Nine, Ten, Eleven, Floor.

One late night as I tiptoed back to bed after rinsing my pump parts in the kitchen sink, Jeff groggily raised his head from the pillow. "Why do you count?" he asked. "Count?" I queried, a bit confused. (This was, after all, in the midst of the first four months of sleep deprivation.) "Count the steps. Every night I hear you: 'nine, ten, eleven, floor.' Why do you count?"

I don't think I'd realized I was doing it aloud until that moment, so the question caught me off guard. The rhythmic counting, though, was designed to do exactly the opposite: so that I wouldn't be caught off guard on my endless trips up and down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning, I'd started counting the steps. Since Lily's nursery is at the top of the stairs, turning on the hall light wasn't an option, so I had to figure out another way to navigate my ascents and descents. Without realizing it, I'd become reliant on the cadence of my foot falling on the eleven carpeted steps before hitting the wood flooring at the top or bottom.

After Jeff's question that night, I began to think more about the other small things I never noticed before Lily was in our lives. Until about a month ago, I never knew exactly where the outlets were in each room--not until I had to crawl on my hands and knees, outlet protectors tucked in my sweatshirt pocket. I had no idea that not only a cat but also a small person could wedge herself through the railing in the living room, and I hadn't stopped to think about how enticing a roll of toilet paper would be, particularly if the holder provides a sturdy enough grip for pulling oneself up. No one told me that the bubbling cat fountain would make a perfect hand washing station or that the dry kibbles of Iams on the floor presented an easily obtainable snack.

But I also never realized how much joy there is in a Saturday morning when your daughter is gleefully banging Tupperware on the kitchen floor as you pour a cup of coffee and your husband forages in the fridge for breakfast. I never knew that a mealtime punctuated with squeals of delight and flapping arms could make me laugh so hard. And I certainly had no idea that peekaboo could occupy me for hours on end when every new "peek" is accompanied by a spontaneous giggle.

Though my trips up and down the stairs are less frequent now, they still happen. Inevitably, they are related to Lily's comfort or well-being in some way--I'm returning pump parts to the kitchen, carrying her monitor upstairs at the end of the night, or checking the thermostat to make sure the nursery is warm enough for her. Instead of feeling frustrated by them, though--as I'm prone to feel at some hour when I'd far rather be sleeping--I try to now remember that it's a privilege to count the stairs, a privilege to know that just twelve steps takes me to the threshold of my daughter's door, to the sight of her exuberant grin, to the sound of her deep breaths as she sleeps.

Nine, ten, eleven... Joy.

Dear Lily: You have a fever.

As I type this (on my phone), you're sound asleep on my shoulder. It's reminding me of those long days and nights when you were a newborn, those hours you spent snuggled on my chest, breathing deeply. Now, though, you take up more than my whole torso, even with your legs tucked up under your tummy, and my hand and wrist are numb from  holding your weight. You woke once, hearing a neighbor's dog bark, but your daddy rushed to the window to close it so you could settle back to sleep right away.

From where I sit in the glider, I can feel Rosie's tail draped across my feet; she's sleeping on the footstool, near enough to keep an eye on you. Your daddy has set up mission control on your nursery floor, the very one we chose a year ago now. With pillows piled beneath his chest, he's propped up watching QuickDraw, but he's quick to check in if you stir or whimper. I'm fairly certain Ozzy and Guillie are close by, too, likely just out of sight on the other side of Daddy or watching from the hallway.

We are all here, my sweet, because you don't feel good. Because each member of this family wants to take away your aches and sniffles. I've rubbed a cool washcloth over your warm torso, just as my own daddy used to; your daddy has sung to you just as both our mommies used to. We are, ironically, so grateful your first major fever came on a Saturday so that neither of us faces the distress of watching you in pain alone.

So, yes, we have missed a party with friends today. And we will change tomorrow's plans as needed. And we are prepared to sit up all night, rocking you gently, soothing you softly, taking your mind off your discomfort in any way we're able. Because it's our privilege to care for you, our sweet daughter. Because we want you to know--always--you will never be alone. Because--in light of recent devastating news stories of a much loved missing daughter--we treasure the moments we spend, overheated and pinned to a glider, loving you.

