What's Happening, Yo?

Sometimes my phone is the best diary of my life. Herein case, an exhibit and commentary on the suburban life of a 20-something mom.

Tiny fingers make for most excellent hand holding.

DIY advent calendar, Christmas in full effect!

City sidewalks dressed in holiday style. (? I might have made those lyrics up)

Must. resist. biting. toes.

Sleep cuddles are my favorite.

I love his smile. It's gotta be worth millions... at least, a few million kisses.

Won't let go.

Shadow.

"Look mommy, Leah has tattoos just like you."

Getting crafty, well, as crafty as a type-A clean freak will get.

Socks on her hands... seems legit.

Boot weather!

Us on YHL. Famous... for like a second.

Word, J. Adler.

Stinker... Literally, he kind of stunk. I gave him a bath.

Dear Self

Dear self,

Remember that time in 11^th grade after school at that study session for math in that small classroom with just the teacher and a few other students? Remember when you were working through a problem and you could hear those two underclassmen girls whispering and one of them said your name and you had never met them before?

Remember how the teacher asked them if they needed something, and the girl said that you didn’t like them, which was funny because you didn’t even know the girls. That sure felt uneasy and isolating after that. And then you had to sit through the awful awkward silence in the room. They left before you did, which you were thankful for but you still don’t know why those girls said you didn’t like them or why they thought that you didn’t.

You’ve said it before on this blog that you’re a pretty private person. Sure, you like to crack jokes and can be loud sometimes (which most people seem to find charming), but when it comes to the personal stuff, you keep it to yourself. You’re also insecure, to a fault. You want people to like you. You like approval.

This makes it hard for you to make friends. Recently someone did something to you that hurt real bad. Whether they intended to or not, it made you super self-conscious and upset because they don’t like you. You guys have tons of mutual friends, online and in real life, and they made a conscious effort to cut you out. To be even more swell, the way it was brought to your attention must have cut even deeper. Ouch. You felt just as insecure and isolated as you did sitting in that classroom at LDHS. That pit in your stomach hasn’t stopped aching for like three weeks now. Geez.

The fact is, you need to get over yourself. In the grand scheme of things you have to ask yourself, “Does this really matter?” You know that you are not for everyone. Come’on, you crack crass jokes and have the maturity of a twelve year old! My goodness, you love dirty rap music and eating carbs in your underwear. People might have a hard time getting on board with that crazy train.

The old Stefanie would have cut them off and ran… or chased them like a puppy dog trying to convince them to please like you. They don’t matter. People will fail you. But the hard truth is, that not everyone is going to like you, but those that do matter do like you. So quit beating yourself up about these haterz.

“Haterz gonna hate.”

You can get caught up in thinking about how loved and appreciated everyone else seems to be. It’s easy to fall down that self-loathing rabbit hole and get lost. (It’s pretty familiar to you, isn’t it?) Just. Don’t. Besides, look at you, you are pretty amazing. You also have two littles that you need to think about modeling your behavior after. They don’t need to see you drawing horns on their heads, so you can quit daydreaming about that. You do need to teach them that it’s okay to be yourself. It’s okay to not be everyone’s favorite. It’s okay to love the shit out of whatever you want to and anybody that doesn’t approve can miss out on the party. Be fantastically authentic. Be you. Be awesome. 

Hugs and kisses,

Me

TIMBER

 They greet me at the door every single day with bright smiles and sticky fingers. One right after the other, tiny arms grab my legs and I sweep each of them up in my arms to kiss them gently on the cheek. Leah squeezes her legs tighter around my waist as Nolan slides down my side.

I blow a kiss to Brian who’s standing in the kitchen working on dinner and then race off to the bedroom with the children right behind me. They explode with giggles as we crash on top of my unmade bed. Nolan pulls himself on top of the yellow comforter and I grab Leah who’s anxious to join us.

I tickle each bare belly and they laugh and laugh and laugh. I watch the crinkle of their noses and the beautiful way the lamp light shines through their blonde hair. We take turns crashing into the covers and yelling “TIMBER!!!!” It’s so silly, yet so fun, well, for the four and under crowd.

