Three
Today, my darling girl, you turned three.
There was food, and presents, and candles that you blew out not once, not twice, not three times, but at least four times. We sang happy birthday as you beamed with excitement. Your best friend Ella was here to celebrate with you. You bounced together, squirted each other with water pistols, played with all your toys, new and old.
We celebrated you today. Not just because you’re three. But because you are so special.
Today you are such a remarkably different girl than two. Three can unwrap her own presents. Three can climb the slide at the playground without fear. Three can put on her own shoes, and her own clothes. Three can speak in full sentences, when the you of two worried me about your lack of speech. Three can fully articulate what you need.
I cannot tell you how much my heart melts when you run to me, arms open wide, and say “MOMMY! I missed you!”. I cannot tell you how much my insides burst with happiness when you hug me and say “I love you Mommy”, without me telling you first.
I can’t tell you how proud I am of you when you share your toys and your snacks. I can’t tell you how I teared up today when you walked up to a strange girl on the playground, without fear and said “Come on, let’s play”.
I can’t tell you all these things because there simply aren’t words that will do my feelings justice.
I am so blessed to watch you grow into such a remarkable young girl. Even though each step forward, each new skill, takes you one step closer to independence. One step farther away from me. I want for you all the confidence and joy that is possible.
I wear these, every day:
Your name engraved on both. But they mean so much more to me than that. Every time my bracelet jingles, or I touch my necklace, I think of you and your sweet smile.
This past year has been a challenging one. You have faced it all and come through it with more grace than I have. You definitely know how to roll with the punches.
I hope your day was as joyful as mine was. Today is special to us both. it’s the day you came into the world. And it’s the day I became mommy to the most precious girl in the world.
Happy Birthday, sweet angel. I love you to the moon and back. 
On Changes
There is a moment each morning when I awake, before my eyes open, that I don’t remember.
Then I peer out at my surroundings and through the fog my brain registers the difference.
The walls are different now, the bed seems taller, but it’s just that the ceiling is much closer than before.
My feet hit a cold, hardwood floor, instead of carpet. It’s a slightly longer walk to the bathroom.
There is quiet. Even in the early morning, when the sounds of soft toddler slumber are floating in the air over the monitor, there is so much quiet. Only soft call of a dove in a nearby tree or the random passing of a car on the street disturbs the quiet.
It’s all so new.
I wouldn’t go back to the old. Not for any amount of money or fame, or whatever it is people wish for when they see a shooting star.
My days are generally happy ones. Sometimes punctuated with some residual anger or worry, but on the whole, happy. My life is my own again. I get to enjoy my daughter without interruption when she’s with me. I have time to enjoy things that are important to me when she’s not.
I can, and do, give her all of me when she’s present. She has my undivided attention. When she’s away, I turn that attention to myself, doing the things that make me happy. Painting. Cooking. Photography. Reading.
Rediscovering who I am and what I want to be.
I fully enjoy having a place that is mine and not ours.
There is so much pain and heartache in the past, but the end of the road also brings choices of direction to travel. Instead of trying to race to the end of the next road, I’m slowing down and enjoying the scenery on the path that I currently reside.
These are moments to remember. Moments to reflect and grow. To put the mistakes of the past behind me, and focus on being a good mom and a good friend. And most of all, good to myself, in ways I never knew I needed to be before.
It’s a good life, this new one.
But just for that one moment, I don’t remember.
Little Glass Houses
We all live in a glass house of some sort. There is always something about each and every one of us that we wouldn’t want to be judged upon.
I’ve written before about this. Why do women judge each other? We judge based on weight, eye color, hair color, clothing, nail polish color, and oh yes, how we raise our kids.
I don’t have any new answers to this. I’m just sick of the mom wars. Why aren’t there any dad wars? Are they simply more comfortable in their roles than we are? More confident?
The latest study by some “experts” and I use that term loosely, finds that working mothers have children who are ill more often than mothers who stay at home with their kids. They say things like ” Maternal employment imposes a burden on a mother’s time and may result in the poorer supervision or care of her children”
Wait.
Hold the phone.
Did they really just tell me that because I work, I am poorly supervising my child? So I guess all that time I spend looking at ingredient lists on boxes, cans and bags is a result of my poor supervision. Or the fact that each time Ava gets juice in stead of plain water, and I water down that juice with 75% water so as to keep a lid on her sugar intake, that’s the poor care they are talking about.
Should we talk about how she’s only had the flu once and never really had a cold? Sure she’s fallen and bonked her head or her knee. Show me a two and half year old who hasn’t, working mom or not and I’ll call you a liar.
