"Look at me! I'm a dancing Gopher!" - January 1st
"Mom, I don't know how to spell YMCA" - January 7th
Lily (to the mac n cheese): I'm going to eat all of you!!
Mac n cheese (as voiced by Lily in a slightly higher tone): NOOOOOOOO!!!!!
Lily: Ha ha ha!! Nom nom nom!!
-January 22nd
Me: I'm rooting for the Cardinals next season!
Lily: I'm not rooting for the Cardinals or the Phillies.
Me: Oh? Who are you rooting for?
Lily: The Super Powerful Girls!!
-February 9th
Description of Taco Night - "It's like the best visit from Santa Claus!!"
-February 24th
Me: Lily, will you please put on pants?
Lily: No!!
Me: Why?
Lily: Cause I'm Queen of the World!!
-February 27th
Lily: Mommy, Schrodinger touched me with his paw!
Me: It's okay, Lily. It's not the end of the world.
Lily: Well, it's the end of my world...
-April 5th
"My name is Lily. Except when my mom is mad. Then it's Lily Jennifer Nichols"
-May 8th
"Mom... if I'm not being silly, am I still Silly Lily?"
-May 30th
"When I grow up I'm going to be a doctor, a ninja, and a mommy. Oh! And a fixer."
-June 22nd
Jason: You're right, Lily!
Lily: I know. I've been right since I was born.
-June 27th
"Daddy, I'm learning so that I can be cooler than you."
-July 24th
" Mom, when I grow up I'm gonna do work that's singin and dancin... But I'm gonna do work that's for makin money, too..."
-August 2nd
"Well, when I'm a grown up, I'm not going to live in this house!"
-August 27th
Lily: How did the cow say quack?
Me: I don't know. How?
Lily: He ate a duck!
-December 10th
Tuesday, 31 December 2013
Sunday, 3 November 2013
Apparently things can get heavy at 4...
I have the sinking feeling that, as you get older, more and more of my entries will start off with how bad I am at updating this. If technology could advance to a point where my thoughts were transferred directly to the computer, that would be great.
Four... how are you four? It doesn't always compute with me that I no longer have a baby or a toddler, but a kid. A sweet, clever, loving, joyful little kid. I often wonder what, if anything, from this age you'll remember as an adult. I remember very little from the age of 4, although you occasionally remind me of things.
Four seems to be a magic age for you. It's as if you have also suddenly realized that you are growing into a bigger person who is capable of many things. Some days you seem fully excited to embrace this - others, you seem so afraid of it. You've clearly stepped up your game. Little things, like clearing your plate from the table or helping me with a task without being asked, are now regular occurrences. You even argue less! And most of the time, you puff out with pride when told "my, what a big girl you are getting to be!" But once a while, your eyebrows will furrow and you'll snap "no. No I am not. I'm just little!" There's a fear in you about growing up, and I think it mostly has to do with the thought of living a life apart from your mom and dad (although, I'm not sure you could pin point it).
Death has been a subject in the house as of late. You had your first experience with it when your goldfish, Purples, died this summer. We had a funeral in the front yard. You colored a rock for him. You cried. And then you returned to your life as a kid. And, as these sorts of things do, questions cropped up at random at times. And I did my best to answer. We're not religious, so I can't point you to a book that tells you what happens. I try my best to show you that all we have are ideas and the things we feel in our hearts, but explain how we just don't know for sure what happens. I told you of heaven. I told you of nirvana. I told you of reincarnation. I told you of simple nothingness. I asked you what you thought happens, to which you replied "I don't know! I'm just a kid!"
And the subject was gone for a while, but has returned with our dog, Dawn's, cancer diagnosis. She is dying, and we know it's coming. I've not sugar coated this or made any attempt to hide it from you. You know she is sick and that we cannot make her better. You know that she is going to die. So the questions happen again: What is making her sick? Can something make me dead? You've also declared how you never want to die and just want to be alive forever - same for mom and dad.
And on one side, I have no desire to teach you of death. You're a little kid! You should think about unicorns and playgrounds and snack time - not death. On the other hand, I want so much for you to understand the world around you, and this is just another part of it. I want you to be able to accept both the sadness and inevitability of it all, and be comfortable in it without fearing it.
