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
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
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
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
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
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
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas 2008
Hi sweetie,
Wow! A few months have passed since my last letter, and predictably some things have changed but mostly life is the same.
This was the first year you enthusiastically wanted to decorate a Christmas tree. Daddy & I postponed the tree purchase until a week before Christmas, when we drove down to the tree place and you & I walked around in search of the perfect small tree for our small living room. You did great, picking out a four foot tree that slid in perfectly between our TV and the front door. Daddy and I had agonized a bit over how to put the tree by the window and where we'd have to move the TV and re-wire the cable, but alas, the worrying was in vain.
You love putting ornaments on the tree, but not as much as you like wrapping presents. You like finding things to wrap, even if you've played with that thing for days already. This morning you wrapped a travel toothbrush we got last weekend, that you used this morning to brush your teeth. You also wanted to wrap a present you got last weekend from Papa and Deb-Deb for Mommy Rabbit.
We haven't pushed the idea of Santa, and I'm on the fence whether we ought to create and propagate the idea that there's this guy who makes toys and delivers them by chimney every year based on whether you've been good or bad. There are parts of the Santa tale I like, and some I don't, especially the part that feeds holiday compulsory spending and the rampant consumerism that is plaguing our country's economy right about now.
That's a little heavy for four and a half years old though, mostly I don't want you to plunge unconsciously into the "what am I getting for Christmas" attitude I see so much. That you make a list and get what's on it because that's what you're being fed by media as what should happen for Christmas.
But to walk out of the darkness of the politics of spending and into the light of the season, the light that is family, friends, helping others, and rejoicing in what we have. Among all of the financial turmoil, we have a home, we have each other, we have enough money for right now, and although life isn't perfect and Christmas has been usurped by large corporations selling products, I still go Christmas shopping and look for small things, small, thoughtful, inexpensive gifts for others around me. If anything, it's a good time to acknowledge those who matter to me.
Today I'm grateful that a trip to Target with you doesn't involve a crying fit around the toy section on what you want, what you say you have to have, and Conejito is still your favorite toy of them all.
love always,
one hundred thousand,
Mommy
Wow! A few months have passed since my last letter, and predictably some things have changed but mostly life is the same.
This was the first year you enthusiastically wanted to decorate a Christmas tree. Daddy & I postponed the tree purchase until a week before Christmas, when we drove down to the tree place and you & I walked around in search of the perfect small tree for our small living room. You did great, picking out a four foot tree that slid in perfectly between our TV and the front door. Daddy and I had agonized a bit over how to put the tree by the window and where we'd have to move the TV and re-wire the cable, but alas, the worrying was in vain.
You love putting ornaments on the tree, but not as much as you like wrapping presents. You like finding things to wrap, even if you've played with that thing for days already. This morning you wrapped a travel toothbrush we got last weekend, that you used this morning to brush your teeth. You also wanted to wrap a present you got last weekend from Papa and Deb-Deb for Mommy Rabbit.
We haven't pushed the idea of Santa, and I'm on the fence whether we ought to create and propagate the idea that there's this guy who makes toys and delivers them by chimney every year based on whether you've been good or bad. There are parts of the Santa tale I like, and some I don't, especially the part that feeds holiday compulsory spending and the rampant consumerism that is plaguing our country's economy right about now.
That's a little heavy for four and a half years old though, mostly I don't want you to plunge unconsciously into the "what am I getting for Christmas" attitude I see so much. That you make a list and get what's on it because that's what you're being fed by media as what should happen for Christmas.
But to walk out of the darkness of the politics of spending and into the light of the season, the light that is family, friends, helping others, and rejoicing in what we have. Among all of the financial turmoil, we have a home, we have each other, we have enough money for right now, and although life isn't perfect and Christmas has been usurped by large corporations selling products, I still go Christmas shopping and look for small things, small, thoughtful, inexpensive gifts for others around me. If anything, it's a good time to acknowledge those who matter to me.
Today I'm grateful that a trip to Target with you doesn't involve a crying fit around the toy section on what you want, what you say you have to have, and Conejito is still your favorite toy of them all.
love always,
one hundred thousand,
Mommy
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Update
Hi Sweetie,
A dozen times a week I notice something you say or do and think I want to write about it here, now, before you stop saying and doing such wonderful spontaneous Ava-things. But alas, I'm human and bogged down by the limitations of physical time and space and sometimes I write them down but not always.
You started in the big big girl pre-K class at your school a couple weeks ago. New teachers that don't adore you on sight (yet) but most of the same friends as your last class. Along with the move to the new class there are no longer three teachers 'fighting' to be the chosen one to hold you momentarily as I walk away. Momentarily, because you run to the windows to give your trademark two arm one leg wave, which I gleefully return, not concerned in the slightest at decorum or propriety of a grown woman looking silly.
Yesterday we saw a picture of a caterpillar in one of your books and you told me, quite insistently, that a caterpillar goes into a racoon to become a butterfly. You were so sincere, I really didn't want to tell you that it's a 'cocoon' not a 'racoon' but I absolutely loved it.
Other Ava-quotes from a couple weeks ago:
"Mommy, when I grow up bigger like you I could hold a cat. A little cat."
