Friday, October 07, 2005
The World of Crayola
Today, my love, I introduced you to my giant box of Crayola Crayons with the sharpener built into the back.
You are reaching the point where you would rather make your mark than eat the wax, so I knew it was time.
At first, I only handed you a couple crayons, but you pointed at the yellow box on the table with a force that proved only that you are not telekinetic. Too bad, that could come in handy. Anyway, I put the whole box on the floor, and the first thing you did was to push the crayons in your hand back into the box. Not in the right spots, of course, meaning an open spot, because the colors are not in any sort of order. I believe I once even dumped out the whole box in front of your cousin Destiny to her utter amazement. So by "right" spot, I only mean one that was capable of readily accepting a crayon. That didn't matter, of course, and you shut the lid anyway.
Now, I have put the crayons away and the Powerpuff Girls coloring book, which I have no intention of explaining why I own, and you are peacefully napping. We all had a rough night last night, with your first case of the stomach flu and how your Dah-DEE and I got to see the food we put in you for dinner (banana and blueberries, because you were sick) once again, all over the couch.
But I digress.
I was pondering the crayons as I lay on the bed resting with you to my left, unagi curled into the crook behind my knees. Once upon a time Crayola used to have a color called "flesh" which they have renamed to "peach" under the guise of political correctness. I took out "peach" just a minute ago, made a mark on white paper, and compared it to my own skin. Not a match.
I then took out a color called "tan" and one called "tumbleweed" and my favorite name, "burnt sienna." I don't know what a sienna is nor how you burn one, but I remember this name from my childhood. I made marks with these on the white paper and observed how I don't really look like any of them.
I'm a bit less pink than peach, and not as orange as tan. Tumbleweed is a bit too errant, although I do like traveling.
If I held these same colors up to you, I wonder where you would fit?
See, the thing is, that you and I, as you'll figure out at some point probably in elementary school, are not the same color. People who don't look too closely think you're the same color as your Dah-DEE, but as your Uncle Anthony said, she's not as dark as his brother (Dah-DEE). And not as light as me, I added.
You are somewhere in between his tan to burnt sienna and my peach to cafe au lait. Speaking of cafe au lait, that would make a darn good Crayola color.
This used to bug me, that we weren't the same color. I kept searching for some bit of you that looked like me, something beyond the obvious because the obvious is skin color. I had to give that up, over and over. Even when I was in Mexico for a week, getting tan, I came home and you had been out in the central California sun, getting more tan. You will always beat me at tanning contests, you turn a rich burnt sienna even with SPF 45 in about ten minutes of sun exposure.
As you grow older though, the resemblance peeks through. In the bridge of your nose and around your eyes, I can see me. Your girl parts, you definitely got those from me. You wrinkle the bridge of your nose when you laugh, like me.
I wonder what check box to mark when I have to specify what nationality you are. Your heritage is a cornucopia of European from me - Irish, Swedish, French Basque, Norwegian; but also German, American Indian, and Mexican from your Dah-DEE.
You are a mix, a blend, a harmony of nationalities mixed to remarkable perfection. You aren't a check box on a form, but then, who is?
The truth is, in a black and white photo, we are all shades of gray, and even to Crayola, gray is still gray.
You are reaching the point where you would rather make your mark than eat the wax, so I knew it was time.
At first, I only handed you a couple crayons, but you pointed at the yellow box on the table with a force that proved only that you are not telekinetic. Too bad, that could come in handy. Anyway, I put the whole box on the floor, and the first thing you did was to push the crayons in your hand back into the box. Not in the right spots, of course, meaning an open spot, because the colors are not in any sort of order. I believe I once even dumped out the whole box in front of your cousin Destiny to her utter amazement. So by "right" spot, I only mean one that was capable of readily accepting a crayon. That didn't matter, of course, and you shut the lid anyway.
Now, I have put the crayons away and the Powerpuff Girls coloring book, which I have no intention of explaining why I own, and you are peacefully napping. We all had a rough night last night, with your first case of the stomach flu and how your Dah-DEE and I got to see the food we put in you for dinner (banana and blueberries, because you were sick) once again, all over the couch.
But I digress.
I was pondering the crayons as I lay on the bed resting with you to my left, unagi curled into the crook behind my knees. Once upon a time Crayola used to have a color called "flesh" which they have renamed to "peach" under the guise of political correctness. I took out "peach" just a minute ago, made a mark on white paper, and compared it to my own skin. Not a match.
I then took out a color called "tan" and one called "tumbleweed" and my favorite name, "burnt sienna." I don't know what a sienna is nor how you burn one, but I remember this name from my childhood. I made marks with these on the white paper and observed how I don't really look like any of them.
I'm a bit less pink than peach, and not as orange as tan. Tumbleweed is a bit too errant, although I do like traveling.
If I held these same colors up to you, I wonder where you would fit?
See, the thing is, that you and I, as you'll figure out at some point probably in elementary school, are not the same color. People who don't look too closely think you're the same color as your Dah-DEE, but as your Uncle Anthony said, she's not as dark as his brother (Dah-DEE). And not as light as me, I added.
You are somewhere in between his tan to burnt sienna and my peach to cafe au lait. Speaking of cafe au lait, that would make a darn good Crayola color.
This used to bug me, that we weren't the same color. I kept searching for some bit of you that looked like me, something beyond the obvious because the obvious is skin color. I had to give that up, over and over. Even when I was in Mexico for a week, getting tan, I came home and you had been out in the central California sun, getting more tan. You will always beat me at tanning contests, you turn a rich burnt sienna even with SPF 45 in about ten minutes of sun exposure.
As you grow older though, the resemblance peeks through. In the bridge of your nose and around your eyes, I can see me. Your girl parts, you definitely got those from me. You wrinkle the bridge of your nose when you laugh, like me.
I wonder what check box to mark when I have to specify what nationality you are. Your heritage is a cornucopia of European from me - Irish, Swedish, French Basque, Norwegian; but also German, American Indian, and Mexican from your Dah-DEE.
You are a mix, a blend, a harmony of nationalities mixed to remarkable perfection. You aren't a check box on a form, but then, who is?
The truth is, in a black and white photo, we are all shades of gray, and even to Crayola, gray is still gray.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Eighteen months and going strong
Hi Sweet Girl,
You are officially eighteen months or one year and a half old. As always, I have a hard time you've been hanging out with me for that long.
When I want to know if you're hungry, I say "Ava eat?" and you say "Eeet!"
You get mad a little easier than you used to, especially if I take something from you, like your toothbrush, even if you are all done brushing your teeth. You aren't so bad at brushing them, I must say, which is quite impressive at 18 months. You really hate it when I brush them, so we gave up and handed you the brush. The first few days you chewed more than brushed, but after watching us brush every day, twice a day, you're figuring it out.
You win my heart over every time you hand me a book, then turn around and sit in the middle of my crossed legs.
You pick up a new word each day, sometimes a couple a day. The new word du jour was blueberry, which sounded like boo-bear. The other words we've noticed are:
You are speaking new words like crazy. Every moment you pick up something new that we say. Here are the words we've noticed so far:
tortilla (tohr-TEEEEE-yah)
unagi (oooo-nah-gee)
hola (oh-la)
mommy (mah-MEE)
daddy (dah-DEE)
nana (nah-nah)
papa (papa, but in a whisper)
bear (bay-er)
dog (dah)
duck (duh)
eat (eeeet)
Despite all of my efforts to teach you sign language, the only sign I notice is "all done" which is an action made with both hands like twisting open a door knob. When I say "more" and make the sign, you pick up your dish and wave it at me, or point. I get it, more.
You can identify your nose, my nose, your head, cheek, feet, and tummy. Someday when I ask "where's Ava's chicken?" you'll giggle and point at your ribs because you know that's where you're going to be tickled.
Tonight you're not feeling so well. You've got a fever and even threw up for the first time in forever. As I say when we're sick, you get to eat what you want, and what you wanted was a banana. And then boo-bears.