And the fact that I make sure she gets her two vitamin chews each day, wow, I’m a real fucking slacker, aren’t I?
Their other assertion is that working moms have dirtier houses. Um. Maybe you can’t eat off my floors, but I’ll guaran-goddamn-tee you they’re not teeming cesspools of germs, either.
I know plenty of moms who don’t work who have homes that I would not dare to eat a meal in.
Let’s get this straight once and for all. It’s not whether or not we work outside the home that defines who and what we are as mothers. That boat sailed the moment a child was born. You are who you are.
My choices and the things I do for my daughter are right for her. Some nights we do fast food because we are running late. Most of the time we eat a home cooked meal, that’s relatively healthy. Some days Ava gets a cookie or some “Ms” (M & Ms). Some times she even gets a whole cup of juice, without the water to dilute it.
I am not the best mother ever. I am not the worst mother ever. I am not the mother to your children. You are not the mother to mine. I do what’s right, and what works for us. I may not be the best mother, but I am the mother my daughter needs me to be.
The “experts” can kiss my ass.
Impending – Pending
Some days it is a blank white canvas. It awaits colors and images. Fresh and new. Blank. It could be filled with people, love, laughter. New friends, old friends. The hope of new love. The hope of something better. It might be filled with bright flowers, a new home. One child becoming two.
Some days it is a black hole. Nothing is visible but darkness. No light creeps in from any corner. The road ahead invisible, blocked by a mountain of doubt and uncertainty.
I am a planner by nature. I don’t wait around to see what everyone else is doing and then figure out my own plans. I am a take charge, let’s get this done, person. Which is a difficult personality type to have when your life has been turned upside down.
I am stuck in neutral at the moment. Waiting. Waiting for this home to sell. Waiting for a date from the court to tell me this marriage is legally over. Forget practically. The expiration date on that has long since passed. Waiting on an agreement to find out which holidays I will get to enjoy with my sweet baby girl. Which ones I will spend alone.
Something I took for granted for so long: the simple joy of being with my child every day. No longer. Now her time will be split between between two homes. Two parents. Something that should be so easy for her – turning at once to both parents for security and love. She will have to do one at a time now.
She’s my baby. I carried her in my body for nine months. I was strapped to a table and cut open so that she could be born into this world. Born of my body. My flesh. My blood. The thought of going days without seeing her has ripped my heart to shreds.
Now I wait to see if we can agree on which days those will be. I wait to see if this house sells so I can choose our next home. I wait to see where my life travels next.
There are changes afoot. There are changes impending. But they are all pending something else.
And so. I wait.
How I Got My Groove Back – The Holiday Version
Last Christmas, Ava was only 18 months old. She wasn’t really into the whole lights, presents, gorge-yourself-until-you-spew aspect of the holiday. I was only mildly disappointed in her reaction to the 80 billion Christmas lights we strung up in the house. I knew her time was coming.
Fast forward a year. Ava is now 2 1/2. Every Christmas decoration we pass makes her giggle with delight. In Target, we spend a good hunk of our time just sitting in the tree section while she gazes wondrously at all the lights and exclaiming CHRISTMAS TREE over and over for the whole store to hear. It does no good to ask her to turn her volume down a bit. She’s simply too over come with excitement.
A house on our street has their yard decorations up, complete with an inflatable Charlie Brown and Snoopy, who just happen to be one of Ava’s current obsessions. I slow down each night as we near that house so that she can get a good look. Hearing the delight in her voice? Makes my heart oh, so happy.
I decided about a week ago I was going to get Ava her very own little tree. One that was pre-lit (she adores the colors of the lights). I hit up Target on Wednesday, only to discover they were sold out. Crap. I had been imagining the joy on her little face for days and I left highly disappointed. Not to be defeated, I cruised through Wal-Mart last night. Ding, ding, ding! Winner. A tree, and 4 packs of non breakable ornaments for under $30. SCORE!
I packed it all in my car, and picked up Ava. We headed home and had dinner. I kept the tree in my car, wanting to surprise her after she ate. I knew if I brought it out before dinner, my chances of getting her to actually eat anything would be worse than my chances of winning the next Power Ball.
While she played on the floor with her cars, I sneaked out to my car and brought in the tree. I de-boxed it. (If that’s not a word, it should be) I straightened out all the branches. I grabbed the video camera with one hand, and the tree with the other and headed down the hall.
