Tag Archives: Fynn

On a jet plane…

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There he sat

On his airplane

Books stacked as high as his ears

For reading material on his trip

To see his Grammy

He flew through the air

Piloting his jet plane

Navigating all the way to Florida

Got off the plane

Imagined that he saw his Grammy

And told her it was time to come home…


We dropped her off this morning

And miss her already

Fynn said to me, “I’m just sad Mommy. I miss Grammy”

Paige grunted in agreement

I told him I understood

And lifted him up for an airplane ride around the living room

Arms spread wide open

Eyes dancing with memories


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Today, I understood

There are days when I look at my kids and I’m awestruck. By their hearts, their beauty, their being. The hugeness of it all.

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And I wonder how it’s possible that they are their own beings, and yet so much like me. Like Lucas. Like each other.

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It boggles my mind that I had a hand in creating them. I can’t put into words what I feel… I’m amazed that they can think for themselves, that they have intuitions, that they function. Does that make any sense? They were just babies not that long ago, but now… now they have opinions and likes and dislikes. They’re growing into themselves.

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And we get to watch all of it. The stumbles and falls. The hopes and dreams. We get to see, and sometimes fear, that we live in them.

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Today I stood back and watched my children explore a new place. I watched them learn new tricks. They jumped, and sometimes fell.

Today, I understood.

“Having children is like letting your heart walk around outside of your body.” ~Author unknown


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Cocoa shenanigans

I found him like this…

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…then put the cocoa on the counter and ran to the bathroom for a moment.

I came back and found this…

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…yes, two children taking turns licking hot cocoa mix {and marshmallows} off of the floor.

Notice the pizza thrown aside by Paige to partake in the fun, and the freshly bathed kids…

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And yes, I keep my camera in the kitchen for just such an occasion.

When I’m laughing too hard to scold for a few minutes…


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He sways to Ben Folds in his chair at ‘Donald’s. Fynn sits on his knees, piercing blue eyes darting from one area to the next. He watches a little girl in a sweatshirt covered in ballet shoes as she dances to the ketchup pump.

The accents are thick with Boston.

I’m trying to stay present in this moment. Focus on where we are, trying to not want for another place.

Or something more than Diet Coke from a soda fountain.

The kids meal sits between us. Chicken nuggets, fries, a prize knight atop a squirrel {don’t ask…} and a castle made out of a jug of milk.

He tells me about the knight and how he must find the castle. And then he glances outside and sees someone hurrying by on the street. Going for a walk in the subzero windchill.

Fynn starts worrying that the little boy lost his mommy.

As we leave, he falls in the parking lot. Scrapes his hands and teardrops begin to fall. In a natural mommy moment I scoop him up in my arms, fly across the parking lot to our car. Into the carseat, check hands, check knees, check noses, wipe tears.

Breathe in salty frozen tears. Focus.

He asks about the little boy again. He needs his mommy. He lost his mommy. We need to catch up, mommy! We drive a ways, and he’s satisfied in knowing the little boy must have made it home. He found his mommy.

And we drive to our castle. Princess and King waiting for us. We’re found.


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Snowmen on the brain

He’s got snowmen on the brain
the fuzzy, cuddly, decorated with blueberries sort of snowman…
three year old creativity at it’s finest!

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Passed with flying chocolate icing

He passed. Fynn passed his food challenge. Fynn can now eat peanut butter. I can stop scanning labels for traces of, and might contain… I’m still in a state of disbelief and shock.

We celebrated with a trip to Starbucks, where I said he could pick whatever treat he wanted from the dessert case. Eyes wide open, I picked him up for a better view. His arm outstretched, finger pointing. I knew exactly where it was going. The chocolate cupcake, with icing a mile high. Two please!

My drink order came up, then we took our plate of cupcakes to a corner table. We sat, me and my little guy, by ourselves. Baby sister at home with the grandparents, Daddy at work, it was just me and him. Fynn didn’t inherit just my blue eyes, he’s got a love of cupcakes and icing that tops mine. Chocolate is his happy food, and he’ll do the cutest dance to prove it. Since he was born I had my heart set on dates like this: hot latte for me, milk for him, cupcakes for both. Me and him. Him and me. Just us.

We sat there this afternoon, with the mid afternoon sun pouring in, our eyes squinting from the sun and from laughter. Giggles over icing covered noses and the crumbs that surrounded us. Giving each other bites of our cupcakes. I watched him licking the frosting and smiling from ear to ear as chocolate covered his face. Then they pricked. It took all that I had not to let the tears fall. So I smiled, closed my eyes and threw my head back, smiling a secret thankful smile. The worry was gone. I was not concerned with what was in the cupcake, what could be in it, or what could have been on the machinery. Gone. The years ahead of us hold many worries and concerns, but not that of a peanut allergy and epi pens and anaphylactic shock.

As I write this I’m still overwhelmed with emotions. I’m so thankful that God met us halfway. Had we not been so vigilant the past two years, Fynn might not have passed his peanut challenge. Even when people do as we did, it doesn’t always turn out this way. Fynn’s the exception to the rule {and you could tell by the emotionless allergist’s face, his smile said a thousand words} We did our part, and He saw, heard our prayers,  recognized, and helped the rest of the way. I’m not going  question, or ask why us and not other deserving families. Right now I can only focus on being thankful.

