Lithe Mama

Love Letter to Lua, Age 5

2009-12-14T11:48:00.000-08:00

My dear Lua,

You are a heart-breaker. You are also a heart-fixer. I know this because you break my heart, and then mend it back together again, a little bit every day.

All of your life I have tried to walk the thin line between keeping you informed and telling you too much. You are so perceptive and intelligent that I have to tip toe along that line like a tightrope walker. I am afraid that if you learn too much about the world too fast, you will lose something. Your innocence, your joy, your sweet nature...they all feel tenuous. You are like sand swishing through my hands, and I want to hold on to you so you won't blow away.

Recently I discovered that I have less control over what you think about than I previously imagined. No matter how many times I assure you that witches are not real, you have nightmares. You also stay up at night worrying about whether or not you will ever find the right person to marry. You fret over your parents dying, even though I've told you that we'll live to be very very old. You understand my personal failings and I am terrified that you will take them upon yourself. These things tear me apart. I want your confidence to be as impenetrable as a fortress. I want you to be as brave as a soldier, and as happy as a pig in a mud puddle. I want you to be worry-free, guilt-free, prejudice-free, and barrier-free. I want your life to be perfect.

I know this sounds naive. When you are reading this, all grown up and out there in the world, I'm sure you will roll your eyes at me. All parents want their children to have perfect lives Mom, I can imagine you saying. No one ever does. You are pragmatic that way even now. Sharp, honest, and to the point.

The thing is, despite all of the mistakes your parents make and the worries that pop up in your mind from time to time, you are so strong. You are smart and friendly and complicated and beautiful and bossy and precocious and caring and unforgettable. Slowly, slowly, you are turning into a young lady. You are beginning to think of others before yourself. You are starting to solve problems with your words instead of your teeth and hands. You are the quickest thinker I know - you always have an answer for everything. You are a caretaker and a leader. I couldn't be more proud of you.

Lua Grace, your life will not be perfect. But you are pretty darn close. You are the most exceptional daughter I can imagine.

I love you as high as the highest number, as big as the universe.
Mama

The Little Pizza That Could

2009-12-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I haven't shared this with everyone yet but PEOPLE: THE WORLD MUST BE TURNING BACKWARDS. Charles is actually asking to use the potty. Frequently. Before he's dirtied his pull-ups. It's a miracle from heaven. Thank you heaven, remind me to buy you something special.

So a few weeks ago when said miracle began occuring, I was sitting on the bathroom floor talking to Charlie while he sat on the potty.

"Nothing's happening," he complained, looking down in confusion.

"It's okay," I assured him, "sometimes it takes time. You might have to sit there for a little while and wait."

"No," he said. "I can't do it."

That's when I told him the story of the Little Engine That Could, a tale I'm sure you all remember involving a little blue engine that made her way up a steep hill by chanting "I think I can, I think I can" until she made it to the top.

From that moment on, Charlie has been chanting "I think I can, I think I can" to himself every time he encounters something difficult. He'll say it while he's going potty, while he's pushing open a heavy door, or while he's trying to reach a toy from a tall shelf. I for one find it incredibly adorable and endearing. I think it's especially cool because he's using the phrase to encourage himself to stretch the limits of what he originally thought possible.

Tonight we were eating dinner at a pizza joint. When the pizza arrived, I doled out pieces and cut Charlie's into bite-sized chunks.

"Be careful," I said, "the pizza is really hot."

Charlie studied the pizza for a moment, then stabbed a piece with his fork and brought it to his mouth. "I think it's not, I think it's not..." he mumbled to himself before sticking the piece in his mouth. He quickly pulled it back out and sighed.

"I think it is hot, Mom. I think it is."

Junior Physicist

2009-11-17T20:19:00.000-08:00

The other day Lua asked me if numbers have an ending. Like, is there a highest number? I told her no, that numbers are infinite. She thought for a minute, then replied "You mean like the universe?"

