"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
Tuesday, 12 June 2012
There will be an answer
I doubt you'll ever remember this day. You will have been on this earth for 32 months in two days. We spent all evening in a hospital because tonight very well may be your father's cousin's last hours on earth. We bussed home from Manhattan, discussing what we may and may not have to explain to you. No one wants to explain death to their kids, but it's always a necessity at some point. We avoided the awkward conversation today, as you were too little to actually go to into the ICU ward where Eric is. But you smiled, and giggled, and gave out hugs in the waiting room. A much needed breath of cheer.
Eric was not expected to live beyond 6 months, let alone 24 years. His brain stem is not attached to his spinal cord. He has no mobility. He cannot eat - must be fed via feeding tube. He cannot speak. He does have brain activity, but not a single person has any idea of how much of our world he is cognizant of. For all we know, he could be the world's biggest genius, but trapped inside a broken body with no way out.
I stood by Eric today and looked at him for a while. I wasn't really sure what to say. I was never really able to get to know him... and how could I truly? But I reflected on the way this world works. When I was pregnant with you, they found a hormone missing from my blood and that caused enough concern for me to be sent to a gene therapist. When your father and I told this gene therapist that he has a first cousin with a severe birth defect, that was enough to get me put on watch. Eric was the reason I was monitored so closely. Eric changed the entire scope of my pregnancy with you.
As a mother, I now look at Sue with massive amounts of sympathy. No parent should outlive their child. No child's death is easy for a parent, even for a child as disabled as Eric. I watched you play and laugh and cry this evening. And mostly I realized that Sue was robbed of all of this with Eric. And I wanted to cry... and I thought about how many times she must have had these thoughts the last 24 years and did cry.
So you won't remember Eric. But I want you to know that there was once a disabled boy who never moved or spoke that made a ripple in your life before you were even out of the womb. Sometimes the only thing you need to do to make a difference, is just be.
Eric was not expected to live beyond 6 months, let alone 24 years. His brain stem is not attached to his spinal cord. He has no mobility. He cannot eat - must be fed via feeding tube. He cannot speak. He does have brain activity, but not a single person has any idea of how much of our world he is cognizant of. For all we know, he could be the world's biggest genius, but trapped inside a broken body with no way out.
I stood by Eric today and looked at him for a while. I wasn't really sure what to say. I was never really able to get to know him... and how could I truly? But I reflected on the way this world works. When I was pregnant with you, they found a hormone missing from my blood and that caused enough concern for me to be sent to a gene therapist. When your father and I told this gene therapist that he has a first cousin with a severe birth defect, that was enough to get me put on watch. Eric was the reason I was monitored so closely. Eric changed the entire scope of my pregnancy with you.
As a mother, I now look at Sue with massive amounts of sympathy. No parent should outlive their child. No child's death is easy for a parent, even for a child as disabled as Eric. I watched you play and laugh and cry this evening. And mostly I realized that Sue was robbed of all of this with Eric. And I wanted to cry... and I thought about how many times she must have had these thoughts the last 24 years and did cry.
So you won't remember Eric. But I want you to know that there was once a disabled boy who never moved or spoke that made a ripple in your life before you were even out of the womb. Sometimes the only thing you need to do to make a difference, is just be.
Sunday, 20 May 2012
Schizophrenia
It's crazy how all of my life decisions revolve around you. Don't get me wrong, I was not so naive to think that I could have a child and go back to living my life in the exact same way. However, I never stopped to think that having a child could dictate my entire career path. I'm miserable in my current job. I was offered another more in my chosen field, with lots of opportunity. I turned it down. It was half the salary I make now with no benefits. And I'm really not that upset about it. I don't want you to read this one day and think that I gave up this great thing because I had to feed my family. I have no doubt other things will come along. But what kills me is my only impetus for the decision was you. I went back and forth on it. On the one hand, my current job drives me crazy, but it pays well, gives me benefits, and is super flexible. On the other hand, this other job would make me far happier than I am now and had a much better commute. Keeping my current job was the "responsible" decision. But will it discourage you from taking chances? Is the message I'm sending "It's better to have a big pay check than to be happy"? And I get that you're 2, and you're probably not quite this philosophical yet (but hey, you're pretty advanced). But the last thing I want is for this to become a pattern. Patterns lead to ways of life. I don't want you to learn the pattern of give up your dreams for money. But I also don't want you to be so reckless that you wind up with nothing. The balance in between the two is a fine, fine line and I don't know that I know how to teach you to walk that tight rope. So as your parent, I'm your safety net... but I still feel like I'm walkingt the wire too. I'm doing both a once and it's a maddening stunt.
