Santa likes silver trees ...

And pajamas with feet!

Your first art exhibit

Memories in the heart

Hi little one,

Time for a story.

Seven years ago, in September 2002, I went with Papa to Africa for a month. Part of that trip was a safari across the Serengeti in Botswana. I took so many pictures, that one day I decided I would watch without the camera lens.

I was hiding in my home-made CD mix (before I had an ipod), and as we drove through a particular arid spot, U2's "Beautiful Day" started playing, and as I looked in the distance I saw a progression of twenty or so elephants in the distance.

Everytime this song plays, for a moment I am transported back seven years to warm sun, the slow breeze of driving in an open-sided land rover, watching elephants parade in the distance.

Sometimes the best way to capture memories are in our minds, by memorizing the smell, the feel, and if we're lucky, a piece of music that binds the memory, creating an easily accessible piece of the past.

love,
Mommy

Highlights

Hi honey,

Last night I was reading a magazine article, and got the idea to ask you what was your favorite thing that happened during the day.

"You mean a Highlight." you corrected me.

I'm game. "Okay, a highlight, what was your highlight?"

"My highlight was when I came home and saw you."

wow.

Later that night, when you easily convinced me to take a bath with you., I asked if you learned about highlights in school.

"Yes," you said, rather vague, "highlights are something that happens during the day."

"Something good, right?"

"Yes, Mommy what was your highlight?"

"Taking a bath with Ava." Your smile was the best response.

There are days when the mommy scale tips in my favor, and makes up for the days when it doesn't. Days when the love is so palpable, so tangible, that the imprint surrounds memories. Those are highlights of life.

I love you,
but you know that,
right?

Mommy

"I" Messages

Hi my little love,

At school you have learned "I" messages, as a way to express yourself. This morning, you tearfully walked up to me in the kitchen, wrapped in your blanket pajamas with feet, and said:

"Mommy, I have an "I" message for you." Sniff.

"Okay, honey, what is it?"

"I feel sad that you shut the door to the bathroom when I was inside. It scared me."

"Okay, my love, what do you want me to do?" This is part of the "I" message script

"I want you to say sorry."

"I'm so sorry honey, I didn't mean to scare you."
I picked you up in a big hug until the tears were under control. I was so proud of you for using words to express yourself.

love,
always,
Mommy

Conversations

You: I wish we could have a garage sale.
Me: Really, what would you sell?
You: Everything I don't like.

....

Me, as I pull into the bank parking lot, trying to explain where money comes from:
I'm going to the bank to get money, because I go to work, they put money in the bank for me
You: Because I go to school, there is money in the bank.

No, I didn't correct you. I loved your logic, and someday I'll explain passive and active income, but this was good enough for today.

...

In gymnastics today, you weren't listening to the teacher, and after reminding you, loudly, a couple times, my Angry Mom brain kicked in and grumbled, fortunately silently, that I was going to tell you if you didn't pay attention in gymnastics then we couldn't go anymore.

But fortunately Angry Mom Brain calmed down and at the end of class what I did say was "Honey, I thought you did great today, and noticed you did great especially when you were listening to your teacher. So maybe next time you can listen to your teacher more?"

You nodded.

"And next time at the start of class I can remind you to listen to your teacher."

I don't remember your exact words, but there were no pouts, no tears, no bad feelings, and I was proud of myself for not giving in to idle, angry threats.

It's not easy to be a mom all the time, but I always love being a mom to you.

Kindergarten Day 2

My FB post today (slightly expounded), says it all:

Julie ... is feeling like my my mom license should be suspended after hurrying to leave Ava at Kindergarten after 15 min in the school office sorting out forms with her wanting to show me how she zipped up her own sweatshirt, followed by five minutes of extra hugs in the classroom, because I was going to be late to work and she had that pouty "I'm ...a big girl so I won't cry" face that nearly broke my heart. I miss preschool already. [end of FB post]

All of this was preceded by driving 40 minutes across town to said Kindergarten, where one person honked at me because I didn't side swipe an oncoming car, and I honked at one guy double parked, then felt miniscule when I saw his daughter getting out of the car.

Day 2 was a bit harder than day 1, but you were dressed super-cute with those extra long growing out bangs back in side pony tails, jean skirt with pink leggings.

I was sending you love all day little one, every time I looked at that cute pic from yesterday on my computer background. We'll figure this out, I promise.

love,
Mommy

Kindergarten

"Mommy, is today a Kindergarten day?" you asked on waking, eyes blinking away sleep.

"I hope so, my love," I responded.

We've had quite an adventure finding you a kindergarten, that all started with the crazy public school lottery system in this beautiful city by the bay. Back in January we submitted our list of 7 schools into the lottery, got one we weren't happy about, didn't register, forgot to sign up for the second lottery, and a couple months later put our names on the "waiting pool" list for one nearby our house. And we waited, and waited, and called periodically with no updates.