Pop Culture at Age 4

2009-11-17T20:08:00.000-08:00

Conversation overheard between two four-year-olds listening to the radio:
Lua: I hate this song.
Ruthie: What?! You don't like Kings of Leon??? (sounds more like "you don't wike Kings of Wee-on??)
Lua: No, they're boys. I only like girl singers. Except Michael Jackson, but he sounds like a girl.
Ruthie: Michael Jackson?
Lua: Yeah. He's a Baha'i. (side note: absolutely not true.) Are you a Baha'i?
Ruthie: Um...I don't know.
Lua: Well, if you're a Baha'i, you go to Feast. Do you go to Feast?
Ruthie: I don't know. What's Feast?
Lua: Feast is when you get together and say prayers, and then you eat a lot.
Ruthie: Well, I don't think I've done that.
Lua: Well then you're not a Baha'i. But Michael Jackson is.

Happy 3rd Birthday Charlie Boo

2009-10-08T18:41:00.000-07:00

My darling Charlie,

When you wake up (assuming you don't get out of bed in the middle of the night, complaining that it's still dark out - which is actually pretty likely, but I digress) it will be your third birthday.

What a spectacular little boy you are. The year between two and three has allowed us to see more nuanced aspects of your personality. I always knew you were sweet, but now I know how very tender and thoughtful you are. I always knew you were fun, but now I've seen you in a fit of giggles that strikes you so hard it makes you fall over and clutch your tummy. I always knew you were friendly, but now I know how you'll strike up a conversation with any old stranger in any old place, never failing to elicit a great big smile from all around you.

Here are some things about you at age three that I think you should know:

1) You love to sing. You sing everywhere you go, and I am not exaggerating. People frequently come up to me in public places and say things like "my, my, he's quite the singer!" and it takes me a minute to realize what they mean. I have gotten so used to hearing your EXTREMELY loud voice belting out classics like "La la la La la la Rocket Needs a Home" and "Goin' on a trip in our favorite rocket ship..." and "ABC"s and "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" that I no longer hear you at all. It's sort of like when I lived next to the airport and when other people would cringe and plug their ears as a huge 747 would come in for a landing right over our heads, I'd be all "is there a fly in here? I think I heard a buzzing."

2) In stereotypical boy fashion, you absolutely adore anything with wheels. You like trikes and bikes, motorcycles, cars, buses, trucks, diggers, airplanes, rockets and trains. The great thing about this passion of yours is that it's easy to find things that interest you and, unlike your big sister, you will actually take these things and play with them. By yourself. In your room. In other words, you, my dear son, have the valuable ability to keep yourself busy. I love that about you.

3) You are the ultimate snuggler. I was so afraid that this aspect of your personality was going to decline as you grew out of babyhood, but thankfully it is still going strong. Not only to you like to cuddle, but something about that skin-to-skin contact is essential to you. You need it like water, especially when you're feeling tired, sad, or shy. Not long ago, in order to keep you from sticking your hand down my shirt (a remnant of comfort from nursing?) I began telling you to touch my neck instead. The base of the neck is now your favorite spot to hold. I am frequently choked by what you imagine to be a gentle neck caress. You evidently think that stroking necks is as cathartic for the person you're choking as it is for you - the other day when we were out with Grandma, you wanted her to pick you up but I told you she couldn't because it hurt her hand too much. "But...but I'll touch her neck," you said with such sincere conviction that it would help, "that will make her feel better."

4) You love your sister. She is the coolest thing in the world, and you want to do everything she does and you want to do it just like her. You frequently copy everything she says, word for word; her own personal echo. One of the most amazing things to me about the two of you is how often you think of each others happiness. I am blown away by your generosity of spirit toward her. Yesterday, I was at Target with you while Lua was at preschool, and I got you some fruit snacks as a treat for sitting patiently in the store. "What about Lua?," you said, "Lua needs a treat too." You thought about it for a moment and then decided with a smile, "I'll share my treats with her." And you did. Another example happened today when we were at the zoo. Lua tripped and fell on her hands, which made her cry. Later, on the way home, you leaned over to her seat and asked quietly if her hands felt better. Maybe this doesn't seem like much to you now, as you read this, but it seems to me that a compassionate and thoughtful 3-year-old is a very rare and precious being.

Charlie, there is so much to say about you that I feel like I can only touch on the tips of the tiniest aspects of your beautiful three-year-old self here. I could write a book on how cute you are, from your adorable husky little voice that NEVER STOPS TALKING, to your round little belly that leads you wherever you walk, to the diverse facial expressions you make when you're saying your bedtime prayers. What a gift you are to me.