You are becoming a bit less mommy dependent, especially at My Gym. This week when you saw where we were, you ran off, leaving me to eat your smoke. Okay, maybe you didn't run, but you sure didn't spend much time looking for me. You did spend time watching Jack swing on the uneven bars and put your hands up on the bar to try his amazing stunt. You didn't quite get that he was hanging by his hands and that allowed him to take his feet off the ground, but you gave it your best shot by standing on your toes.
I'm a Mom. I don't have a plaque or a sign that says so, but with as much as I talk about you, I don't need one; everyone already knows.
What else does everyone know? That you are a beautiful, easy, wonderful little girl, and everyone loves you.
Especially me.
You are officially eighteen months or one year and a half old. As always, I have a hard time you've been hanging out with me for that long.
When I want to know if you're hungry, I say "Ava eat?" and you say "Eeet!"
You get mad a little easier than you used to, especially if I take something from you, like your toothbrush, even if you are all done brushing your teeth. You aren't so bad at brushing them, I must say, which is quite impressive at 18 months. You really hate it when I brush them, so we gave up and handed you the brush. The first few days you chewed more than brushed, but after watching us brush every day, twice a day, you're figuring it out.
You win my heart over every time you hand me a book, then turn around and sit in the middle of my crossed legs.
You pick up a new word each day, sometimes a couple a day. The new word du jour was blueberry, which sounded like boo-bear. The other words we've noticed are:
You are speaking new words like crazy. Every moment you pick up something new that we say. Here are the words we've noticed so far:
tortilla (tohr-TEEEEE-yah)
unagi (oooo-nah-gee)
hola (oh-la)
mommy (mah-MEE)
daddy (dah-DEE)
nana (nah-nah)
papa (papa, but in a whisper)
bear (bay-er)
dog (dah)
duck (duh)
eat (eeeet)
Despite all of my efforts to teach you sign language, the only sign I notice is "all done" which is an action made with both hands like twisting open a door knob. When I say "more" and make the sign, you pick up your dish and wave it at me, or point. I get it, more.
You can identify your nose, my nose, your head, cheek, feet, and tummy. Someday when I ask "where's Ava's chicken?" you'll giggle and point at your ribs because you know that's where you're going to be tickled.
Tonight you're not feeling so well. You've got a fever and even threw up for the first time in forever. As I say when we're sick, you get to eat what you want, and what you wanted was a banana. And then boo-bears.
You are becoming a bit less mommy dependent, especially at My Gym. This week when you saw where we were, you ran off, leaving me to eat your smoke. Okay, maybe you didn't run, but you sure didn't spend much time looking for me. You did spend time watching Jack swing on the uneven bars and put your hands up on the bar to try his amazing stunt. You didn't quite get that he was hanging by his hands and that allowed him to take his feet off the ground, but you gave it your best shot by standing on your toes.
I'm a Mom. I don't have a plaque or a sign that says so, but with as much as I talk about you, I don't need one; everyone already knows.
What else does everyone know? That you are a beautiful, easy, wonderful little girl, and everyone loves you.
Especially me.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Dancing With Fear
Hi my little love,
After a few days of being mostly in the present moment, I got attacked by the past and the future, all at once. I don't mean literally, although I did throw water at someone in a burst of anger and tell them in a very loud voice to get the heck out of my house. No, I was attacked by the voices in my head, and subesequently attacked others around me directly, but mostly passive-aggressively.
That's what happens, when you get older, and fear gets in the way. That's what happens to me.
People handle fear differently. Some people let it immoblize them; some people take it out in anger; others take it out in sadness. Some eat to hide fear; some drink or take drugs. People do all kinds of crazy things to avoid fear.
But me, I do a few things to avoid fear. Lately, as you know, I've cleaned out all the clutter from the major storage spaces inside the house (except the garage). Then I waited impatiently for the miracle to arrive after all this clearing.
The miracle did not come as expected - the brand new space I opened up also opened up Pandora's box of fear because too much was possible!
I've been a disaster to live with the last couple days, but your Dah-DEE in his infinite love and wisdom, figured out that I need something else - something is missing in my life. He's right - I'm missing something for me. I'm missing something that makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning and run into the day.
What was holding me back? Fear.
What am I afraid of? That is the million dollar question ending in a preposition. I am afraid that I'll fail, sure, I'm also afraid I'll succeed. What IF I start a new company and it costs me all of my savings. What IF I fail miserably. What IF I am so successful that I no longer have time for you because I'm so busy with work? What IF in building this, I lose you or Dah-DEE?
Those What If's, they trap me in a box every time.
Your Dah-DEE, of course, would prefer I jump and see if I can fly. Heck, if I can't fly, he'll put a trampoline under me at the bottom of the cliff so I can bounce back up. No, he IS the trampoline.
All your Dah-DEE asks is to be his partner and to come home and not be a righteous B all the time.
Get rid of your safety net, he told me in different words. Quit your job that has become your direct deposit safety net. I will be your safety net.
There is no question why I love him; why he is the perfect partner for me.
But back to fear. I am reading a book on starting a small business so I can partner with my friend (TBN, since this is the all knowing, all searchable Internet) to create something wildly successful. Maybe I need to define what successful is to me so I know it when it knocks on my door in a fairy costume.
Successful is...
> Having time to read you books as you sit in my lap.
> Receiving your love, in spontaneous hugs and open mouth kisses (later they can be closed mouth kisses too)
> Taking vacations to new to me places
> Working in a way that gives me more energy
> Having time for myself, for Dah-DEE, for you and for work
> Making money without directly working; having money coming in whether I physically do work or not
And better, more wonderful things that aren't in the above list.
It's a dance, you see, with fear. It's hard to dance and be afraid at the same time; sooner or later the brain has to disengage to dance well. The brain has no place in dancing.
Fear can be a wonderful motivator, if it doesn't put me in a box and sit on the lid so I can't escape.
But now, in writing to you, I am getting out of that box and I'm going to keep reading the Small Business startup book and take the next step.
I love you, little one, may you learn how to dance with fear before age 36.
Mah-MEE
After a few days of being mostly in the present moment, I got attacked by the past and the future, all at once. I don't mean literally, although I did throw water at someone in a burst of anger and tell them in a very loud voice to get the heck out of my house. No, I was attacked by the voices in my head, and subesequently attacked others around me directly, but mostly passive-aggressively.
That's what happens, when you get older, and fear gets in the way. That's what happens to me.
People handle fear differently. Some people let it immoblize them; some people take it out in anger; others take it out in sadness. Some eat to hide fear; some drink or take drugs. People do all kinds of crazy things to avoid fear.
But me, I do a few things to avoid fear. Lately, as you know, I've cleaned out all the clutter from the major storage spaces inside the house (except the garage). Then I waited impatiently for the miracle to arrive after all this clearing.
The miracle did not come as expected - the brand new space I opened up also opened up Pandora's box of fear because too much was possible!
I've been a disaster to live with the last couple days, but your Dah-DEE in his infinite love and wisdom, figured out that I need something else - something is missing in my life. He's right - I'm missing something for me. I'm missing something that makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning and run into the day.
What was holding me back? Fear.
What am I afraid of? That is the million dollar question ending in a preposition. I am afraid that I'll fail, sure, I'm also afraid I'll succeed. What IF I start a new company and it costs me all of my savings. What IF I fail miserably. What IF I am so successful that I no longer have time for you because I'm so busy with work? What IF in building this, I lose you or Dah-DEE?
Those What If's, they trap me in a box every time.
Your Dah-DEE, of course, would prefer I jump and see if I can fly. Heck, if I can't fly, he'll put a trampoline under me at the bottom of the cliff so I can bounce back up. No, he IS the trampoline.
All your Dah-DEE asks is to be his partner and to come home and not be a righteous B all the time.
Get rid of your safety net, he told me in different words. Quit your job that has become your direct deposit safety net. I will be your safety net.
There is no question why I love him; why he is the perfect partner for me.