I hope that's what I'm doing.
Four... how are you four? It doesn't always compute with me that I no longer have a baby or a toddler, but a kid. A sweet, clever, loving, joyful little kid. I often wonder what, if anything, from this age you'll remember as an adult. I remember very little from the age of 4, although you occasionally remind me of things.
Four seems to be a magic age for you. It's as if you have also suddenly realized that you are growing into a bigger person who is capable of many things. Some days you seem fully excited to embrace this - others, you seem so afraid of it. You've clearly stepped up your game. Little things, like clearing your plate from the table or helping me with a task without being asked, are now regular occurrences. You even argue less! And most of the time, you puff out with pride when told "my, what a big girl you are getting to be!" But once a while, your eyebrows will furrow and you'll snap "no. No I am not. I'm just little!" There's a fear in you about growing up, and I think it mostly has to do with the thought of living a life apart from your mom and dad (although, I'm not sure you could pin point it).
Death has been a subject in the house as of late. You had your first experience with it when your goldfish, Purples, died this summer. We had a funeral in the front yard. You colored a rock for him. You cried. And then you returned to your life as a kid. And, as these sorts of things do, questions cropped up at random at times. And I did my best to answer. We're not religious, so I can't point you to a book that tells you what happens. I try my best to show you that all we have are ideas and the things we feel in our hearts, but explain how we just don't know for sure what happens. I told you of heaven. I told you of nirvana. I told you of reincarnation. I told you of simple nothingness. I asked you what you thought happens, to which you replied "I don't know! I'm just a kid!"
And the subject was gone for a while, but has returned with our dog, Dawn's, cancer diagnosis. She is dying, and we know it's coming. I've not sugar coated this or made any attempt to hide it from you. You know she is sick and that we cannot make her better. You know that she is going to die. So the questions happen again: What is making her sick? Can something make me dead? You've also declared how you never want to die and just want to be alive forever - same for mom and dad.
And on one side, I have no desire to teach you of death. You're a little kid! You should think about unicorns and playgrounds and snack time - not death. On the other hand, I want so much for you to understand the world around you, and this is just another part of it. I want you to be able to accept both the sadness and inevitability of it all, and be comfortable in it without fearing it.
I hope that's what I'm doing.
Tuesday, 28 May 2013
Thank God for Rainy Days
I don't write in here often enough.
It's probably the sentence that will appear most often in this little journal, but that doesn't make it any less true. You'd think that with not having a full-time job right now, I'd have lots more time on my hands. Yet somehow, I almost feel like I have less. Perhaps I've become lazy with my time management. Perhaps it's something else.
But today I have nothing huge or monumental to write about. No giant life changes or traumatic experiences. No great and sagely wisdom from a mother, who is undoubtedly young and stupid to the woman I will be 30 years from now.
Today is just a rainy day.
We made a card from construction paper for Great-Grandma Betty.
Then we played Candy Land.
After that, we baked your favorite chocolate-filled banana muffins. Except I didn't have any Nutella, so we had to use chocolate chips - but that was fine. Chocolate chips are easier to snack on while you're mixing.
Then you helped me with the laundry.
And we read some books.
Now you are taking a nap.
When you wake, there will be popcorn and a movie.
Today is what I used to dream about having while sitting at my little desk.
Today is a dream come true.
It's probably the sentence that will appear most often in this little journal, but that doesn't make it any less true. You'd think that with not having a full-time job right now, I'd have lots more time on my hands. Yet somehow, I almost feel like I have less. Perhaps I've become lazy with my time management. Perhaps it's something else.
But today I have nothing huge or monumental to write about. No giant life changes or traumatic experiences. No great and sagely wisdom from a mother, who is undoubtedly young and stupid to the woman I will be 30 years from now.
Today is just a rainy day.
We made a card from construction paper for Great-Grandma Betty.
Then we played Candy Land.
After that, we baked your favorite chocolate-filled banana muffins. Except I didn't have any Nutella, so we had to use chocolate chips - but that was fine. Chocolate chips are easier to snack on while you're mixing.
Then you helped me with the laundry.
And we read some books.
Now you are taking a nap.
When you wake, there will be popcorn and a movie.