Love you forever,
Mommy

Marketing

2009-09-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Charlie watched a Thomas the Train movie. Today I asked Charlie what he wanted for his birthday.

"Thomas and Friends!" he replied.
"What does that mean?," I asked. "Thomas and Friends what?"
"Thomas and Friends!"
"Do you mean you want more engines for your train set?"
"NO! Thomas and Friends!"
"You want a Thomas movie?"
"No no no. I want a Thomas and Friends DVD Experience, Mom!"

Twilight: the Toddler Years

2009-08-26T12:58:00.001-07:00

I have written a little bit about the many challenges that Charlie presents us with at bed time. However, I don't think I've ever fully described the level of stress his refusal to sleep produces. Just thinking about describing it actually gives me a headache.

Since birth, Charlie has been so different to Lua in this area. He just doesn't seem to need sleep. We have always been able to put Lua down in her bed without any fuss for naps and bedtimes, at whatever time we wanted, and she will just fall asleep. Charlie seems to want to bleed the life out of each day. He is like a Vampire of Time, just sucking out each and every minute, even if it is downright unpleasant for him and everyone around him.

We have tried EVERYTHING. I am not even kidding you. I will not go into an exhausted list of the many, many techniques we have attempted to get this kid to sleep, because you would still be sitting here reading this tomorrow. And, you would probably be tempted to drown yourself in the toilet just to end the aggravation, as I have been tempted many times before.

I was discussing this problem with some friends today, and they suggested I get a gate for Charlie's room. That way, I am not technically locking his door, and he can still see out, but he can't leave his room. So, the idea is that we go through the routine and put him to bed, tell him that this is the last time we'll be answering him tonight, and shut the gate. If he needs to stay up and play in his room it's okay. If he needs to scream and holler and bang his little fists against the wall, that's okay. He just can't get out, and we will not respond to his never-ending list of demands. (I need my flashlight! My flashlight needs batteries! Where is my soft rocket? I want milk! I want water! I'm hungry! I'm not sleepy! Can I sleep in your bed! Where is Lua? Can I sleep in Lua's bed? I want to sleep on Lua's floor. I need to sleep on Lua's floor! Can I drive you crazy enough that you'll let me come out of here and watch that movie with you?????)

So on the way home from the chat with these friends today, I bought a gate. I installed it as soon as we got home (Me woman. Me like power screw driver.) Charlie was really excited about it, which I realized later was because he thought we were buying a baby. (When I got the gate up, he said "Where's the baby? Where's that little purple baby?" And pointed to the kid on the box wearing a purple tee shirt). Anyway, now Charlie is corralled in his bedroom playing trains. He's singing and shouting, but still he is unable to get out of said room until quiet time is over. Because, did I mention? THE CHILD HAS STOPPED NAPPING. Which has piled stress on top of stress, because i have to chase him back inside his room twenty times during the one hour of quiet time we have every day, as well as fifty times a night after we put him to bed.

So far he's tried convincing Lua to let him out. (Woo-ah, come open the gate! Open the gate, Woo-ah!) but she's too smart to fall for that beginner's manipulation. The girl has definitely skipped some grades to Advanced Manipulation Techniques. So, ya'll, if Lua will just stay in her room for the full sixty minutes, I might just get ONE HOUR of free time here. BLISS.

Oh, and keep your fingers crossed for a less stressful bedtime tonight!

I Dream In Color

2009-08-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

This morning I was telling Lua about a dream I had last night that involved her. In the dream, Lua found a box of stamps, and she'd somehow managed to stamp her entire back with green Olympic circles. Personally, I was interested in the Olympic aspect of the dream. Lua was not.

Lua: Why weren't the stamps pink and purple?
Me: I don't know.
Lua: Hm. But I don't even like green very much. Well, I do like chartreuse. Maybe they were chartreuse?
Me: Maybe.

The Uterus as an Electronic Storage Device

2009-08-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

The Talk, Version 1

So, my good friends had a baby a couple of weeks ago. I was driving to the hospital to meet them when Lua asks me a very important question from the backseat. "Mommy," she wondered, "how do babies get into their mommy's tummy, and how do they get out?"

