Avasmommy
Memories on a Map
The highway dips under a train track. For as long as I can remember the sensation of that sudden downward movement made my stomach flip every time we drove that way. The low bridge sign always made my minds eye envision a truck getting wedged under the bridge. Up the road there are raised strips on the pavement to let you know you are getting close to a 4 way stop sign. In summer it was always shady, thanks to oak trees and pine trees filtering the light.
Then there is the hill that runs through the center of town. It is where I once got stuck during a winter storm when the imbecile I was behind decided to stop halfway up. It is also the hill that houses the hospital my father died in. The same hospital that my mother worked in. The one that cared for me when I had to have a gall bladder removed.
There is the windy, hilly street that led to our neighborhood. On weekends teenagers, with their freedom from the realization of mortality would speed along, sometimes while drinking. The evidence of their jaunts was strewn across the ditches and yards; bottles and cans, and sometimes car parts.
The two lane state highway that wound through a forest. Driving it every single day, once up, once back. Once, diverting onto a logging road, all mud and grime. Pounding, sideways rain, all thanks to an asshole of a storm named Andrew.
Another two lane road. Houses scattered farther and farther apart as the town becomes smaller in the mirror. Passing by the church I found comfort in. Next the funeral home where I last saw my father.
A country road. Pavement at first, turning to gravel. Up and down small rises. One last turn, left. Home.
**I, for some reason, was on Google Maps today looking at the town I grew up in. Those streets are more than names on a map. They are my past. My memories.
24 Months
Today, my little sunshine, you are two. Two years old. Twenty four months. How can it seem so long and yet seem like no time at all?
Last year you were still a baby. You took your first steps on your first birthday. Now? You run. You run everywhere, with a wiggle to your bottom and a spring in your step.
Last year you didn’t talk much. This year you are constantly saying words and I think “when did that happen?” You can open doors, and also close them. You can climb steps. You gave up the bath in favor of the shower. Unless there are bubbles involved in that bath, then all bets are off. You feed yourself, you’re starting to drink from “big girl cups”. You wear shoes that light up when you walk. Everything I do, I have a little helper now. Laundry, dishes, making the bed, sweeping the floor. You want in on all the action.
Every day I see you gain a fraction more independence. It makes me proud. It makes me sad. One day I know you won’t need my help. One day I know you will leave to start a life and a family of your own. Every moment, every discovery takes you one step farther away from me. But not from my heart. My heart will always belong to you, baby girl. You’ve had it from the moment you were put into my arms. It will remain yours till the day I die.
I adore you sweet Avacakes. Thank you for two wonderful, sweet, love filled years. Happy birthday, my love.
Not Goodbye
I’ve struggled with what to do with this blog for a long time. Several months. I started it with the intention of writing about parenthood and my amazing daughter. Since then, rarely do I seem to write about either of those things. I rant. I whine. I complain. I have dealt with a lot of past issues through writing, here, in this space. But it’s not what I wanted it to be.
I want to have a journal of Ava’s childhood to look back upon. I want to remember how exasperated I got when she took all the mustard jars from the refrigerator half a dozen times as I was trying to make dinner. I want to remember how sweet it was that she came running up to me and wrapped her arms around my legs when I came home. I want to chronicle the little things. I want to post pictures of bubble baths, without worrying some random pervert in South America is stealing her pictures.
I want these things. I need these things.
That being said, I have come to a decision.
As of June 1, this blog will be private, open to members only. Seeing how I am unable in any way to keep my mouth shut for any given amount of time, I have decided to keep blogging publicly. But somewhere else.
If you would like to be a member of this site once it goes private, please leave me a comment.
If you would like to know where I’m going to be blogging next, again, leave a comment and I will contact you.
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Things I Don't Miss About Twitter
I’ve been gone from Twitter a couple of months now, and I can honestly say I don’t miss it one single bit. I made a great group of friends, and they are still my support, my sanity, and part of my heart, even though we all may not talk every day. Twitter brought me my very best friends. I am not in the least bit regretful of the time I spent there.
I thought I would miss a lot of things after I left. In truth, I don’t. It’s actually awesome as hell to not have to put up with a bunch of crap on a daily or weekly basis any longer. What could I possibly be talking about, you ask? Well, I’ve never been shy about voicing my opinion, so here you go. Warning: If you are still on Twitter and you do these things, you may get pissed off here. So, read ahead at your own risk.
1. Foursquare. Fucking Foursquare. Jesus Christ in a row boat. I don’t need to know where you bank, do your yoga, got a smoothie or the location of the vet that is currently expressing your dog’s anal glands. One day a thief is going to rob your dumb ass because all those places you keep telling everyone about? Only mean one thing: You ain’t at home, pal.
