Kisses Fix Everything, Don’t They?
You held up your finger to me for a kiss, having gotten it caught in the zipper of your pajamas. I obliged and asked you, as always, “all better?”. You nodded yes and turned over, with your thumb in your mouth and your special Red B in hand. Eyes closed, you drifted off to sleep, tucked into the warmth and safety of my arms.
I could not sleep. I lie awake thinking of how I wish that I could always fix your worries with a simple kiss.
You’re a strange mix of baby and little girl, not really either one or the other, with a foot in both worlds. Some days you assert your independence to the fullest degree possible and others, you retreat to the safety and ease of having Mommy do it all for you.
It’s a new world we are navigating, with me having to decide when to hold on and when to let go. I feel breathless and dizzy thinking about how fast your life is traveling. Soon, too soon, you will be in preschool, surrounded by other children but without anyone with which you are familiar around you. You need this. I know you will love it. But my heart squeezes and skips a beat when I think about it. I remember how terrifying my first day of school was. But I have to keep reminding myself that you are not me.
What I do know is life throws us curve balls. Usually when we least expect it. I may not always be able to fix your problems with a simple kiss. I will always offer one, along with a shoulder to cry on, a hug, and an ear that will always be yours.
For now, I’ll continue to cherish the moments that are fixed with a kiss.
When Words Are Too Much Work
Some days it’s a struggle to even reply to an email, much less start one. Some days I look at the text message on my phone and wonder how long I can ignore it.
It’s not that I don’t want to talk. It’s that using my words is too hard some days. If you’ve never experienced it, you’re unlikely to understand it.
It’s not a cataclysmic event propelling me into a place of quiet. It can be old memories flooding back, creeping into corners I thought had been cleared out.
Small things, little things. Mundane life, death, grief, panic, contentment. The jumble, the tumble of emotions that any given day can wash on shore.
The death of a friend, who left behind a daughter close in age to the 17 year old me who buried her father. The things that never quite get packed up at put away, no matter how many locks you turn and how many walls you build.
The upcoming holidays, which will be different from all previous ones. In some good ways, in some ways that could be better. The uncertainty of how it will feel.
Darker days, shorter days. Cold and cloudy. It fits my mood.
I want to retreat into my shell, except, I don’t. I take breaks, and know that I”m lucky enough to have three best friends who understand, and let me hide for a bit. But never for too long. They always coax me back out into the sunlight.
They get it. They get me. And I need to thank them publicly for that. For supporting me. For picking me up when I fall down. For lying down with me when I couldn’t get up.
For understanding when words are too much work.
Beauty in Small Things
“Mommy wait, stop, I need to give you a leaf!”
I stop my car, putting it back in park and wait for her to select one from the leaf cluttered lawn. She carefully looks them over and then chooses the one she likes the best. With grandmother or daddy in tow, she runs over to my open window and hands it to me. I place it on the seat beside me and thank her for her gift.
I have a shoebox full of leaves. Carefully selected by Ava to give to me each morning and afternoon as I leave her to head to my office. I don’t save them all, but a chosen few, waiting for a shadowbox to place them in.
Why do I save them, you may be asking yourself. They’re just dead leaves. Except? They’re not.
At three years old, Ava has no concept of wealth or money or materialism. She sees something she thinks is beautiful and chooses it to show her love and affection. To her, a fallen leaf from a tree is as worthy of being a present as a new phone, or computer or piece of jewelry might be to us as adults.
When do we stop seeing such beauty in ordinary things? When do we start thinking of displays of love as being synonymous with price tags and shopping malls?
I can honestly say that some of the best times I’ve spent with Ava involved not a single cent being spent. No toys purchased, no movies, no games. Just the two of us, hanging out and being silly with each other.
My three year old girl looks at leaves and sees treasure. I save those leaves because I want to remember that lesson.
A Week in Ava-Ville
My day care provider, aka my ex-mother-in-law, was out of town this week, and as such, I took the opportunity to take four days off work and spend some quality time with my little munchkin.
I mean, I see her pretty much every day, except for the weekends she’s with her dad, but still, there was something glorious about being alone with her for 6 days, with no place we had to be, no things we HAD to do.
We slept late. We played silly games. We had tickle fights and cuddles on the sofa.
We baked cupcakes and made dinners and lunches together.
We painted our toes sparkly purple.
We had playdates with 3 year old BFFs.
We invited Nana and Papa for dinner, while Ava provided the after dinner dance for entertainment.