But back to fear. I am reading a book on starting a small business so I can partner with my friend (TBN, since this is the all knowing, all searchable Internet) to create something wildly successful. Maybe I need to define what successful is to me so I know it when it knocks on my door in a fairy costume.
Successful is...
> Having time to read you books as you sit in my lap.
> Receiving your love, in spontaneous hugs and open mouth kisses (later they can be closed mouth kisses too)
> Taking vacations to new to me places
> Working in a way that gives me more energy
> Having time for myself, for Dah-DEE, for you and for work
> Making money without directly working; having money coming in whether I physically do work or not
And better, more wonderful things that aren't in the above list.
It's a dance, you see, with fear. It's hard to dance and be afraid at the same time; sooner or later the brain has to disengage to dance well. The brain has no place in dancing.
Fear can be a wonderful motivator, if it doesn't put me in a box and sit on the lid so I can't escape.
But now, in writing to you, I am getting out of that box and I'm going to keep reading the Small Business startup book and take the next step.
I love you, little one, may you learn how to dance with fear before age 36.
Mah-MEE
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Blueberry Happy Jacks
Welcome Home, Stinky Dink!
This morning Mamama invented yet another new recipe...this one a mod on the traditional pancake that we're calling Blueberry Happy Jacks
Blueberry Happy Jacks
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp ground flax seed
1 beaten egg
1 Tbsp molasses
1 cup milk
2 Tbsp cooking oil
remaining frozen blueberries (1/2 cup would be good)
In whatever container you usually use for mixing pancakes, mix all the dry stuff together (including ground flax seed). In a separate container, beat the egg, then add the molasses, milk, and oil; mix these well. Then put the wet stuff into the dry stuff and stir until mixed but a bit lumpy.
Take frozen blueberries and rinse until they are mostly thawed, or thawed enough. Put these in the batter, stir once, but if you stir more than once, you'll have blue blueberry happy jacks which are fine, but not everyone likes their food blue.
I made silver dollar sized Happy Jacks by using a Tablespoon to scoop batter onto the hot frying pan. Size as you prefer.
Feed small child as you go, because otherwise you'll end up with grumpy small child who smells food but wonders why she can't have any. I spooned Yo Baby blueberry yogurt on top of hers, and then mine, because the combo was quite tasty. Eat with fork, or hands, as you prefer.
Ava, you out ate Mamama when it came to Happy Jacks. You ate seven to my five!
It's good to have you home, even if the house is completely impossible to keep clean for more than five minutes.
I love you,
Mamama
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Making room for change
Dear Stinky Dink,
Yesterday you left at 5:30AM with your Daddy to Tennessee for a few days. I spent the whole day organizing and de-cluttering, specifically your bedroom. I finally got around to removing all of my things from your bedroom, including what amounted to six boxes of books and random things that were hiding in a storage cabinet. I labeled paper bags with "throw away," "give away," "recycle," and "belongs somewhere else" and filled them to the brim. There are many other parts of the house to work on, but your room feels good. Clean. Organized.
I get this way periodically. “This way” is that I want to rummage through closets, cupboards, cluttered spaces and let go of all the things I once needed or thought I should keep because someone gave them to me. Sometimes I feel guilty letting things go that others gave me, even if they don't feel right anymore, or maybe never did.
In Feng Shui, we're encouraged to let go of anything that doesn't bring us up, or make us feel good by looking at it. There are Feng Shui cures we can do to improve less than optimal spaces or locations of rooms (such as my last flat which had a toilet in the money corner and I literally flushed money away while I lived there!), but what comes first always is letting go of clutter.
Your Daddy and I tackle the garage periodically, rearranging and removing, and then it gets filled back up again with things he finds in houses he sells and things we no longer want in the living spaces of the house. Then we clean it out, then we fill it back up. I must say though, that things are never static in this house. Change lives here.
I like change though. Change is the nature of the universe. The turkey vulture that flies overhead represents change. Often they represent the death of an animal they can call lunch, but death is change as well. Change is the death of something, death of an old way of doing things for a new way.
For a while now I've been living in a place of fear, feeling trapped by circumstances and situations. This has begun to shift, I can feel the lightness, the hope, the transition from fear to trust. I have been working in a place that doesn't really suit me, but I have been afraid to make a change, afraid to take a leap without a place to land.
I also started reading a new book, recommended by a friend, called The Power of Now. What the author says isn't brand new, but he writes in a way that appeals to me now. He writes about how the mind is constant chatter, mostly living in the past or projecting scenes onto the future. Neither are me, my true self, he writes. One suggestion he makes is to observe the one in my head doing all the thinking but not think about the thinking. Just observe the words as they pass on through.
I've done this in meditation and in yoga, but it's funny, I've never tried to watch the thinking, I've only tried to stop the thinking. He is reminding me that I am not these thoughts. I am infinite, beyond the judgments and fears in my head.
Reading this, I've felt more peaceful in the last few days. Problems that could have been huge turned out to be small, easily resolved. When my mind gets anxious, noisy, and afraid, I smile, tell it to relax, or even just a humorous library Shush! works well.
Then, of course, but not of course, because I'm not in that place of fear, a friend called me out of the blue and has a possible new job for me. This job feels like what's next - the what's next I've been wondering about for a while. My friends would say things like this always happen to me, and I would say that they do, as long as I'm not paying too much attention.
If I could teach you anything, little one, I would teach you how to quiet the chatter in your head. I would teach you about that calm place that lives inside you, a place of total love and total trust. But right now, you're seventeen months old, and you pretty much live in that place already.
Hopefully by the time the chatter finds you, you will have the tools to tell it to Shush! as you have more important things to do than listen.
I love you, Ava Jasmine. Come home soon.
Mamama
Yesterday you left at 5:30AM with your Daddy to Tennessee for a few days. I spent the whole day organizing and de-cluttering, specifically your bedroom. I finally got around to removing all of my things from your bedroom, including what amounted to six boxes of books and random things that were hiding in a storage cabinet. I labeled paper bags with "throw away," "give away," "recycle," and "belongs somewhere else" and filled them to the brim. There are many other parts of the house to work on, but your room feels good. Clean. Organized.
I get this way periodically. “This way” is that I want to rummage through closets, cupboards, cluttered spaces and let go of all the things I once needed or thought I should keep because someone gave them to me. Sometimes I feel guilty letting things go that others gave me, even if they don't feel right anymore, or maybe never did.
In Feng Shui, we're encouraged to let go of anything that doesn't bring us up, or make us feel good by looking at it. There are Feng Shui cures we can do to improve less than optimal spaces or locations of rooms (such as my last flat which had a toilet in the money corner and I literally flushed money away while I lived there!), but what comes first always is letting go of clutter.
Your Daddy and I tackle the garage periodically, rearranging and removing, and then it gets filled back up again with things he finds in houses he sells and things we no longer want in the living spaces of the house. Then we clean it out, then we fill it back up. I must say though, that things are never static in this house. Change lives here.
I like change though. Change is the nature of the universe. The turkey vulture that flies overhead represents change. Often they represent the death of an animal they can call lunch, but death is change as well. Change is the death of something, death of an old way of doing things for a new way.
For a while now I've been living in a place of fear, feeling trapped by circumstances and situations. This has begun to shift, I can feel the lightness, the hope, the transition from fear to trust. I have been working in a place that doesn't really suit me, but I have been afraid to make a change, afraid to take a leap without a place to land.
I also started reading a new book, recommended by a friend, called The Power of Now. What the author says isn't brand new, but he writes in a way that appeals to me now. He writes about how the mind is constant chatter, mostly living in the past or projecting scenes onto the future. Neither are me, my true self, he writes. One suggestion he makes is to observe the one in my head doing all the thinking but not think about the thinking. Just observe the words as they pass on through.
I've done this in meditation and in yoga, but it's funny, I've never tried to watch the thinking, I've only tried to stop the thinking. He is reminding me that I am not these thoughts. I am infinite, beyond the judgments and fears in my head.
Reading this, I've felt more peaceful in the last few days. Problems that could have been huge turned out to be small, easily resolved. When my mind gets anxious, noisy, and afraid, I smile, tell it to relax, or even just a humorous library Shush! works well.