For a moment I was silent. What to tell her? How much to tell her? I desperately wanted to make something up about a stork or a baby store at the hospital, but my own pledge to tell my kids only truthful, straightforward things about their bodies held me back. I hedged.

"What do you think happens?," I threw the question back at Lua with genuine curiosity.

"Well", she said slowly, "I think that God has a special seed that he puts in the mommy's tummy. It grows and grows until it becomes a baby. I don't know how the baby gets out though, because there is no hole in the tummy."

Okay, that's a good start, right? Special seed. I can run with that.

"That's really close", I told Lua. And folks, this is the part that, when I told my twenty nine year old friend, it made her blush. But I swallowed hard and went on, "Actually the daddy has a special seed, and when it mixes with the Mommy's egg it makes a baby. The baby grows and grows just like you said, until it's ready to come out."

"But how does the baby come out?" Lua asked again.

So I told her. I tried to be technical yet vague, if that is possible. Instead of getting freaked out, Lua looked relieved, as if I'd solved a puzzle that was confounding her.

A couple of days later we were driving in the car again when Lua told me she had a wish.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I wish that I had a DVD player with a TV that was inside of me, and it would just pop out of my vagina! That way I could watch cartoons whenever I wanted."

Lua goes to Camp

2009-07-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

Lua started camp this week. Camp. I can hardly believe she is old enough to put on her own clothes in the morning, let alone go to camp. But there it is.

This is just a day camp, put on by the YMCA, Monday through Friday for one week from 9:00-4:00. Still, it's camp just like the movies. In the morning they all get together in a big circle and sing silly camp songs that are lead by college age counselors. They swim, canoe, make lanyards, and they even had Lua doing archery yesterday. At the end of the day, I pick her up covered in sunscreen and dirt from head to toe. Oh, and with a huge smile on her face.

When I dropped Lua off the first day, we were both nervous. She didn't know anyone, and she'd never been to camp before, whereas most of the older kids there had been going for years. I stayed with her, the lone parent in a sea of tie-dyed tee shirts, jean shorts and pony tails, until the big circle was formed and one of the counselors started singing a song I vaguely remembered from Camp Kitchi Yappi as a kid. Charlie and I crept away incrementally. This whole camp thing was a little scary for Lua and a lot scary for me. Lua looked so small and vulnerable standing there.

All day long I waited for the phone call that would say "come pick your daughter up, she's been crying since you left her - you awful mother!" But this call never came. I should have known better. Lua is incredibly resillient. She makes friends easily, tries new things without much fuss, and she's generally great at following the directions of any adult besides her parents. That is why I decided to put her in camp in the first place.

This whole experience has been positive for Charlie and I too. He is a totally different child when Lua is not around. He doesn't laugh as much, but he doesn't cry as much either. He's back to the even tempered child I remember from before the terrible twos struck. He's attentive and sweet, patient and fun. We've had some great one-on-one time, which is something we've rarely ever had before. And THE YELLING, it has stopped! THE YELLING has been a constant around here for the past few months. The kids yell at eachother over the stupidest things. They bite, kick, poke, and scream. This makes me want to yell back at them, which is never a good thing. So a little time apart is doing them well.

Still, every time I say something about Lua being at camp, Charlie has a melt down. He misses her. A lot. So do I. But camp is preparing me for what school will be like next year, and suddenly I am not so worried.

Is she 4 or 14?

2009-07-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

ME: I want to talk to you about the way you've been treating Charlie when your friends are around. Now, I know it can be frustrating to have your little brother with you all the time, but I think you're really hurting his feelings.
LUA: No I'm not.
ME: Well, let's put it this way. How would you feel if Charlie and Emily ran downstairs, shut the door in your face, and told you that you couldn't be part of their band?
LUA: I would feel fine.
ME: Lua. Come on.
LUA: What? It would be fine! I would be happy.
ME: I don't think you would be happy.
LUA: Mom, okay. I'll try. Now let's not have this conversation any more.

Zelda's House

2009-07-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

Our house was built in 1952 by the same family we bought it from in 2008. The matriarch of this family, Zelda, was living here alone when she passed away that year. We bought the house from one of her five children, a man who had grown up here. He probably shared the same room as Charlie, he'd played catch in our backyard and his sister had set up the gymnastics bar at the bottom of our hill, now covered over with branches. Due to the layout of the house, it is a fairly safe assumption that Riaz and I share the same room that Zelda and her husband slept in for over fifty years.

