Day 180 or Isn't She Lovely? (And almost 3!!!)

Wordless Wednesday with 5 Minutes for Mom






Thanks as always to 5 Minutes for Mom (http://www.5minutesformom.com/) for hosting.

:-)

Day 145 or Sweet Moments

This morning, I woke up from a heavy sleep still not feeling well (I'm about to give in to my husband's nagging and admit that after two weeks, maybe I need a doctor). And my daughter woke up as the winner of the Little Miss Cranky McCranky Pageant. So the recipe for a good morning was lacking a few key ingredients. Or so I thought.

After a thirty minute debate over the value of Cheerios in milk over a cookie for breakfast, I saw the muffin mix. And it's a decently healthy muffin mix. So I ask if she would like muffins. Yes. Yes. Yes. "Can I help, please, please, please, Mommy?" Despite my urges to get things done as quickly as possible, I said yes. Unlike myself, my daughter loves cooking and I don't want to squash that instinct.

So she pulled up her chair and we made muffins. She watched patiently while I measured the ingredients. In fact, that was the quietest moment all morning. And then she helped me stir while asking questions about the difference between blueberry muffins (her favorite) and banana nut (which we were making). And when I told her that it was time to get down so I may put them in the oven, she didn't argue. She just smiled and said "thank you, Mommy". And I smiled and put the muffins in the oven.

Fifteen minutes later, they were ready. And they were sweet. But not as sweet as the moments around the mixing bowl. It seems that we did have the recipe for a good morning after all.

Day Ninety - Six or Diva in Training

Well, if my son is on his way to Hollywood then my daughter is on her way to the Metropolitan Opera. First off, her diva status is well-established. But lately, she has a new move. She has started this high-F, glass breaking scream. It is almost keening. And she has learned that it is powerful. Life stops whens she does this. No one can think straight. It literally hurts my brain. Add to that, we live in an apartment. We can't just let her shake the rafters (and seriously she is shaking the rafters). So as I try creative ways to redirect this dramatic energy, I think I will see if there are toddler soprano classes. You never know, maybe she'll be on Leno as the youngest star of Tosca.
:-)

Total side note. She said the funniest thing to me tonight. We were cuddling for bedtime. Now I have a confession. Despite the fact that I stopped breastfeeding ages ago, she is constantly trying to put her hands down my shirt. This is especially true when she is tired or anxious. I have been trying to break her of the habit but it is still a battle. So back to bedtime cuddles. I am still dressed in street clothes (read: still wearing a bra-- a good one that makes me look like I didn't lose two cup sizes breastfeeding) and she touches my breasts and says, "Mommy, these just pretend". "What baby? What's pretend?" She replies, "You breasts, Mommy". "No, baby, not pretend". "Yes, they are, Mommy. Pretend". Now that's honest. And that's funny. Out of the mouths of babes

Day Eighty - Four or She looks just like you

My daughter is beautiful. I mean it. Actually, both of my kids are gorgeous but my son is a doppelganger for his dad so this is no surprise. But back to my daughter. She's really beautiful. Yes, I am her mom so of course, I think she is beautiful, but objectively, she really is beautiful.

When people tell me she's lovely, I beam. And then they go and ruin it. "She looks just like you". Whaaaaaaat? Visible cringing. That can't be right. Those are two incongruous statements. (Yes, I used incongruous -- been waiting years to incorporate that word-of-the-day.) How can she be beautiful and look like me?

Why do we do that? Right now my daughter feels beautiful, as she should. How do I not F#&k that up???? Once upon a time, I am sure that I felt beautiful. When did that change? It was so long ago that I can't remember a defining moment.

In a world of "ambush" makeovers, we are taught that we're not good enough. If you watch any daytime TV, you know that the fear of being swarmed by well-meaning fashion/beauty attack dogs is evidently a genuine clear and present danger. I love the Dove real women campaign and yet I listen far more carefully to the advertisements that tell me what I need to "fix" myself.

Commercial : Do you have... insert horrible problem here -- deepening crow's feet, uneven skin tone, limp, lifeless hair, sagging breasts, baby bump, etc. etc.?

Me: Why yes. yes, I do.

Translation: Do you suck and need our over-priced product to suck a little less?

Me: Why yes, yes, I do.

So consciously, I get it. Too ridiculous for words. But somehow I am still magnetically attracted to the makeup aisles in CVS as if it was true North. I hate that and I don't want that for my truly beautiful girl. But how? How do I spare her this?

I guess it starts with not cringing when people say that she looks just like me. I have to fix myself so she doesn't learn that there is anything wrong with looking just like me. So we can both smile and say, "You're right. She looks just like me".

P. S. Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Day Sixty - One

So I have a fabulous mom and I am blessed with a great relationship with her. She and I get along terrifically and she has supported me through everything and in everything!

Now that we've established that I love my mom and she loves me...she can also make me crazy. Most especially in a particular fashion. Anytime that I try to complain about my children (which of course never happens as they are both pieces of perfection pie), she smiles knowingly, laughs, and begins to recount the multiple times I did the same or worse. She enjoys this more than chocolate and Doris Day films. In other words, she enjoys it a little too much.

I mean, come on!

I was a joy to raise. I never sassed or made a mess. Heck, I'm the perfection pie of which my children are a piece. Not believing it? Alright, I don't even believe it!

So, no, I was not an angel dropped to Earth and seemingly I am now living under the mother's curse. You know the one that all mother's yell at one point or another -- "I hope you have a little girl (or boy) just like you!"

The truth is, however, that she sees that as both a blessing and a curse. And I'm sure I will, too. Later. But now, I want her to stop laughing.

So until that happens, I am saving stories for the time my daughter comes whining to me about the "most stubborn child ever born on God's green Earth". And boy, am I going to laugh. Maybe, I'll call my mom then and we can laugh together!