I laid down for a second and sank deeper into the mattress with every bounce when a little hand grabbed me shirt and yanks it higher. Not long after I was met with a cold wet raspberry on my exposed stomach. I couldn’t help but laugh. A finger traced the now faint silver lines on my abdomen, forever imperfect marks left from pregnancy. Then again, a second wet raspberry higher other side from the other child. In an overdramatic show I wiggled around in the messy sheets and hugged my children tightly. And again the room filled with laughter.

My body isn’t perfect, but it made these two amazing people.

I am not perfect. I am not home enough, I lose my temper, I don’t cook or clean enough, and I can’t always be there to protect them. I am not always the mom I want to be. But to them, I am perfect. 

 

Seasons

 The air has cooled in that way Texas does all crisp-y and suddenly. Yesterday it was 86 and today it’s 56, but that’s just how seasons do in these parts, abruptly and pretty much without notice.

I took a walk yesterday with my boy and we kicked through the few yellowed maple leaves that had decorated the sidewalk. The temperatures actually started dropping yesterday, and I caught myself getting giddy about the summer season ending. I thought about how much of this past six months has been one giant season of life change for our little family and here we are at a literal change of seasons.

Seasons come and seasons go, and life keeps on going. And you know what? Normally, I couldn’t be more thankful for that. Usually I have an incredibly short attention span, ready to jump to the next thing and leave behind the old. I have grand dreams of picking up and moving somewhere new just because a place gets familiar, and I shun familiarity. I would crave change, not wanting to get too close or comfortable. Maybe I’m getting old, or maybe I’m finally growing up, but after the past six months, I’m ready for things to stay the same for a little while. Perhaps that season of life is over.

Brian and I both changed jobs multiple times, our kids changed schools, family was sick or in need, our financial situation changed, we found ourselves in and out of uncertainty, and we experienced pretty much every. single. emotion. (So many emotions!) We fought, every single day, together to make it through. We were tested. We were tempted. We struggled. We were completely broken. We resolved to make it work. It wasn’t easy. But through this season of change God has been there with us and I’m confident in saying that He’s the one that delivered us through those very rough times.

(Even as I write this, Matt Redman’s song “Never Once” is playing, the lyrics “Never once did I ever walk alone.” Just perfect.)

Looking back, I’m thankful for those changes for getting us to where we are today. And I’m hopeful for this next season and what could be in store for the Ritz crew. We’re going to bundle up though, never know what the adventure will lead us through.  

Weekend

Saturday sucked. From the moment we rose from the bed to the evening we just couldn't get it right. I snapped at Brian about the dog and we argued off and on about a series of things that were so unimportant that I've since forgotten what they were. We tried our best to forge through the day, each saying we'd start the day over around noon but we couldn't shake the weird unfamiliar fog between us.

I felt so consumed by bitterness, it ate my stomach and behind my eyes. We just couldn't get it right. I know I apologized a million times and him the same. We went to bed anxious for a new day to begin.

Sunday was different. A do-over. A relief. I kept the kids home with me while Brian went to church since Leah was still recovering from Hand, Foot and Mouth, and we ran errands and visited an old friend and then got ready for a special date night that we had planned weeks before. The sitter came to watch the kids and we ran off in our fancy clothes for dinner at Kirby's.

We got to spend a few hours talking and stuffing our faces with our favorite foods. We talked about the future, about our dreams, and about happiness. It was my favorite everything. We both ordered non-steak dinners at an expensive steak restaurant and we laughed at the irony.

I admired my man in his blue sweater and khaki's for the amazing partner he is, and despite all of the ways that I fail him, he still loves me. He puts up with me, all of me, which is a lot to handle. And he makes me feel beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He tells me so every. single. day.

Yep, he's a keeper.

We left the restaurant with just enough room in our bellies for dessert and stopped by the Cheesecake Factory for a take-out sugar fix. (Chocolate, and it was AH-MAZING.)

Then we got home and sat ourselves in on the couch in our date night clothes after kissing the babies goodnight and watched the last bit of the Olympics while sharing a fork. I love my husband because he always gives me the last bite.

Saturday was good.

But there are no pictures because we kept our phones put away and captured the evening in memories focused on each other. And I remember it just as it was, perfect.

Magic Swimsuit

Do you ever feel like you’re a magnet for embarrassment? No? Just me. Good to know. I feel like there must be a special realm of reality outside of actual reality and the reality of the certifiably insane, where absurdity wrecks havoc and that is where I must exist.