When we first moved into the neighborhood, everyone I spoke with mentioned something about Zelda. I learned that she was a chain smoker. That she loved children. That she used to knit baby blankets. That she had two cats. I learned that Zelda had last decorated her (our) house in the seventies, and that it basically stayed that way until her son tore out the carpets and painted the walls after she died and before he put the house on the market. I learned that Zelda had planted three trees in the same spot in the front yard and that they'd all died except the little one that's there now, struggling to stay upright. I learned that Zelda raised five children in our little house, and I've often wondered how on earth she did this with our TEENY TINY bathroom. Zelda liked to take walks, she liked to visit with the neighbors and I've often imagined her cooking for her seven person family in our little galley kitchen.

Sometimes I talk to Zelda. Usually, it is when I find something in the house that is so ridiculous that I cannot believe it was actually built that way ("Zelda, what were you thinking?), or when I tear down part of the house and redecorate it ("Zelda, I wonder what you'd think of this? I bet you'd hate it.") Two separate people actually came by last week looking for Zelda, a year and a half after her death. One was a salesman, and the other was an old neighbor wondering what happened to the family.

There is something about living in the same place for fifty years that leaves an indelible mark of some sort, even if one's life is not particularly remarkable. It's not that I'm being haunted, or that I feel her presence or anything like that. It's more that this is her house, and although I am trying to make it my own, little signs of her just keep popping up. Far from finding this irritating, I find it reassuring. I'd like to think that if I lived in a neighborhood and a house for as long as Zelda did, I'd leave something of me behind too.

Lua's Library Pick

2009-07-14T19:01:00.000-07:00

Thank goodness this is not reference material, just a pleasurable bedtime read.

Absolutely No Excuse

2009-07-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

Cannot believe I haven't written anything since December. Must remember to feel guilty about it soon, for extended period of time.

Lulu is 4

2008-12-12T12:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Lua,

Tomorrow you turn four years old. In a way, it seems like you have always been this big and grown up - I am having trouble remembering you any other way. You have a way about you that is so...mature. Of course, it is in the midst of a lot of silly behavior. But still, it is definitely there.

The past six months have been devoted to a lot of soul searching on your part. I feel that your mind is taken up entirely with this journey of self-discovery and curiosity about the world around you. Great big questions (Death, souls, God, the Universe) have been swirling around filling up this house like the snow covering the ground outside. The other day you asked me why no one will tell you everything. I said that you go to school to learn about lots of things, and that I would try to answer any specific question you had. You persisted, "But I want to know about EVERYTHING!" I told you that no one knows everything. To which you sighed and replied "I'll ask Daddy."

I never thought I would be discussing such important questions as "Why can't we go visit people when they are dead?" while chowing down on chicken nuggets. We've talked and talked about death, and I've tried to keep it as positive and as un-scary as I possibly can. When we were reading a library book yesterday about a little girl who's grandpa died and you looked at me with a wrinkle in your brow and asked "Why is she sad? It's not sad! He's in heaven." I felt the thrill of victory. But it was quickly followed by apprehension. Surely you are going to start questioning something else soon, like eternity. Or quantum physics. Or taxes.

Age three has been a good year for you. You have started to develop your own friendships, started to play on your own and use your imagination. You and Charlie have even begun playing together, which is like a dream come true for me (Imagine! Being able to do the laundry and mop the floor without someone hanging off of my leg!) Listening to you interact with your brother is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. The first time I heard you say "Come on sweetie!" to him I wanted to kiss your little lips. But you wouldn't have liked that. In fact, you have recently developed a method of "air hugging" in which you can express your love without actually having to touch anyone at all, which works quite well for you. Real hugging is like torture to you - corporal hugging is a surefire way of punishing you for any misdeeds.

Lua, you are absolutely the most beautiful and special little girl I have ever known. You are so smart, so compassionate, so inquisitive and engaged - I know that every year you are going to make your dad and I more and more proud to be your parents. Thank you for being a part of our lives. You make me happy every day. I love you all the way to the sun and back - from your teeniest tiniest skin cell to your "hunormous" soul. You are amazing.

