The White Glove Test
If a stranger were to take a fine tooth comb to my house (or a white glove, as it were), they would find a house far from being spotless.
There is currently a plate sitting on my kitchen table with a half eaten peanut butter sandwich.
In my living room there are bits and pieces of a plastic toy tea set. Some on the sofa, some sitting in the window sill.
In that same room is a pile of clothing waiting to be put into a storage bag.
In my bedroom, if you look closely, you will see some small chocolate stains on sheets that haven’t been washed.
In my bathroom are plastic bath toys and several tiny washcloths.
What you don’t see – is that sandwich sitting there? Is because we spent so much time laughing at dinner we had to hurry to get jammies on and get ready for bed.
The bits of toys everywhere? Because the new tea set is so enthralling, it has to be enjoyed in every room of the house.
The clothing? Well, coloring on the floor was way more fun than sorting baby clothes.
The chocolate? A result of nibbling on fresh made cookies while snuggling in bed.
The toys and washcloths? What happens when a toddler decides she would rather shower with me than take a tub bath by herself.
Yeah, so maybe my house wouldn’t pass the white glove test. And you know what? I really don’t think I’d want it any other way.
Today I Am Mommy
When I was pregnant with Ava, I spent a lot of time playing imaginary movies in my head. Scenes from the future. Imagining my daughter being handed to me for the first time. Seeing a trip to the park. A pre-teen girl going shopping with me. I saw flashes of a life to be. Most of all? I imagined a sweet little girl looking up at me and saying “Mommy”.
When Ava started babbling at around 8 or 9 months old, I was terribly excited. She made all the usual sounds that most babies that age make. And like almost every other kid out there, she said Dada first. She would mutter mummum at times, but it was clear that she wasn’t indicating me when she said it.
Over the months, Dada has morphed into Daddy. She quite obviously means Darin when she says it. In the mornings when she wakes up, one of the first three words out of her mouth is always Daddy! However, the closest I have gotten up to now is hearing her yell : “MAMAMAMAMAMA!! And let me tell you, she isn’t asking for me when she says that. She is pissed off with a Capital P.
My daughter has turned my name into a curse word.
She knows who I am. If you ask her to point to her mommy, she points to me. For some reason up until last night, she just never felt the need to say it.
Until last night. We were finishing up dinner and having a silly chat. Like I do almost every night, I ask her if she loves Daddy, if she loves Mommy, Gramma, Grandpa, etc. I also asked her, again, like every night “Where’s Mommy?” Sometimes she’ll point at me. Sometimes she won’t.
Last night, not only did she point at me, she uttered the word I’ve been waiting almost 2 years to hear. Mommy.
She repeated it on the phone with me this morning. Mommy.
I know I’ve always been her mommy. I have been from the moment she was conceived. But, oh how my heart swells to hear her say it. Finally, today, I am Mommy.
One Is a Lonely Number
I knew it would happen. I thought I was ready for it. I was wrong.
I have several clients that had babies around the same time I had Ava. We chat from time to time about how our kids are doing, share stories of all being first time moms. I knew eventually one of them was going to tell me she was pregnant again. Yesterday it finally happened.
I’m truly happy for her and her husband. They’re darling people and I wish them all the happiness in the world. I truly do.
But hearing the news was like a physical blow to the stomach for me. I’m not having another baby this year. Or next year. Maybe not the year after. Maybe not ever. I’m 37 years old. By the time we are in a place that we can give what is needed to another baby, the simple fact is that I may be too old. But it can’t be helped.
Ava is going into preschool next year. That is going to take a huge chunk of money from our budget. So daycare for a second child? Not possible. We’ve been over the budget a million times and there just isn’t wiggle room. Not even if we cancel cable, never eat out again, and keep our cars once they are paid for. All the not eating McDonald’s for lunch in the world won’t equal up to full time day care costs and preschool for Ava.
My mother in law has provided care for Ava since I went back to work 4 weeks after she was born. Ava, that is, not my MIL. She’s done it free of charge. She’s done a wonderful job with her and I could never repay her for that. It’s been a huge burden lifted to have good, trusting care for my girl and not have the expense of daycare. But she doesn’t want to take full time care of another baby. I don’t blame her for that. She wants her time free, for herself, and at this stage in her life she’s earned it.