This is the real reason kids make parents crazy.
Well, this and the constant screaming. :)
In the end, we're molding each other, Bug-a-bug...
This is the real reason kids make parents crazy.
Well, this and the constant screaming. :)
In the end, we're molding each other, Bug-a-bug...
Sunday, 22 April 2012
Awesome stuff you say
While watching Sesame Street: "Mommy... Elmo is always naked."
On a particularly rushed morning: "What the hell is the matter??"
Feeling better after a particularly nasty stomach bug: "I want to eat EVERYTHING!"
Thoughtful potty moment: "Mommy, girls can ride dinosaurs!"
Holding a new stuffed pig: Me: "What's her name?" You: "A frog!"
Over Xbox to Jill: "You got pwned! BOOM!" (ok, i fed you the first line, but you totally improvised the 'boom')
On a particularly rushed morning: "What the hell is the matter??"
Feeling better after a particularly nasty stomach bug: "I want to eat EVERYTHING!"
Thoughtful potty moment: "Mommy, girls can ride dinosaurs!"
Holding a new stuffed pig: Me: "What's her name?" You: "A frog!"
Over Xbox to Jill: "You got pwned! BOOM!" (ok, i fed you the first line, but you totally improvised the 'boom')
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
I loved you first
You're snuggled on my shoulder, rubbing your binky, and slowly but surely falling asleep. It's so sad when you are sick. You are always smiling, laughing, and generally having a good time. But when you are sick, even if it's just a little pink eye, you're generally just sad. Of course you're a little grumpy and cranky. But mostly, you're just sad. You want to cuddle on the couch. You cry at anything. And it's so heartbreaking to see that childhood giddiness slip away from you. Even if it's just for a little while.
And now you're picking your nose. You're timing is impeccable.
But you're sleeping. And normally this is a time of day I cherish. My few moments of self time or time with your daddy before I, too, succumb to my exhaustion. But today, despite having spent the day with you, I miss you. Because you weren't yourself today, maybe? Because even simple things like pink eye can throw a day into such a whirlwind that neither of us get to be our relaxed, normal selves with each other. Perhaps it is an overlooked phenomenon of being a working mother: that our time together seems so limited, that we are both so overjoyed to have one another at the end of the day, that we couldn't help but be our relaxed, giggly selves. And I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse.
Never in a million years would I have ever guessed that love could be defined with snores, drool, and eye snot. But as you sleep here on my now goopy shoulder, I cannot imagine a more glorious moment.
I love you forever.
And now you're picking your nose. You're timing is impeccable.
But you're sleeping. And normally this is a time of day I cherish. My few moments of self time or time with your daddy before I, too, succumb to my exhaustion. But today, despite having spent the day with you, I miss you. Because you weren't yourself today, maybe? Because even simple things like pink eye can throw a day into such a whirlwind that neither of us get to be our relaxed, normal selves with each other. Perhaps it is an overlooked phenomenon of being a working mother: that our time together seems so limited, that we are both so overjoyed to have one another at the end of the day, that we couldn't help but be our relaxed, giggly selves. And I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse.
Never in a million years would I have ever guessed that love could be defined with snores, drool, and eye snot. But as you sleep here on my now goopy shoulder, I cannot imagine a more glorious moment.
I love you forever.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Thursday, 5 January 2012
Amy
We were at your Grandmother's one afternoon, discussing your odd sleep habits. You would go to sleep relatively fine every evening in your own bed, but around 3am you'd wake up and come running into our room completely freaked out. Only when discussing this with your Grandma did it dawn on me to ask you what you were scared of (sometimes I do forget that you are a tiny human being capable of speech).
Me: Lily, does something in your room scare you?
You: Yes.
Me: What's scary in your room?
You: Amy is scary.
Me: Amy?
You: Yeah... Amy is scary. She scares me.
Me: ...
Me: Do you mean Aunt Amy?
You: No! Amy in my room!