Today is what I used to dream about having while sitting at my little desk.
Today is a dream come true.
Thursday, 14 February 2013
Captain Squash!
I'm way behind, and have to make a post about all of the hilarious things you do and say. However, this one needs immediate attention.
You invented a super hero. His name is Captain Squash.
Captain Squash's super powers consist of:
Best. Super hero. Ever.
You invented a super hero. His name is Captain Squash.
Captain Squash's super powers consist of:
- Flying
- Getting rid of monsters
- Turning on the lights, so kids won't be afraid
Best. Super hero. Ever.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
Happily Ever After
It's how all fairy tales end. And having once been a little girl, I can say with a fair amount of certainty, that little girls all dream of their "happily ever after". Right now you are too young to even know what that means. But it will only be a few short years before your dreams start to unfold. And they will shift and change and mold and evolve, but always lead to that "happily ever after".
And as you get older, you will look upon your parents and see their flaws and downfalls. You will watch them make stupid mistakes and hurt themselves. And you'll likely say "I'll never make the mistakes my parents make." And then one day you will. And you won't even know you have done it until it's been done. It will make you question all sorts of things about yourself. It will make you question your intelligence. It may even make you question your strength. But you'll eventually move forward thinking you've conquered this flaw, and you'll boldly go onward saying "well, now I know for certain!" - until the next mistake. And there will be times when you think all is lost. There will be a time when you look upon "happily ever after" with a bitter heart, and your faith will falter.
And here's what no one will ever tell you: "Happily Ever After" doesn't mean you will never have heartache, hard times, or make mistakes. You will do and have all of these things from now until you die. At least, this is what I gather from both experience and observation. So what is "happily ever after" then? Is it something just for fairy tales? An unrealistic expectation for little girls to pine after all their lives? Or maybe living happily ever after doesn't mean never feeling sadness or pain. Maybe it means persevering through those things - and at the end of every hard day, still being able to love freely and laugh.
Maybe.
May we all live happily ever after.
<3 nbsp="nbsp" p="p">
And as you get older, you will look upon your parents and see their flaws and downfalls. You will watch them make stupid mistakes and hurt themselves. And you'll likely say "I'll never make the mistakes my parents make." And then one day you will. And you won't even know you have done it until it's been done. It will make you question all sorts of things about yourself. It will make you question your intelligence. It may even make you question your strength. But you'll eventually move forward thinking you've conquered this flaw, and you'll boldly go onward saying "well, now I know for certain!" - until the next mistake. And there will be times when you think all is lost. There will be a time when you look upon "happily ever after" with a bitter heart, and your faith will falter.
And here's what no one will ever tell you: "Happily Ever After" doesn't mean you will never have heartache, hard times, or make mistakes. You will do and have all of these things from now until you die. At least, this is what I gather from both experience and observation. So what is "happily ever after" then? Is it something just for fairy tales? An unrealistic expectation for little girls to pine after all their lives? Or maybe living happily ever after doesn't mean never feeling sadness or pain. Maybe it means persevering through those things - and at the end of every hard day, still being able to love freely and laugh.
Maybe.
May we all live happily ever after.
<3 nbsp="nbsp" p="p">
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
How Time Flies...
It took 6 months to get here, but here we are. Far from New Jersey, and in the middle of Wisconsin.
There is no way to explain to you what has transpired these last few weeks. I don't know if I would know where to begin. And as I sit here typing this, I can only wonder what the circumstances of our lives will be when you finally read this.
6 months is a long time. It doesn't seem that long, but it's a long time. And it's especially long to be separated as a family. I don't think I'll ever fully grasp how it affected you. I know it did. I watched it. I only wish I was able to comprehend how you are putting things together at this age. You were angry at your Dad because you thought he left. I recognized that. But you are also 3, so you moved on. But I wonder sometimes if you still do not trust him fully. I wonder if you sense the tension. I wonder if you can feel what I do. Now, you're scared. And to be perfectly frank with you, so am I. And you are holding on to me for support pretty tightly. And I am being the strongest person I am able to be for you. That's what moms do. You help me find strength I never knew I even had. And every single day I pray to whoever is listening that I do not fail you. Failure is simply not an option.
