Little Dude's Mama

It Goes Without Saying

2012-01-31T07:48:00.000-06:00

Four is awesome. I wish there was an app that would record every single thing the lil' dude says, because her funny? Is the most funny there ever was.

Waking her up at 7:15am, in the workday darkness:
The sun is too bright. It hurts my eyes.

Telling her she's a slowpoke:
No! I am the fastest poke!

Strategizing our morning together at my office:
I need to bring the white computer (laptop) so I can print stuff off.

Remembering health routines:
Opening her door after lights out, Daddy you need to cut my nails tomorrow. Door closes.

Canine vs. human traits:
If the Beagle could talk, I'd let him drive the car.

Quoting Matt Damon and "We Bought a Zoo":
My happy is always too loud. I can't help it.

The unending morning routine:
Mama, I just really need you to go away so I can rest.

Urgent secret messaging:
Come here so I can tell you a whisper.

Getting what she needs:
Mama, can you give me a fever? (do her a favor)

BFF

2012-01-18T17:24:00.000-06:00

My girl, bless her little heart, got her first "BFF" necklace when her bestie E. came home from Disney World in August.
She wore it for awhile, then tucked it away to keep it safe.
But for the past week, she's been rockin' her bestie jewels 24 hours a day. It has Tinkerbell's little silhouette on it, and it matches the one E. kept for herself. Best souvenir ever!

I'm gonna wear this for forever!

And I hope she does.

Word {from} Your Mama

2012-01-13T07:48:00.000-06:00

Rules for Raising Daughters

2012-01-11T07:31:00.001-06:00

By way of Pinterest and Facebook recently I've seen a "Rules for Raising Boys," piece that I fell in love with.
So I created my own ... for raising girls.
It's my best privilege to date- this whole raising a girl thing.
I'm one lucky Mama.

Photo courtesy the Lovely & Talented Auntie Mo!

1. Let her make decisions.
Even if they're ones you don't agree with ... she has to carve her way in this world and it starts with her tiny independence. And respect those decisions. If she wants to rock her purple plastic sparkly headband for yet another day, allow it. It's her decision. If she wants to wear flip-flops in 6" of snow, it's yours.

2. Remember you're her mirror.
You're the first person she's going to glean all of her habits from- so be gentle on yourself. When she tells you you're pretty when you wake up, are sick, or just got home from a run, simply thank her for the compliment. Don't make a habit out of pointing out everything about yourself you dislike. How is she supposed to learn to love everything about herself if you can't?

3. Teach her the correct terminology for all her body parts.
Yes, everything. Because when her entire bikini-area is referred to as her tushie, things will get confusing.

4. Accept all of her self-expressions.
Eye rolling. Audible sighs. Stamping her feet. Teach her that yes, she owns those movements, but there is a time and a place to use all of them. Like when she's imitating characters or dancing. Not when it's time to leave her bestie's, the library, or when she can't get candy at Target.

5. Take her to the library.
Get her face into books- real books with pages and dust jackets. Teach her to appreciate what a gift the library is, that somebody trusts her enough to borrow books and music and for her to respect the things that aren't hers.

6. Let her break rules.
But minor rules. Like staying up past bedtime on Fridays, wearing Christmas pajamas year-round, and having a quick snack before dinner. Adhering to policy and procedure 24/7 is difficult and just plain impractical. Show how that often, we make little alterations to each of our days and lives in ways that don't hurt the big picture.

7. Explain equality.
This one is large. Begin with your household, adopting an everyone contributes strategy. If Mama starts the laundry, Daddy puts it away. If Daddy makes dinner, Mama washes the dishes. Everyone helps everyone, and no one is exempt from belonging. Explain how grown-ups and children are alike and different. Explain how males and females are alike and different. Explain how cultures are alike and different. But- the root in all of this is equality. We really are all the same.

8. Encourage her relationship with her Dad.
And do not step in and "show" either of them how it's being done incorrectly. Trust her Daddy enough to take her to appointments, birthday parties, swimming lessons, and shopping for Mother's Day.