Fynn and I stayed at the coffee shop just long enough to finish our cupcakes and clean up hundreds of crumbs. We walked hand in hand through the doors into the fresh air. My step a little lighter, eyes a little watery. As we headed home he told me over and over how he got to try peanut butter, how he passed his test, how he loved his cupcake. My cheeks hurt from smiling, my belly filled with chocolaty goodness, my legs ached to jump for joy.


I feel the need to add that this post is not intended to gloat about Fynn outgrowing his allergy. We are grateful, but know that not everyone’s situations turn out like ours has. I know there are many families who read this who are coping with food allergies. There is hope for outgrowing them, but if not, hopefully those around us {you} will understand the severity of food allergies and will have compassion and honesty in their hearts. My thoughts are with you, and I’m oddly thankful for the opportunity to have learned about living with food allergies.


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Bits of Fynn

This morning as I jumped into the shower I heard the bathroom door open. I peered around the shower curtain and found my three year old with a few toys, sitting on the bathroom floor.

How YOU doing mommy? {that’s his new thing, and he says it just like Joey on the show Friends… cracks me up every time!}

He sat, and played, and talked to himself for a minute as I shampooed and rinsed.

Can you sing me a song, Fynn?

So he sang. Loud and clear, the alphabet song. The whole way through.

After he belted out a resounding Z he ended with now I know I know I know, sing with me! Yay!

We always clap. And smile. Real honest to goodness proud as anything smiles. Because I am so proud of this little guy. It boggles my mind that he knows how to sing the alphabet song. Even more so, it blows my mind that he can spell his name.

And it warms my heart that he knows his Daddy’s name is Lucas Lastname, but when asked I am always Mommy Lastname.

He is full of surprises, and knowledge, and kindness. Everything and more than I expected a three year old to be. Tonight we read a story about two friends, two best friends. I asked him if he had a best friend. He told me “my sister Paige is my friend” and smiled. He gives hugs and big kisses. Headbutts that are meant as signs of affection. He is all boy, yet so soft around the edges.

We have quite a week coming up. Playdates galore, but also a test. A two hour food challenge that will determine the status of Fynn’s peanut allergy. He knows it has to be done. We’ve talked about it. He says he’ll be brave. There will be scratch tests and patience prodded. But I’m positive he will do wonderfully, no matter the outcome. If all else fails, he’ll sing and end with I know I know I know, sing with me and he should know, we will always sing with him. For him.


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It would hurt not to blog this

This afternoon seemed never ending. And not in a good way. We made it home, woke up the kids from their car naps, and all you know what broke loose.

So by 5pm we were counting down until bedtime. We told the kids to run around – like usual – to get out all their energy. They did. And then Fynn ran into the edge of an end table with his forehead, which resulted in a purple bandaide smack dab in between his eyes and lots of tears.

He kept pointing to the end table saying it was “very sad.” And it made him “very sad.” And we were all “very sad.”
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Paige was also “very sad” and very curious.
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She was sympathetic, and showed us on herself with the lense cap where Fynn got hurt.
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But our brave little boy decided that what would make him feel better was if we took pictures of everyone. So he instructed first to take a picture of Mommy & Paige {Mom and Paige, rather, but I refuse to acknowledge that he’s now calling me Mom instead of Mommy half the time…}
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Then one of Fynn and Daddy
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but after that one, I told him we had to take another one where Daddy didn’t look like such a dork {I swear I’m a nice wife, we were all just so punchy tonight…} Then Lucas started saying something about someone sleeping on the couch tonight in between his hysterical laughter
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Through this Paige started feeling left out and desperately wanted to read a certain book. A book that no one else particularly enjoys.
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Finally, we gave in.
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She pointed to the first picture, and made a thoughtful “mmm” noise {which is how she asks what something is}. It was a little boy. With a bad haircut. So I told her “that’s a little boy with an awful haircut.” {again, I’m really a nice person, just punchy…}

Do you know what she did????

She then pointed to her brother!!! Which led to Lucas and myself laughing for about ten minutes with tears streaming down our faces, choking for breath. Because, honestly? Fynn’s haircut right now is the worst one he’s ever had. And we cut it three times in a matter of two days to try and make it better. It did not work.

Oh the honesty that comes from babes!

After we composed ourselves it was time to read Happy Birthday Moon, which is a lovely book. But Lucas read one of the lines, and I commented on the gusto with which it was read, and it was all over. The kids had no idea why daddy had such a hard time finishing the book, or why mommy needed a tissue to dab her eyes with for an hour, literally…

It was a trying afternoon, which thankfully ended in laughter instead of a trip to the ER since the fleshwound wasn’t too deep… we’re so happy that he caught himself on his forehead rather than, say, an eye ball. And we love our kids, so very much.

But seriously, I have not laughed so hard in such a long time. My cheeks still hurt. Right now even the thought of the little boy with the big purple bandaide, and bad hair cut,  is cracking me up. I’m not a horrible mother, or wife, just a punchy mama in need of a hot bath and big cup of chai.