You: "Mommy, baby rabbit doesn't want to go to sleep."
Me: "Maybe she's not tired."
You: "Yes she is!"
"Do you want to do the shaking all over dance?"
Yes, absolutely, yes. How would I not want to do the shaking all over dance?
Speaking of dancing, for a couple weeks you originated a "Sun Dance" that was a flowing yoga-ish modern expressionist dance with waving arms and body. Absolutely beautifully hilarious, especially with the serious look on your face.
Alas, I'm hit by that time/space crunch and need to go fetch you from school.
I love you,
one hundred thousand one hundred thousand
(and that's A LOT)
Mommy
A dozen times a week I notice something you say or do and think I want to write about it here, now, before you stop saying and doing such wonderful spontaneous Ava-things. But alas, I'm human and bogged down by the limitations of physical time and space and sometimes I write them down but not always.
You started in the big big girl pre-K class at your school a couple weeks ago. New teachers that don't adore you on sight (yet) but most of the same friends as your last class. Along with the move to the new class there are no longer three teachers 'fighting' to be the chosen one to hold you momentarily as I walk away. Momentarily, because you run to the windows to give your trademark two arm one leg wave, which I gleefully return, not concerned in the slightest at decorum or propriety of a grown woman looking silly.
Yesterday we saw a picture of a caterpillar in one of your books and you told me, quite insistently, that a caterpillar goes into a racoon to become a butterfly. You were so sincere, I really didn't want to tell you that it's a 'cocoon' not a 'racoon' but I absolutely loved it.
Other Ava-quotes from a couple weeks ago:
"Mommy, when I grow up bigger like you I could hold a cat. A little cat."
You: "Mommy, baby rabbit doesn't want to go to sleep."
Me: "Maybe she's not tired."
You: "Yes she is!"
"Do you want to do the shaking all over dance?"
Yes, absolutely, yes. How would I not want to do the shaking all over dance?
Speaking of dancing, for a couple weeks you originated a "Sun Dance" that was a flowing yoga-ish modern expressionist dance with waving arms and body. Absolutely beautifully hilarious, especially with the serious look on your face.
Alas, I'm hit by that time/space crunch and need to go fetch you from school.
I love you,
one hundred thousand one hundred thousand
(and that's A LOT)
Mommy
Saturday, May 17, 2008
I love you game
Me: I love you
You: I love you too
Me: I love you three
You: I love you four
Me: I love you five
You: I love you six
Me: I love you seven
You: I love you eight
Me: I love you nine
You: I love you ten
Me: I love you eleven
You: I love you twelve
Me: I love you thirteen
You: I love you fourteen
Me: I love you fifteen
You: I love you one
Me: ?
You: You have to say I love you two!
Me: I love you two
You: I love you three
Me: I love you five hundred and eighty seven
You: I love you one hundred and one
Me: That's a LOT!
You: I love you hundred and puppy.
Me: I love you one hundred and lion.
You: I love you one hundred and your hair.
Me: I love you one hundred and your feet.
You: I love you envelope in the car.
Me: Laughing
My sweetie, you are all over the board this week with a tantrum every other hour over something that nobody can predict. Despite the tantrums, the mood swings, the stubbornness, the fixation on getting what you want and screaming about it,
I love you one billion and three.
You: I love you too
Me: I love you three
You: I love you four
Me: I love you five
You: I love you six
Me: I love you seven
You: I love you eight
Me: I love you nine
You: I love you ten
Me: I love you eleven
You: I love you twelve
Me: I love you thirteen
You: I love you fourteen
Me: I love you fifteen
You: I love you one
Me: ?
You: You have to say I love you two!
Me: I love you two
You: I love you three
Me: I love you five hundred and eighty seven
You: I love you one hundred and one
Me: That's a LOT!
You: I love you hundred and puppy.
Me: I love you one hundred and lion.
You: I love you one hundred and your hair.
Me: I love you one hundred and your feet.
You: I love you envelope in the car.
Me: Laughing
My sweetie, you are all over the board this week with a tantrum every other hour over something that nobody can predict. Despite the tantrums, the mood swings, the stubbornness, the fixation on getting what you want and screaming about it,
I love you one billion and three.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Four years old
Hi my sweetie,
Last weekend you became four years old. Yes, it took 365 days between three to reach four, and 4 x 365 days to reach four from the day I gave birth to you, but as all parents seem to say, it sure went fast.
You are quite the manifesting delight! You asked Daddy a couple months ago if we could go to Disneyland for your birthday. He said yes. What can only be a testament to your manifesting powers, was that we were at Disneyland on exactly your birthday, which fell on a Saturday this year.
When I asked you "what do you want to do at Disneyland?" you replied, "I want to play games and win tickets and have a parade." When Daddy asked you "what does Disneyland look like?" you replied "triangles and squares." So I'm not sure you knew what delights and surprises awaited you at the happiest place on earth, but the Disney marketing folks call it that for a reason ...