9. Give her something to look forward to.
I'm 31 and I still function better if there is something on my horizon that makes me smile thinking about. Instill that in her as well. It can be the littlest of things, which we all know are actually the biggest. Making cupcakes after work. Sleeping in on Saturday. A roadtrip to love on our peeps. These little bursts of sunshine sprinkled in here and there will encourage her to look beyond her day in case it's going really, really crappy.

10. Take her on roadtrips to see her peeps.
All I ever wanted to do when I was little was go to my grandmas'. Not much has changed. Realize and rejoice with your daughter that family really is everything and take the time to prove it. And, let her go on solo visits as often as she can. You have no idea how many people think that is the most wonderful gift ever to spend time with your girl- so share it!

11. For every time you tell her she's cute, tell her she's smart.
Aibilene Clark's character in The Help has the best lines of the book- "You is kind. You is smart. You is important." Beauty is left out of the mantra, the compliment. She's your flesh and blood; of course she is the most gorgeous creature who ever graced the planet. That's every Mama's right. But fostering what truly is inside is how you can really make her shine on the outside.

12. Be patient.
She really is little. She really is new at life.

13. Drop the "supposed's" from your vocabulary.
She's supposed to be potty-trained. She's supposed to be rid of the pacifier. Writing her name. Reciting capitals. Buckling herself in. Being polite. Wearing ponytails. Into Barbies. Not into tractors or glitter or plain spaghetti, sans sauce. Why? Or better yet, who said what your child is supposed to be doing? She's supposed to be eating and sleeping and finding joy where her joy is found and being loved unconditionally and allowed to be her, right here, right now.

14. Share your traditions while making new ones.
Since we grew up in our parents' homes, it makes sense our foundations probably mimic our roots. When I moved into my first home, I wanted my silverware drawer arranged like my Mama's. It's our jumping off point for so many things as we grow up, which is understandable. Which is fine! But it's also completely fine (and crazy fun) to make your own traditions as a parent. Confetti pancakes for birthday breakfasts and Italian for Valentine's Day? You and your daughter should both have a say in that!

15. Respect her allies.
You're only as strong as the people who stand behind you- trust that your kiddo is going to find the same village to do her backing as well. You should hope for that, actually. If her ally is her bestie, her dog, her sibling, her Grandma or her nanny, it makes no difference. You'll need to understand the relationship she has with her people and respect who she is to them.

16. Expose her to music.
My tangible desert island item is my iPod, no question. I can't even peel a potato at the sink without turning on the radio. Music just is ... everything I love and I make it a priority in my house. And always play it as loud as she asks you to!

17. Send handwritten thank you notes.
She's never too young to learn how important expressed gratitude - and snail mail - truly is in this world.

18. Let her fail.
This one sucks. It's hard, and it hurts. It's a fine line of watching your daughter fail which makes you feel like a failure as a parent. It's true: this society is trending towards-ribbons-to-everyone-for-trying. It's hard to make her follow the rules in CandyLand just to get beat. It's repeating the same level of swimming lessons for the third time and you accepting it. It's grace in how she gets up and moves on.

19. Delay gratification.
Akin to giving her something to look forward to, resist the urge to buy her or give her what she requests on the spot. Explain to her what earning means, which then stems into appreciation. Make a satisfiable model in your home where time and effort are recognized towards what she wants and needs.

20. Tell her you love her everyday.
Life really is short. The days seem long, and on the days that seem the longest, she needs to hear your reaffirmation the most. When she is crabby. When she is disrespectful. When she is belligerent. When she is intolerable. When she is at her worst she's still your very best. Tell her so.

Magic

2012-01-09T07:23:00.000-06:00

A few days ago, my precious daughter was looking at the framed wedding photo in our bedroom as we readied for a birthday party for one of her "boys". She asked me where she was the day we got married.

"Well, you weren't here yet," I explained. Sorta.
My girl hates to miss parties.
Well? Where was I? She demanded.

Daddy chimed in from the bathroom.
"We didn't make you yet," he said.
Helpful! Notsomuch.
Make me? she asked. How did you make me?

The Dad and I stared at each other.
Good question.

"With magic", I assured her.
"Mama and Daddy love each other very much and we made you with magic."
Magic? Where was the magic?