Last Monday 8/24 school started for most, but alas, not for us. I sat down with you the Sunday prior when you asked me about Kindergarten, and said as truthfully as possible, that because Mommy and Daddy messed up you didn't have a kindergarten yet.

Last week Daddy went through some Herculean gymnastics to get a school for you, including multiple visits to our waiting pool school, daily visits to the district where he became increasingly upset at the system, until finally on one visit he spoke to a school district manager and out dropped a plum - we may want to check on the two charter schools in the city that are part of the district, but allow us the possibility to transfer to another district school should we choose.

And THAT is how Daddy found Creative Arts Charter School, how he delighted in the music room with a baby grand piano, the cleanliness of the school, and the central location that makes it easy for all involved to help out.

You've been so patient, my love, I am proud beyond measure. This morning as you asked me that first question, I said next, shall we ask the Angels for help? Yes, you nodded.

I whispered then, "Angels, please let us start Kindergarten today."

Bless them, they answered.

love,
always,
Mommy

Choices & Decisions

How to decide between two things, according to you:

Meenie meenie miney mo,
Catch a tiger halla toe
If he hallas letmgo
Meenie meenie miney mo.

-

"Home is just another word for you."
- Billy Joel, Piano Man Album

Conversations

Conversation #1:
Me: I wish you would trust me, I think you'll like the (Terriaki) chicken
You: What's trust?
Me, pondering: Trust is when I say something and you believe that it's true.
You, pondering.

Conversation #2:
You: Mommy, how many are you?
Me: Forty, well, almost forty in a couple weeks.
You: I wish I was forty.
Me: Why?
You: Then I could be like you.

I love you, sweet girl.
Mommy

The llama in the bolcano and other Ava stories

Yesterday you and I were playing a game with plastic easter eggs. you cracked one open and whooshed as something exploded out of it. My task was to guess what exploded.

a fountain? was my first guess
no

a geyser? second guess
no

what is it? i asked, out of ideas

LLAMA!

Llama?

Yes! The llama that comes out of the bolcano!

I tried to explain that you may mean lava and not llama, but you would hear none of it, and was trying valiantly to muffle laughter.

-------------

A few days ago, on a rare quiet evening you and I were making mixed up chip cookies, when you commented, as nonchalantly commenting on the weather, that you kissed Ben at school today.

I picked up this comment, inspected it mentally, pretending you had just said something as blase as you had broccoli for lunch, and replied, Really? Where did you kiss him?

All over, again so unemotionally attached that you could be commenting on the weather.

Did you kiss him here? I replied, pointing at your nose, or here? Pointing at your stomach.

I kissed him ALL OVER! you said with amusement. Like this, you said, and kissed the air in front of my face a dozen times with your daddy's trademark air kisses. AND THEN I grabbed the back of his shirt and chased him around the playground.

What could I say to that? I just thanked those on duty upstairs that you would tell me this, and hope it's planting good seeds for when you're a teenager.

love,
Mommy

Professions

You, as we are watering the vegetable sprouts:
"Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a gardener!"

You, later, as we are making mixed-up chip cookies:
"Mommy, when I grow up I want to be a baker!"

Me:
"A baker and a gardener?"

You:
"Yes! I can be ANYTHING!"

Me:
"Yes you can, my love, yes you can!"

Friends

This is Fluffy, Because Conejito Wasn't Available

I'm almost embarassed to write this ...

Me:
Will conejito go with you to school today?

You:
No, conejito is sick.

Me:
Really? What is wrong with little rabbit?

You:
She drank too much of Mommy Rabbit's beer and now her tummy hurts.

Me:
Oh! Let little rabbit she is too young to be drinking beer. She has to be 21 to drink beer.
While I'm thinking, she really did notice that bad-assed hangover I had last week. Ouch!

You:
No she's not. She's two and a half.

Oh man, what do I say to that?

Five Years

Well, my big little girl, you are now five years old. The shift in your personality over the last couple weeks has been vast and minuscule simultaneously. You need me more and you need me less. I could easily say you are a beautiful dynamic contradiction.

Daddy and I cleaned up the house, the yard, and hosted a party in our honor. Sure, you were the birthday girl, but Daddy and I were also celebrating five years of successful parenting. You are ten feet of personality packed into that tiny little frame, ferociously independent (surprise, surprise), and demanding attention. Really, you're not that demanding, it's more that you want regular attention, which can be a bit challenging these days.

Back to our party ... five of your friends from school came (Daniela, Izel, Kylie, Joseph, Fiona) , along with their parents. Along with those friends, Nana, Papa, Jacque, and a sprinkling of other friends and our neighbors up the street came for a while. The weather was beautiful, bright sunny skies and warm enough for shorts and t-shirts. Daddy and I are not sure which diety you appeased with your birth, but the weather has always been gorgeous the three years we've had parties for you.