When we walked up to buy our tickets, Daddy told the ticket booth attendant it was your birthday and they presented you with a big round button exclaiming "Happy Birthday Ava" (okay, they wrote in the AVA with permanent marker, but still!), and said if we went to Town Hall you could hear your birthday message. We dutifully toddled along to Town Hall, sat you on the counter near a big old-fashioned phone where you were told happy birthday by none other than ... Goofy! "It was Goofy," you told us, "he said Happy Birthday!"
What a brilliant start to a wonderful day. We all got hats, including Daddy's peter pan and Jacque's minnie mouse. Mine was a gift from Auntie Brie - one I'd wanted since our trip to Mexico in November when I gazed jealously at hers ... we rode rides, we played games, didn't win many tickets, but your favorite ride, you tell others now, was the ROCKET CARS! Yes, you say it loud and exclamatory every time! Yes, that's right, Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blaster cars were your favorite ride of the day, or perhaps the most memorable.
My sweetie, you are a wonderful delightful sometimes stubborn but altogether lovable girl. you talk and talk and talk and if I'm not listening to your satisfaction, say louder "Mommy I'M TALKING TO YOU." I'm slowly patiently teaching you about interrupting people when they're talking, but as with most parental lessons, feel like I need to clean up my act first.
Sometimes you don't want to go to school. I laugh, Daddy laughs, and we say to nobody in particular that you are of course the first child to ever say that in the history of modern education. So then I tell you that you can go to work and fix computers and I will go to school and play with your friends and paint and play with playdoh and play on the playground. You then shake your head, predictably, and say "No, I am going to school and you are going to work!"
I also love it when you ask "Why?" You're reaching the age when you ask "Why?" frequently, and a good friend who is also a parent said his son does this a lot so I shared my secret for reducing frustration. I may answer "Why?" if I know, but if I don't know, then I say "I don't know, what do you think?" I love, love, love to hear the variety of answers you deduce. Your favorite, of late, is to ask "Mommy (Daddy), Why do tigers have stripes?" Daddy responded the first time with "Because if they had spots they'd be leopards." So now if I say "I don't know, why do you think?" you respond with "Because if they had spots they'd be leopards or baby elephants or mommy or daddy elephants." Most amusingly, a few weeks ago we saw a tiger presentation at Marine World and Daddy said a bit too loud "Why do tigers have stripes?" and the tiger trainer, standing next to a very large tiger, responded "so they can be well camouflaged in the jungles where they live." Daddy looked a trifle embarrassed and said he wasn't really looking for an answer.
What else can I tell you about you at four? One of our (mine and yours, but definitely not Daddy's) favorite meals is ... noodles and tofu and carrots. I boil soba noodles and then cut up tofu and a few different types of veggies and throw them into a shallow pot with a bit of water and seven minutes later ... dinner. Yes, my sweet, you ask for tofu by name. You like it even more than me. But being a normal kid, or normal enough, you also love pancakes, french toast, your Nana's tortillas, rice, but not ... beans. I like beans, Daddy likes beans, but you, no way no how, not in a boat not with a goat.
Which brings me to your favorite books of the month ... Chicka Chicka Boom Boom was the running number one favorite we both have memorized but it has been usurped in popularity by Green Eggs and Ham. You just got a new book from Grandma Bear called "It's hard being a bunny" which you also love, and read to your Baby Rabbit last night before bed. Well, to say you "read" it is a slight exaggeration, but you told the story from memory. You read letters, but not words yet. I look on, smile, and mumble to myself how your whole world is going to open up as soon as you read your first word. For now though, I tell you that letters make words and words make sentences and sentences make paragraphs and paragraphs make books.
But now, it's four o'clock and I said I'd pick you up early from school to get a haircut. I may even surprise Daddy and get it cut Dora-short to make our morning grooming rituals easier.
I love you, more than there is water in the ocean.
Mommy
Last weekend you became four years old. Yes, it took 365 days between three to reach four, and 4 x 365 days to reach four from the day I gave birth to you, but as all parents seem to say, it sure went fast.
You are quite the manifesting delight! You asked Daddy a couple months ago if we could go to Disneyland for your birthday. He said yes. What can only be a testament to your manifesting powers, was that we were at Disneyland on exactly your birthday, which fell on a Saturday this year.
When I asked you "what do you want to do at Disneyland?" you replied, "I want to play games and win tickets and have a parade." When Daddy asked you "what does Disneyland look like?" you replied "triangles and squares." So I'm not sure you knew what delights and surprises awaited you at the happiest place on earth, but the Disney marketing folks call it that for a reason ...
When we walked up to buy our tickets, Daddy told the ticket booth attendant it was your birthday and they presented you with a big round button exclaiming "Happy Birthday Ava" (okay, they wrote in the AVA with permanent marker, but still!), and said if we went to Town Hall you could hear your birthday message. We dutifully toddled along to Town Hall, sat you on the counter near a big old-fashioned phone where you were told happy birthday by none other than ... Goofy! "It was Goofy," you told us, "he said Happy Birthday!"
What a brilliant start to a wonderful day. We all got hats, including Daddy's peter pan and Jacque's minnie mouse. Mine was a gift from Auntie Brie - one I'd wanted since our trip to Mexico in November when I gazed jealously at hers ... we rode rides, we played games, didn't win many tickets, but your favorite ride, you tell others now, was the ROCKET CARS! Yes, you say it loud and exclamatory every time! Yes, that's right, Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blaster cars were your favorite ride of the day, or perhaps the most memorable.