Sleep tight, my sweet. We'll be right here when you awake.

With all the love our healing hearts can hold,

Your mommy and daddy

I Hate Breastfeeding,

Please don't tell me it's beautiful.

Please don't remind me how fortunate I am to be able to do it.

Please don't show me evidence of how beneficial it is for Lily.

Please don't explain to me how it will get better.

We're over seven months in, and I still hate breastfeeding. I have a freezer stash that's ridiculous (we're not even into our August milk and it's mid-September); I pump enough most days that Jeff barely has to give a bottle that's not fresh while I'm at work; we have a designated "Mother's Room" at work, and my boss has no issues with the breaks I take to pump.

I still hate breastfeeding.

So, more than seven months later, why do I do it?

1) It's economical. (Formula costs a lot more than what I produce.)

2) It's "best" for Lily. (Read the campaigns. There's no overwhelming evidence to encourage formula.)

3) It soothes our daughter. (Even though it usually hurts me like a bitch.)

Yes, I've seen the lactation consultants. Yes, I've discussed--and tried--changing her latch, switching the flange size, or altering positions. Yes, I've read every article and soaked up every post on how to make breastfeeding more comfortable/rewarding/enjoyable.

None of that has changed how I feel. I resent the fact that I'm Lily's primary nutrition source. It pisses me off that every day ends with me pumping... and the next morning starts the same way. I hate the guilt I feel from a "pump and dump." I have such intense anger about the way my body has become the property of my daughter instead of the property of me and my husband.

So, I will continue to breastfeed--because I understand the benefits, because I logically see why I should, because our finances dictate it.

But for anyone out there reading this post and experiencing what I am, I have to reassure you that you are not alone. That I don't know if it's okay or appropriate or approved, but that I, too, hate breastfeeding.

P.S. This post doesn't include a photo. Because I'd prefer none are taken of Lily nursing. Because, again, I don't find that action, or myself doing that action, beautiful--and I have no desire to preserve it for posterity.

(I originally wrote this post Saturday night but removed it this morning, embarrassed of what I'd written. However, at Jalara's encouragement--who saw it before I took it down--I'm trying to be courageous and repost it. I haven't changed any of the original post.)

Tears & Fears

I hesitate to write this post, but I also know that I've always chosen to be honest on this blog, through the moments of joy and of pain. And while everything holds true from my last post--because who wouldn't be smitten with our sweet girl?!--there are some realities facing me right now that are causing a great deal of anxiety, fear, and tears.

Today, I took Lily to school with me. We just went for an hour, just long enough for me to set up the classroom I haven't inhabited in over six months. And while there was an incredible sense of gratitude in watching my daughter play in a room I truly never believed she'd enter, there was also both a real and a metaphorical dichotomy going on. I found myself trying to balance rehanging pictures and restocking my desk with running across the room to pick Lily up or to sing to her for a moment, trying to race down the hall to get something from my office before she started to squeal too loudly, trying to--in short--be a mom and a teacher at the same time. Within just a few minutes, it became clear just how tenuous a tightrope I'll be walking as I return to work next week.

Yes, I "signed up" for all of this--for being a mom, for continuing to teach, for breastfeeding through at least her first year, for being on an opposite schedule from Jeff so we can avoid the astronomical cost of daycare. However, as a dear friend reminded me, signing up for it doesn't mean I'm not overwhelmed or anxious or questioning each step of the journey. And in moments like this one--moments when breastfeeding is suddenly quite difficult and I have no idea how to schedule pumping into my teaching day and I fear I'll never get a stack of papers graded in a timely fashion--it's easy to lose sight of reality.

Reality tells me everything will get done. Just like every tech week I ever did before a show, just like every mountain of Odyssey essays in the winter, just like every week of meal planning and buying and preparing, things get done. But, just now, just today, the trees are pretty thick, and there's no forest in sight.