Highlight of your party for you ... at one point you decided that you needed to put on a bathing suit, the new little mermaid one from Grandma Bear, and then all of your school friends also had to put on your bathing suits. We didn't realize how many bathing suits you had until that point! We had four little girls running around in states of undress changing into your bathing suits, then you all headed for the trampoline to bounce at the same time!

Highlights of your party, for me ... when I saw people from vastly different parts of my life chatting, immersed in conversation; when people who are normally reserved and cautious around others become bold and vivacious; when Nana and Papa took over the barbecue grill and got all the meat done easily; when everyone came in to eat and Daddy's homemade macaroni and cheese along with my first run of baked beans were the hit of the party; when the other parents commented on the butterfly cookies I'd made as parting gifts instead of gift bags. Perhaps you know by now, but for me, giving away something I've baked is the ultimate delight.

The biggest highlight though, for me, was to see how far you, Daddy, and I have come as a family. The last few months have been bumpy, like rutted muddy road without a 4WD truck bumpy. My job with the food company went away, we parted ways not as amicably as friends but not as hostile as bitter lovers. I took a break, started a new job that is not quite right for a few reasons, and have been on the lookout for a new one which is achingly close and agonizingly distant. Daddy and the food company finally parted last week, after two departures and returns. He had a promising interview last week in an area that he's a rock star, so I'm making my offerings of prayer and devotion to those on duty in the great cloud in the sky that miracles shower us today, like the warm rain of the Hawaiian islands.

Also the realization has hit that you start Kindergarten in the fall. No messing around, no being late to school anymore, a big school with lots of older kids, and my sweet little big girl is going to be more big than little. I think you're more ready than we are. We're going to try the SF Public School system, grateful for the break of paying $1000 a month, and see how it goes. We're also both going to take on full time jobs, and see how that goes as well. The last few years Daddy and I have been working more part time than full time, and now it's time to gather up our resources and get to work.

I'm a little scared, a little nervous, but excitement colors the darkness of fear. This morning I felt overwhelmed, with the massive amount of work ahead of me at my current job but I read the first section of Walking In This World, and the task at the end suggested doing something creative for someone else.

I knew, with that grain of certainty that is so immense that it was time to write to you.

But now, it's time for work.

I love you, one hundred million,
and that's a lot.
Mommy

Taking the first step, next step

Soon I'll add something clever and witty or at least a rambling cliche, but for now, you can guess what this is.

love,

Mommy

Tales of discipline and devotion

Hi sweetie,

My last post was more about what happening with me than with you lately, so this one, my little love, is for you (but someday when you are in college, it will be for me, which Grandma Bear already understands and you will someday...).

Last week I saw that your perfectly white straight teeth were almost perfectly white. Almost, with the exception of two upper molars didn' t look so white anymore. They looked a bit brown, like you'd been hitting the black coffee during the afternoon.

I told you about this, in a way I thought made sense even to someone who is almost five, as "you want to have pretty teeth don't you?" Really what it meant was the days of letting you brush your teeth by yourself were over and it was time for me to step in and assist. Although as some of our studio audience can imagine, you didn't want to play that game. I even threatened, that first night after I saw my negligence, we can do this the hard way or the easy way, and I vote for the easy way.

My vote obviously was not the deciding vote, which is odd, because the hard way involves usually me holding you down in some fashion while I pry your mouth open enough to get the toothbrush to your back molars. Do I even need to say that this involved multiple threats, a couple timeouts, and CPS don't listen, even a spanking.

I hate spankings. Most of the time I feel like it's some caveman like behavior intended to show dominance over someone else. Okay, maybe it's not just for cavemen, but I don' t like it anyway. More than a few screams, yours and mine, and more than a few threats of no TV for the next century, and I got enough of your back teeth brushed to declare a truce. This day I felt like I failed my Mom-test, big time, and somehow it should be easier.

When I picked you up after school that day, you said "I told Tatiana that we were mad at each other last night but not anymore." Fair enough.

Sometimes the biggest challenge as a parent is defining the boundary between lenience and dominance. How much should I let you do, how much is about finding out where the boundaries are and letting you inch over them until I say stop? How much about parenting is negotiating instead of dominating? I don't know these answers, I suppose they are too experiential and subjective for a glib response.

But what I do know is two days later I passed the Mom test with flying colors. Imagine this: Friday, day before Valentine's day, and I can't even say it slipped my mind because that would be the equivalent to a mile long stretch of black ice and I skidded for that whole mile stretch rather than a comic banana peel slip. Anyway, nobody in our household remembered that it was pajama day in your preschool, especially not when I was urging you to pick out the shirt and leggings to go on under your school uniform jumper a little bit faster. I didn't have one thing on my mind to distract me, I had a whole herd and it was about to catch up to me.