My sweetie, you are a wonderful delightful sometimes stubborn but altogether lovable girl. you talk and talk and talk and if I'm not listening to your satisfaction, say louder "Mommy I'M TALKING TO YOU." I'm slowly patiently teaching you about interrupting people when they're talking, but as with most parental lessons, feel like I need to clean up my act first.
Sometimes you don't want to go to school. I laugh, Daddy laughs, and we say to nobody in particular that you are of course the first child to ever say that in the history of modern education. So then I tell you that you can go to work and fix computers and I will go to school and play with your friends and paint and play with playdoh and play on the playground. You then shake your head, predictably, and say "No, I am going to school and you are going to work!"
I also love it when you ask "Why?" You're reaching the age when you ask "Why?" frequently, and a good friend who is also a parent said his son does this a lot so I shared my secret for reducing frustration. I may answer "Why?" if I know, but if I don't know, then I say "I don't know, what do you think?" I love, love, love to hear the variety of answers you deduce. Your favorite, of late, is to ask "Mommy (Daddy), Why do tigers have stripes?" Daddy responded the first time with "Because if they had spots they'd be leopards." So now if I say "I don't know, why do you think?" you respond with "Because if they had spots they'd be leopards or baby elephants or mommy or daddy elephants." Most amusingly, a few weeks ago we saw a tiger presentation at Marine World and Daddy said a bit too loud "Why do tigers have stripes?" and the tiger trainer, standing next to a very large tiger, responded "so they can be well camouflaged in the jungles where they live." Daddy looked a trifle embarrassed and said he wasn't really looking for an answer.
What else can I tell you about you at four? One of our (mine and yours, but definitely not Daddy's) favorite meals is ... noodles and tofu and carrots. I boil soba noodles and then cut up tofu and a few different types of veggies and throw them into a shallow pot with a bit of water and seven minutes later ... dinner. Yes, my sweet, you ask for tofu by name. You like it even more than me. But being a normal kid, or normal enough, you also love pancakes, french toast, your Nana's tortillas, rice, but not ... beans. I like beans, Daddy likes beans, but you, no way no how, not in a boat not with a goat.
Which brings me to your favorite books of the month ... Chicka Chicka Boom Boom was the running number one favorite we both have memorized but it has been usurped in popularity by Green Eggs and Ham. You just got a new book from Grandma Bear called "It's hard being a bunny" which you also love, and read to your Baby Rabbit last night before bed. Well, to say you "read" it is a slight exaggeration, but you told the story from memory. You read letters, but not words yet. I look on, smile, and mumble to myself how your whole world is going to open up as soon as you read your first word. For now though, I tell you that letters make words and words make sentences and sentences make paragraphs and paragraphs make books.
But now, it's four o'clock and I said I'd pick you up early from school to get a haircut. I may even surprise Daddy and get it cut Dora-short to make our morning grooming rituals easier.
I love you, more than there is water in the ocean.
Mommy
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
San Francisco Zoo
Yes, these are in chronological order. Always good to end with a smile, before the long walk to the car!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Loving what drives me crazy
Hi my little growing one,
There are a few things on my mind these days. I wish sometimes I collected all the Ava-isms you expound on daily. Like tonight, when we were reading books before bedtime and you said "we don't eat books, only vegetables and fruit" or at other times when you throw your arms around me and say "I love you." Times like these I think for anything I've done not quite up to par as a parent, overall I'm doing well.
Funny thing about people I love, and possibly people you will love in your lifetime. The closer you are to someone, you can find 12 million reasons to love them, but five minutes later you can find 12 million reasons not to love them. Sometimes the reasons are the same, meaning you might love someone today for being social and independent, but tomorrow that might drive you crazy. That's the funny thing about love.
So in any day, the choice is yours. I remember many years ago when I was going through relationship trouble, my Grandma Susie told me that I had to think of the good things about that person. She was right. Finding the good in someone has magical, dynamic power and can move insurmountable mountains. The shift happens first in me, because thinking bad of someone brings me down, and then that gets thrown onto the other person or some bystander or bystanding cat and everything starts to catapult into enemy territory.
So my practice is to choose. It's like yoga for the brain - one of my favorite teacher these days says something along the lines that you can do a pose perfectly but if your brain is bouncing like the ball in Pong (a game I don't expect most to remember) then where is the yoga? But if you're struggling physically in a pose, it's not some kind of ideal, but your brain is calm, that is yoga. I try and often succeed in finding the yoga brain when my asana looks imperfect. Looks aren't everything, and I trust feelings more than looks.
Which brings me to feelings. When my brain is calm, and mostly quiet, that is a good time to trust feelings - good feelings, bad feelings, indifferent feelings. When my brain is crazy, there is no room to listen. I read recently that prayer can be considered my requests to God (or whomever is on duty in the great cumulus cloud in the sky) but meditation is listening to God. I've taken a break from teaching yoga because I want more yoga for me, and I want more meditation, more quiet brain. Quiet brain, I find, is a happy brain. But I was talking about feelings. If, and it's a quite likely if, you're like me, you can feel what others are feeling around you. So sometimes the challenge is in figuring out whether a feeling is mine or I picked it up from someone at work like a gallon of milk at the store on the way home.