Then, of course, but not of course, because I'm not in that place of fear, a friend called me out of the blue and has a possible new job for me. This job feels like what's next - the what's next I've been wondering about for a while. My friends would say things like this always happen to me, and I would say that they do, as long as I'm not paying too much attention.
If I could teach you anything, little one, I would teach you how to quiet the chatter in your head. I would teach you about that calm place that lives inside you, a place of total love and total trust. But right now, you're seventeen months old, and you pretty much live in that place already.
Hopefully by the time the chatter finds you, you will have the tools to tell it to Shush! as you have more important things to do than listen.
I love you, Ava Jasmine. Come home soon.
Mamama
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Tales of peace, books, dancing, and artichokes
Dear Ava,
Five minutes ago I got up from the couch and put you to bed. I took a while to get up because I was quite comfortably sandwiched between you on my right and Dadada on my left. He was beginning to snore on one side and you on the other. I looked from one peaceful sleeping face to the other, and I didn't just feel what peace looked like, I saw, I knew, intimately, what peace is.
You are such a joy to come home to after working all day. As soon as you hear my voice you start to make noise. You know it's me. When you first see me walk into the room you get a big many-toothed grin across your face and literally jump from the arms that were holding you into mine.
It's a privilege, to be loved so much by you, and to know that I am, right at this moment, your number one.
Aside from that, a couple things you do lately amuse me to no end. I gave you a small purple beaded purse and you've started carrying it around. At first just in your hand, but after a day you started putting it over your shoulder and walking around with it. Your Dadada wanted to put a dollar in your purse but I asked him not to, I didn't want you eating it.
You have also become a bibliophile in the last week. Anytime you are near a book, especially one of yours, you pick it up and hand it to the nearest person to read it to you. Yesterday you handed me "Blue Hat, Green Hat" as I was sitting cross-legged on the floor. I asked you if you were going to sit with me. You turned around and sat in my lap!
Since I've been home, we've read that book again, plus "Goodnight Gorilla," "Goodnight Moon," and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See." I heard you made your Nana read you "Rainbow Fish" at least four times today.
You are still dancing to every bit of music that plays, whether the tune is a commercial, a CD, or part of a movie. You'll find any excuse to shake that bootie. Today I taught you a new dancing trick, to wave your hands in the air as you swing those hips of yours.
I have also taught you to love artichokes, and the proper method of eating artichoke leaves. You scrape off the edge with your teeth and then sometimes hand it back to me and other times put the whole thing in your mouth. In time, I expect you'll figure out the heart is the best part and I only give you part of it.
Now it's time for Mamama to go to bed. Sweet dreams, my little love.
Five minutes ago I got up from the couch and put you to bed. I took a while to get up because I was quite comfortably sandwiched between you on my right and Dadada on my left. He was beginning to snore on one side and you on the other. I looked from one peaceful sleeping face to the other, and I didn't just feel what peace looked like, I saw, I knew, intimately, what peace is.
You are such a joy to come home to after working all day. As soon as you hear my voice you start to make noise. You know it's me. When you first see me walk into the room you get a big many-toothed grin across your face and literally jump from the arms that were holding you into mine.
It's a privilege, to be loved so much by you, and to know that I am, right at this moment, your number one.
Aside from that, a couple things you do lately amuse me to no end. I gave you a small purple beaded purse and you've started carrying it around. At first just in your hand, but after a day you started putting it over your shoulder and walking around with it. Your Dadada wanted to put a dollar in your purse but I asked him not to, I didn't want you eating it.
You have also become a bibliophile in the last week. Anytime you are near a book, especially one of yours, you pick it up and hand it to the nearest person to read it to you. Yesterday you handed me "Blue Hat, Green Hat" as I was sitting cross-legged on the floor. I asked you if you were going to sit with me. You turned around and sat in my lap!
Since I've been home, we've read that book again, plus "Goodnight Gorilla," "Goodnight Moon," and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See." I heard you made your Nana read you "Rainbow Fish" at least four times today.
You are still dancing to every bit of music that plays, whether the tune is a commercial, a CD, or part of a movie. You'll find any excuse to shake that bootie. Today I taught you a new dancing trick, to wave your hands in the air as you swing those hips of yours.
I have also taught you to love artichokes, and the proper method of eating artichoke leaves. You scrape off the edge with your teeth and then sometimes hand it back to me and other times put the whole thing in your mouth. In time, I expect you'll figure out the heart is the best part and I only give you part of it.
Now it's time for Mamama to go to bed. Sweet dreams, my little love.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Bilingual at 17 months
This morning as I was changing your diaper, you distinctly said o-lah! Hola? I questioned. OLAH!!! You replied. Hola! I said. Olah! you replied.
Then to mix things up a bit, I said Hi!
Hi! you replied, omitting the h, so it sounded more like "eye!"
Now though, you are wandering around the living room saying OLAH!
Then to top it off, you walked up, handed me two plastic baby hangers as if i was going to do something wonderful with them. I banged them together rapidly with a big grin on my face and handed them back to you. You nodded, very good Mom, and walked away, banging the hangers together.
Then to mix things up a bit, I said Hi!
Hi! you replied, omitting the h, so it sounded more like "eye!"
Now though, you are wandering around the living room saying OLAH!
Then to top it off, you walked up, handed me two plastic baby hangers as if i was going to do something wonderful with them. I banged them together rapidly with a big grin on my face and handed them back to you. You nodded, very good Mom, and walked away, banging the hangers together.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Seventeen months
Hi sweet girl,
Last weekend you went on your first ever camping trip up to Silver Lake. You ingested so much dirt that I believe any mineral deficit you may have had has completely disappeared.
You loved the dirt. You scooped up shovels full and dumped it into a bucket. You picked up handfuls and then emptied the dirt into my hand, as if to say, this is great stuff, Mom, you need some too.
I just laughed and said, "Dirt, Ava just handed me dirt."
I kept you in the same overalls all weekend, exchanging them only for pajamas at bedtime. We took Broham, our faithful 19-foot 1978 Dodge RV and shared a campsite with my brother and his family.
On Sunday a tribe of us went for a hike along beautiful water-worn granite with running water passing through. You were elated bouncing along in the backpack on Dadada's back until we got to a good stopping point and he put your feet in the water. You weren't sure about that cold water at first, but then later you strained against my arms to get more of it.
You got to see your Grandma Bear, your Great Grandpa Jerry, and a selection of other family members who all decided you were adorable. Such a great baby! So mellow! And you are, as good as they come for a 17 month old little girl.
Speaking of 17 months, you just had your 17 month birthday on Monday. Seventeen months already and you're doing all kinds of things these days.
Yesterday, you started saying Mommy. I wasn't really sure I was the Mommy type, but the decision is in your hands, so Mommy it is. You say all kinds of things, although you don't call the cats "kitty" you do seem to call Unagi somthing that sounds like "aaahhhgeeee" which is close enough for horseshoes.
You walk all over the place now, and even walk away from me in public places. You're pretty good at minding me though, when I ask you to stay inside or stay close. I appreciate this, believe me!
You can find your head and your nose, reliably, although my best efforts have not helped you find your ears or tummy. You are fascinated with your belly button, and the other morning I told you as you were poking your finger in it that in that exact spot you were connected to me. Your Dadada interjected by saying "And I cut you loose!"
Speaking of Dadada, the game he has taught you lately is that he'll honk when you squeeze his nose and beep when you squeeze your own. I didn't know about this game and wondered why you were giving me such a curious look when you squeezed my nose, nor why you were squeezing it in the first place.
Yesterday in the car, we had a whole conversation of whispered da's. I was on the phone, waiting for someone, and you said dadada in a whisper. I responded with a whispered da-da. We continued the da rally for about two minutes, lobbing and volleying one, two, or three da's back and forth.
All things considered, my little love, I wouldn't trade you for anything.