Ok. So here's where crazy mother fears and rationality have an argument. Rational human being says "oh, she's 2. what an active imagination!" Crazy mother fears say "OHMYGOD! WTF HAPPENED TO MY POOR LITTLE CHILD THAT SHE HAD TO MANIFEST SOME IMAGINARY PERSON???" The only bright side to having these loud, irrational, crazy mother fears is that I now understand my mother's freak outs when I would come home late and not call. "YOU COULD'VE BEEN DEAD IN A DITCH!!" I will likely scream this at you one day. I'm sure it's little solace that you will also scream it at your child.
Back to the tale... The next day while in your room, I remember to ask you about Amy. I ask if you can show me where Amy is. You point up to the wall above your bed where a small dress is hanging. It's a dress that was once mine when I was about 3 months old. I had very little to decorate your room when you were a baby, so I hung this cute, old dress up. I guess in the middle of the night, a body-less dress floating over your head is kind of creepy. Go figure.
I then had to have a conversation with the dress.
Me: Amy, did you scare Lily?
Amy: ....
Me: Amy, that was not nice. It is not nice to scare people. You need to go to time out.
Amy: .....
I then put the dress in your closet, and figured that would be that. I was wrong... Later that night at dinner...
You: Mommy, Amy is in time out.
Me: Yes. She is in time out for scaring you.
You: Yeah... but she's all done time out.
Me: She's all done?
You: Yeah. I want to go upstairs and talk to her.
Me: Um.... are you sure?
You: Yeah. Let's go get Amy!
So we head up stairs, where we get the dress out the closet and again tell her that it's not nice to scare people. You then give the dress and hug and a kiss and ask Amy to be your friend. As the dress does not actually speak, I assure you that Amy is in fact your friend now, and would do her best not to scare you any more. It's been about a month, and you still like to talk to Amy.
This is how you got your first imaginary friend, Amy.
Me: Lily, does something in your room scare you?
You: Yes.
Me: What's scary in your room?
You: Amy is scary.
Me: Amy?
You: Yeah... Amy is scary. She scares me.
Me: ...
Me: Do you mean Aunt Amy?
You: No! Amy in my room!
Ok. So here's where crazy mother fears and rationality have an argument. Rational human being says "oh, she's 2. what an active imagination!" Crazy mother fears say "OHMYGOD! WTF HAPPENED TO MY POOR LITTLE CHILD THAT SHE HAD TO MANIFEST SOME IMAGINARY PERSON???" The only bright side to having these loud, irrational, crazy mother fears is that I now understand my mother's freak outs when I would come home late and not call. "YOU COULD'VE BEEN DEAD IN A DITCH!!" I will likely scream this at you one day. I'm sure it's little solace that you will also scream it at your child.
Back to the tale... The next day while in your room, I remember to ask you about Amy. I ask if you can show me where Amy is. You point up to the wall above your bed where a small dress is hanging. It's a dress that was once mine when I was about 3 months old. I had very little to decorate your room when you were a baby, so I hung this cute, old dress up. I guess in the middle of the night, a body-less dress floating over your head is kind of creepy. Go figure.
I then had to have a conversation with the dress.
Me: Amy, did you scare Lily?
Amy: ....
Me: Amy, that was not nice. It is not nice to scare people. You need to go to time out.
Amy: .....
I then put the dress in your closet, and figured that would be that. I was wrong... Later that night at dinner...
You: Mommy, Amy is in time out.
Me: Yes. She is in time out for scaring you.
You: Yeah... but she's all done time out.
Me: She's all done?
You: Yeah. I want to go upstairs and talk to her.
Me: Um.... are you sure?
You: Yeah. Let's go get Amy!
So we head up stairs, where we get the dress out the closet and again tell her that it's not nice to scare people. You then give the dress and hug and a kiss and ask Amy to be your friend. As the dress does not actually speak, I assure you that Amy is in fact your friend now, and would do her best not to scare you any more. It's been about a month, and you still like to talk to Amy.
This is how you got your first imaginary friend, Amy.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
Happiness...
Happiness is coming home from work, kissing your father, and having you bounce behind me saying "Mommy, I want kisses too!!"
This is, in fact, the exact definition of happiness.
This is, in fact, the exact definition of happiness.