Some people will like that you can see through the bullshit and choose to tell the truth even if it's not easy. Some people will be scared to early retirement by this. The latter group usually chooses to stay away from me, which is just fine. Some people like their illusions and delusions; others are ready to shed them like winter clothing. Please remember that just because someone doesn't want to be around you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.
Feelings, especially strong ones, are best sorted out, waited on, and waited out until they're not quite so urgent. The urgency of really strong emotions, like the ones that say RUN! Run NOW! well, question those and often do the opposite. I don't mean when you're in a dark garage and you get a funny tingle in the back of your neck or gut ... follow those feelings. I mean the unfounded ones when safety isn't an issue, when really the issue is that fear is trying to take over and when the hardest thing to do is dig in your heels and stay put.
I get that I'm talking rather philosophically and abstractly but hopefully one or two of the tangential messages ring through.
The short version, edited and summarized, is I love you. Sometimes what I love about you (like you want to do things 'all by myself') is exactly what drives me crazy. Sometimes what I love about Daddy is precisely what makes me want to run. When I want to run, I tell myself to stay. I breathe in, I breathe out, I calm down my chaotic brain. I stay put. Sometimes when one of my friends is all bent out of shape about work or relationship or something else, I feel like I'm upset right along with her. These times I ask "Is this (feeling) mine or is it not?" If it's not, I breathe in, breathe out, and find a dozen things I love about my life. Then I breathe love into my heart, warming that place in my chest, and think of someone I know to share that love with. I think of that person until the world shifts and I feel good again.
love,
always,
Mommy
There are a few things on my mind these days. I wish sometimes I collected all the Ava-isms you expound on daily. Like tonight, when we were reading books before bedtime and you said "we don't eat books, only vegetables and fruit" or at other times when you throw your arms around me and say "I love you." Times like these I think for anything I've done not quite up to par as a parent, overall I'm doing well.
Funny thing about people I love, and possibly people you will love in your lifetime. The closer you are to someone, you can find 12 million reasons to love them, but five minutes later you can find 12 million reasons not to love them. Sometimes the reasons are the same, meaning you might love someone today for being social and independent, but tomorrow that might drive you crazy. That's the funny thing about love.
So in any day, the choice is yours. I remember many years ago when I was going through relationship trouble, my Grandma Susie told me that I had to think of the good things about that person. She was right. Finding the good in someone has magical, dynamic power and can move insurmountable mountains. The shift happens first in me, because thinking bad of someone brings me down, and then that gets thrown onto the other person or some bystander or bystanding cat and everything starts to catapult into enemy territory.
So my practice is to choose. It's like yoga for the brain - one of my favorite teacher these days says something along the lines that you can do a pose perfectly but if your brain is bouncing like the ball in Pong (a game I don't expect most to remember) then where is the yoga? But if you're struggling physically in a pose, it's not some kind of ideal, but your brain is calm, that is yoga. I try and often succeed in finding the yoga brain when my asana looks imperfect. Looks aren't everything, and I trust feelings more than looks.
Which brings me to feelings. When my brain is calm, and mostly quiet, that is a good time to trust feelings - good feelings, bad feelings, indifferent feelings. When my brain is crazy, there is no room to listen. I read recently that prayer can be considered my requests to God (or whomever is on duty in the great cumulus cloud in the sky) but meditation is listening to God. I've taken a break from teaching yoga because I want more yoga for me, and I want more meditation, more quiet brain. Quiet brain, I find, is a happy brain. But I was talking about feelings. If, and it's a quite likely if, you're like me, you can feel what others are feeling around you. So sometimes the challenge is in figuring out whether a feeling is mine or I picked it up from someone at work like a gallon of milk at the store on the way home.
Some people will like that you can see through the bullshit and choose to tell the truth even if it's not easy. Some people will be scared to early retirement by this. The latter group usually chooses to stay away from me, which is just fine. Some people like their illusions and delusions; others are ready to shed them like winter clothing. Please remember that just because someone doesn't want to be around you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.
Feelings, especially strong ones, are best sorted out, waited on, and waited out until they're not quite so urgent. The urgency of really strong emotions, like the ones that say RUN! Run NOW! well, question those and often do the opposite. I don't mean when you're in a dark garage and you get a funny tingle in the back of your neck or gut ... follow those feelings. I mean the unfounded ones when safety isn't an issue, when really the issue is that fear is trying to take over and when the hardest thing to do is dig in your heels and stay put.
I get that I'm talking rather philosophically and abstractly but hopefully one or two of the tangential messages ring through.