Love,
Mama

The Extraterrestrial Discount Store

2008-11-12T10:27:00.000-08:00

This morning the kids and I were playing rocket ship. The following conversation took place as we landed on the moon:

Me: What do you see?
Lua: A big marshal!
Me: What is a marshal?
Lua: Um, Marshalls, you know? Like, that store?
Me: There's a Marshalls on the moon?
Lua: Yeah, a BIG one. Don't you see it?
Me: Oh yes, there it is. Huh. Who knew?

Love Letter to Charles, Age 2

2008-10-08T20:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlie,

Can I still call you a baby at two years old? Lua and I decided that you will always be our baby, even when you're as big and tall as Daddy. And you still seem like a baby, even when you are using full sentences, (i.e. Where did car shoes go?), or manipulating me (I saw that little peek at me out of the corner of your eye before you decided to scream). There is something so sweet and vulnerable about you that I cannot imagine a time when I will not be singing you to sleep with your little arms wrapped tightly around my neck. Did you know that you comfort me as much as I comfort you?

Here are some things that you love at age two:
1. Your car shoes
2. Lua
3. Lua's friends
4. Pushing your bike along with your feet
5. Sugar, and anything made with it
6. Monkeys
7. Somersaults
8. Your teddy bear
9. The Poky Little Puppy
10. Anything Lua likes

Yesterday you burned your fingers on the stove. Daddy tried everything to make the hand feel better, but you would not let him touch it. No aloe, no ice pack, no cold water. When I got home you were sitting stiffly on our bed watching a movie and wailing pitifully every few seconds. I scooped you up and held you tight, which is all it usually takes to calm you down, but to no avail. I even pulled out the big guns: a dark room and a rocking chair. Nothing. You wouldn't let me near the afflicted fingers. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

"Do your fingers hurt?" I asked.
"Yes", you wailed, "fingers hurt!"
"Can I kiss them?" I wondered.

That was the magic key. Slowly, the fingers uncurled and you placed them very gently to my lips. I kissed them, and blew cool air over them. That quieted you for a while, but soon the whimpering returned and you began waving your hand frantically through the air. I moved you to Mommy and Daddy's bed and got a glass of ice water. After several unsuccessful attempts at getting your hand in the glass, I stuck an ice cube in my mouth and asked to kiss your owie again. You acquiesced. I carefully placed the burned fingers in between my lips and pressed them to the rapidly melting ice cube. You hushed immediately. We sat like this through two episodes of 24 and one really bad episode of Terminator. You, laying across my chest with your hand in my mouth, for over two hours. That is love, baby.

It probably sounds weird to you now, but believe me, parenting is a weird thing. You do lots of crazy stuff for your kids that you never thought you'd be doing. Like moving to the suburbs, and spending your only free time researching train sets. Listen to me: it is totally worth it.

Happy second birthday, Charlie. You are the most incredibly perfect little boy I have ever met. I love you more each day.
Mama

Ye Olde Sense of Humor

2008-04-03T11:28:00.000-07:00

Bahiyyih recently forwarded an email to me that I'd sent her in 2001. I am pretty sure I was a lot funnier then. Children must be sucking the hilarity right out of me. Behold an excerpt:

Omigod (thats a babysitter's club expression) can you believe that it is only 11 days until christmas? that means 15 days until i see you & juliet....MADNESS. i can't believe it. you will not believe the transformation i have gone through since june. i am now a famous bikini model for dots, where everything is $10. they offered me the gig when i was there stealing clothes a couple of months ago. they caught me, but instead of turning me in, they offered me this modeling deal to pay off my debt. and it just took off from there. i have lost 75 pounds through this great diet plan where you only drink diet grapefruit juice & then throw it up afterwards. all of the big chain stores, like Only Deals and Thrifty Mart and the Family Dollar, want me now, to model things like leg braces and those socks that are supposed to stop vericose veins. i even got an offer from the Piggly Wiggly, to ride around in one of those big tractor machines that move boxes around stores, giving away free samples of edible leg wax to their customers on saturday morning.
so really the only thing my life is lacking now is some sort of fabulous shampoo. it seems that no matter how many times i wash my hair, it is always falling out and the stench of vomit seems to linger in whats left of it...do you have any ideas?
see you soon,libby

More Evidence of her Practicality

2008-03-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

"Mommy? Isn't it nice to have a baby brother?"
"It is SO nice to have a baby brother."
"Yeah, but even if you didn't have a baby brother, you could just get a stuffed one."