2. Yelp. See all of the above reasons for Foursquare.
3. Blip.fm If I wanted a personal DJ, I would hire one. A tweet with a song title and a link. Repeatedly. Now, some folks only do these once in a while, but I’ve followed people who “blipped” ALL. THE.FUCKING.TIME. Dude, ever hear of iTunes? Cds?
4. Twitter hashtag parties. The one sponsored by big corps. Tweets and RTs all fucking night long, that are basically nothing more that free ads for the companies involved. Yeah, I really want to spend my night reading about how great Rayovac batteries are and finding new uses for them. They’re fucking batteries. They make things that take batteries to run work. I think we got it. Moving along.
5. The fall Tv season – new episodes. Which of COURSE brings out the whiners and bitchers about spoilers. Websites devoted to shows post spoiler information all the time. I would gather that if you don’t want to know that information you probably don’t visit those sites. You don’t write the author complaining about his or her content, do you? Well, maybe some of you do. I don’t know. But shows elicit emotions and people are social creatures about emotions. They will want to share what they just saw and felt. It’s natural that they turn to social media to do so. Frankly, it’s rude to expect people to bow to your will. If you don’t want to read something about a show…stay the fuck off Twitter and Facebook till it’s over in your time zone. For over a year, I avoided Twitter on certain nights until I had a chance to watch my shows. It’s that simple.
Those are my top 5 things I don’t miss about Twitter. Every time I think about going back…all I gotta do is look at that list.
I Have A Friend
I have a friend.
I have a friend who thinks she’s not beautiful, but she is. Inside and out, she has beauty unlike any I have ever seen. Eyes that are deep and soulful. A million watt smile.
I have a friend who thinks she’s depressing, but she’s not. She is on a bumpy stretch of highway that is but a temporary detour to a smooth road ahead. It is ok to talk about the bumps. It’s ok to cry. It is ok to just be. Those who love you understand.
I have a friend who is a good friend. Even when she is down, she always manages to have a kind word of encouragement for her friends. She is always willing to kick a behind if needed. Or to hold out a hand in friendship, if asked for.
I have a friend who is funny, who makes me smile when I see her picture or her name. Even through the dark days, she has always made me laugh.
I have a friend who wishes things were perfect, who wishes she were more in control of where things are headed. Sometimes, though, it can be freeing to let go of the reins, even though it might be scary at first. Sometimes, you can’t have perfection, but just enjoy those perfect little moments as they come along.
I have a friend who is an awesome mom. She worries that she is missing out. She worries that he is missing out. However, what he is witnessing is a mom who never gives up. A mom who fights and keeps going. A mom who is strong. He will be a strong man, because of the mom that he has now.
I have a friend. A friend named Lu. I am very lucky to call her my friend. If you are lucky enough to call her a friend, too, tell me your favorite Lu moment. Tell me what YOU love about Lu.
Will The Circle Be Unbroken
Last night I handed out the first real punishment of my parenting career. To say I did not like it would be an understatement.
We had a pleasant enough evening to start off with. Dinner was pretty uneventful, and afterward I decided it was a good time to treat Ava to her first ever bubble bath. I started up the water and poured in the bubble making goo. Immediately we saw bubbles. This made Ava a very happy little person. Squealing and giggling commenced. We got in and had about half an hour of frolicking, blowing bubbles and dumping cups of water over each other. Then it was time to get out. And the trouble started. She didn’t want to get out. Never mind that the water was getting cold and the bubbles were pretty much gone. Except the ones that stuck to my ass – and why is it that always happens? Nary a bubble in sight…except for one’s derriere? But I digress. Protestations at leaving the tub commenced. Drying off? No thank you. Getting on a fresh diaper? Nope. Putting on pajamas? Nooooooo. What she did want to do was: turn the tub water back on, fill up the plastic cup with more water and dump it everywhere, pour soap into the tub in the vain effort to create another bubble bath, and in general be unruly. After the 3rd time she wouldn’t do what she was asked I had enough. Jammies went on, and she went straight to bed. Normally after bath time we have about 15 to 20 minutes of cuddle time, during which we usually watch Caillou and “discuss” the episode. We skipped the Caillou part last night. Let me just say that it was not well received. Anyone passing by our home last evening, upon hearing the wailing and sobbing that was being emitted from Ava’s room would have immediately called 911, certain that we were beating this child to within an inch of her life.
The sobbing and wailing did not last long, as it happened. Within 20 minutes or so, she was asleep. No, it didn’t scar her. I, however, was left to brood about it all night long, and a good part of today. I know she’s 2 and she doesn’t even remember last night. I know that this is the first of many times I am going to have to punish her in some form or fashion. What sucked was that in punishing her, I had to punish Darin and I as well. We got no cuddle time. We got no soft kisses and sweet goodnights as we put her to bed, as we do normally.