The short version, edited and summarized, is I love you. Sometimes what I love about you (like you want to do things 'all by myself') is exactly what drives me crazy. Sometimes what I love about Daddy is precisely what makes me want to run. When I want to run, I tell myself to stay. I breathe in, I breathe out, I calm down my chaotic brain. I stay put. Sometimes when one of my friends is all bent out of shape about work or relationship or something else, I feel like I'm upset right along with her. These times I ask "Is this (feeling) mine or is it not?" If it's not, I breathe in, breathe out, and find a dozen things I love about my life. Then I breathe love into my heart, warming that place in my chest, and think of someone I know to share that love with. I think of that person until the world shifts and I feel good again.
love,
always,
Mommy
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Trick or Treat!
The afternoon started with a party at your school with Daddy dressed as a nun. Honey, I can tell you, your Daddy is just not like other people. Someday I'll tell you the story of how we met on Halloween five years ago today and he was dressed as a woodland fairy.
We got home and had about an hour before his class would start so he got to work carving the pumpkin I'd scraped out the day before. After 30 minutes, there was a bat carved into the face of the pumpkin. Then he was racing out the door to class.
I thought for sure that my computer class homework would take me all night and we were stuck at home watching Pixar movies. But no, all it took was for the duration of Bug's Life for me to get it done "good enough" and prompting from you even though you had no idea what was in store if we left the house!
So it was your first real trick or treating Halloween. All the lights were off in our 'hood so we headed over to St. Mary's Park, the area known for being easy to walk and trick or treater friendly. Last year we tried this, but started at our friends' house, got invited inside for a drink, and never left! This year with Daddy in class, you and I headed out to see how long our enthusiasm and energy would hold.
We started with one house, you excited, no doubt, and I prepped you to say "Trick or Treat" to get candy. We got up the steps, rang the bell, and a boy about ten answered the door. Stage fright struck and the practiced words wouldn't come out. He thought you looked so cute he gave you four or five mini candy bars anyway!
We went to two more houses, this time you did squeak out the candy getting phrase and everyone thought you were cute beyond words. One house was "too spooky" for you decorated with orange lights, tombstones, and dry ice, so we wrapped up the evening with a visit to Amy and Jack's house. We hung out for a minute and after that I asked if you wanted to go to more houses or home. "I want to go home." Fair enough.
Now you're in the bath tub, I'm typing this blog, and I just need to format my homework and start packing for my cruise in two days!
Happy Halloween, my little Tinker Bell fairy. I love you.
We got home and had about an hour before his class would start so he got to work carving the pumpkin I'd scraped out the day before. After 30 minutes, there was a bat carved into the face of the pumpkin. Then he was racing out the door to class.
I thought for sure that my computer class homework would take me all night and we were stuck at home watching Pixar movies. But no, all it took was for the duration of Bug's Life for me to get it done "good enough" and prompting from you even though you had no idea what was in store if we left the house!
So it was your first real trick or treating Halloween. All the lights were off in our 'hood so we headed over to St. Mary's Park, the area known for being easy to walk and trick or treater friendly. Last year we tried this, but started at our friends' house, got invited inside for a drink, and never left! This year with Daddy in class, you and I headed out to see how long our enthusiasm and energy would hold.
We started with one house, you excited, no doubt, and I prepped you to say "Trick or Treat" to get candy. We got up the steps, rang the bell, and a boy about ten answered the door. Stage fright struck and the practiced words wouldn't come out. He thought you looked so cute he gave you four or five mini candy bars anyway!
We went to two more houses, this time you did squeak out the candy getting phrase and everyone thought you were cute beyond words. One house was "too spooky" for you decorated with orange lights, tombstones, and dry ice, so we wrapped up the evening with a visit to Amy and Jack's house. We hung out for a minute and after that I asked if you wanted to go to more houses or home. "I want to go home." Fair enough.
Now you're in the bath tub, I'm typing this blog, and I just need to format my homework and start packing for my cruise in two days!
Happy Halloween, my little Tinker Bell fairy. I love you.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Falling
It's funny to me, little one, as you're learning more words, how to use the words, how to combine words into new exciting ways, that there are two seasons that are verbs, and two that are nouns.
I've thought about writing to you so much over the last couple months, feeling guilty about not writing, telling myself not to feel guilty, feeling momentarily inspired but nowhere near a computer, feeling uninspired when I am.
Computers are work to me; for many they're a fun tool to learn many things, connect with others, but me, in my line of work, they're work. It's hard sometimes to do more work when I've done work all day.
Your Nana was playing with you all weekend as I escaped with my two wonderful friends down to the Santa Cruz mountains. When you're older, my love, and escape seems impossible, it will be then I'll call you and say "go!" I was reaching a breaking point, where I was so stressed out at the end of the day after giving everything at work, more than I had, and all that was left when I got home was stress and upset at you and Daddy for doing nothing, and this is when there is the need for escape. Perhaps you will become a caretaker like me, I can't say I do or don't wish that on you. It's good taking care of others, but the forgotten one is usually wearing my shoes. I don't know what I'd wish really, except that you remember you. That you put yourself before your manager, your job, your mate, your children, your mother. Your Daddy is pretty good at this, but I get upset because who's taking care of me? Ah wait, that's my job.
Anyway....
You are delightfully, completely, intoxicatingly three. You love the movie Cars and if we let you, it would be on every night. In fact, it was on every night while your Daddy and Nana were watching you. For me, I need a break sometimes. I need days and nights without TV, where you play in your room while I clean up, or you say "we could play peek a boo and hide and seek and stop and go" as if they're all one big sequential game.