That girl simply exploded with joy. I’ve never seen her so full of happiness and excitement. We plugged it in, and I opened up all the ornaments. We spent 15 minutes with her directing where they should go. Then? An hour admiring it. And saying CHRISTMAS TREE!
This morning, it was the second thing out of her mouth. When I left for work, she was sitting beside it, getting ready to direct her father on where it should be placed next in the house.
That little girl once again reminded me of what this season is about. Family. Joy. Doing something for others. She’s my family. Making her happy is all that I need. She may not remember this Christmas. But I certainly will. Thank you, baby girl. For giving me so much joy. I hope I can always give as much back to you.
Two Plus
You can put on your own shoes, without any help from me.
All bodies of water, whether they be rivers, ponds or lakes, to you, are called oceans.
You like to sit with an iPod and watch “Woogies” (Movies)
You very rarely have to be prompted to say Thank You.
You are obsessed with Alvin and the Chipmunks. You always want to cuddle for certain parts of the film.
You put your hands on your hips and sigh when something doesn’t go your way.
At the dinner table, when we are finished eating, you place your chin in your hands, look at one of us and say “So….” As if you are asking us to tell you about our day.
You love bubble baths and would spend hours in there, until the water is icy cold, if you were allowed to.
You love to play doctor and give everyone shots with your little syringe. After each shot, you always say “Sorry”.
Our current nickname for you is Silly Goose. And you often say “I’m a silly goose”.
You love to twirl. You spin round and round with your eyes pointed opposite the direction that you are traveling. It is known as Psycho Eyes.
You have a new-found love for your toy kitchen. You cook things and then place them in the fridge to cool down, just as mommy and daddy do with your food at dinner.
You no longer sleep alone, but with a menagerie of stuffed friends: Bear, Monkey, Abby, Puppy and Kitty. Pretty soon there will not be room in the bed for you!
You love having your toenails painted, or as you call it, making them pretty.
Everything has dead batteries if it doesn’t operate the way you think it should.
You hug freely and often now, the sweet girl I had hoped would be on the other side of the terrible twos shining through in small flashes.
All these things, on their own, are small things. Added up, they make up who you are and why I adore you so much.
Keep twirling, baby girl.
Like, Whoa.
I do believe this is the longest I’ve ever gone without posting here.
Life got in mah way.
I changed hosts, and thanks to many long hours of hard work on Caitlin’s part, the move to a new host is now completed and I can play again.
And Miss Avacakes.
Oh what a rollercoaster we’ve been on.
The terrible two’s have arrived with a vengance. She wasted no time. Most days she has her independence dial cranked up to 11, as Darin says. I hear a lot of “No! Mine” and “N! I do it!”
Or the just plain old “NO!” when I have the audacity to stroke her hair or put my hand gently on her back.
And then there are moments like last night. We have a nightly routine in which Caillou is involved, as well as “cudde” (cuddle) on the bed before nigh night time. Twice she rather abruptly jumped up and flung herself at me, embracing me in a bear hug, pressing her tiny little head against my chest.
Ava has had the pleasure of being at home all week, due to my mother in law catching the same plague that also blessed our house. Ava has been in the care of her grandfather, NanaJean, myself and Darin in a tag team effort of child care this week. On mornings that I had to leave her, she barrled across the room at me and hugged me tight, and in some cases even kissed me without me asking first.
Needless to say, I soak up these moments as though they were rays of sunshine on a cloudy day. Those are moments to treasure, ones that I want to freeze and burn into my memory forever. For I know that they are all too rare, too fleeting.
I find myself bursting with pride at the little girl that is emerging. She says “Thank you” without much, if any prompting these days. “Please” is harder to come by, but we’re working on it.
The best thing of all is that she finally had a speech evaluation and even though she’s a little behind, she’s not a candidate for therapy. She’s been making remarkable progress and is putting together small sentences and is more often than not, using more than one word a time now.
We have been having very interesting phone conversations in which I do most of the talking. She tells me about watching Caillou, going to the park, and gives me the low down on what has a dead battery. (If something doesn’t work the way she thinks it ought to, she says it’s either “broke” or has “dead battery”) This morning I told her I loved her and missed her over the phone and her response was “Ok, bye!” Not long on sentiment, this one.
I, for my part, have finally emerged from my allergy imposed indoor isolation and am able to spend some time outdoors without feeling as though I had been punched in the face afterwards. Which is nice, now that summer has finally arrived. Hopefully this weekend we can bust out the kiddie pool and create more adorable memories.
If you’re still reading this, I assume you’re either related to me or a really good friend. Either way, thanks for sticking around while we went through our transformation here.
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.
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.
I write here
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