Why, oh why ... is she so so darling and precocious and inquisitive?

I told my baby girl, with all the solemnness I could muster, "The magic was in our hearts."
And that pacified her.
Team Parents, 1
Team 4 Year-Old Questions Regarding Reproduction, 0

Last night, we were visiting our Village people, and I overheard the lil' dude tell her auntie VB that her parents made her ... using just the magic in their hearts.
Fantastic.
I tell her 14 times a day to flush the toilet and turn off lights to no avail, but I tell her one teeny, tiny thing about life and she'll never forget it? Just my luck.

2011 In Review//Photos

2012-01-04T22:16:00.009-06:00

Word {from} Your Mama

2012-01-03T23:27:00.000-06:00

The Interview //Age 4

2011-12-31T10:01:00.000-06:00

Photo courtesy the Lovely & Talented Auntie Mo.

1. What is your favorite color?
Pink, red, yellow and orange and purple and that's it.

2. What is your favorite toy?
Dollhouse with the van.

3. What is your favorite fruit?
Like strawberries.

4. What is your favorite tv show?
Watch Scooby.

5. What is your favorite thing to eat for lunch?
Macaroni & chicken.

6. What is your favorite outfit?
Like a dress- that I wear for church and a shirt- plain white one.

7. What is your favorite game?
Puzzles and like, Star Wars and Sleeping Beauty.

8. What is your favorite snack?
Is like, Goldfish and Chex Mix.

9. What is your favorite animal?
Horse and zebra.

10. What is your favorite song?
Hey, Soul Sister, and Won't You Stand Up.

11. What is your favorite book?
Sleeping Beauty, Tangled, Belle, and Cinderella.

12. Who is your best friend?
E.

13. What is your favorite cereal?
Umm, like, Peanut Butter Crunch.

14. What is your favorite thing to do outside?
Umm, like, ahhh ... play with tractors and trains and horses.

15. What is your favorite drink?
Water and coffee. And, lemmelade. And milk.
Edited to add ... she doesn't drink coffee, Mama promises.

16. What is your favorite holiday?
Like, Christmas.

17. What do you like to take to bed with you at night?
PillowPet (Otto, Syracuse's mascot), NaNa, and my stuffed animals (about 15) and that's it.

18. What is your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?
I TOLD YOU, Peanut Butter Crunch.

19. What did you have for dinner on your birthday?
Pizza and Sleeping Beauty cake.

20. What do you want to be when you grow up?
A computer worker and I really, really, really want, is to work.

Merry

2011-12-25T11:39:00.000-06:00

Wordless Wednesday

2011-12-21T07:28:00.000-06:00

Ninja Swathed in Pink

2011-12-20T17:51:00.001-06:00

Dear lil' dude:

Just wanted to let you know how awesome I think you are. And how awesome you really are.
This weekend, at Christmas with Papa and Grandma G. you received a fuzzy pink bathrobe handmade by Grandma.
Your first robe ever. Oh, the preciousness.
Then you put it on and went all Ninja on us.
Showcasing your karate skills.
Skills we didn't even know you had.
It was ... awesome.
Thanks for being ... well, so awesome.

Mama loves.

2011

2011-12-15T16:57:00.008-06:00

We had our family pictures taken last month by the Lovely & Talented Auntie Mo. on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon- our 6th wedding anniversary. It took me a solid day to settle on a Christmas card this year ...

And 2011's lil' dude family Christmas card:

Merry, merry!

Wall of Fame

2011-12-14T09:44:00.003-06:00

Each year right before her birthday, the Dad and I pore over the entire year in lil' dude pictures, trying to narrow down our favorites to just four to blow up for the wall in the dining room. It's hard work.

Even harder work? Going through the past years' photos tucked into the frames and trying not to lose my shit ... I can't even!
The first year- pictures of her in tiny Onesie, dressed in her first Jordan hat, 24 hours old wrapped in the standard hospital blanket. Hiding in NaNa at two months old, wearing a Onesies hand-stamped with her name, made by her Fairy Godmother. Wearing her first pair of pink shoes. Breaking Mama's heart with the oozing adorableness and forever memories.

At this rate, we'll have 72 20" x 20" photos to display at her high school graduation.

Introducing 2011's Wall of Fame.

Mama's picks:

The summer of 2011 will forever be burned into my brain as the days of endless swimming, sun, and SPF. We took advantage of each and every savory day.

Ad indicated by the new blog header I had the Dad make, this photo is just little girl. A beach towel, wet hair from the lake, a sugary confectionery bigger than your head, a chipped hot pink manicure, and your bestie in the background.

And the Dad's picks:

Jordan brand. Been rockin' that since she was a single day old.

And a big girl in a hoodie, canvasing the pumpkin patch this fall.

All That Glitters & Is Sticky

2011-12-13T17:16:00.000-06:00

Photo Credit

Today, I am thankful for the flexibility I have in my workplace.
So I could volunteer to bake Christmas cookies with 20 4-year-olds.
It was one of my favorite Mama memories to date.
The lil' dude's heart visibly swelled with pride and anticipation as I walked her into school, and stayed.

I have never been so happy to come to work bearing chocolate smudges on my sweater. With glitter everywhere. The kids? All covered in glitter and happy stickiness. I was just collateral damage to the December wonderfulness!
And I stamp-guarantee my Mini will remember this day for years to come. Her freaky little memory works just like mine does: awesomely.

As I stood over each of her little classmates and surefire friends, introducing myself as the lil' dude's mom, it dawned on me how the next chapter of life is going to be. As some one's mom. A little productive member of society. She'll introduce me to her friends and teachers and friend's parents. I will show up and I will disappoint her when I can't. Eventually, I will show up and I will disappoint her when I can. She'll wish I could appear. She'll wish I could disappear. But, we'll tread through that as the time comes.

For now, it's about a gigantic smile and endless hugs and needing me more than anything has ever been needed in a sea of sugar cookies. Right where I want to be.

4

2011-12-07T12:37:00.000-06:00

Happy birthday to my sweet, darling daughter today.
You turned four at 12:37pm today with me right beside you.
We set the world on fire this morning ... doing the things you love the most.
It's been a perfect day for a four year old, with promise of more fabulousness as the day wears on.

You used to weigh eight pounds.
You also used to wear size eight in shoes.
I remember sending your baby Tylenol in a Ziploc bag to daycare after your immunizations or sickness, with a note bearing dosing information.
Now, I tuck a tube of chapstick in your pocket for you to use all day long.

I tell you the truth. I expect the same in return.
You make me insanely proud and extremely content.
You're the heartbeat and liner notes and navigational beacon and whip cream on top of everything I love and adore.
You're my very best girl, and I promise, I never take you for granted.
You're no small miracle, of that I am sure.

So happy, happy 4th birthday, lil' dude.
You're an amazing human.
And I love you more than there is glitter in the Magic Kingdom.

Kiss, kiss.
Two kisses, always.

Mama loves.

Village People

2011-12-02T07:04:00.000-06:00

Photo Credit

A pretty significant thing happened here this week in the lil' dude's world.
Not one, but two of her tiny besties prayed for her at bedtime.

I can't even ...
I can't even type that out without getting emotional.
How extraordinarily lucky is my daughter that her friends count her in their blessings each day?
That they fiercely wish for her to have a happy Christmas?
That they include her on the laundry list of most importants like their brothers, Grandpas, and Daddies?

It's overwhelming. I feel so lucky to be her Mama.
I feel so honored by the already miniature allegiance in her life.
That she forever knows what it's like to belong to such a tribe, a lucky association, is my greatest wish for her.

On the Four

2011-12-01T07:35:00.000-06:00

One morning this week, the lil' dude was dressed to kill in a ruffly gray dress, leggings, and a little cardi all set for school.
We moved the processional to the entryway in preparation for leaving for the day, to school and work.
I told my sweet girl to don her Uggs as I donned mine.
That was a fatal mistake.
Apparently.

She screeched out in protest, that her Uggs were atrociously ugly and didn't match her pretty outfit.
She.
Would.
Not.
Wear.
Plain.
Uggs.

Plain?
She crumpled to the floor, the tears hot and a lot, pooling all around her.
Am I being punked? I kept thinking. I was in disbelief.
My sweet, mild-mannered preschooler, acting like this?

Glittery Uggs, Mama! I only want glittery Uggs!
No more plain ones!

Holy shit, she was for real.
Where was her DAD?

Needless to say, we were late for school that morning.
I hadn't wrestled with 37 pounds of bat-shit crazy in like, forever.
But I got her boots on her.
And her coat.
And hat.
And seatbelt.
I took away her birthday.
Yeah, I totally did.
I am That Mom.

In less than a week, she'll be four for real.
Throwing herself on the floor, crying out against the cruel injustices of the world.
I should recant. Throwing herself on the four.
What exactly did I just get myself into?

She was an angel infant. No colic. No teething issues. No sleep stress.
Just chubby, fuzzy baby love.

She was an angel toddler. No terrible 2's. No separation anxiety. No blatant disobedience.
Just crazy, cherubic girly love.

My own Mama said at age four, she sorta wanted to give me away. That a switch was flipped.
Well Mama, don't you go worrying about redemption not being redeemed.
I think she's the cute one, the sprite of a blond who resides in my heart and home.
You can stop smiling now.

Happy Thanksliterally Day

2011-11-24T10:35:00.000-06:00

I sent this email to my besties yesterday; the group of girls I've known since 1991.
I know right. You do the math.

Photo credit

Here's a final holiday wish to my best girlies ...

Be safe- and literally, be thankful. For such a large group of us, we are pretty lucky. I know 2011 hasn't been a fist-bumpin', everything rockin' kind of year- but still. We're still here. We have cars to drive, carbohydrates to eat, cheeks to smooch, favorites to text, scarves to wear, checks to cash, and pillows to sleep on. Be thankful ...

I hope you all know how much you mean to me.
Love you to the moon.
xx&oo,
LDM

Happy Thanksgiving.
Mama loves.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-23T07:09:00.000-06:00

Why?

2011-11-22T07:31:00.001-06:00

Yesterday morning, with the trees a perfect, icy whitish gray, I drove to pick up the lil' dude after a mini-vacation at her grandparents' of the North. It had been a long, quiet four days without my best girl around. We drove a few miles with the music turned way, way down (a rarity!) so we could catch up. And by we, I meant ... her. Oh, my bleeding, happy ears!

That hotdog made me throw up. The Beagle was in the road. He never listens to Grandma G. Guess who was on the roof but wasn't Santa? Papa hanging the Christmas lights. I got a new horse for the bathtub and hers hairs CAN GET WET! I forgot my new lion from Papa's store downstairs. I have a new wolf and his baby and the fastest animal in the jungle? What's that called? Oh a cheetah and hers baby too. I puked on NaNa. She needs a bath. Why is the Beagle staring at me? Grandma G. and I flapped our wings in the snow to make ... what are those things called? I got new boots. I puked on my new pants. I have a raccoon on my shirt. It's new, too. I am done with that bad medicine. Grandma says my cough is gone. I have a scratch on my leg from the cat. I miss Daycare Lady. Where's Daddy? Why are you driving the truck? I can't hear my music. Don't ever feed me hotdogs again. When can we go to Grandpa T's for that supper thing? How many more sleeps? The Beagle is still not sleeping. There's Caribou. That's coffee. There's where we drive for swimming. That's Daddy's school. Let's go home. Are we by our town yet? I puked on my new carseat. I need a new one for the car, too. For my birthday. I saw it at Target with Grandma S. I got a new Lion King book. Rafiki has a blue butt. I mean tushie, sorry Mama. That's another Caribou. Barnes and Noble! I want to go there on my birthday for cupcakes and drink things. Why do you like me? Let's watch a movie when we get home. I said, I puked on NaNa and she is wet! I cried my face off. Papa made me stand in the snow with no shoes on to clean me up! Can I smell your coffee? I won't taste it, I promise ... Is this song Lady A.?

"Wait. What did you say, baby? Why do I like you?"
Yeah, why, Mama?

Oh, lil' dude. I like you because ...