So, I write this post because... Because I need to tell myself that being scared of this transition isn't something to be ashamed of. Because it's okay that I'm still breastfeeding not necessarily because I enjoy it but more because I'm grateful that I have the supply to save us the cost of formula. Because I can be smitten with the little girl napping in the next room while still dreading the thought of putting her to bed by myself most nights. Because I need to know--and I need other moms to know--that it's okay to be frustrated and scared and wondering how you got here even when this is the life you prayed for and dreamed of for so many distressing years.

These are neither the first nor the last tears I'll shed over transitions in our family--I know that. But, for me, they are significant today, so I'm sharing them with you.

Because it's all part of our journey.

Dear Lily: We're smitten with you.

Dear lil' Lil',

It's true--we're smitten. We greet pretty much every day by saying, "gosh, you're adorable!" and then delighting in your broad grin and sparkly giggle that you always offer as a response. Though we're still not quite sure how we got from these milestones a year ago to the ones I'm about to share, we are fairly certain that no parents have ever been as blessed or as head-over-heels in love as we are.

So, without further ado, may I offer just a few of the reasons we're so smitten?

You are so delighted by water.

When you were itty bitty, the bath was a battle, and your poor dad feared he'd never get to share his love of the water with you. With the arrival of summer, though, your attitude completely changed, and it's so much fun to watch you explore pools, bathtubs, and even your sippy cup!

You're such a person.

We're realizing that you've transformed from this helpless little creature who would nestle on our chests with feet that didn't even reach our bellybuttons into a little girl who loves to stand and bounce whenever given the chance. (And despite your vertically-challenged mom, you're sprouting into the 75% for height!)

You're always game for trying something new.

Much to your granddaddy's delight, your first equine encounter produced no tears, only curiosity. Watching you stretch out your hand first to meet Rocky, my childhood horse, then to grasp the horn of my saddle was just incredible. Your granddaddy is going to have a pony waiting for you in Connecticut by next summer, we're pretty sure!

Your messy face (almost) always makes the clean-up worth it.

You seem a lot less sure of cracked wheat cereal than you do of avocado, but that makes sense to us: your fierce independence means you'd far rather mash that squash into your mouth than have us spoon it in. Despite being so tiny in your high chair, you readily slide in for family dinner every night, much to our great joy.

You squeal at the sight of your kitties.

(And you've also apparently worked out some system of zone defense / quadrant restrictions with them on the bed.) They are so patient with and tolerant of you--Rosie lets you tug on her ears and even Guillie occasionally allows you to catch her tail. And when you're happily bouncing away in your Jumperoo, nothing makes you more delighted than catching sight of Ozzy streaking by.

Your smile is infectious.

We know we're more than a bit biased, but this one is universally agreed upon by friends, families, and strangers alike: nothing makes that sad-faced lady at the grocery store break out in a grin faster than your exuberant smile. There's nothing stingy about your joy--you just want to share it with the world!

You want to be just like us.

First, you wanted our water bottles, so we got you a pink sippy cup. Next, you went after our phones, so we let you slobber all over the cases. Lately, the best food seems to be the morsels on our plates. Yet, as frustrated as we may get pulling each object out of your (remarkably strong) grip, we take secret delight in watching you watch us and in knowing that we have the great privilege--and terrifying responsibility--of being your role models.

You make us "we three."

Our little love, our sweet and salty peanut, our pumpkin-a-tor, our sweet pea of joy: you have added to our lives in ways we always dreamed of and ones we never could have imagined. We are so blessed by you, so smitten with you, so in awe of you.

Thank you for allowing us to be your mom and dad.

With all our hearts,

The Bubs and the Beard

My First Shower (or Why I Finally Joined the Pinterest Movement)

 

Two of Jeff and my best friends are getting married this August (which is a whole story in and of itself--they met when she was the maid of honor and he was the best man at our wedding!). From the day L called to tell me they were engaged, I've been excited to plan her bridal shower. I knew it would be a small affair, and I also knew I wanted to keep it in line with their backyard, low-key, country wedding. But that was about all I knew... I'd never planned a shower of any kind before.