You love hide and seek... I count, you hide, and when I get to "ready or not" then you reveal your magnificent hiding space.
You're becoming a bit less shy. The manager at Hobee's still scares you but not like before. Someday you may actually tell her goodbye when we leave, or as you do to others, make the psssbbbttt sound like a hippo.
You love wearing your schooldresses to school. Given your choice your preference is first school dress, second skirt, third and only as an absolute last resort, pants. I suspect it's because you're a ballerina and you know ballerinas don't wear pants onstage.
You have learned how to take your room from clean to disaster in 2.5 minutes. This isn't a good thing. The good thing is that you're pretty good at taking your coat and shoes into your room and not leaving them in the kitchen when we get home. My many requests are paying off!
You love things "like Mommy." Your toenails are painted purple right now, "like Mommy" and you point this out every time your toes are uncovered. Sometimes you want a ponytail "like Mommy" you remember and say aloud frequently that Mommy and Ava are "big girls" and Daddy is a "big boy."
Your favorite plush animals are little rabbit and purple bear. Purple bear loves little rabbit because she's a baby. They each have their own blankets and chaos reigns when we can't find them. One of them always accompanies you to school, and it's usually little rabbit. There are also sister rabbit and mommy rabbit, when little rabbit needs more love.
Your friends at school are Tatiana and Inwoo. When I asked what you did at school each day, you predictably say you played with one of them or both. If I pick you up from school, you're with them playing ballerinas and wearing tulle tutus.
You love to take pictures with your camera, or lacking a camera, build one out of legos and take pictures. I asked once, of a green tower of connected legos, whether it was a castle or a car? "ITS A CAMERA!" you replied, implying, how could I not know that?
I adore you, I love you, more than there is air in the sky, more than there is water in the ocean, more than there is earth on this planet. I love you.
Mommy
I've thought about writing to you so much over the last couple months, feeling guilty about not writing, telling myself not to feel guilty, feeling momentarily inspired but nowhere near a computer, feeling uninspired when I am.
Computers are work to me; for many they're a fun tool to learn many things, connect with others, but me, in my line of work, they're work. It's hard sometimes to do more work when I've done work all day.
Your Nana was playing with you all weekend as I escaped with my two wonderful friends down to the Santa Cruz mountains. When you're older, my love, and escape seems impossible, it will be then I'll call you and say "go!" I was reaching a breaking point, where I was so stressed out at the end of the day after giving everything at work, more than I had, and all that was left when I got home was stress and upset at you and Daddy for doing nothing, and this is when there is the need for escape. Perhaps you will become a caretaker like me, I can't say I do or don't wish that on you. It's good taking care of others, but the forgotten one is usually wearing my shoes. I don't know what I'd wish really, except that you remember you. That you put yourself before your manager, your job, your mate, your children, your mother. Your Daddy is pretty good at this, but I get upset because who's taking care of me? Ah wait, that's my job.
Anyway....
You are delightfully, completely, intoxicatingly three. You love the movie Cars and if we let you, it would be on every night. In fact, it was on every night while your Daddy and Nana were watching you. For me, I need a break sometimes. I need days and nights without TV, where you play in your room while I clean up, or you say "we could play peek a boo and hide and seek and stop and go" as if they're all one big sequential game.
You love hide and seek... I count, you hide, and when I get to "ready or not" then you reveal your magnificent hiding space.
You're becoming a bit less shy. The manager at Hobee's still scares you but not like before. Someday you may actually tell her goodbye when we leave, or as you do to others, make the psssbbbttt sound like a hippo.
You love wearing your schooldresses to school. Given your choice your preference is first school dress, second skirt, third and only as an absolute last resort, pants. I suspect it's because you're a ballerina and you know ballerinas don't wear pants onstage.
You have learned how to take your room from clean to disaster in 2.5 minutes. This isn't a good thing. The good thing is that you're pretty good at taking your coat and shoes into your room and not leaving them in the kitchen when we get home. My many requests are paying off!
You love things "like Mommy." Your toenails are painted purple right now, "like Mommy" and you point this out every time your toes are uncovered. Sometimes you want a ponytail "like Mommy" you remember and say aloud frequently that Mommy and Ava are "big girls" and Daddy is a "big boy."
Your favorite plush animals are little rabbit and purple bear. Purple bear loves little rabbit because she's a baby. They each have their own blankets and chaos reigns when we can't find them. One of them always accompanies you to school, and it's usually little rabbit. There are also sister rabbit and mommy rabbit, when little rabbit needs more love.
Your friends at school are Tatiana and Inwoo. When I asked what you did at school each day, you predictably say you played with one of them or both. If I pick you up from school, you're with them playing ballerinas and wearing tulle tutus.
You love to take pictures with your camera, or lacking a camera, build one out of legos and take pictures. I asked once, of a green tower of connected legos, whether it was a castle or a car? "ITS A CAMERA!" you replied, implying, how could I not know that?