My oldest is taking swim lessons at the rec center which in itself is awesome. Nothing makes me prouder than seeing my children learn new things. It was the coolest thing in the world to watch him grin when his teacher glided him through the water. My heart has never been more proud of him for trying something new, something that even terrifies grown adults.

Yesterday I rushed from my office in my work clothes to pick up the kids from preschool to be ready for swim lessons right at six o’clock. ON. THE. DOT. My fear of being late is amplified ten times whenever I have the kids with me.

I carried my oversized purse, a gym bag, two towels, and my daughter in one arm while I held my son’s hand through the parking lot. We made it in well before 6pm and I sighed a big giant sight of relief.

I changed out of my trousers and button up shirt and stepped out of the high heels I had stupidly worn that day. The only swimsuit I could find that morning was one from college, you know, before kids and when I was about thirty pounds heavier. To my amazement (or maybe sadness?) it fit great. I mean God is pretty unforgiving in the looks department after pregnancy but that could just be me. This suit was a two-piece tankini from the junior’s department at Target. The size on the tag is pretty far down in the alphabet, if you know what I’m saying. But, alas, I couldn’t find other suits anywhere.

Not to brag, but damn, I looked good. Sure the bottoms were granny style and hiked up to my belly button and the top plunged almost to my navel, but daaaaaaaaaaang, it just kinda worked. That bathing suit must be magic. It sucked my fat in the right places and held “things” ahem, perky. Daaaaaaaang.

I admired myself in the mirror for what was probably longer than is socially acceptable before I got redressed when swim lessons were over. By then it was pushing seven o’clock and tummies were getting hungry so I hurried us along as quickly as I could and threw my bags back over my shoulders with my wet towels and what I thought was both pieces of my newly discovered magic swim suit. Being the genius that I am I try to finangle my keys out of my bag while holding said towels, swim suit, and squirmy toddler while walking, because setting things down is for pussies.

We make it almost to the parking lot when I get the sinking feeling that something isn’t right and that knowing panic set in my stomach. I shook the pile of towels and ONE single piece of my swim suit, which of course is not the granny-panty-style-one-size-too-big-almost-a-decade-old-magic swim bottoms. I look around and they aren’t around.

Now I stop for one second, mortified already, and weighed whether it was worth going back to look for them or if I just scrap it. But I’m cheap, and like I said before, daaaaaaaaaang, that swim suit is b-a-n-a-n-a-s and there’s no way in hell I’m going to give up that magic instant hot-body look.

So, I pushed my sun glasses up higher on my face and turned around to collect the magic bottoms wherever they may have landed. First I scour the ground with my eyes looking for a ball of black material somewhere but at first I don’t see them. Then it dawns on me that maybe someone has already picked up my magic whale-size bottoms and the horror sets in.

I glance closer to the door and I see them crumpled by the door…. Three feet from what has to be Zac Efron’s cousin only taller/darker and (if you can believe it) better looking. AND HE’S BENDING DOWN TO PICK UP MY SWIM BOTTOMS THAT ARE AS WIDE AS THE MOON…. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But it was too late. He sort of scooped them with his pointer finger and I swear, he did that lip curl disgust look like he had just thrown up a little bit in his mouth.

And then I really did throw up in my mouth.

I politely smiled and snatched them out of his hand and said, “thank you.” I didn’t look back.

I hope Zac Efron trips on a treadmill.

It's just plastic

Our little house has been overrun with toys and trinkets for the tiny humans. Their closet has been filled to the brim with boxes of matchbox cars, squeeky soft baby teethers, an unopened walker still in its box, and a sea of Legos and Little People dotted with Cars memorabilia. I had long ago snapped the lid on that bin of baby bibs and burp clothes when a pair of tiny red shoes fell on my head as I pulled it from the top shelf. (She had only worn those once.)

I fought back the desire to purge the house of the extra, the fluff, the excess that we keep tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. I want to hold onto to every little thing that those tiny fingers touched and hide away the memories of their little years away in my heart. I want them to stay small, to stay mine, for time to stay still.

But time does not listen and little ones grow up. My, they grow up so fast!

It's just stuff, I say to myself as tears fill up my eyes. It's just plastic and the memories are mine.

I think I'm struggling with getting rid of their things because it means that our baby years are behind us. My head says it's right but my heart just can't commit to moving forward. It means accepting that moments are fleeting, and unfair as it seems, time keeps going on.

My babies will grow up. We're edging closer to F-O-U-R and T-W-O. And what we have to look forward to!

So, yes, the most epic yard sale in the history of parenthood takes place THIS SATURDAY at the Ritz house. Please ignore the cry-face lady in advance. K? Thanks.

P.S. I'm keeping those red shoes. 

bicycle

Last year my husband bought me a bike for birthday. At the time I was on this crazy fitness kick, somehow thinking that if I peddled around my neighborhood a few times a week that my body would magically morph into Mila Kunis.

Turns out, that is not so.

Biking is hard, dude. While it maybe true that you never forget how to ride a bike, it doesn't mean you won't always be an awkward mess that resembles a drunken school kid trying to ride in a straight line.

But nonetheless I would ride my bike up and down the streets of Timberland Estates. In order to limit the humilitation of being seen in public I started riding my bike after dark. But I rode that bike that it was my job.

As you can probably guess I fell off of the bike bandwagon pretty quick once winter came around and my precious cruiser sat in the garage tucked to the side. Sometimes she would catch my eye and I'd mutter something about needed to get back on that, but the weather was cold, or I was tired, of the kids needed to eat dinner and it was quickly forgotten.

I've been a total slacker about exercising lately. Totally eating like there won't be any consequences. Cake, brownies, hamburgers, french fries, name it and I've scarfed it down with a large diet coke. Well yesterday we had some extra time in the evening right after the kids' bedtime so I opened the garage door and pulled out the old girl for a spin.

Just as I was about to jump on my neighbor drives up to her house. Instead of going about my business like a sane person, I decide to push the bike down the street a little further to avoid any awkwardness.... Because looking like some shady weirdo bicycle theif running away is NOT awkward at all. I'm a smarty, I tell ya.

So I finally get to a place out of sight and hop on. I notice that it's a little harder to pedal than I remembered, but chalk it up to one too many chicken nuggets on the couch in front of an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. I continue to push through down my street further and further, but man am I really breaking a sweat now and my legs are burning. My fat ass is sliding off the seat and it's pushing into my babymaking parts (and not even in a good way).

This shit is starting to hurt!

At this point I'm clenching my teeth and practically having a heart attack in the middle of the intersection when I look down and notice that the stupid effing wheels have no air. What a #*%&#$@)!#* idiot I am.

Now I have run a half marathon, I have hiked up and down mountians, I have birthed two babies, but that bike ride was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I would have called my husband to have him come pick me up but I left my phone at home. I would have left that stupid bike on the road but I'm too cheap to do that.

I hate that bike.

sick-y

I have a sick-y baby.

A fever spiking between 104 and 105, coughing fits shaking her tiny body, a struggle to breathe through congestion, angry cries from achy bones. Poor thing just wants to feel better.

I laid with her across my lap between the hours of one and four am. Wrapping my arms around her waist and neck, snuggling her in the curve of my elbow listening to the rattle of air pass in and out of her body. A pool of warm sweat beads collected on the bed sheets and onto my shirt. Her hair matted from the sticky heat radiating from her forehead. She looked so small compared to me.

I moved us closer to the humidifier, letting the cool air cover her cheeks as I sat up against the wall of my bedroom in the complete dark. My phone sat across the room from me plugged into the wall. I couldn't reach the light on my nightstand and I didn't want to risk waking her from the slumber she finally had found. She shifted slightly and I bounced her back to sleep quickly singing her soft lullabies, hugging her tightly while glancing at the glow of the alarm clock counting the minutes until dawn.

While the rest of the house was quiet I sat alone with my girl. My mind wandered deeper, but I redirected myself off that path. My energy couldn't be spent on THOSE thoughts. I have to use all of myself that I can to make my darling angel better.

I can deal with those feelings later. The wondering if I'll ever be a good enough mother. Wondering if I'm doing all of this wrong. Wondering if I'm hurting my kids by having this career. And MY. GOSH. the guilt. Trying to have both a successful work life and balance the perfect family life. The voice that tells me I'm failing. Trying to keep the peace. Oh, the guilt.

But that's for later. When baby girl is better.