I love you,
Mamama
aka Mommy
Last weekend you went on your first ever camping trip up to Silver Lake. You ingested so much dirt that I believe any mineral deficit you may have had has completely disappeared.
You loved the dirt. You scooped up shovels full and dumped it into a bucket. You picked up handfuls and then emptied the dirt into my hand, as if to say, this is great stuff, Mom, you need some too.
I just laughed and said, "Dirt, Ava just handed me dirt."
I kept you in the same overalls all weekend, exchanging them only for pajamas at bedtime. We took Broham, our faithful 19-foot 1978 Dodge RV and shared a campsite with my brother and his family.
On Sunday a tribe of us went for a hike along beautiful water-worn granite with running water passing through. You were elated bouncing along in the backpack on Dadada's back until we got to a good stopping point and he put your feet in the water. You weren't sure about that cold water at first, but then later you strained against my arms to get more of it.
You got to see your Grandma Bear, your Great Grandpa Jerry, and a selection of other family members who all decided you were adorable. Such a great baby! So mellow! And you are, as good as they come for a 17 month old little girl.
Speaking of 17 months, you just had your 17 month birthday on Monday. Seventeen months already and you're doing all kinds of things these days.
Yesterday, you started saying Mommy. I wasn't really sure I was the Mommy type, but the decision is in your hands, so Mommy it is. You say all kinds of things, although you don't call the cats "kitty" you do seem to call Unagi somthing that sounds like "aaahhhgeeee" which is close enough for horseshoes.
You walk all over the place now, and even walk away from me in public places. You're pretty good at minding me though, when I ask you to stay inside or stay close. I appreciate this, believe me!
You can find your head and your nose, reliably, although my best efforts have not helped you find your ears or tummy. You are fascinated with your belly button, and the other morning I told you as you were poking your finger in it that in that exact spot you were connected to me. Your Dadada interjected by saying "And I cut you loose!"
Speaking of Dadada, the game he has taught you lately is that he'll honk when you squeeze his nose and beep when you squeeze your own. I didn't know about this game and wondered why you were giving me such a curious look when you squeezed my nose, nor why you were squeezing it in the first place.
Yesterday in the car, we had a whole conversation of whispered da's. I was on the phone, waiting for someone, and you said dadada in a whisper. I responded with a whispered da-da. We continued the da rally for about two minutes, lobbing and volleying one, two, or three da's back and forth.
All things considered, my little love, I wouldn't trade you for anything.
I love you,
Mamama
aka Mommy
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Solitary Vice
Hi stinky-dink,
Today at play group, we were discussing the relative vices of you, our tribe of toddlers.
It would seem that most, if not all of you have reached 16 or 18 months with potentially one vice to your name. Yours, of course, would be the pacifier.
Others had other vices, I think you're the only pacifier dependent one, but it's not my call to name vices of others so I'll just say that they existed, and they weren't particularly better or worse than the pacifier.
I don't know why I struggle so with your craving for it. You can't pass one by on the floor or table without plugging your mouth immediately. Earlier today I saw you walking around with one in your mouth, another in your hand, for emergency pacifier failure? I couldn't be sure.
After talking to my fabulous group of Mom-friends though I did see one thing in a new way. You have pretty much one vice. One. You may also have a couple bad sleeping habits and a Mom who has been called the "Food Nazi" by more than one homo sapien, but pretty much it comes down to the pacifier and I would bet my next paycheck that peer pressure will keep you from using it in high school.
I'm going to do my best to relax about the whole pacifier thing. I do panic a bit about the orthodontics bill that will be slapped down after years of pacifier gluttony, but this may be unnecessary. Maybe your teeth will straighten themselves out. Maybe the eleven months of nursing cancel out the pacifier? Who knows.
Maybe, my little pumpkin, you have to have one vice or you'd be too good. Maybe if Mamama stopped staring at the one blemish on an otherwise perfect complexion, Mamama would feel a whole lot better about the whole thing and you would just spontaneously forget you ever liked it in the first place.
Now though, you're asleep, and Harry Potter year 6 awaits.
I love you,
Mamama
Today at play group, we were discussing the relative vices of you, our tribe of toddlers.
It would seem that most, if not all of you have reached 16 or 18 months with potentially one vice to your name. Yours, of course, would be the pacifier.
Others had other vices, I think you're the only pacifier dependent one, but it's not my call to name vices of others so I'll just say that they existed, and they weren't particularly better or worse than the pacifier.
I don't know why I struggle so with your craving for it. You can't pass one by on the floor or table without plugging your mouth immediately. Earlier today I saw you walking around with one in your mouth, another in your hand, for emergency pacifier failure? I couldn't be sure.
After talking to my fabulous group of Mom-friends though I did see one thing in a new way. You have pretty much one vice. One. You may also have a couple bad sleeping habits and a Mom who has been called the "Food Nazi" by more than one homo sapien, but pretty much it comes down to the pacifier and I would bet my next paycheck that peer pressure will keep you from using it in high school.
I'm going to do my best to relax about the whole pacifier thing. I do panic a bit about the orthodontics bill that will be slapped down after years of pacifier gluttony, but this may be unnecessary. Maybe your teeth will straighten themselves out. Maybe the eleven months of nursing cancel out the pacifier? Who knows.
Maybe, my little pumpkin, you have to have one vice or you'd be too good. Maybe if Mamama stopped staring at the one blemish on an otherwise perfect complexion, Mamama would feel a whole lot better about the whole thing and you would just spontaneously forget you ever liked it in the first place.
Now though, you're asleep, and Harry Potter year 6 awaits.
I love you,
Mamama
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Toddling
Hi Ava,
During our week vacation apart, you transformed from an almost toddler to a full fledged walking toddler. After eight days of chasing after your two slightly older cousins you walk with wild abandon. Today you even squiggled out of my arms in your haste to get to the ground.
Your Aunt Susi and Uncle John, not to mention cousins Karilyn and Annie taught you a few new tricks which I am finding really useful. You now are capable of saying "eat" (or a close facsimile) when you are hungry. You are also a much better dancer now, and if Fred were still in his dancing shoes, you'd be bumping Ginger right out of the way.
Your Aunt Susi claims you were an absolute angel during your visit and that you knew that you were just visiting while I was off somewhere else. You took a regular nap at 11AM and went to bed every night at 7:30PM. It is really, really nice to know this can happen! Of course, you've fought both the nap and the bedtime since you've arrived at home, and even brought us a surprise gift of pre-two tantrums. You haven't flailed on the ground, but you've done your share of screaming today.
Can I blame the two top incisors that are breaking through? Is that blaming too much on the teething? Or can I just blame it on separation anxiety as we were apart for longer than ever before and perhaps you're just worried that Mamama is going away again.
We went to Holly Park today, you and I, and for the first time you walked rapidly all over the place. I felt so strange and proud at the same time. We've been to Holly Park with our friends and I've watched all of their kids run around, now it's your turn. The monkey scoot has disappeared along with the soft leather shoes. You did get another compliment on your fabulous purple shoes though, from a Mom with a 12 month old girl at the park.
Now, it's 9:23. It only took an hour to get you to sleep, and I say "only" in the most sarcastic of senses after multiple instances of putting you down, letting you scream, picking you up, down, scream, up, down, scream, and finally sleep. I love the idea of a 7:30 bedtime, the execution leaves something to be desired.
Now, it's time for Mamama to go to sleep. If I scream will you come pick me up?
I did miss you, little one, and it's good to be home.
love,
Mamama
During our week vacation apart, you transformed from an almost toddler to a full fledged walking toddler. After eight days of chasing after your two slightly older cousins you walk with wild abandon. Today you even squiggled out of my arms in your haste to get to the ground.
Your Aunt Susi and Uncle John, not to mention cousins Karilyn and Annie taught you a few new tricks which I am finding really useful. You now are capable of saying "eat" (or a close facsimile) when you are hungry. You are also a much better dancer now, and if Fred were still in his dancing shoes, you'd be bumping Ginger right out of the way.