We walk into your classroom, a bit late, and all twenty kids simultaneously shout "you aren't wearing pajamas!!!" Ugh. I look at one of your teachers, hanging out in a white robe, and say "I'll be back." At that precise moment I am grateful I'm not working and that I could go back home. I ask you quickly, which pajamas you want. No hesitation: Kitty cat pajamas.

There is no dillying or dallying as I drive the couple miles return trip. When I return you are seated at the table with your pint sized friends, who see me first and squeal my arrival.

We duck into the back of the room and swap clothes. Your eyes open wide, you declare:

"MOMMY YOU'RE THE BEST!"
And throw your arms around me for a hug that lasts at least 90 seconds.

Thanks love, I needed that.
Mommy

Two Arm One Leg Wave

Read when you're sixteen, again when you're thirty

Hi sweetie,

I received an email from an old friend on Friday saying that he was looking for something inspirational, needed something for the particular mood or moment, and found he'd bookmarked this blog, these letters I write to you and the world. I'm going to paraphrase what he said, although reading the actual email is only a TAB away. He wrote that he read these letters about a mother that loves her daughter and how they were full of rich and amusing details and brought him up from the place of being down.

I needed to see that message, right then, at that moment when I felt like the world was crashing down, my familiar world being destroyed albeit to create something new. I needed to see that my writing made a difference to someone, that I make a difference to someone.

It's so hard to let go of what isn't working, especially when what wasn't working had a regular paycheck. We're going through a lot of transition in the household these days, my 18 month contract gig and I parted officially last week. Was this your choice or theirs, a friend asked recently. I tell an elaborate story full of drama, but really, it's mutual. I was done, they were done with paying me to work for them. I feel like I've told the story so many times that the amusing part of the drama has dissipated leaving nothing really of interest except a few measly details. It involved time, and money, and egos all around.

So it's gone. Adios. Sayonara. So long and thanks for all the fish. I'm doing my best to breathe life into my yoga company, breathe more life, more energy, more me. It's doing well though building a company, running a company are intensely creative activities and require more attention than a newborn baby. I wonder if all that I go through now will catapult you forward into your destiny, beyond what I've already accomplished. WHEN I create a wildly successful company, one that makes a difference to those it touches, does that give you a more solid platform to move from, move beyond into your own missteps rather than ones that stopped me?

Ah, we shall see. I often think it's a child's destiny to go beyond where her parents stopped, either by choice or chance. See, my love, I want an unusual life. I stopped wanting to be an 8-5 employee in 2001 when the towers fell and I was laid off from my last real full time job. I wanted to forge my own path, create my own way, be a contractor but not let someone else have that much control over my time for the sake of money. I'm not lazy, I like working, but I like working at an office a lot less than 40 hours a week. All the drama and chaos and personality headbutting and chauvenists and glass ceilings. Argh. It's enough to give me a headache imagining it, remembering it.

So really, my job and I parted ways because I didn't want to be glued to a desk and an office and a job 40-50 hours a week for a regular paycheck. I saw I was capable of doing a job given to a VP, but didn't want that job. Is that bad? You decide, you, my sweetie and our studio audience. I have a dozen crazy ideas in my head, I want to hire instructors to teach classes through my company, be the facilitator, the instrument through which yoga happens. I want to teach a bit, and play with formats involving writing and movement. I ponder whether I want to go back into the world of high technology, it's still there, but heaven it interests me as much as a mismatched pair of socks. I'm afraid I'd get stuck doing what I hate, the day to day support that sucks the life out of me.

Okay, now I'm being dramatic, but seriously that's what gets under my nails and makes me bite people with problems I don't want to solve.

So we're in a period of transition in the house, as well as in transition in your room as it's slowly coming into focus with new paint, new window, patching and repairing around where the old closet door was and the new closet is. Your bed has been downstairs for a while now, but soon, I'm hoping one more week soon, it will be back together.

I'm also hoping that in what's left of February, I figure out with some clear picture of what is next for my career. It may seem odd that I'm writing this to you, although you're a bit less than 5 years old, and won't read this for a few more years, but perhaps what I want to say is that I bet everyone goes through this life angst, everyone at some point says what the heck am I doing and is this it? Is my life really only about going to work and coming home and picking up kids and making dinner and going to bed and doing it all over again except on weekends the rules are suspended except if work emergencies supersede any plans that may involve fun?

I'm sure it's not me, as much as I'm sure one day you may ask this question as well. Planning for that one day, just know you are not alone, but you are among a few if you do something different.

I love you
One million,
Mommy