Unfortunately, that means Ava may never have a sibling, something I swore she would have. And it scares me. No. It breaks my heart. When my mother passes away, with her goes my only family. I don’t want that for Ava. I never have. I want her to have a sister to mentor, or a brother to tease. I want her to have a co-conspirator for a late night raid on the kitchen or someone to cover for her when she sneaks out at night.
It’s lonely not having siblings to talk to and share with. I’m fortunate enough to have two best friends who I’ve adopted as family, but as amazing, loving and caring as they are, we don’t share a past. We don’t have the common background of growing up together as children.
I hope by the time Darin and I are gone, Ava has a spouse and a family of her own. I hope that if we aren’t able to give her a brother or sister she has someone to help her deal with our care as we get old and need help. I hope she has someone to hold her hand while she grieves over us. I desperately hope she is never alone.
Why My Future Grandchild has a Yellow Lump on Her Head
For a long time, Ava paid absolutely NO attention to television at all. Unless it was a commercial. Then she’d stop whatever she was doing and race to the television.
And then we had Elmo. I think she got her first real dose of him from watching the tail end of Sesame Street at her Gramma’s house. For months, she and Elmo carried on an intense love affair, during which she would try to hug the television in an effort to hug him. So we bought her an Elmo Pillow with Arms. So he could “hug her back”. She carried that pillow with her everywhere…for about 3 days. Then we purchased Elmo Live! Elmo sings, talks, tells stories, gets kicked in the head by mom and NEVER SHUTS UP. Even when he’s knocked over, he still talks. Again, the novelty wore off after a few weeks and now Elmo sits quietly in the corner of our family room, waiting for someone to turn him on again to be loved.
Because somewhere along the way, Ava discovered Caillou. If you are not familiar with Caillou, let me explain. Caillou is a bald, 4 year old boy with a sister named Rosie. He loves to whine, complain and be the boss of everything. For some reason, my daughter is completely and utterly enthralled. She dances to the theme song. She imitates any and all hand gestures and movements she sees. She laughs. She gets mad for him when he doesn’t get his way. She takes the tv remote and points it at the tv while looking at me and saying “Caillou”. We watch it every night before bed.
The other morning, I heard her stirring through the monitor. Usually we’re greeted first with some thumb sucking, then some deep breaths. Then usually a “Hi!” or “Dada!!” (which is D’s cue to get her morning cup of milk ready) But on this morning what we heard was a leetle different. “Hi! Caillou!!”…. “Caillou!!”
Very first thing in the morning and she’s already thinking of Caillou. Ok, so maybe this isn’t the match I would have made for her, but she’s clearly in love. And who am I to get in the way of love? So I did what any sensible parent would do. I went to a photograph morphing site so I could see what my future grandchild is going to look like:
She is clearly going to need some plastic surgery to fix that whole forehead thing. And a little help in the eyebrow dept. But I’m sure we’ll love her all the same.
Mornings
I got to thinking about how my life has changed over the years and how just the simple things like waking up in the morning are no longer like they were as a kid. I have fond memories of summer breezes and sunshine waking me up. But nothing beats where I am now.
Wind rustling through the screen of the open window. Mockingbirds squawking. The crunch of tires on the gravel road.
Clattering of dishes, water running. The smell of bacon frying. Voices. Dad reading the paper out loud.
Traffic. Dozens of cars passing. Loud traffic rushing by. Feet stomping loudly below. Doors slamming. Voices. Spanish words flying through the air.
Last vestiges of tree frogs chirping as the sun comes up. Children above with feet of lead racing around. Shower running.
Quiet. Cats scratching at the door. Meowing. More scratching. More quiet.
Stillness. Sounds of sheets rustling. The soft sound of a thumb being sucked. Eventually, a laugh. A sigh. A smile.
Girl Talk Thursday – Punishment
Today’s Girl Talk Thursday topic is one that is actually very difficult for me to discuss. Punishment.
I’ve written about it before. My parents handed out the usual punishment, grounding, taking away the TV, the stereo, etc. But my mother went a bit further. Not just spanking. Hitting. And not just with her hands. But with whatever happened to be lying around close by. A wooden spoon. A fly swatter. Usually these objects made contact with my face. She was very quick and physical with doling out punishment for whatever act I may have committed.
Needless to say, now those acts would be called child abuse. Back then? Nobody gave it a second thought. However, it left a lot of scars. Not physcal ones, mind you. The emotional kind.