Your Aunt Susi claims you were an absolute angel during your visit and that you knew that you were just visiting while I was off somewhere else. You took a regular nap at 11AM and went to bed every night at 7:30PM. It is really, really nice to know this can happen! Of course, you've fought both the nap and the bedtime since you've arrived at home, and even brought us a surprise gift of pre-two tantrums. You haven't flailed on the ground, but you've done your share of screaming today.
Can I blame the two top incisors that are breaking through? Is that blaming too much on the teething? Or can I just blame it on separation anxiety as we were apart for longer than ever before and perhaps you're just worried that Mamama is going away again.
We went to Holly Park today, you and I, and for the first time you walked rapidly all over the place. I felt so strange and proud at the same time. We've been to Holly Park with our friends and I've watched all of their kids run around, now it's your turn. The monkey scoot has disappeared along with the soft leather shoes. You did get another compliment on your fabulous purple shoes though, from a Mom with a 12 month old girl at the park.
Now, it's 9:23. It only took an hour to get you to sleep, and I say "only" in the most sarcastic of senses after multiple instances of putting you down, letting you scream, picking you up, down, scream, up, down, scream, and finally sleep. I love the idea of a 7:30 bedtime, the execution leaves something to be desired.
Now, it's time for Mamama to go to sleep. If I scream will you come pick me up?
I did miss you, little one, and it's good to be home.
love,
Mamama
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Already missing you
Hi sweet girl,
I was sad today I watched your Dadada leave to deliver you to your Uncle John's and Aunt Susi's. I came back into the house and fumbled around a bit unsure of what to do with myself. Sure, I had a list of errands to run and more to add to the list, but I felt a bit lost without you to wrap my Tuesday around.
Your Dadada called me after he dropped you off and said that was he hardest thing he's had to do in a while. As he was leaving you, he told you it was time for him to go and to give Daddy a kissy. You puckered up your lips and leaned over and kissed him. That's the first time I've heard of you doing that!
Around 7:30 as I was settling in to eat dinner, I thought of you. I closed my eyes, slowed down my breath until my heart felt warm, and I pictured myself wrapping my arms around you. I called your Aunt & Uncle's house a half hour later, and it turned out that's when you went to sleep.
Your Aunt Susi is a mom after my own heart, she told me what you ate for dinner (carrots and broccoli and TWO cups of milk!) and when you fell asleep. She said you were such a good baby and hardly cried today.
Maybe I'm doing my job okay afterall.
I love you stinky-dink.
Mamama
I was sad today I watched your Dadada leave to deliver you to your Uncle John's and Aunt Susi's. I came back into the house and fumbled around a bit unsure of what to do with myself. Sure, I had a list of errands to run and more to add to the list, but I felt a bit lost without you to wrap my Tuesday around.
Your Dadada called me after he dropped you off and said that was he hardest thing he's had to do in a while. As he was leaving you, he told you it was time for him to go and to give Daddy a kissy. You puckered up your lips and leaned over and kissed him. That's the first time I've heard of you doing that!
Around 7:30 as I was settling in to eat dinner, I thought of you. I closed my eyes, slowed down my breath until my heart felt warm, and I pictured myself wrapping my arms around you. I called your Aunt & Uncle's house a half hour later, and it turned out that's when you went to sleep.
Your Aunt Susi is a mom after my own heart, she told me what you ate for dinner (carrots and broccoli and TWO cups of milk!) and when you fell asleep. She said you were such a good baby and hardly cried today.
Maybe I'm doing my job okay afterall.
I love you stinky-dink.
Mamama
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Protected by love
Hi Sweet Girl,
I was sad this afternoon, thinking of how much I'm going to miss you while your Dad and I go to Cancun. I looked at you walking, stumbling, picking yourself up to standing again, and my heart was sad thinking we'll be apart for a week and a half.
Your Dadada is driving you to your Aunt & Uncle's tomorrow while I'm at work. I'm sure you'll make the best of it and play with your cousins, and I'll make the best of Cancun and try not to miss you too much, but we've never been apart more than a couple nights before.
Sense usurped sensitivity at last and I surrendered to enjoying you. I didn't want you to feel something was wrong, that my sadness meant you were doing something wrong, so I just felt the love I have for you, warming me.
You are such a fabulous little girl. Everytime you walk to me and throw your arms around me I melt into a big sloppy puddle. You know you're doing something good, too, walking with that big wild grin on your face.
Tonight we watched Charmed while I cleaned up the living room and then I decided it was time for Xena and I pulled out the DVD. You like Xena, I can tell because you point at the TV when the theme song comes on and say AAAYYYYY. Your Dadada, he's a great man, but he doesn't get Xena like we do.
I told you it was time for bed soon and you walked around wearing off some of the last dregs of your energy until you came over to me on the couch and lifted one leg to try to climb up. This is my cue to pick you up and lay you down spoon-like in front of me.
You fell asleep about halfway through the program, on top of me diagonally, your back on my chest, legs off me to the left. You had one arm reaching back, touching me under my chin and I had my right arm over your tummy, keeping you safe.
I made a wish while you slept, your face two inches from mine. I said that while we're apart that you are protected by love, light, and all that is good; and that every day we're apart you will feel my love for you and know that we will be together again soon.
Do you know I love you?
Mamama
I was sad this afternoon, thinking of how much I'm going to miss you while your Dad and I go to Cancun. I looked at you walking, stumbling, picking yourself up to standing again, and my heart was sad thinking we'll be apart for a week and a half.
Your Dadada is driving you to your Aunt & Uncle's tomorrow while I'm at work. I'm sure you'll make the best of it and play with your cousins, and I'll make the best of Cancun and try not to miss you too much, but we've never been apart more than a couple nights before.
Sense usurped sensitivity at last and I surrendered to enjoying you. I didn't want you to feel something was wrong, that my sadness meant you were doing something wrong, so I just felt the love I have for you, warming me.
You are such a fabulous little girl. Everytime you walk to me and throw your arms around me I melt into a big sloppy puddle. You know you're doing something good, too, walking with that big wild grin on your face.
Tonight we watched Charmed while I cleaned up the living room and then I decided it was time for Xena and I pulled out the DVD. You like Xena, I can tell because you point at the TV when the theme song comes on and say AAAYYYYY. Your Dadada, he's a great man, but he doesn't get Xena like we do.
I told you it was time for bed soon and you walked around wearing off some of the last dregs of your energy until you came over to me on the couch and lifted one leg to try to climb up. This is my cue to pick you up and lay you down spoon-like in front of me.
You fell asleep about halfway through the program, on top of me diagonally, your back on my chest, legs off me to the left. You had one arm reaching back, touching me under my chin and I had my right arm over your tummy, keeping you safe.
I made a wish while you slept, your face two inches from mine. I said that while we're apart that you are protected by love, light, and all that is good; and that every day we're apart you will feel my love for you and know that we will be together again soon.
Do you know I love you?
Mamama
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Walking business
Dear Ava,
This whole walking thing is very strange. First of all, when I got home today you walked to the front door when you saw me. Walked!
Second, you just walked into your bedroom to play with toys. Walked!
Third, when I put you down a few minutes ago, you didn't want to go down into a sitting position, but instead extended your legs and took off walking from where I put you. There are fewer gaps of monkey-scoot between strides. I'm going to miss that monkey-scoot of yours when it goes.
My friend Victoria commented recently that kids (including her 18 month old Ian) just look different when they start walking. I agree, you look taller and smaller and just, well, older or wiser somehow.
You still hold your hands in "stick 'em up" pose, so you walk around looking like a baby cactus. You used to sleep like a baby cactus when you were a month or two old, now you walk like a baby cactus.
It's just strange, really, this whole walking business. Next you're going to start calling me to pick you up from the mall. Where has my little girl gone?
Love,
Mamama
This whole walking thing is very strange. First of all, when I got home today you walked to the front door when you saw me. Walked!
Second, you just walked into your bedroom to play with toys. Walked!