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Life lessons from a three year old

Monday morning we walked into the pediatrician’s waiting room. All I could think of was a post written by a lovely blogging friend about the craziness in waiting rooms. I was prepared for snotty children, for coughs and flu masks, for grandmothers wanting to pinch Paige’s cheeks. I was not prepared for what happened.

After we settled and Fynn ran over to the gigantic germ table bead maze table a mother with two blonde haired toddlers parked her double stroller next to us and let her kids free. Her daughter looked about Paige’s age, but I could place an age with her son who quite obviously had Down Syndrome. I guessed somewhere around Fynn’s age, but wasn’t quite sure.

I watched as the mother held her breath as her babes started mingling with Fynn and a few other bigger children. The bigger kids looked at her son a little funny and gave him extra room, some moved away completely. They knew there was something different about him, and they weren’t sure how to react. How to talk to him. How to play with him.

My son, my wonderfully caring son went right up to the little boy and started playing next to him. They played with the beads together, laughing and coming up with their own games. Together. In minutes they were chasing each other around the waiting room on hands and knees, engaging each other in the common ground that three year old boys have. Because it turns out that these two boys  were born just weeks apart.

As the boys played I asked his mother how old her children were. She went on to explain how her son had just turned three, and her daughter was 16 months {sounded vaguely familiar!} At this point she sighed a breath of relief and her eyes softened. They were no longer as cautious and protective as at first. We talked about the kids names, how her daughters was a name that I would have loved to have given, but it was vetoed. We talked about having our hands full being mothers of two little ones so close in age. We talked about how her son will be starting school in a few days, and how nervous she was. How three is such a huge age. Potty training, independence, strong wills. We talked like there was no elephant in the room. Because there wasn’t. By that point it was just two mothers, and four children.

My son saw the little boy for who he was, not just a child with a chromosomal disorder who looked different. My son taught me {a woman who worries so much about offending that often will just look the other way…} that we are all alike. That we all like to get down on our hands and knees, enjoy friendship, and find common ground. We all have common ground, no matter our how different we might look or act. Our hearts are all made up of love. Our hands ready to give and receive friendship.

My son, it turns out, might be the wisest soul I know.


Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!


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The test

He sat on my lap, facing me. Shirt off, hands around my neck, waiting.

“I’m brave mommy, I’m so brave!”

That he was.

The first pricks on his smooth back made him flinch a little.
The second – the actual scratch – stung.

Both of us.

He cried, but I told him how brave he was, and that he could hold on tight.

He did.

We grabbed his blankie, his favorite book, and waited.

Twenty minutes for the test results. I checked his back every few minutes to see if I could decipher a reaction or not. Closed my eyes and prayed over his shoulder.

As we were driving to Fynn’s retest for his peanut allergy I composed two different blog posts in my head. You know you’re a blogger when you write posts in your head to handle and work through situations. One post was for a negative test (what we hoped and prayed for) and the other was for a positive test. Honestly, I knew what I would write if the test came back negative. I would write about how thankful we were, how lucky we are, and yet how thankful we are to have gone through the last two years with a food allergy so we could better understand others and be more sensitive to the issue.

It was the positive one I was struggling with. I didn’t want my mind to go there, to think about dealing with Fynn’s allergy for the rest of his life. So many do though, and so many face the daily struggles of food allergies with courage and braveness because it’s what you have to do. Your life depends on it.

In the grand scheme of things, food allergies might not seem like a huge issue. But in some cases it is a huge issue, a life or death situation. The past two years I’ve become a food allergy vigilante of sorts, possibly driving a few people nuts {pun totally intended right there!}. But until you know what it’s like to have a child with a food allergy, you don’t know. Until you carry around that epi pen day after day, with hopes to never have to use it, you don’t know. And until you have to turn food away from your doorstep because it might possibly have trace amounts of nuts, you don’t know. I’ve gotten looked at like I had ten heads for asking someone to not give their child a peanut butter sandwich in my son’s presence. But you do what you have to do to keep your child safe. Food allergy or otherwise.

I will never question a families motives if they ask me to keep a certain food at bay from their child. Ever.

So in the small office this morning, holding onto Fynn, silently praying, I asked for the strength to handle whatever the results turned out to be. If they ended up being negative, to be thankful and sensitive to others. If it ended up being positive, to give us the strength to always keep Fynn safe.

The test….. came back negative! They had to do an extra test for the control, but Fynn braved that one as well, and the skin test came in negative. We are beyond thankful, but not completely out of the woods yet. Next month Fynn will go in for a food challenge, where they test his skin and mouth with a bit of peanut butter, then he’ll finally ingest some, all in a safe environment in case he has a reaction. The allergist is optimistic that he’ll be one of the 20% that outgrow peanut allergies. So we are cautiously optimistic!

And finally, I’d like to thank all of you who were thinking of Fynn this morning. I know that all the good vibes and prayers had at least a little to do with his test results. We are very thankful. Brimming with tears kind of thankful. Hopeful for next month, next year.


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