We went shopping for big girl underwear and have had a good run of potty training.
We went to the zoo, where she saw all sorts of animals, and was enthralled by the bugs and got to brush pygmy goats.
We ate ice cream and stuffed ourselves silly on fresh strawberries and cantaloupe.
I made it a point to unplug from the world as much as I could, and be there. Not just be physically present, but mentally as well. Not worried about blog posts, or updating Facebook with where we were. No stumbling, digging, pinning or tweeting.
I know these moments in which she wants to be with me are fleeting and will end all too soon. But for now I hold warm, fuzzy memories in my heart of the last 6 days. A week in the life of Ava. What a gift and a treat.
Don’t step too fast, baby girl. Not too fast.
Soaring
I’m not a good flier. I do not think it’s anywhere near natural for human beings to be 38,000 feet in the air, hurtling through the clouds at 500 miles an hour. You can spout all the statistics at me you like about flying being the safest way to travel. They bring me no comfort. At least in my car, if my engine stops working I am ON the ground, not about to pierce it like a fucking dart.
That said, I have flown many times in the past. However, the longer I go between flights, the more anxiety I have about taking the next one. After Ava was born, I could not bring myself to get on a plane. I cancelled a trip to Vegas because I was so anxiety ridden I began to have nightmares about the plane crashing and leaving my sweet little infant an orphan.
Last Sunday, I got on my first plane since 2007. The night before was the worst. Internally I panicked as I fed and bathed my girl, and drove her over to her dad’s. Countless times I picked up my cell phone, ready to text my friends that I just couldn’t do it. I thought about feigning illness or something just to avoid having to get on that plane. I cleaned my house so that when my family came to pack up all my stuff after my plane crashed, at least the place would be neat. I fought all the fear and panic. I got up the next morning, and was on my way.
Once I got to the airport, I was ok. Most of the panic was gone at that point. What was left was chased away by my BFFs, who I was flying to meet, and who knew how hard this step was for me. They texted me constantly, keeping me from thinking too much about my fears.
Once on the ground, I got to hug and squish the three people who helped me survive the last year. Not just survive, but live. I got to tell them in person how much they mean to me. I got to snuggle under blankets with them. I got to eat dinner and lunch and gelato and cupcakes. I got to experience Southern California traffic from the backseat of a Ford Expedition.
There was Mexican food and tons of giggles.
There was sunshine, sand and ocean. Carnival rides for a small boy, who held my hand for a time as we walked the pier. Seafood and laughter, buying tacky souvenirs, taking pictures and people watching.
Staying up late and watching reality tv just for the snarky comment factor. Four friends sitting on a couch, all on their iPhone or computer and still feeling connected. Sweet old dog who loved having her head scratched. Watching my girl and a little boy 1000 miles away talk on face-time.
Ordinary things. Ordinary days. Except they weren’t. Because it’s not everyday that the four of us get that time together. This was the first. It won’t be the last. Last week, I got on a plane. But it was after I landed that I felt as though I was flying.
This town
This town is flags hung from front porches.
This town is manicured lawns neighboring tall grasses and unkempt flower beds.
This town is church bells ringing out on Sunday mornings, softly interrupting the silence.
This town is friendly cashiers, saying they missed you when you didn’t stop in for your daily soda run.
This town is old homes and tree lined streets.
This town is big pickup trucks and motorcycles parked on lawns.
This town is downtown deserted by 9 pm.
This town is big Sunday breakfasts and quiet Sunday nights.
This town is picnics in the park and classic car shows.
This town is about family.
This town is my town.
This town is home.
So that I don’t forget…
Octopus is applepus.
Binoculars is knockers.
White fluffy dandelions are blowey blows.
Mud is muuuuuud (said in a Southern drawl worthy of your heritage).
Dancing is called singing.
Singing is done in a very soft voice, very monotone.
Your favorite blanket, Red B, is a she. You cuddle and hug her while murmuring “I love you so much, Red B”.
The toy stethoscope you got for Christmas is called your “Doctor peoples”.
You like to take my temperature with your toy “mometer”.
Nothing elicits more squeals than the slide.
You like to take paper and safety scissors and play “sciss”.
In addition to juice, you also like to drink eminade.
Your favorite place to sleep is cuddled in my arms. I hate to say no, even though I do some nights, because I know one day you will not want this closeness.
Fresh or cooked spinach is a no go, but put it into spinach dip? You will devour it.