Thanks to a great deal of peer pressure from another one of my best friends, Jenn (who blogs over on The Canadian Housewife), I finally started to explore Pinterest--with a little excitement and a lot more trepidation. However, as I began to create the board for the shower, I realized just how many wonderful, inexpensive, lovely ideas I could find with a quick and simple search. I was hooked!

So, here's the photo tour!

We threw the shower in L's sister's backyard, and she had a lovely side deck that was perfect for our "drinks station." For the favors, I had purchased Mason jars with handles, added cute chalkboard stickers with every guest's name, and popped a pretty floral paper straw in each one. We then filled the table with the glasses and assorted beverages: Pimm's, mimosa makings, assorted non-alcoholic juices, white wine, and water.

Thanks, once again, to Jenn (seriously, she inspired so much of this party--from Canada!), I made colorful tissue paper luminaries to hang. (Jenn did them on her blog here, and this is the link to the Martha Stewart instructions I used.) I alternated white tissue paper with the paper the colors of the shower (green, yellow, and white). Since I had to travel to Baltimore for the shower, I simply did the folding and twist-tie stage ahead of time, then had L's niece poof them out and hang them. She did a great job!

Throughout these photos, you'll see the floral centerpieces. I didn't want to spend a lot of money, so I spent a few weeks collecting tin cans (mostly from some of my favorite slow cooker recipes), then bought a $1 spool of white tulle at the Dollar Store. We tied a pretty bow around each can, then filled them with sunflowers and other simple flowers. The grand total for 6 floral centerpieces? $16!

The majority of the food I ordered from Fresh Market (a sandwich platter, fruit and cheese tray, and cupcakes), but I found this adorable idea on Pinterest and just loved it! Essentially, it's a popcorn bar--you grab a brown paper bag, fill it with plain popcorn, spray on some butter, and then shake on your favorite toppings (I brought cayenne pepper, salt, sugar, and a powdered herb mix). It was great for everyone to snack on as they were mingling at the beginning!

L wasn't big on games, and not everyone brought presents, since she's only registered on Honey Fund. As a result, I wanted a few activities people could do during lulls in the conversation, but nothing formal or organized. In the picture above, you see the "Date Jar"; people wrote cute date ideas on popsicle sticks which L then took home to share with her fiance.

On the drink table, I had a "Memory Vase" where I encouraged people to write down silly or sentimental memories they had of times with L that she could read when she was feeling stressed in the weeks leading up to the wedding.

Finally, I created an "Advice Tree"; I'd cut green poster board into leaf shapes and asked people to write pieces of advice, then attach them to the tree with the clothespins provided.

All in all, I'm quite proud of my first shower! The planning was really fun, but I couldn't have pulled it off without the help from the other bridesmaids who purchased items, set up on the day of the shower, and co-hosted beautifully. And I stayed within my budget goal: the grand total for everything was $300, which was very reasonable when split three ways.

I'm hooked on shower planning! Anyone got an event coming up that I can help out with? ;-)

The Family You Choose

For various reasons, this has been a tough weekend for Jeff and me. We'd planned to attend a wedding in Connecticut tonight, but, as the week drew to a close, it became abundantly clear that the trip just wouldn't work for Lily. Much to our dismay--and the sadness of our friends--we cancelled the trip at the last minute and decided to stay home. And so, while we are desperately missing those friends we love in Connecticut this weekend, we are simultaneously finding ourselves surrounded by such love from a "chosen family" who surrounds us here in Virginia.

The first in that bunch is Lily's godmother, M. Perhaps you remember her from this post when she offered me incredible support in the wake of our first loss? She has been by my side since the beginning of this journey, and watching Lily's little hand grip her finger so tightly is such a joy for me; Lily knows this is someone we need to hang on to!

This group photo is from a festival we attended in town today; it was a last-minute decision (since we only decided to stay home on Thursday night). The picture is tremendously joy-full for Jeff and me. In it, Lily is surrounded by men and women who love her and her parents so deeply. Throughout the afternoon, Lily was "stolen" from us repeatedly--just long enough for Jeff and I to sneak away and get a glass of wine or enjoy a pulled pork sandwich without juggling Lily in the other arm. We have chosen family all over the US and beyond--and we are deeply grateful for all of them--but today we realized just how incredibly blessed we are by this particular group.