The End of the World as I Know It

2008-03-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlie Bear,

Last weekend your daddy and I left you and Lua with Grandma and went on a little trip. This was only the second time you'd slept away from us and that time it had only been for one night, twenty minutes away. This time, it was for two nights and we were an hours drive from home. I was a little apprehensive about how you would take this separation, especially considering you were still nursing about three times a day. But, to be honest, I just really needed a vacation.

I swear I never meant to be one of those mothers who leaves their children with someone for a week in order to wean them. In fact, if the thought had crossed my mind I'd dismissed it with haste as I figured it would never work. Sure, you could survive three days without nursing when I was far away. But as soon as you saw me again, you would dive right down my shirt. Right?

Wrong. When we got home yesterday afternoon, this suprising reception awaited me: You were asleep for a few minutes after we arrived. Auntie Mara went to fetch you when you woke up, and she brought you out to the living room to see us. You looked stunned. Auntie set you on the floor and you just stood there, eyes wide as a deer, mouth slightly open. You looked as if you'd seen a ghost. Daddy opened his arms and cried "Come give me a hug, Charlie!" and after some time it must have finally sunk in, because you did. A huge grin spread accross your face and you threw yourself into Daddy's arms. I couldn't wait to steal you away, figuring that when I got you in my lap you would promptly flip over into nursing position and I could empty out my massively engorged and immensely painful breasts. Instead, you hugged my neck.

You hugged me for at least twenty minutes, with your warm little head nestled under my chin. If I moved my cheek away from yours you would quickly pull it back with your pudgy little hand. It was one of the sweetest things I can ever remember.

And you didn't nurse. Not all the rest of the day, not even at night before you went to sleep. You didn't try, and I didn't try. Amazing! This is what I wanted, isn't it? I think it was, I mean is...I guess I'm having a little trouble adjusting.

When you were born, you were a part of me. Your tiny toes were my toes, your hungry mouth was my mouth, your tummy, your bum, your great big eyes: all mine. Everything you did was my accomplishment. I knew this was not to last forever. Your sister is her own person already, and she is only three. But for some reason she is different. She is the first child, she is so sharp, so clever, so independent. Also, she is a girl, and she will always be my daughter.

Daughters cannot ever really leave their mothers. At least not in my family. Daughters are tied by invisible strings to their mothers. Braids really, made up of one part guilt, one part loyalty and one part biology. Boys are not bound by these braids. Boys may pick them up occasionally. They may twirl one around in their hands, they might even tie one to their wrist for a while. But they can always let them go again.

You let go of your first tie to me yesterday. As much as I want to have my body back as sovereign ground, it still comes as a shock that you did this without my consent. But how can I be sad when you still hug me like that, like you're coming home?

I love you forever
Mama

She's nothing if not logical

2008-02-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

"I'd like to be a cow someday".
"A cow? Why?"
"So I can jump over the moon. You could sit on the moon, and I would jump over it."
"But how would I get all the way up there?"
"You could use a ladder."
"Where would I find a ladder that tall? The moon is very, very high up."
"Well, you could find one at a store."
"What kind of store would sell a ladder that big?"
"Hm....I guess we'd better look on ebay".

Bursting my Bubble

2008-01-22T11:57:00.002-08:00

We had Nadia and Everett and Mara over for dinner the other night, and things were just winding down. We were sitting at the dining room table, tea in hand, chatting. Charlie crawled under the table to play, and Lua soon followed. After a few seconds of big-sister-style torture, Charlie'd had enough.

"Lua", I said, peeking under the table, "how about this: Pretend there is a bubble around you and a bubble around Charlie. Don't break the bubble!"

I'd just poked my head back up to continue chatting with our guests when I heard a small but clear voice.

"POP"

Nadia looked at me. "I think she's smarter than you, Lib" she said.

"I know".