Third, when I put you down a few minutes ago, you didn't want to go down into a sitting position, but instead extended your legs and took off walking from where I put you. There are fewer gaps of monkey-scoot between strides. I'm going to miss that monkey-scoot of yours when it goes.
My friend Victoria commented recently that kids (including her 18 month old Ian) just look different when they start walking. I agree, you look taller and smaller and just, well, older or wiser somehow.
You still hold your hands in "stick 'em up" pose, so you walk around looking like a baby cactus. You used to sleep like a baby cactus when you were a month or two old, now you walk like a baby cactus.
It's just strange, really, this whole walking business. Next you're going to start calling me to pick you up from the mall. Where has my little girl gone?
Love,
Mamama
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Lounging in the morning
Hi little one,
The mornings I am home with you are my favorite mornings of all. There's no rush, no hurry, we lounge around in bed with you sitting, flopping back, flopping on me, pulling yourself up with the metal headboard.
This morning was like this; you slept with me last night because I was feeling selfish. I was gone from 7AM until 9PM last night; I missed you and wanted you close.
Your chirps and short cries woke me, I opened my eyes and you were staring at me with your big brown ojos. I smiled, you smiled, then you leaned over to bite my nose. You were fascinated with my hair, picking it up and running it through you fingers. Soon enough, I promise, your hair will be as long as mine.
We lounged for at least half an hour, the TV dark and silent, the morning completely ours with no distractions. We played a quick game of modified peek-a-boo where I hid my face under the sheet and you "found me."
Now, you are about ready for a nap, evident by the whine, and from the obvious smell you could use a clean diaper. I better get to that...
love,
Mamama
The mornings I am home with you are my favorite mornings of all. There's no rush, no hurry, we lounge around in bed with you sitting, flopping back, flopping on me, pulling yourself up with the metal headboard.
This morning was like this; you slept with me last night because I was feeling selfish. I was gone from 7AM until 9PM last night; I missed you and wanted you close.
Your chirps and short cries woke me, I opened my eyes and you were staring at me with your big brown ojos. I smiled, you smiled, then you leaned over to bite my nose. You were fascinated with my hair, picking it up and running it through you fingers. Soon enough, I promise, your hair will be as long as mine.
We lounged for at least half an hour, the TV dark and silent, the morning completely ours with no distractions. We played a quick game of modified peek-a-boo where I hid my face under the sheet and you "found me."
Now, you are about ready for a nap, evident by the whine, and from the obvious smell you could use a clean diaper. I better get to that...
love,
Mamama
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Toy on the table
Hi sweetest girl,
You are starting to resist naps big time. I even went so far today as to gate us into your bedroom, lay down on the yellow couch in your room, and pretend to sleep in hopes that you'd do the same. No dice. I think I even fell asleep for a few minutes because when I opened my eyes again you'd emptied out the contents of your dresser onto the floor. Then, when I had given up hope and was about to take you to the grocery store to get dinner, you started your trademark "nobody loves me" whine and I gave you a pacifier and rocked you for ten seconds and you were gone.
I can't start dinner, because dinner ingredients are still at the grocery store, and I can't very well leave because you're asleep.
So I started working and on the table was one of your toys. I could picture the future moment when you would be out the door, away at college, and there would be no toys on the table. I didn't even have a second to be irritated that I had to put yet another toy away, because I could feel time dissolving the distance between now and then. Today, you're getting closer to being a full time walker, tomorrow, you're taking that acceptance letter and packing for some college that is probably not as close as SFSU or even Berkeley.
I'm glad the house doesn't have to be perfect, that I don't have to rush to put away the toys you skattered on the floor, that I don't scream in agony when I have to pick up the clothes you ripped out of your dresser that I did just neatly fold and put away.
I'm glad, at least today, that I can smile about it. I can see far enough into the future to enjoy the toy on the table while you're asleep in your crib, 144 inches, not miles, away.
I love you stinky-dink,
Mamama
You are starting to resist naps big time. I even went so far today as to gate us into your bedroom, lay down on the yellow couch in your room, and pretend to sleep in hopes that you'd do the same. No dice. I think I even fell asleep for a few minutes because when I opened my eyes again you'd emptied out the contents of your dresser onto the floor. Then, when I had given up hope and was about to take you to the grocery store to get dinner, you started your trademark "nobody loves me" whine and I gave you a pacifier and rocked you for ten seconds and you were gone.
I can't start dinner, because dinner ingredients are still at the grocery store, and I can't very well leave because you're asleep.
So I started working and on the table was one of your toys. I could picture the future moment when you would be out the door, away at college, and there would be no toys on the table. I didn't even have a second to be irritated that I had to put yet another toy away, because I could feel time dissolving the distance between now and then. Today, you're getting closer to being a full time walker, tomorrow, you're taking that acceptance letter and packing for some college that is probably not as close as SFSU or even Berkeley.
I'm glad the house doesn't have to be perfect, that I don't have to rush to put away the toys you skattered on the floor, that I don't scream in agony when I have to pick up the clothes you ripped out of your dresser that I did just neatly fold and put away.
I'm glad, at least today, that I can smile about it. I can see far enough into the future to enjoy the toy on the table while you're asleep in your crib, 144 inches, not miles, away.
I love you stinky-dink,
Mamama
Friday, August 05, 2005
Ava celebrates her sixteen month birthday
Hi stinky-dink!
Today, you are sixteen months old. We celebrated this exciting event with buying you big-girl walking shoes from Nordstrom. As always, I couldn't buy you pink shoes, I bought you super purple shoes! My bank account hurt just a little as I dropped $50 on shoes for you, but since these are your first shoes, I couldn't resist.
We also celebrated today by hanging out with our friends Amy and Jack. We went to lunch at olive garden where you and Jack swung spaghetti noodles high over your heads and then cracked them like whips.
We then went to the petting zoo, where you touched goats' horns, surprised at the hardness of them and wondering why the small black and white animals at home don't have these. You always love the ducks, and tried more than once to climb into the duck pond although I insisted it wasn't a good day for swimming. You monkey scooted your way across the petting zoo getting your new shoes all dusty.
We finished our SF Zoo experience with a ride on the carousel horse, you in front, me in back. I asked you mid-ride what you thought and you responded with "Yaaaaayyyyyy!"
You are such a beautiful child, a wonderful child, and a curious child. Your latest tricks are to cover your eyes for peek-a-boo when I say "Where's Ava?" and then you take your hands off and giggle when I say "There she is!" You love your cupboard in the kitchen where you can empty all of the plastic containers onto the floor and watch me put them away. You walk sometimes, not always, but when you do you grin uncontrollably because you know you are doing something BIG.
I love you more each day,
Mamama
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Alphabet sleeping
Hi my sweet girl,
Sleeping is always an event with a surprise beginning around here. You don't have a predictable bedtime, unless predictable can be defined as plus or minus an hour, and where you fall asleep is even more unpredictable. Sometimes you fall asleep on the living room floor, sometimes you fall asleep next to me in bed, sometimes you fall asleep in my arms in the rocking chair, but almost never do you fall asleep solo in your crib.
I know, in Mom School they told me that I'm supposed to teach you to fall asleep in your crib, even if it means you're crying forever. Usually I only use that as a tool to get you sleepy. I'll put you in your crib when I know you just need to cry for a bit to get good and tired, then I'll take you out after about five minutes and rock you or hold you until you drift off.
Before you could stand up I'd let you cry laying down, but when you're standing up in your crib, holding your arms out, I fall for the trap and pick you up. I reason that you're only this little for a short while, and it's an indulgence for myself as well as you.
The other mystery of every night is where you end up sleeping. Some nights I put you in your crib after you fall asleep. Then your Dadada falls asleep on the couch in front of the TV, because he knows I won't sleep with the TV on in the bedroom, and we all sleep stretched out in different places.
Then some nights, Dadada sleeps with me, or just you sleep with me, but the nights my heart loves most but my back likes least is ones like last night, when we all sleep in the same bed.
The night starts out with us all sleeping parallel, like I's. Then you shift in the middle of the night and we become an H or even an N. Last night I woke up at some pre-dawn hour and saw we were an upside-down A, your Dadada and I the angles and you the center cross. A bit later you started crying and I pulled you close. We became a V.