It's the eve of Father's Day, which is perhaps even more poignant to me than Mother's Day. When we returned home this evening, Jeff gave Lily her bottle while I put things away, and this is the pair I found upon my return to the living room. I'm not sure who is more contented or more peaceful, but I know that Jeff is marveling that he will hold his little girl in his arms tomorrow, that he will remember his lost children, Blueberry and Beanster, even as he celebrates the one who snuggles with him first thing tomorrow morning.

We are so very, very blessed by the family we choose--and, if you're reading this, it's likely we count you among that number. Our hearts threaten to swell and burst on days like today, and we are in absolute awe of the fact that you all love us so much.

Thank you, for loving Lily and us to such unfathomable depths.

Days, Weeks, Months, Years, Decades...

Wherever we go, I'm asked how old Lily is. My response elicits all kinds of reactions: "Oh my--so tiny!" or "I can hardly remember when mine were that small!" seem most popular. But the question has meant that I've been thinking a lot lately about how time is measured. As we hit the start of summer and look forward to Lily's growth--both physical and mental, I'm also so aware of the dwindling number of days I have at home as just us two before I go back to teaching in the fall. And so, once again, my mind falls to that measurement of time.

Days...

It's hard now to remember back to early February, to recall those sleepless nights in the hospital (right above) or that first trip to the pediatrician (left above), when everything was measured in days (and sometimes in hours). When someone would ask, "How old is she?" and I'd say "four days" and think "what was life like five days ago?" A tiny life measured in such a small amount of time, yet we were so aware of how blessed we were to have held her in our arms for two days, or three, or four.

Weeks...

Lily's life inside me began by being measured in weeks--weeks that began almost a year ago now. When she came out, it was no different; I was so grateful when another Saturday had passed, when she was another week older, when she seemed just a bit less fragile and bit more ready for the world. Each set of seven days inched by ever so slowly, and I was so ready for it to be the next week every time. I think I'm starting to understand now, though, why everyone says that time flies faster than you can ever realize when you're mired deep inside of it.

Months...

After Lily passed twelve weeks old, I realized that counting in weeks no longer mattered and that it truly was the months that marked the passage of time. I began reading books that would tell me what developmental milestones I might see in the next month or how I could help her develop new skills. Now, at nearly four months, it's hard to believe that she's rolling (both ways!), reaching for her toys on her activity mat and pulling them to her, and happily bouncing on her chubby little legs to whatever is playing on the radio as we support her torso. I'm shocked that the months are starting to fly, that I'm having to imagine leaving her for several hours a day when she's just six months old.

Years...

The photo above is from my 35th birthday. We'd lost Blueberry earlier that year, and the age just felt devastating to me, as it's when the medical community classifies a woman as AMA: Advanced Maternal Age. I was supposed to be having a baby at 35, not wondering what treatments would cost and facing a slew of tests and possible surgeries. It felt like such a lost cause that another year had passed without the ability to achieve the one thing I wanted so desperately. (Jeff's surprise of a weekend in southern Virginia and a special chocolate cake certainly improved the memories, though!)

Decades...

On Tuesday, my mum turns 70. She marks the start of a new decade with her granddaughter, with her daughter becoming a mom herself, with watching her husband take on the role of Granddaddy. As I watch my mom age by a decade but be in awe of her granddaughter aging in days, weeks, and months, I can only pray I grow old with such grace, such beauty, and such faith. 

I look forward to the decades to come--and the days, and the weeks, and the months, and the years.

A Family Portrait

Easter 2014

Picture: a painting, drawing, or photograph of someone or something

Portrait: a detailed description of someone or something

Since Lily was born, there have been a ridiculous number of pictures taken of her--on phones, on cameras, and on iPads. We've captured her smiling, screaming, squirming, and squealing. Her sweet face has been posted on blogs and Facebook and has been sent via emails, letters, and texts. We love pictures of Lily--and it seems our friends and families do, too!--but the picture above is something more. The picture above is a portrait.

Taken Easter morning at our church by a very talented church member who is a professional photographer, it's not the pastel colors or Lily's Easter seersucker that catch my eye; instead, it's the joy written all over Jeff and my faces as we snuggle together over Lily's little head. It's her little hand gripping my finger, it's Jeff's chin resting on her soft hair, it's the grouping of the three of us as a family. For me, it's a description of where we've been (for I am, of course, wearing my Blueberry and Beanster necklace) and a hope for where we'll go. It's a reminder that our history is not something to erase even while our present is something to celebrate.

In short, it's our family, and that's an Easter miracle.

Cute as a Button?

This is what most of our days look like lately.

"They" say that 3 months is when babies really start evening out, start developing a schedule, start waking less during the night, but Lily apparently missed that memo. Instead, our sweet-tempered, easily scheduled, all-star nurser has turned into a difficult, unpredictable little screamer who has left her parents exhausted and exceedingly confused. And, while I understand that babies will be babies and that my love of a routine will not translate into Lily actually keeping one, the last couple of weeks have felt, at times, even more challenging than those first two weeks did. Once again, I don't always know how to soothe my daughter, I can't predict when she'll need to nurse or need to nap, and I find myself over-tired, under-nourished, and lacking patience at the end of the day.

I suppose I'm learning what it means to be a mom in these moments, and--while it seems like it will be so much easier when she can tell me what's wrong or entertain herself for a few hours--I know those stages will come with their own challenges, too. Sometimes, it seems like her toughest moments are designed to help me grow in my flexibility with whatever the world throws at me. I'm learning that a screaming baby doesn't surprise the people around me nearly as much as it surprises me, that sympathetic looks from other moms as she wails in the grocery store don't mean they think I'm doing a bad job as a mom but, rather, indicate their empathy for the exhaustion and frustration they can read on my face. I'm also learning to ask for help, to know when I need to let Jeff take over or when it's okay to knock on a neighbor's door and hand her over for fifteen minutes while I take a shower. And, though they seem few and far between these days, I'm also learning to appreciate moments like the one in the picture below more than ever.

Everyone keeps telling me our sweet little Button will come back, and I know she will. Sometimes I just wonder how long I'll have to wait--because 3 months doesn't seem like nearly the utopian existence that I thought it was going to be.

An addendum: I've been thinking about this post all day, and I feel like it's really important for me to add this note at the end of it. For over two years, I have read posts like this one on the blogs of women I love, the blogs of women who have little ones. I remember thinking over and over how desperately I wished that I had the problem of a son or daughter who cried too much or who needed constant attention--because that would mean I had a baby. I know many of you who read this blog are hopefully waiting for the day you'll hold your rainbow in your arms, and I await that day by your sides. In no way is this post meant to be a "woe is me"--it is simply the moment I'm in.

Why Moms Need a Break

I love my daughter. And I have had time away from her since she was born two months ago; Jeff and I even went on our first Lily-less date last weekend. However, until today, I had no idea what a massive difference there was between running errands by myself and actually having a day just to be on my own.

Jeff has been working long days this week with a lot of evening commitments. Last night, he asked if he could go out with one of the other dads in our neighborhood after work, and I was more than happy to say yes; C. is a great husband and a great dad, and Jeff needed the time with another guy. As expected, the boys had a wonderful time, but what I didn't expect was what Jeff told me when he got home. Basically, he declared today a "Mommy Break Day," meaning that he would take Lily while I took the day to do whatever made me happy. I couldn't get over the incredible gift of time I'd been given!

So, today, Lily spent the day with her daddy in Georgetown. They walked the waterfront, fought to find a place with a changing table in a mens' room (seriously, world--it's acceptable to assume dads don't have little ones to change?!?), and had bottles (beer for Daddy, milk for Lily) outside in the sunshine. And while all that was happening, I had my first pedicure in nearly a year, had lunch with my awesome friend M. out in the sunshine, drank the first cosmo I'd had since before I got pregnant, and sat outside with a glass of wine, happily reading my Kindle without a care.

