Happy Father's Day!

(Pee Pa, Mee Ma & Dad)

(Dad and me)

(Pee Pa and me)

(Dad and Noah)

(Patrick and Noah)

I just wanted to take a moment and wish all of these men a very happy Father's Day.

I hope that Noah realizes, as I do, how special each one of these men are, and how lucky he is to be in this family.

Sometimes it hits me when I look at Noah that he is my immortality, and I'm sure that Pee Pa, Dad and Patrick feel the same way when they look at their children and grandchildren (and great-grandchild!). I know that I'll try to tell him things to save him some grief and heartache (much as I'm sure Pee Pa said to Dad, and Dad tried to tell me)...and he won't listen (again--much like Dad & I didn't listen!). And Noah will realize that we weren't just talking...we really knew what we were talking about. Just as I'm sure Dad (and yes, me) came to that same realization.

And, I'm sure that Patrick and I won't be standing there, with an "I told you so!" speech. We'll just give him a hug (either literally or figuratively, whichever he needs) and let him know that he's loved. As I'm sure Pee Pa and Dad have done over the years. And then hope to high heaven that he won't make the same mistake again. But then secretly knowing that he probably will, and then maybe he'll learn his lesson that time.

I do hope, though, that Noah knows that he comes from a line of strong men--men who are honorable, who are proud, who are hard-working, and smart. And, in my opinion, pretty darn funny. I hope that he's able to look at his family history and know that he comes from good, honest men. And I hope he knows how lucky he is to have these men as Fathers, Grandfathers, and Great-Grandfathers.

I know I am.

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Birthday, Noah!

You are 1 today. Everyone says that the time goes by so fast, and you hear it all the time, but nothing prepares you for how fast it really does fly.

Last night, around 7:30, it hit me--last year, at that time, Patrick and I were getting ready to go to the hospital. We were rushing around the apartment, trying to figure out the things I'd need, the things we'd need, discussing whether or not we'd need to bring things for the baby. It was the worst-packed bag ever. The we walked (well, I waddled, trying to keep my knees together) to the car. It was raining; they were working on the bridge on the road that was the most direct route to the hospital, so we had to go the long way around; I was starving, because I forgot the most important advice all the books gave--eat something before you go to the hospital, because once you're there, there's no food for you--and the nurses have no sympathy because you're in labor, blah blah blah. I remember a very quiet car ride. We knew that after that night, nothing would ever be the same. The next time I would be in the car, we'd have a baby. We'd be a family.

And, my dear, sweet Noah, you were in a hurry to get the labor ball rolling, but no so much when we finally got to the hospital. I was in a gown, in a bed, by around 8:30. You didn't decide to make your entrance (and even then, you were sort of pulled into the world) until 12:25 the next afternoon.

Hearing your Daddy exclaim, "It's a Noah!" is something I'll never forget. I'll also never forget that time stood still until I heard you cry. I think at that point I felt like I could breathe again. I remember being so happy, and then wanting to see your face, hold you you, count all your fingers and toes, look into your eyes and say, "So you're the one doing somersaults at 10:30 at night on my bladder! Nice to meet you!" and kiss your sweet little nose...which, incidentally, looked exactly as it did in your ultrasound pictures!

You've made me happier than I ever thought a person could be. This past year has been the best year of my life, and I can't wait to see what the next year will bring. I spent tonight taking a few minutes, going through the past posts on my blog, seeing how you've changed--yet, still stayed the same. You still look like you, only more little boy-ish, if that makes sense. Your eyes have remained that intense blue that I know will break many a girl's heart in the years to come. You have a laugh that makes me laugh just thinking about it. Your eyes sparkle when you see Mouse, or when you've done something that you think is so clever (which is quite often). I love that when you are tired you act like me--except when that same tiredness makes you cranky...again, like me. I love that I know all your tickle spots and can make you laugh and laugh and laugh. I love to see you and Daddy play, how you laugh when he tosses you around (and then when you throw up on him because he's done it right after you've eaten. But in all fairness, when you laugh the way you do, it's worth a little vomit.). I love that "kitty" is, in all liklihood, your first word, and that Mouse makes you laugh that special, "I can't stand it, she's so funny" laugh--when I really can't see what's so amusing about that cat (other than the fact that she has managed to create unmentionable stains in every house she's ever been in).

I know that I'll want to do everything to make you happy, to make sure your life is easy, to help you as much as I can. And that's when I know that the hard part begins--because I can't do everything to make you happy, you should have some obstacles to overcome, and you should have to do things on your own. Because that's what a parent does--raises a responsible adult to, well, leave. And I hope that when things don't go your way, you'll see that as a learning experience, and take valuable insight from it. I hope that you won't shy away from challenge, that you'll constantly find new adventures, new ways to test yourself, open yourself up to new ideas.

I hope that you always know that I will always love you--unconditionally. You will always be my sweet little boy with stinky feet, the baby that made "The Poopymaker" song famous. I hope that you always know what happiness you've brought into my life, and continue to bring. I hope you know that I look into your eyes, I see endless possibilities of who you may become.

But right now, for today, I think I'm just going to enjoy my little 1-year-old. And just know, Noah Bennett Hardin, that above all--you are loved.

Happy Birthday, Noah. The world is better because you're in it.

(By the way, we also had a Dr. visit today--he's 20 lbs., 3 oz. and is 30 inches long.)

(Welcome to the world!!! Taken on June 5, 2006.)

(This is in June, 2006, in a fabulous shirt your Auntie Rachel bought for you.)

(Same shirt, about a year later.)

I thought about doing a picture retrospective, by looking through past blogs, but figured everyone else could do the same, and as it is, I may be posting this the day after his actual birthday, so I'll do some highlights from the funfest that was Noah's birthday celebration tonight and save some time.

(Your birthday cupcake. You pretty much demolished the thing. Daddy had to hose off the high chair. Seriously. In the front yard. With the actual garden hose.)

(This is your 1st birthday present from us: a Radio Flyer Retro Rocket. Your Daddy thinks it is very cool; you're not so sure. In fact, you seemed very afraid of it. Maybe tomorrow it'll be different, when you're not on a sugar high and sleep deprived!)

(We think that's a look of terror on your face, but look how happy Daddy is!)