I keep flashing back to my own childhood. Having my stereo taken away, or being grounded for something I did, or said. I remember being so upset, thinking my world was OVER and OMG, I HATE YOU, HOW CAN YOU BE SO MEAN TO ME? I remember thinking my parents must not love me, for how could they be so cruel? I remember being told that I could not, after all, go to the Motley Crue/Poison concert in Memphis with my cousin. I don’t recall what I did to be kept from going, but I do remember feeling as though my reason to live had been taken from me. My father, in his quiet way just told me that we were doing this for my own good, and one day I’d thank him.
Of course, I grew up and realized that my punishments were for my own good, and while I may not be “thanking them later” I do understand now, as a mother, why they had to be doled out. I see battles in my future. I know I’ll have to pick which ones are worth fighting over. I see me butting heads with this girl. This strong willed, stubborn and so-like-her-mother girl. I see her yelling the same things to me that I said to my parents: “I hate you! If you loved me, you’d let me go!” I see her thinking that I’ve shattered her world because of something I’ve taken away. I’m hoping to come up with something better as a response. Something to help her understand that sometimes, you don’t always get what you want, and it’s ok. Life will go on. I want her to learn from her mistakes, not just be punished for them. I will love her enough to say “It’s okay” when she tells me she hates me , “Because I love you no matter what.”
Dear Avacakes: The Better Late Than Never Edition
Dear Avacakes,
When I began my last letter to you, I meant for it to become a regular feature here. Alas, as with so many things I begin with the best of intentions, it has not turned out that way. But I’m here now, and so I will attempt to cover all of the delightful little changes since my last letter to you.
Your speech is improving and you have a definite mastery of the word “No.” Do you want to eat dinner now? “No.” Would you like some peaches instead of applesauce for the 15billionth day in a row? “No.” Ready for nite-nite? “NO”. Come on, let’s not color on the walls, but on this lovely paper Mommy bought you. “No”. On the flip side of that you’ve learned the word “help”, and it’s delightful to have you bring something to me when you can’t figure it out on your own and say “help”. The one word I had hoped would take you longer to figure out (both the word and the meaning) is the word “hurt”. No matter how much I may want to wrap you up in cotton wool and protect you from the world, I cannot. Even at the tender age of two, you’ve learned that some things give you owies. At least this time it was cleared up with a cream and some hugs. The harder hurts, the ones of the heart that I know you will experience later on, will not be remedied so easily.
You acquired a new skill over the weekend, one that has me scrambling to find those door knob covers that were purchased so long ago in preparation for this day. After months of me trying to get you to twist the doorknob instead of just gingerly shaking it, on Friday you managed the “twist and pull”. Overcoming my horror at the fact that you can now open doors was a burst of maternal pride that had me clapping and yelling “Yaaay!”. So much so that you actually took a bow.
I love watching you imitate your favorite TV characters. If Caillou puts his finger on his chin while contemplating something, so do you. If he growls while pretending to be a bear, so do you. You also imitate pretty much everything Mommy and Daddy do, too. After watching me brush my teeth one morning, you took your own brush, ran it across your teeth and promptly spit on to the floor. You seem to have missed that whole “Spit in the SINK” part, but that’s ok. You’ll figure it out.
You are going through a shy phase right now. It started with you hiding your face when encountering a strange man, particularly an older man. That has pretty much led to an aversion to any and all strangers now. The first sign something is wrong is that you will go completely still. Then you will look down at the floor, unblinking. If by chance one of us misses these early cues, the next clue, screaming and crying will surely alert us that a stranger is nearby, and GASP! trying to make eye contact with you. Never fear, little one. Mommy or Daddy is always close with a warm hug and some reassuring words to make it all better.
One habit our little family has a longstanding tradition of is sport belching. Yes, Ava, you come from the classiest background. Burps in our house are rated, according to hang time, bass and volume. It is also the habit of your father and I, once the burping and judging of said burp is over, to look at the burper and say “pig!”. Rather hypocritical, I know, based upon the aforementioned point scale. However, none of this has escaped your notice. If either your father or I burp, you are quick to look at us, grinning and say “PIG!”
The enthusiasm you display for picture drawing now is much more than those tentative first swipes of crayon on paper. Now it’s bold strokes, strong swirls. You have a penchant for purple and yellow, and to my chagrin, black. Thank heaven for washable markers.
Sometime in the last month you decided that baths are the work of the devil and you’d rather shower with Mommy, thankyouverymuch. So each night, we hop in and you squeal with delight as the warm spray hits your tiny little body. I have to fill up your green plastic cup with water, over and over. You dump it all out and hand it back, asking for “more”. Or sing, “more, more, more”. (thanks Andrea True) Once we’ve cleaned you from head to toe, you hold up your arms, grinning, as I pick you up and hold you closer to the water. You open your mouth wide, and take in as much water as your little mouth will hold. And then, with an evil little smile….spit water all over me. Even though you’re shivering, we still have to chase you down to dry you off once the shower is over. Nothing delights you more than prancing around naked, your tiny little bottom wiggling as you run through the house.