Loco Loco Loco

2008-01-22T11:46:00.000-08:00

Let's be honest here: winter sucks. The reason I have not been keeping up with my blog, in case anyone reading this in not in smelling distance of our apartment, is because I have been very busy cleaning up poop and vomit. For the past month and a half. Non-stop. First, Charlie got sick. His diapers were exploding all over every surface of our bed, floors, crib, car, couch, clothes, etc. Then Lua got sick. She was throwing up all over said items. Now, the cat is sick. That makes an extra batch of puke and drool I have to clean off the floor and carpets. $500 later, we found out that Pepe probably has pneumonia and has to be on antibiotics. To kick it all off, Charlie's poopy diapers are still volatile, SIX WEEKS later, and yesterday I spent a half hour cleaning diarrhea off of the highchair of the restaraunt we were eating at and all of Charlie's clothes. When I had him stripped down to nothing on the bathroom floor of the restaraunt, he proceeded to stand up and pee on his shoes.

I'd been patting myself on the back lately for regaining some of my former patience level. I felt calmer, less likely to burn an ulcer in my stomach when I was trying to get the kids out of the house in the morning. Sadly, that little gem of sanity has been lost again, and I find myself heading back down the long, long road to crazy.

Happy 3rd Birthday Lua!

2007-12-12T10:22:00.000-08:00

My darling Lua Grace,

Three years ago you were born into this world, a writhing, screaming baby with a shock of thick black hair and a voracious appetite. Three years ago my life and your father's life changed forever in a single instant, the moment the nurse laid you on my breast. You were perfect. I can't help but remember the feeling of relief that swept over me in that moment. You were safe, I was alive, we were together. I felt a warm tear land on my arm as your father grinned over you with a look of absolute adoration on his face. Lua, God must have really known what He was doing when he gave you to us.

We have learned so much from you in the three years since you were born. For example, I know now that pink is not only a color, but also a food group, a music genre and a personality type (as in, "how are you feeling today Lua?" "Pink."). Also, I have learned that dead leaves really can be as lovely as fresh flowers when chosen with care by a grinning toddler, and that absolutely anything tastes better with sprinkles.

I have a theory that you and your brother take turns playing angel and devil. Right now, and for the last few weeks, you have been the angel. Perhaps you're just falling out of your terrible twos, but you are suddenly a terrific pleasure to be around. You wake up with a smile on your face, you no longer pummel your little brother every time he gets on your nerves, you ask for things in a polite manner, and sometimes you even cooperate with me when I'm trying to get everyone out the door. Although there is still a long way to go on that last one.

I am fascinated by your thoughts and insights into how the world works. You have the cutest little voice and man, do you know how to use it. Your current favorite activity is to act out scenes from books. You lead me through Winnie the Pooh and Some Bees all the time, which is great because you have begun to use words like "perhaps" and "would you be so kind as to..." in every day conversation. You also love to dance and you especially love music. Because your answer to "what kind of music do you want to listen to?" is usually "pink", we listen to the singer Pink a lot. You also like Fergie, Gwen Stefanie, and Kanye West. It cracks me up to hear you muttering the Fergie lyrics "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses it's blanket" while spinning around the living room in your ballet slippers.

There are so many times lately when I look at you and am completely overwhealmed by love. I want to pick you up and sqeeze you and kiss you all the time, but I have to restrain myself because you are much too dignified for that sort of behaviour. The other day you did something naughty and I was going to send you to your room for a time out when your father stepped in. "Lua", he said, "if you come here and cuddle with your daddy you don't have to have a time out". You froze. You thought over his offer for two full minutes and I could practically see the fight going on in your brain: which would be more torturous - time out, or cuddling? Finally, you let out a deep breath. "Okay", you said, resigned. "I guess I could cuddle with you". While you're obviously not crazy about physical affection, I have come to count on you saying "Mommy? I love you" and "I think you're wonderful" and "you're the best mommy EVER" every day.

Lua, you're a good toad.

Love always,
Mama

Those Days

2007-12-03T12:37:00.000-08:00

Oh my. Today is one of those days. One of the days that Lua, Charlie and I spent an entire morning in tears. One of the days that I briefly considered leaving them both in the apartment and driving to the Canadian wilderness to start a new life as a hermit. One of the days after which I will have to tell Riaz, "Remember that bag of mini peanut butter cups we got at Target? Yeah, it's gone. All of it. Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom".