Growing Up

When I’m not momming or doing volunteer work, my “real” job is working with the geriatric population at a nursing home. Trust me, I’ve heard “How do you do that everyday??” more times than I can count. But really, I consider myself lucky to work with such “well seasoned” individuals who share their lives with me and allow me to be part of their latter years ... and oh, the stories I have heard. For the vast majority of my career, I’ve been raising young children and for a while waddled around the nursing home as a pregnant momma-to-be. Many of the patients I see are parents too and share with me their adventures of the early years of parenthood....

42 days. That’s how long we had with my dad after his diagnosis. 42 days to cram in every word we wanted him to hear and everything we wanted him to know. My dad was a smoker. Actually, he was more than a smoker. He LIVED for his pack of cigarettes. A cup of coffee, cigarettes and a pocket t-shirt (for that pack of cigarettes) are the tangible things of my dad that I will always remember. Lung cancer was obviously always a possibility, but he was our dad and bad things “never happen to your parents.” I am not sure exactly how long he was having issues. He was a pretty stubborn guy and dismissed most things. He worked in Alaska...

“Terrible Twos” has long been the phrase coined for those tumultuous early childhood years where they begin testing their independence and limits. But I think that’s a lie. Two was a sweet year. We were still the coolest people around. He listened to what we told him to do. And you never had to worry if you were pouring his milk in the right colored cup.   Then came the third birthday, and with it, a newfound sense of independence while simultaneously discovering his emotions. Enter, the THREENAGER. One minute, he’s lovingly cuddled up enjoying a book with you. The next, he’s in tears because his favorite fork is in the dishwasher. He sets the table perfectly, often without being asked to....

Names have always been fascinating to me. When I was younger I always would always beg my mom, a labor and delivery nurse, to tell me the names she would hear new babies receive. Some were traditional, some trendy, and then there were my personal favorites: a combo of mom and dads names together!  Growing up, Camille Veal made me very wary of what I was going to name my children. I've learned to appreciate my maiden name, but in elementary and middle school it was a different story. The rhyming name with odd-then, hip-now first name with the politically incorrect meat last name was the perfect storm for teasing in a land of Jessica's, Brittany's, and Ashley's. When the...

My sweet son is tiny ... really tiny. He’ll be three in February and is just starting to outgrow his 12 month sized clothing that he’s been wearing for over a year. His height and weight measurements don’t even fall on the growth chart, but he his growing slowly but surely. Really his small stature should come as no shock. I’m only 5”2’ and have mostly shopped in the petite section my entire adult life. My husband is only 5’5” and still has to have his pants hemmed despite buying the shortest inseam available. There is no denying that my son isn’t genetically destined to be a large guy. People always ask if he was a preemie. Weighing 7lbs 1oz at...