I’m constantly amazed at your sweet spirit and generosity. You will gladly share the last bite of anything with us. Sometimes you will stop playing and run over and embrace me for no apparent reason. I hear you say “hug” softly, as you put your arm on my shoulder and gently pat it with your hand. Any other child your age, upon finding a bag of cookies, would dive in and eat as many as possible before being caught by the parent police. Not you. You put it back where you found it, come running to me and take me to the cookies. You hand me the bag and hold up one finger, indicating you’d like “just one”. How can I say no to that?
I’ve learned a lot about life by watching you change from a baby to a little girl. My heart swells and explodes with pride and joy every time I look at your lovely face. Some days, I’m not sure who is learning more, me or you. What I do know is that each day with you is a gift. I can’t wait to see what the next day brings.
Contest Winners!
You guys really cracked me up with all your great captions. It really was hard to pick winners, but we managed to narrow it down.
For Pic #1
1. Dee: baby hears an nearby creak and suddenly looks up startled and instinctively gathers her precious toy
For Pic #2
txtinmrdarcy: Using this purple plastic thing, I will show you what I learned from “24″ last night
For Pic #3
Domestic Extraordinaire: Okay, I am not sure how me sitting up is going to help you with that whole ‘rectangle growing out the front of your face’ problem, but we can give it a try.
All you winners email me with your address ( you can find it on the contact page) and gift card preference and I’ll get you your prize! Congrats.
An Open Letter To Pampers Vice President, Jodi Allen
This is a copy of a letter I sent to Pampers Vice President, Jodi Allen this morning. And if you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about?
Go here: http://www.kptv.com/video/23481190/
Frankly, I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any more.
Dear Ms. Allen,
Let me start off by saying that until a few weeks ago I was a loyal Pampers customer. My daughter is almost 2 and has been wearing Pampers from the day she was born. Being a working mother, I never once considered cloth diapering for my child. I asked every parent I knew for advice about diapers during my pregnancy, and overwhelmingly, time and time again I heard “We used Pampers. They were the best and had the fewest leaks.” I trusted my friends and family, so we stocked our nursery with Pampers Swaddlers as we prepared for our daughter’s arrival. Swaddlers were used on her the moment she was born. We changed to Cruisers as she outgrew Swaddlers. We experienced very few leaks.
About a month ago, I purchased a new box of Cruisers. These had the new Dry Max Technology. I didn’t think much about it, having trusted the Pampers brand for the last two years. Almost immediately, I noticed my daughter scratching her bottom and stomach. Within days she had redness on her bottom, and pimple like blisters developing. These blisters spread to her genitals, and even on to the lower part of her stomach. We tried several different over the counter creams, and even a prescription cream we had left over from her last diaper rash (that looked NOTHING like this current one). Nothing worked. I was at my wit’s end. It was obvious it was painful, as she would wince and say “hurt” if I touched one of the sores. I started doing research online and discovered that hundreds, if not thousands, of other babies were dealing with the same issue. Our common thread? All several thousand of us, from all walks of life and different parts of this country? Pampers Dry Max.
I’m sorry Ms. Allen, but I don’t believe this is coincidence. There has to be something in these diapers that is causing allergic reactions and in some case, much worse.
I cannot stress to you how upsetting and frustrating, not to mention disappointing, it is to see the response from your company, specifically from you. Instead of being sympathetic or concerned, and saying “Maybe we SHOULD look into this”, you’ve chosen to vilify the mothers out there who want nothing more than to protect the children they’ve brought into the world. We’re not all cloth diaper advocates. We don’t work for your competition. We’re asking for a company to do what’s right. What’s fair. We’re asking to be treated with simple respect. Instead we’ve been slandered. We’ve been portrayed as bad parents or stupid parents.
I’m 37 years old. I am educated. I have a good job. I’m not stupid. I know how to change a diaper and I know how often a baby should be changed. If it were my lackadaisical parenting, my daughter would have been experiencing these rashes for her entire life.
When this entire thing started, I would have gladly stayed with the Pampers brand if the old diapers had been brought back. At this point, I can no longer say that. I can no longer give my money to a company that thinks so little of its consumer as to slander and insult them when a problem arises. If this is how Pampers and Proctor and Gamble wish to do business, I will no longer be a consumer of their products. I realize that your company’s bottom line will not be affected one penny by my refusal to buy your products. However, I will sleep better at night knowing that my hard earned money went to a company that does not attack the very consumer to whom they are beholden for their success.
________________________
If you’ve been using Pampers and have not been having problems, I am grateful for that. Truly I am. Because what I and thousands of other moms have been through with our kids has not been pleasant.
I write here
I’ve Been Featured On:
I Guess I Don’t Suck