I was terrified of becoming a parent. All I knew was the kind of life I had as a child. I didn’t want to treat my daughter the same way. But I feared I would, because after all, we are our parent’s children.
Ava is not quite yet two, so we are still a number of years away from the big punishments. However, I have caught myself in moments of sheer and utter frustration, and had to step away from her. Physically leave the room. So I wouldn’t do to her what my mother did to me. The twenty minute tantrums that escalate. The meltdowns that won’t allow me to even get dinner cooked. Times when I cannot take one more second of her throwing food to the floor. Being bitten on the arm. Slapped in the face.
All those things are moments where I have had flashbacks of my mother’s punishments. Moments where for one, split second, I could see myself acting exactly the way she did. Instead I walked away. I turned my back on my red-faced, howling child and walked away. I’m not sure if that in and of itself will leave scars. I fear it will. But I fear the alternative much worse.
Wordless Wednesday – My Family
Without whom I would be lost. So thankful for you both.
Dear Avacakes
Dear Avacakes,
Today isn’t your birthday, your half birthday or anything of the sort. However, I just felt the need to write you this letter today. You see, you are growing up and changing so fast it is hard to keep up with all that you do. I want to freeze time and I want every silly thing you do to be ingrained in my memory forever.
Last night I bought you a potty chair. It completely freaked me out. It is such a huge step forward in independence for you. I know in 15 years you will read this and your eyes will roll into the back of your head as you say “Mom!” But right now, you are still my sweet baby girl. The sweet girl who puckers her lips with a goofy half grin when asked for a kiss. You willingly come over and throw your arms around me when I ask you for a hug. Once in a great while you will do those things without prompting. And when you do? Oh, how you melt my heart.
I love the nightly routine we have somehow fallen into. We get home from Gramma’s house and fix (or unwrap) dinner. We all sit at the table, you in your big girl booster seat. At least two dozen times during dinner I will have to stop and clean your hands. Which, ahem, would not get so dirty if you would consent to using a fork or spoon a bit more often. Also, not content to drink from your own cup, Daddy will have to share his cup of water with you, him holding while you take a few gulps, sometimes ending up with an ice cube to the face in your exuberance to tip the cup back. You also find the food on my plate far more interesting that what is on your own, even when it’s the same thing.
Eventually, though, we do get done with mealtime. If it’s bath night, generally speaking, you have already taken that bath while Mommy made dinner. I enjoy the sounds of laughter and splashing as I race around the kitchen. After dinner is jammy time. You head to Mommy and Daddy’s room, where you slip into warm, soft jammies. That task completed, it’s time for the final activity of the night; a cuddle on the bed with Mommy and Daddy, with your two best blankets, of course. We settle in and watch a few minutes of your current favorite show, Caillou. You rock back and forth to the theme song, flinging your arms out wide at the end, just like Caillou does. Then you settle back, cuddled against your parent of choice for the evening and watch one story. When it’s over, we turn the television off and you grasp your blankets tightly and head down the hall to your room. You know it is night- night time. One of us picks you and cradles you in our arms. We both kiss you, whisper softly to you, instructing you to have a good night and only pleasant dreams. Sometimes I sing “You Are My Sunshine”, depending on your readiness for your bed. We put you in your crib, turn down the light and say one last “I love you” as we close your door.
Most nights you fall asleep rather quickly. All we hear is a few rustles through the monitor as you get comfortable. Some nights we hear Ava-speak. Bababa. Dadada. Yeaaaaaaah. Hiiiiiiiiii! It doesn’t last long. Soon you are sound asleep; the only sounds to be heard are the soft breaths you take.
That is a typical evening with you, Avacakes. Of course I left out the tantrum you had because you didn’t get your hand cleaned quickly enough. I didn’t mention the meltdown that ensued because I wouldn’t let you empty the fridge door shelves. I never even think about how mad you get when I won’t turn on the Veevee (TV) until after dinner. And honestly? All those things are ok. They are all part of this journey you are on. I feel so blessed to be along for it. But please don’t grow up too fast. Your mommy needs so many more hugs and kisses.
Love,
Mommy
These Are the Moments
That I want to always remember. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh that hard.
I write here
I’ve Been Featured On:
I Guess I Don’t Suck