I adore you, I love you, more than there is air in the sky, more than there is water in the ocean, more than there is earth on this planet. I love you.
Mommy
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Little Einsteins makes kids smarter
Hi little one,
Yesterday you were watching your latest favorite movie, the Little Einstein's HUGE Adventure, and when the little caterpillar climbed up the tree and made his cocoon I said, "Look, he's in a sleeping bag!"
You replied, with the wisdom of a three year old,
"No, it's not a sleeping bag, it's a metamorphosis!"
I stand, stunned, corrected.
love,
your mommy
who's intelligence pales in comparison to yours
Yesterday you were watching your latest favorite movie, the Little Einstein's HUGE Adventure, and when the little caterpillar climbed up the tree and made his cocoon I said, "Look, he's in a sleeping bag!"
You replied, with the wisdom of a three year old,
"No, it's not a sleeping bag, it's a metamorphosis!"
I stand, stunned, corrected.
love,
your mommy
who's intelligence pales in comparison to yours
Monday, July 09, 2007
Time
Hi my little love,
I just noticed that it was two years ago this month that I started this blog for us, and as I began reading the first posting July 2005, I was deeply grateful that I wrote those words, so much so, that I want to write more words now.
You are such a big girl, so big that when Daddy teases you and says you're a baby, you object, saying "NO I'm a BIG GIRL!" Even recently you've abandoned our traditional naked baby dance/naked jumping dance before taking a bath for the one legged yoga dancer/flamingo pose.
You love bath time, to be sure, and sometimes you convince me to join you so I can add more hot water and make it go in circles to warm up the cooler water. You like to do things, like wash, "all by yourself" and I do wonder where you learned that phrase.
You know all of your numbers up to twenty in English and Spanish, you can recognize all of them up to 9 (the 1 and 0 together still don't make ten). You know all your letters by sight although occasionally trip over G and Q. You know all your colors in English and some in Spanish. You say "ayudame" for help and "mariposa" for butterfly. You understood your teachers at your Spanish school with "no problemo" after a month.
You love your plush animals...Doggie is your predictable favorite, and even has his own blanket - the white one with yellow ducks. Last night he couldn't go to bed, or you either, until we found his blanket. Little rabbit had to have her blanket too, and you had to have yours. Then we laid down in "Mommy and Daddy's bed" because Daddy was away and you said I could sleep with Rabbit and you would sleep with Doggie.
Sometimes I'll ask you do do something, like put your coat on your bed, and to my shock you do it! Other times you throw your shoes on the ground and tell me to pick them up. This is only predictable because you're three.
You love Mater from the movie Cars, and love it when Daddy "does like Mater" and winks, saying "I'm keeping my eye on you."
And on the fourth of July when we were swimming at our friends' house in San Jose, you decided you wanted to jump in the pool. You had the super-cool water wings on your arms and you walked past the side of the pool right onto the diving board. Yep, your first jump into the great big swimming pool was from there, into Daddy's waiting arm (the other was holding onto the side - you were in the deep end!).
But it's time for me to go...for now.
I love you,
more than there is water in the ocean,
more than there is blue in the sky.
Mommy
I just noticed that it was two years ago this month that I started this blog for us, and as I began reading the first posting July 2005, I was deeply grateful that I wrote those words, so much so, that I want to write more words now.
You are such a big girl, so big that when Daddy teases you and says you're a baby, you object, saying "NO I'm a BIG GIRL!" Even recently you've abandoned our traditional naked baby dance/naked jumping dance before taking a bath for the one legged yoga dancer/flamingo pose.
You love bath time, to be sure, and sometimes you convince me to join you so I can add more hot water and make it go in circles to warm up the cooler water. You like to do things, like wash, "all by yourself" and I do wonder where you learned that phrase.
You know all of your numbers up to twenty in English and Spanish, you can recognize all of them up to 9 (the 1 and 0 together still don't make ten). You know all your letters by sight although occasionally trip over G and Q. You know all your colors in English and some in Spanish. You say "ayudame" for help and "mariposa" for butterfly. You understood your teachers at your Spanish school with "no problemo" after a month.
You love your plush animals...Doggie is your predictable favorite, and even has his own blanket - the white one with yellow ducks. Last night he couldn't go to bed, or you either, until we found his blanket. Little rabbit had to have her blanket too, and you had to have yours. Then we laid down in "Mommy and Daddy's bed" because Daddy was away and you said I could sleep with Rabbit and you would sleep with Doggie.
Sometimes I'll ask you do do something, like put your coat on your bed, and to my shock you do it! Other times you throw your shoes on the ground and tell me to pick them up. This is only predictable because you're three.
You love Mater from the movie Cars, and love it when Daddy "does like Mater" and winks, saying "I'm keeping my eye on you."
And on the fourth of July when we were swimming at our friends' house in San Jose, you decided you wanted to jump in the pool. You had the super-cool water wings on your arms and you walked past the side of the pool right onto the diving board. Yep, your first jump into the great big swimming pool was from there, into Daddy's waiting arm (the other was holding onto the side - you were in the deep end!).
But it's time for me to go...for now.
I love you,
more than there is water in the ocean,
more than there is blue in the sky.
Mommy
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)