And someday I know I'll explain this all to you. All that was happening right in front of you, without you being able to understand. Some day you'll look back, and you'll understand better, but you'll also have a lot of questions. And I'll answer you with all honesty. Because if there is one thing I have learned through out all of this, it's that honesty is hard - but it's worth it. Your mom is not perfect, but God knows I try my damnedest to be the best mother in the world for you. And I still don't know if I'm doing it quite right. Time will tell, I suppose.
I may not have all the answers for either of us, but I'll always keep trying for you and me, my sweet little Bug.
<3 p="p">
There is no way to explain to you what has transpired these last few weeks. I don't know if I would know where to begin. And as I sit here typing this, I can only wonder what the circumstances of our lives will be when you finally read this.
6 months is a long time. It doesn't seem that long, but it's a long time. And it's especially long to be separated as a family. I don't think I'll ever fully grasp how it affected you. I know it did. I watched it. I only wish I was able to comprehend how you are putting things together at this age. You were angry at your Dad because you thought he left. I recognized that. But you are also 3, so you moved on. But I wonder sometimes if you still do not trust him fully. I wonder if you sense the tension. I wonder if you can feel what I do. Now, you're scared. And to be perfectly frank with you, so am I. And you are holding on to me for support pretty tightly. And I am being the strongest person I am able to be for you. That's what moms do. You help me find strength I never knew I even had. And every single day I pray to whoever is listening that I do not fail you. Failure is simply not an option.
And someday I know I'll explain this all to you. All that was happening right in front of you, without you being able to understand. Some day you'll look back, and you'll understand better, but you'll also have a lot of questions. And I'll answer you with all honesty. Because if there is one thing I have learned through out all of this, it's that honesty is hard - but it's worth it. Your mom is not perfect, but God knows I try my damnedest to be the best mother in the world for you. And I still don't know if I'm doing it quite right. Time will tell, I suppose.
I may not have all the answers for either of us, but I'll always keep trying for you and me, my sweet little Bug.
<3 p="p">
Sunday, 8 July 2012
What kind of paradise am I looking for?
And without even realizing it, you and i are embarking on a new adventure tomorrow. Your father starts a new job in Wisconsin tomorrow. But you and I are staying here - for the time being, as least. And plans that are supposed to be laid out and in order are still a jumbled pile of ideas and thoughts of various different paths, none yet actually chosen. That type of shit drives me nuts, but your father has always seemed to thrive this way. And eventually, you and I will catch up to him on his road. We'll leave New Jersey. And what an odd concept that is... a place I've been dying to run from since I first set foot in its boarders 12 years ago. Now that the moment is upon me, I find the roots I've grown go deeper in the earth than I ever realized.
But the next 3 months will be about us... 3 months of just you and me. I'm incredibly frightened of this. And it's not that I think I can't handle being a single parent for a while. And it's not that I don't love spending all the time in the world with you. But there's a weird thing about parenthood that no one ever seems to mention - it gets lonely. I think that's why there are all those "mom" groups. At least it's company. But it's true - parenthood gets lonely. Friends without children don't like getting bogged down with kid stuff, and friends with children are just as busy as you are running around like a crazy person trying to care for their kids and tend to their lives. And at the end of the day, when I'm sitting downstairs while you snore away, I will only find wine and ms. difranco for company. where we used to revel in the "adult time" together, I will find myself having to fill it alone.
and as hard is it's going to be, maybe that's all for the better.
<3
But the next 3 months will be about us... 3 months of just you and me. I'm incredibly frightened of this. And it's not that I think I can't handle being a single parent for a while. And it's not that I don't love spending all the time in the world with you. But there's a weird thing about parenthood that no one ever seems to mention - it gets lonely. I think that's why there are all those "mom" groups. At least it's company. But it's true - parenthood gets lonely. Friends without children don't like getting bogged down with kid stuff, and friends with children are just as busy as you are running around like a crazy person trying to care for their kids and tend to their lives. And at the end of the day, when I'm sitting downstairs while you snore away, I will only find wine and ms. difranco for company. where we used to revel in the "adult time" together, I will find myself having to fill it alone.
and as hard is it's going to be, maybe that's all for the better.
<3
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