Sunday, 23 October 2011
2
Can't quite say why I haven't written anything since your birthday. It's a milestone, after all. 2 years. 2 years in existence. A bit odd. I think I barely remember life before you. Seems like this long ago distance youth. You are so much more fun than the late night drinking and running around. You have breathed childhood back into me. I've been remembering little things I had long forgotten because I see them in you. It's a lovely thing.
Funny toddler story of the day: Argilia took you shopping for your birthday today. Being a practical mother, I had suggested a winter coat. But of course, Argilia wasn't done there. So, I then suggested a hat/mitten set to go with the coat. Of course, I let you pick it out. You chose a purple knit hat with a monster face on the front and a ridiculous blue and purple tassel on top (need to insert pictures into these things). You promptly placed it over your head (entirely over your head) sideways and jumped out at random shoppers shouting "peek-a-boo!" I seriously almost peed myself. I have no doubt you made at least half a dozen people's day.
I hope you always remain that ridiculous.
Funny toddler story of the day: Argilia took you shopping for your birthday today. Being a practical mother, I had suggested a winter coat. But of course, Argilia wasn't done there. So, I then suggested a hat/mitten set to go with the coat. Of course, I let you pick it out. You chose a purple knit hat with a monster face on the front and a ridiculous blue and purple tassel on top (need to insert pictures into these things). You promptly placed it over your head (entirely over your head) sideways and jumped out at random shoppers shouting "peek-a-boo!" I seriously almost peed myself. I have no doubt you made at least half a dozen people's day.
I hope you always remain that ridiculous.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Be the subject of your own life.
Once again, I take too long a pause to write to you. I need to get better at this. I thought I'd share some inspiration I received today. My boss quit her job so she could spend more time with her daughter. I have to admit, I'm jealous. I've wanted to do that for some time. Her boyfriend, however, is one of the producers of Wicked... so, she can pretty much do whatever she damn well pleases, and not have to worry ever. Not so much the case with your family. Sorry Bug. Maybe one day we'll have the craft bins I dream of. And the lazy spring Saturdays in the park. And mornings baking cookies. And hours reading books together. For now, it's all survival, though. But you know what? When I daydream to escape reality, I'm always spending time with you.
<3
<3
Saturday, 20 August 2011
Stormy Weather
Last night a new little addition to the extended family came into this world. And it occurred to me that she entered this world much the same way you did - during a crazy storm. And I sat and thought about this for a while. Perhaps this is the way the Goddess welcomes strong women into the world. And not just strong women. Women who will grow with strength, courage, and fire in their heart. Women who will know what it is to love both tenderly and fiercely. Women whose minds and hands will change the world in some fashion. A storm, which brings renewal and life and cleanses the earth - A Goddess's baptism for women of a certain nature. Her welcome to motherhood for the Earth Mama's who will raise these amazing girls into women. A storm, I think, is the greatest type of welcome, held only for those who deserve it.
On Thursday, you said to me, "Mommy, I want to play in the rain." And so we did, if only for a few minutes. You are without doubt a child of the Goddess and an Earth Mother's daughter. And you have a new sister now. Not a sister of blood, but a sister of water, wind, and thunder. What a glorious sister to have.
On Thursday, you said to me, "Mommy, I want to play in the rain." And so we did, if only for a few minutes. You are without doubt a child of the Goddess and an Earth Mother's daughter. And you have a new sister now. Not a sister of blood, but a sister of water, wind, and thunder. What a glorious sister to have.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Toddler emotions
We went out to dinner at Perkins last night. Your father and I questioned the sanity of our decision as daycare had informed us that you hadn't napped and that they lost your binky. As this was the first evening your Dad took off all week, we decided to give it a shot. You did okay through out, but towards the end you got quite cranky. As we were leaving, you got super angry about something or other. You yelled, you screamed, and then you hit me in the face half a dozen times or so. When we got out of the doors, I yelled at you stating "you don't hit!", and you hit me again. You were mad at me, and insisted that Daddy put you in the car. Then you melded down even more when you had no binky for the car ride. Exasperated, I drove pulled out of the parking lot with you screaming your head off. A mile or two down the road, you suddenly stopped screaming. We had the following conversation:
Lily: Mommy?
Me: Yes Lily?
Lily: I love you.
Me: I love you too, Lily.