Mommy can get better.

stoplight

It was a dark and cold rainy morning as I sat at the stoplight in a rental car that I've had for far too long. The drops hit hard on the windshield as the wipers swished waves of water to the side. We waited as music from the hipster radio station hummed just under the sound of the rain. The red from the stoplight poured into my seat...

I'm waiting. In a holding pattern. Sitting in an infinite idle.

So much of our future is in the air.... waiting. Waiting for God to make his next move, for the stars to align, and for this chapter to end. It's calming and frustrating to know that THIS will end... eventually. But for now I'm waiting.

I remember back to my teen years, driving solo in my beat up old white hatchback across country roads in the deep of night. Waiting to grow up. Waiting for a husband by my side and babes in my belly. Waiting.

I remember late evening studying at a table in the school library, flipping pages of textbooks and spiral bound notebooks, waiting to graduate so I could marry my best friend. Waiting for our lives to come together as one. Waiting for a career.

I remember sitting on a hospital bed and when the doctor's asked if I was ready. After nine months of waiting for my baby to be born. Waiting for the moment to hear both of their first cries. Waiting for my heart to be full, waiting to be a mother.

I'm not so good with uncertainty. Trusting that a path will be forged and that will be the direction we should go. But it has, it has.

And it will.

I have a husband. I have an education. I have a job. I have two beautiful children. I have so much.

Though, right now, while it feels like it's been forever, I'm standing at a crossroads with an infinite number of avenues ahead. Just waiting for that signal, a sign to move ahead. Waiting.


... And just like that my light turns green and we go.

He just knows

He was restless and wimpering because he didn't want to lay down. It was fast approaching 1:30 as we both rubbed our eyes. I had spent the night before chasing after dreams against my pillow and the morning came to soon (like it always seems to do). He wanted to hug on his airplanes and bang aluminum cars against each other and be a kid, but I wanted him still. I wanted him to slow down.

He slid down the bed on his daddy's side and tried to run off before I called to him. His little body stopped in his tracks and he turned that angel face around to me. He came to my side and then sat in my lap. I rubbed his hair gently and he curled into my shoulder. I rocked him back and forth for a second. My eldest child, my first baby.

I told him how proud I am. I told him how grown up he's gotten, barely a baby... but always my baby.

He breathed a long and satisfied sigh. And his eyes slipped closed. I held him there for a moment longer and then laid him between his daddy and me.

I wrapped my arm around his waist and closed me eyes.

And I breathed my own satisfied sigh.

Linking up with Just Write.

all that I can.

Thank you. Thank you for the kind words and compassion. Thank you for the heartfelt letters from those fighting this same battle and those who have walked this path before. I talked on the phone at length with some, exchanged quick text messages with others, each moment a validation of my decision to share this experience online and in a very public way.

If anything, it was nice a nice reminder of what an incredible support system I have.

We had a nice weekend. It was busy, which was good. I got time to spend alone with each of my children. We played and saw friends. We spent a balmy Sunday afternoon at the park after an epic family nap time.

I think I'm okay to say that I no longer fear that this won't get better. I am hopeful that clarity will come and that resolution will soon follow. One thing that did come to my attention over the weekend was how intuitive Nolan is. I always knew he had an empathetic heart, but I realize that I need to be careful how we teach him to use that quality. I don't want him to feel pressured to please others. As that is something that has been heavy on my heart all of my life, I don't want him, or any of my children, to feel expected to do that. This is something that I'm embarrassed that I still struggle with.

He knows when I'm sad.

He knows how to make me smile. That boy, makes my heart sing.

Mostly, I hope that my children will remember a happy childhood with a mother who loved them with all of herself.

I sure do love them with all that I can.

Sometimes the truth hurts

There is an ache in my gut, right below my left lung directly behind my heart. I feel it there, boring deeper into my abdomen like a painfully silent shot gun shell.

My eyes burn, all the time, burning from damming up tears that are on the cusp of free flowing down the curves of my face.

I lie awake at night heavy sinking into the deeper darker, unable to crawl out. I watch the minutes click by on the clock slowly. I let my mind wonder to the what ifs, what if I wasn't here? How many hours will I sleep tonight? Two? Three, if I'm lucky.

Depression sucks.

Anxiety blows.

I hate it.

But this has become my reality.