It's one thing to be a husband. It's another thing to be a father to a daughter. But it is a completely different thing to be a father to your wife. Today, Jeff gave me the gift of Mommy's Break Day, the gift of time with myself and with a close friend, the gift of realizing I am still someone independent of Lily. And, while I couldn't wait to snuggle my little peanut when I got home, I'll be remembering that cosmo in the springtime sun for many days to come.

Why Grammar Still Matters

At back to school night every fall, I like to talk to parents about our writing program. I'm incredibly proud of it; my school produces writers who range from "solid" to "exemplary," and our alumni come back every year to say how well prepared they were for college level writing courses. Because I teach freshmen, I teach many of those fundamental skills at the outset, but the road isn't easy. It takes a great deal of practice to become a proficient writer, practice that my students get as they write paragraphs throughout the fall and essays throughout the spring. However, as any athlete knows, if you only practice a skill once a week at best, you're unlikely to improve. It's the daily practice you need.

And so this is what I love to tell my freshmen: you write more today than I ever did. It's true. I had to pick up a phone to find out the homework assignment I'd missed; writing a letter took a great deal of effort and really only occurred when thank you notes were required. I couldn't just text a friend to see what I'd missed in class or email a friend in England to wish her a happy birthday--but my students can, and they do. They write countless times every single day, though they rarely make the connection between the quick tweet about the essay I just assigned and the writing of the essay itself. Yes, there's a degree of brevity in their daily communications, but it's still a chance to practice.

If they have smartphones, it's even easier; spellcheck is a built-in feature that auto-corrects their every missive (sometimes with humorous results). However, while the spelling may be correct, the grammar may not be, and that's where the opportunity to practice comes into play. If they pay attention to those homophones, to those quotation marks, to those commas and apostrophes, they may just find their next grammar quiz scores slightly higher than expected. And, if they've got grammar-savvy recipients on the other end of those missives, they're also sure to impress. As I explain it to them, ignoring grammar when you type is like walking into an interview wearing ripped jeans and a holey sweatshirt, for your linguistic prowess is how you present yourself online.

Now, if you're reading this blog, chances are you're also someone who values the written word, who finds that sometimes things are better expressed through fingers on a keyboard than a tongue in a mouth. Perhaps you even write a blog of your own or participate in an online community or text more than you call. Maybe you're already a grammar superstar, but maybe--like my freshmen--you still sometimes tilt your head first to one side, then to the other, and then just simplify the problem by typing out "it is" rather than figuring out where that pesky apostrophe goes.

And so here, my lovely readers, are two of the most common grammar mistakes explained. Take 'em or leave 'em, but know that, if you already apply them or if you start to now, you'll suddenly be walking around your technological world wearing a snappy little outfit instead of those ripped jeans.

Your versus You're

The GIF above, of Ross explaining grammar to Rachel, is one that I frequently see posted online when folks get frustrated with improper grammar--and Ross has got it exactly right. Here's why: an apostrophe does one of two things: it creates a contraction or indicates possession. (It never ever ever makes something plural, but that's a lesson for another day.) In the "your / you're" case, the apostrophe is creating a contraction, which means that two words are being smushed together (contracted) by leaving a letter (or two) out. So, when you write "you're," you're really writing "you are" and just eliminating the a and replacing it with an apostrophe.

Its versus It's

The same basic principle applies to this one as to the previous one, but there's a little twist. Let's say I want to write the following sentence:

The car is lying on the car's side.

Grammatically, that's just fine; the apostrophe in "car" makes it possessive, as the car is the owner of the side. But it sounds a bit redundant, right? So let's take advantage of a pronoun to fix the problem:

The car is lying on it's side.

Seems logical, right? If "car's" in the first sentence was possessive, then "it's" in the second sentence should be possessive too, right? But here's the rub--you actually just wrote this sentence:

The car is lying on it is side.

Stupid complex English grammar, right? See, possessive pronouns never take apostrophes; it's the reason you've never seen "her's" or "his's" or "their's." By their very nature, possessive pronouns are, well, possessive, so they don't need a little apostrophe helped to show that. As a result, what you really wanted to write was this:

The car is lying on its side.

Here's the cardinal rule: any time you write "it's," you mean "it is." No exceptions, okay?