  NOT OK.

This past month you’ve spent a lot of time up at the property. You’re actually very helpful and have joined in the traditional family pastime of picking up rocks. Congratulations, you’re officially a Steere. You had a cool birthday party, played with friends, went to the fair and watched a Wenatchee Wild hockey game. You also can count to ten and freak me out by blurting out 7- to 8-word sentences.

When I drop you off at daycare on Mondays and Wednesdays, you march up the path ahead of me giving business-like waves to the other parents, as if you’re their boss and you’re heading in to check on their work. It makes me laugh every time.

Little Bear, you keep us laughing (and sometimes yelling) on a daily basis. We love you so much. It’s a blessing to watch you grow up and grow into that ginormous personality of yours. Each day is an incredible gift. Thank you.

Love,

Your Mama

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July 14, 2011 · 12:14 pm

Bono. #1 on Laminated List

I have been in love with U2 - more specifically, Bono – since I first heard “Sunday Bloody Sunday” in junior high.  Over twenty years of daydreaming later, the man is still on my laminated list.  I’ve been to several concerts, I’ve bought every album, and yes…I STOOD OUTSIDE THE GATE OF HIS HOUSE IN MOTHER-LOVING IRELAND, waving at the security cameras.  Shouldn’t that win me “superfan” status?  Or at least a stalking charge?

Here’s one of the many reasons everyone should be in love Bono.  At the Nashville U2 concert there was a blind man, Adam Bevell, in the audience who learned how to play guitar while listening to U2.  Bevell stood close to the front of the stage with a sign that read “Blind Guitar Player.” Bono invited him up and told the crowd, “Dude’s gonna play some guitar,” and proceeded to accompany the blind guitarist with a little ditty you might know – “All I want is you.”  And then Bono gave the dude his guitar.

Seriously people, WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THIS WAS OUT THERE?  He just brought Rock Star to a whole new level.

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June 10, 2011 · 9:21 am

Social Media Quandry

I don’t know if you guys felt the floor shaking over the last few days.   Maybe noticed the tremor of coffee in your mugs.  That, my friends, resulted from a collision of my personal and professional lives.  It’s something I’ve been worried about for a while now, but instead of addressing the issue I decided to avoid it until it exploded like a botulism-tainted jar of tomato sauce.

Here’s the thing.  I am a loving wife and mama, responsible employee, God-fearing Christian, who just happens to drop f-bombs like it’s my part-time job, royally suck at traditional housewife stuff, and use the term Dirty Lunch Vagina (don’t even ask) in a crowded restaurant without batting an eye.

Welcome to MOLLY.

Editor’s note:  DLV is actually a fairly benign term used between a couple of friends.  An inside joke.  For the love of all things good, please don’t Google it.  I doubt anything from THAT search is appropriate.

It’s never my intention to offend someone, but I (selfishly) don’t want to filter myself either.  I’m concerned that my face will literally blow off from the pressure of not being wildly inappropriate.  And that is a mess I don’t want to clean up because, as I mentioned before, I suck at cleaning.

So, now I feel the need to have two websites.   I’ve actually acquired a lot of work through my blog because clients enjoy my voice and my humor but… I feel the least I can do is provide potential clients a safe space to view my portfolio and general character without having to wade through POSTS ABOUT FARTS. Maybe even prove that I can have an intelligent conversation regarding copy writing and social marketing strategies while mentioning nary a bodily function.

Let me be clear – this takes away about 49% of my usual conversation topics.

I hopped on Twitter the other day and started tweeting.  What, no one told you that hell froze over?  Unfortunately, I’m already confusing my followers (ALL EIGHTEEN OF THEM.  It’s like high school again and I don’t have a date to the prom) because I’ve swapped out handles.  I’m now @MollySteere.  I panicked and decided to keep my other account in my back pocket for filter-blowing emergencies.

I like to keep my options open.

So what’s your take on all of this? Should I just give the world the full unfiltered version of myself and (heaven forbid) my PERSONALITY, and hope it doesn’t offend colleagues and potential clients?  Or should I rock a social media mullet and split my worlds with a little business in the front and party in the back?

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