You make friends so easily, running up to children on the playground and yelling “Hi, kid!”.
You like to wink at me during dinner, something I spent months teaching you to do. It’s our special thing. To wink and smile as we enjoy our meal.
You love touch now, something you spent so long avoiding. Your hand will seek mine. Your cheek will press against mine. Your back will press against my tummy as we cuddle.
You can dress yourself from head to toe. One morning you took off your pajamas and dressed yourself as a surprise while I was in the shower. I was so very proud.
Every day, you make me proud. You’re smart, and funny and I adore every single day with you.
One day you’ll be grown and off on a life of your own. I write these things so that when that time comes, I will remember. So that I don’t forget.
Love,
Mommy
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. 
Home
A month ago, I couldn’t imagine calling anyplace other than the one I’d lived in for the last 9 years home. I loved everything (well, almost everything) about my old house. I loved the abundance of windows that allowed it to always be bright and cheerful, no matter the time of day. I loved the large bathtub with it’s massaging jets that were awesome after a hard day of work. I loved the tall ceilings which gave each room an open, airy feeling.
I loved Ava’s room, in all it’s bright cheery yellowness, even if it was a tad on the small side. I adored my bedroom. Large, open, comfortable. Walls painted a deep plum, they were soothing and calming to me.
There is something about this new house. It’s older, to be sure. And a bit smaller. One less bedroom. The ceilings are lower, and there are no funky plant shelves to decorate.
But it has built in cabinets in three rooms. Hardwood floors in both bedrooms, something I’ve always wanted. Storm doors with screens to allow for a nice summer breeze to blow through them. An enormous laundry room that allows for more than just laundry. There is a covered back patio, so no matter the weather, sitting outside is always an option (once I get patio furniture that is).
The expansive back yard has a large old maple tree that’s just begging for a swing. There are flower beds and a garden area. They need some tender care, weeding and cleaning. But soon they’ll be back to their former glory. The front yard boasts a lovely brick planter. It too needs some sprucing up, but I’m already imagining it full of trailing petunias and tall, regal geraniums.
This house is so different from the last, but it has a friendliness about it. It seems to welcome me in, saying, “Come on in and pull your feet up by the fire”. It has 60 years of personality and charm. It appears happy with the life that our little family has brought to it.
Over the coming months, I will be working to put my own touches on it, splashes of color here and there, to make it more my own. I’ve started already. Ava’s room, which is so much bigger than her old one, got a brand new coat of cheery yellow, so similar to her prior room. I felt having some form of continuity was important for her.
I was surprised at how quickly the image of this place popped into my head when I thought of home. And last Friday when my ex brought Ava back to my house, she ran in the door and hugged me and said “I’m home!”
Yes you are, baby. We both are.
Remembering to Smile
I have come to realize that I tend to dwell on the negative an awful lot. I’m not a half glass empty person. I’ve always been more of a glass is surely going to break and cut my hand at any moment person.
Yeah.
I’m trying to change that about myself, thanks to some wonderful friends and some good tools from therapy sessions. I don’t always succeed, and lately it has been harder than ever to focus on the positive. With so many changes looming and so much of it being filled with uncertainty, some days I feel simply overwhelmed by all that is happening.
I vented all over one of my best friends in an email today. Poor dear simply emailed to offer some help and I spewed an entire page worth of angst and whines.
I felt infinitely better after doing so, I will admit.
But it got me to thinking about trying to push my brain toward more positive thoughts. To focus on the good things in my life and remember the things that make me smile, even if it’s through tears.
So that I remember them, I’m going to list some here. On days when I’m feeling angry or bitter or just plain melancholy, I will look at it and remember that life has it’s good side too.
Things that make me smile:
- Ava asking to get in bed with me to cuddle.
- My necklace, that reminds me every day that someone loves me.
- Emails from friends, whether they be silly or heartfelt.
- Unexpected sunshine on a rainy day, no matter how fleeting.
- The warmth from my electric blanket on a cold winter night.
- Comfortable new shoes, even if they aren’t the height of fashion.
- The smell of my new soap, which lingers slightly on the skin.
- The jingle of my charm bracelet and the weight of the charm that reminds me of the best day of my life.
- The smell of roast cooking in the crockpot.
- The salty tang of that first bite of salt and vinegar chips.
- Making a friend laugh when she’s had a hard day.
- Warm hugs from Ava.
Last but not least, just seeing this face every day.
I write here
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