Lily: Mommy. I'm crying.
Me: I know you are crying. Is it because I made you mad?
Lily: You made me mad.
Me: You made me mad, too. I don't like it when you hit me. It hurts.
Lily: I'm sorry, Mommy.
Me: It's okay. I'm sorry too.
And you were fine for the rest of the car ride. We ended up going to a park we had never been to, and had an absolute blast. But at not even 2 years old, you are starting to get a grasp on your emotions. I'm still blown away by how rapidly you are developing your self-understanding. It's amazing.
Lily: Mommy?
Me: Yes Lily?
Lily: I love you.
Me: I love you too, Lily.
Lily: Mommy. I'm crying.
Me: I know you are crying. Is it because I made you mad?
Lily: You made me mad.
Me: You made me mad, too. I don't like it when you hit me. It hurts.
Lily: I'm sorry, Mommy.
Me: It's okay. I'm sorry too.
And you were fine for the rest of the car ride. We ended up going to a park we had never been to, and had an absolute blast. But at not even 2 years old, you are starting to get a grasp on your emotions. I'm still blown away by how rapidly you are developing your self-understanding. It's amazing.
Monday, 25 July 2011
Seriously, it works like you wouldn't believe....
I will one day miss the day when I could bribe you with applesauce.
<3
<3
Monday, 27 June 2011
Thoughts on confidence
Read this article today: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-bloom/how-to-talk-to-little-gir_b_882510.html?ref=fb&src=sp
My knee-jerk reaction was to agree with it 100%. After all, girls are so much more than clothes, make-up, and hair. We are intelligent, willful, individualized creatures. We have interests, ideas, dreams, and responsibilities. And yet, it seems every ice breaker, especially with little girls, is "what a cute dress!" or "what pretty hair!" or "you're just adorable!" And one simply cannot get angry at a genuine compliment. Although, after the 800th "she's so cute" I do sometimes want to scream "she's more than CUTE!".
But I kept thinking on this subject throughout the day. You, as an adolescent girl, will be bombarded. And to be honest, there is little I can do to stop it. The media is everywhere. Even in schools now. And there is no avoiding the biggest cause of self-consciousness - other adolescent girls. So, if I know there's no protecting you, shouldn't I help to arm you? At the end of the day, I want you to know you're beautiful. I want you to walk around everyday knowing that you are gloriously built, from your head to your toes. I don't want you to ever look in a magazine, see a tv ad, or even look at another girl and even momentarily second-guess yourself.
So there's a balance somewhere, yes? I tell you everyday how beautiful you are, and then immediately remind you that you are more than beautiful? Sounds confusing, although I think that's the basic answer. I think at the end of the day, my goal is to help give you more self-confidence than I ever had growing up. And to help you understand how to love yourself as much as I love you.
So, Lily... you are beautiful. And you go far beyond that beauty. But, you're still beautiful.
My knee-jerk reaction was to agree with it 100%. After all, girls are so much more than clothes, make-up, and hair. We are intelligent, willful, individualized creatures. We have interests, ideas, dreams, and responsibilities. And yet, it seems every ice breaker, especially with little girls, is "what a cute dress!" or "what pretty hair!" or "you're just adorable!" And one simply cannot get angry at a genuine compliment. Although, after the 800th "she's so cute" I do sometimes want to scream "she's more than CUTE!".
But I kept thinking on this subject throughout the day. You, as an adolescent girl, will be bombarded. And to be honest, there is little I can do to stop it. The media is everywhere. Even in schools now. And there is no avoiding the biggest cause of self-consciousness - other adolescent girls. So, if I know there's no protecting you, shouldn't I help to arm you? At the end of the day, I want you to know you're beautiful. I want you to walk around everyday knowing that you are gloriously built, from your head to your toes. I don't want you to ever look in a magazine, see a tv ad, or even look at another girl and even momentarily second-guess yourself.
So there's a balance somewhere, yes? I tell you everyday how beautiful you are, and then immediately remind you that you are more than beautiful? Sounds confusing, although I think that's the basic answer. I think at the end of the day, my goal is to help give you more self-confidence than I ever had growing up. And to help you understand how to love yourself as much as I love you.
So, Lily... you are beautiful. And you go far beyond that beauty. But, you're still beautiful.
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