I know, at Mom School they said I shouldn't get you used to sleeping with me, but to them I stick out my tongue and say PPTHTTTT! You don't want to sleep with us every night and some nights I feel you just want to be close to us, that you need extra comfort, extra love. What's the harm in that? I'm reminded of a story my friend Stef once recounted about a mother-daughter pair who slept in the same bed, the mother's point being "Who wants to sleep alone?"
Tonight though, you fell asleep in the car on the way home from Nana's and we put you right into your crib. I'll see you in the morning, my love.
Mamama
Sleeping is always an event with a surprise beginning around here. You don't have a predictable bedtime, unless predictable can be defined as plus or minus an hour, and where you fall asleep is even more unpredictable. Sometimes you fall asleep on the living room floor, sometimes you fall asleep next to me in bed, sometimes you fall asleep in my arms in the rocking chair, but almost never do you fall asleep solo in your crib.
I know, in Mom School they told me that I'm supposed to teach you to fall asleep in your crib, even if it means you're crying forever. Usually I only use that as a tool to get you sleepy. I'll put you in your crib when I know you just need to cry for a bit to get good and tired, then I'll take you out after about five minutes and rock you or hold you until you drift off.
Before you could stand up I'd let you cry laying down, but when you're standing up in your crib, holding your arms out, I fall for the trap and pick you up. I reason that you're only this little for a short while, and it's an indulgence for myself as well as you.
The other mystery of every night is where you end up sleeping. Some nights I put you in your crib after you fall asleep. Then your Dadada falls asleep on the couch in front of the TV, because he knows I won't sleep with the TV on in the bedroom, and we all sleep stretched out in different places.
Then some nights, Dadada sleeps with me, or just you sleep with me, but the nights my heart loves most but my back likes least is ones like last night, when we all sleep in the same bed.
The night starts out with us all sleeping parallel, like I's. Then you shift in the middle of the night and we become an H or even an N. Last night I woke up at some pre-dawn hour and saw we were an upside-down A, your Dadada and I the angles and you the center cross. A bit later you started crying and I pulled you close. We became a V.
I know, at Mom School they said I shouldn't get you used to sleeping with me, but to them I stick out my tongue and say PPTHTTTT! You don't want to sleep with us every night and some nights I feel you just want to be close to us, that you need extra comfort, extra love. What's the harm in that? I'm reminded of a story my friend Stef once recounted about a mother-daughter pair who slept in the same bed, the mother's point being "Who wants to sleep alone?"
Tonight though, you fell asleep in the car on the way home from Nana's and we put you right into your crib. I'll see you in the morning, my love.
Mamama
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Befriending the green-eyed monster
Hi little one,
Someday when you are older, you will be able to match the feeling of jealousy with the word. Oddly enough, you're inheriting jealousy from me, not your father. He is one of the few Mexican men that isn't jealous, and I didn't think that I was either, but my roots are showing.
My first hint of jealousy is anger. Usually when I feel angry, underneath the anger is jealousy. I feel like someone else has something that I want, something that I think would make my life better, make me happier, and their life is better because they have this - whatever this is.
I see this in you, too. Your Dadada will hug me, and you scream from the floor. He's taking your Mamama away from you. Is this true? Not in the slightest, because really, although you don't know it, you want your parents to be happy together. I'm guessing you see this as a loss, a theft, because Dadada is getting my attention instead of you.
It's okay, my love, I do this all the time. I get jealous of others for having something I want - sometimes it's just the fact that they live by themselves and get to have all the quiet and solitude I used to enjoy. I don't want this all the time, because I miss you terribly if we're apart for a whole day, but sometimes I want to be by myself and I find it's impossible. I see someone else living by themselves and I want what I think they have. The funny thing about jealousy though, is it usually happens in both directions. The friend I envy because she lives alone probably envies me because I have you and your Dadada. I have a family, and she wants that.
I also get jealous of friends that are home all the time with their Ava's because they have that luxury of time I don't think I have in juggling work, you, Dadada, and a slice of time for me. But I would bet some of them are jealous that I have work to go to, that I'm not at home all the time. Maybe they are, maybe they're not. That's the thing about jealousy, you never know, but it messes everyone up just the same.
Jealousy can be more than just an irritation though. Jealousy, when used properly, can be really useful. Jealousy can be something like an alarm, signaling action. If I can look at jealousy as something to learn from rather than hide and avoid, maybe I can teach you about that too.
When I feel jealous of my friend with her own place, maybe instead of being bitter and angry, what my jealousy is really telling me is that I need some time to myself. I need a Julie Day and I need to ask for help in getting some time alone.
When I am jealous of others that have more time with their Ava's, maybe really what I need is to enjoy the time I have with you. On our days together I don't need to rush around doing errands that are of minor importance as long as we have milk in the refrigerator. We can just play on the living room floor and you can show me what you've learned since our last day together. Instead of feeling angry that we don't have enough time, when I'd be a nervous wreck if I wasn't working, I can be grateful for the time I do have.
As for you, my little pumpkin, I can tell you that your Dadada isn't taking anything away from you when he cuddles with me on the couch, really what he's giving you is happy parents. I don't expect this will make sense yet. What I can do though is work on my own jealousy and use it as a barometer rather than a mosquito bite, and maybe your jealousy will sort itself out too.
Someday when you are older, you will be able to match the feeling of jealousy with the word. Oddly enough, you're inheriting jealousy from me, not your father. He is one of the few Mexican men that isn't jealous, and I didn't think that I was either, but my roots are showing.
My first hint of jealousy is anger. Usually when I feel angry, underneath the anger is jealousy. I feel like someone else has something that I want, something that I think would make my life better, make me happier, and their life is better because they have this - whatever this is.
I see this in you, too. Your Dadada will hug me, and you scream from the floor. He's taking your Mamama away from you. Is this true? Not in the slightest, because really, although you don't know it, you want your parents to be happy together. I'm guessing you see this as a loss, a theft, because Dadada is getting my attention instead of you.
It's okay, my love, I do this all the time. I get jealous of others for having something I want - sometimes it's just the fact that they live by themselves and get to have all the quiet and solitude I used to enjoy. I don't want this all the time, because I miss you terribly if we're apart for a whole day, but sometimes I want to be by myself and I find it's impossible. I see someone else living by themselves and I want what I think they have. The funny thing about jealousy though, is it usually happens in both directions. The friend I envy because she lives alone probably envies me because I have you and your Dadada. I have a family, and she wants that.
I also get jealous of friends that are home all the time with their Ava's because they have that luxury of time I don't think I have in juggling work, you, Dadada, and a slice of time for me. But I would bet some of them are jealous that I have work to go to, that I'm not at home all the time. Maybe they are, maybe they're not. That's the thing about jealousy, you never know, but it messes everyone up just the same.
Jealousy can be more than just an irritation though. Jealousy, when used properly, can be really useful. Jealousy can be something like an alarm, signaling action. If I can look at jealousy as something to learn from rather than hide and avoid, maybe I can teach you about that too.
When I feel jealous of my friend with her own place, maybe instead of being bitter and angry, what my jealousy is really telling me is that I need some time to myself. I need a Julie Day and I need to ask for help in getting some time alone.
When I am jealous of others that have more time with their Ava's, maybe really what I need is to enjoy the time I have with you. On our days together I don't need to rush around doing errands that are of minor importance as long as we have milk in the refrigerator. We can just play on the living room floor and you can show me what you've learned since our last day together. Instead of feeling angry that we don't have enough time, when I'd be a nervous wreck if I wasn't working, I can be grateful for the time I do have.
As for you, my little pumpkin, I can tell you that your Dadada isn't taking anything away from you when he cuddles with me on the couch, really what he's giving you is happy parents. I don't expect this will make sense yet. What I can do though is work on my own jealousy and use it as a barometer rather than a mosquito bite, and maybe your jealousy will sort itself out too.
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