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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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