Part of my brain is broken. My very smart (and super witty) brain, it has a problem. I've wrestled with this mess for a while. Circumstances in my life and past experiences have torn at my soul. While I have so much to be happy for, so much to want to live for, I am sad. I thought I was just going through a rough patch. That once things got easier, once I could get a break that I'd be okay again. But then I realize that it's a pattern. This wasn't my first time on this roller coaster.

I realized that I needed help.

Well, before I realized that I tried everything, EVERYTHING, to solve it. I tried to pray it away. I tried to shop it away. I tried to starve it away. I tried to drug it away. I tried to sleep it away.... but it lingers.

Someone told me that I just had PMS. That person also told me I wasn't taking the right vitamins. Some people have told me I was being dramatic.

I have a wonderful, absolutely amazing and supportive husband who knew that his bride couldn't do this alone and he was scared and unequipped to help himself. He saw this when I broke down in sobs in the church parking lot, when I'd lay in bed until the skies became dark again. But he helped me make that call.

I started seeing a psychologist. She's a firecracker from New Jersey with a gentle spirit. She's helping me face my own ingrained demons. I'm working to break down the walls of false truths I built myself upon. I'm working through this.

I'm on a medication. My brain needs healing. At least a respite from the torture it's brought upon itself. Hopefully, I can see things clearer and the fog will be lifted. Hopefully, I can feel more than just sadness but genuine, real genuine joy. And I can be honest when someone asks me how I am doing, and say I am good. I am okay.

Just Write 1/10

I watched her eyes focus up at me as she sat on the cool tile floor. The beautiful pools of deep blue met mine and she smiled. Her fingers flipped at the nipple on her bottle as she moved it softly to the side and she leaned her tiny body towards mine. She crawled over the cushy white bathroom mat and I felt her warm paws on my naked legs. Her arms just barely long enough to reach the top of knees, her precious hands give them a pat as she says ever so sweetly, "mama."

We giggle for a moment and I sit my hairbrush down to scoop up my baby girl into my arms. Her chubby legs wrap around my hip and I balance her there, her whole body falling into me. We play silly games in the large bathroom mirror under the bright white light. When she smiles I can count her teeth and each of her delicate blonde eye lashes. That dimple, to the right in her cheek, begs to be kissed. I whisper a thousand times in my head, I love you. And I hug her into my chest.

I swing her around and we dance wildly as I glance at the clock, 20 minutes until we have to hit the road. If time could stand still, how I wish it were now.

Linking up to Just Write.

Rest

During Christmas break we stayed with my parents in Virginia. We had a great time being with family, soaking in the goodness that surrounded us, playing games, visiting friends, seeing sights, and celebrating the season.

It was nice.

One of my resolutions for the new year is to simplify. Simplify my life in many ways, but mostly from the pursuit of things that are outside of my control. Life gets complicated and I've never been good at being GOOD to myself. It's easy to get weary when you are overextended.

I lie awake at night and think about our future. My heart races (sometimes with excitement and sometimes with fear) at what big plans are on our docket. I make plans, detailed lists encrypted on my brain on what our next step can be. Always calculating that next move. I feel myself sink deeper into the bed sheets with heavy responsibility as I drift off to sleep.

We have vowed to keep one weekend a month for family "base" time at home. I took my work email off of my personal cell phone. We are limiting our errands to one weekend a month. We swore to finish all projects FIRST before starting another. We agreed to evaluate our needs closer, not hinging our happiness on the acceptance of others. Most of all, letting go of the stress. That is the plan, at least.

Life got out of balance last year. We were just busy and moving. Always, always, always stirring. In fact I wasn't sure where we fell on the spectrum until recently after the dust all settled. I think we're on the right track, edging closer inch by inch to the middle.

I sat with my daughter today. Really just sat static. I breathed in her baby smell and stroked her soft warm cheek. She's getting so big! I blinked and she's not a newborn anymore. I thought about how busy she is. Inquisitive, engrossed in her fancy, and genuinely enamored with whatever catches her eye. She's always (seems) to be moving. She rarely stays idle, I thought. But she sat with me. She batted at my hair with her tiny fingers and cooed delicately to me and her body melted into my lap. I squeezed her chubby legs and kissed her gently on the neck and I sigh.

And I realize that maybe I am the one that can't stay still.