I still get burning, wet eyes when I hear you count. Your memory is amazing. You're compassionate. I love our mornings spent in my office at work. You're friends with the boys in your class. You get so mad when you get woken up. You love Jim Boeheim. Stories at bedtime are no longer simple with you. You insist on hugging and kissing the Beagle at bedtime. You request Chipotle for dinner daily. You've had the two same items on your Christmas list since January. You love accessories. You made me a Mama. You make giant messes, and no move to ever clean them up. You miss the library. You sit for an hour at the coffee shop on the weekends. You're my daughter. Like me at your age, you abhor tights and long sleeves. You always share. You think my favorite team is the Minnesota Twins. You made your Grandma's, grandmas. You love Old Navy. You apologize, even when it's inappropriate. Your favorite word is awkward. You prefer animals to dolls and babies. You thank me incessantly for new toothpaste. You despise chocolate milk. You sleep with NaNa wrapped tight around your face. PBS airs your best shows. You have a high pain tolerance. You think Daddy hung the moon. You speak with a positive tilt in your voice; it simply oozes with hope. Drinking straws rock your world. You're my best conspirator. You suck at lying. You wonder how long it will be until sandal season. Red grapes and homemade pickles still top your favorite food list. You're literal to the nth degree. You can't wait until our house gets a hole in it, so we can move. You still crave bathtime like you did years ago. You make time fly. You make me giddy for the holidays and special occasions. You make all my sadness evaporate. You're crazy consistent, and good with routines. You still reach for my hand in parking lots. You know Target's secret for erasing bad days. You think yoga is hilarious.

That, dear sweet girl, is why I like you.

New Music Thursday

2011-11-17T17:45:00.000-06:00

This morning, my two best people were at Target when it opened so they could make Mama's day with this album.
Now that is my love language!
When I picked the lil' dude up from school, she said, Daddy and I went to Target. For your music. Did he give it to you?

I thanked her, and said yes.
She said, you're welcome.

The liner notes say, There is great comfort in a favorite sweater, scarf, or stocking cap. As Minnesotans, we know a bit about these things. We also find comfort in music. The kind of comfort that thrills and fills the soul with warmth and hope. The Cities 97 Sampler strives to provide both kinds of comfort. With music that feeds the soul, and proceeds that feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and give comfort to adults, and animals throughout Minnesota. Thank you again and again for bringing us at Cities 97 great comfort in knowing that this annual compilation of Studio C performances means so much to you.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-16T19:14:00.001-06:00

A Preview

2011-11-14T17:35:00.001-06:00

The Lovely & Talented Auntie Mo. blessed us with her presence Saturday for our annual family portrait session.

And ... here is a sneak peek.

Is this a preview of life at 4? You bet your ass.

Life's a ... hoot.

Half Dozen

2011-11-12T20:39:00.003-06:00

I woke up this morning just after five. The house was silent.
I remembered waking up on the same Saturday morning, before five, six years ago.
The day I became a wife.

The dog sleeps on our bedroom floor.
His bed is right next to my side of the bed.
And, as he is prone to do, when he gets up each and every night, he goes around the foot of the bed, seeking out the Dad.

My side of the bed is nearest the door.
On those early mornings when the lil' dude thinks she needs to be up before us, she also goes around the foot of the bed, to the furthest side of the room, seeking out her Daddy.

It's clear we need him. It's clear he's our first line of defense, no matter the situation.
Most of the time, we all just want to be tucked back in, comforted, soothed.
Because there is no one better than him for any of that.

I love you this morning, and this day, this Saturday the 12th of November just as I have for years and years.
Thank you for simply ... being you.
To me and this family.

And seriously?
Thank you for your unending tolerance for my apparent love of self-photography ... as evidenced by these snapshots.
It's how I roll.
With you.

Mama loves.

Won't You

2011-11-11T07:50:00.000-06:00

The lil' dude's current anthem ... we just can't stop jammin' on our drives to Jennifer and Kristian!

She even knows more than the chorus.
Have I said how proud I am of my Mini?
That if she would inherit my love and need for music, I would die a proud Mama?
I swoon.

Photo Credit

All the lonely people cryin’
It could change if we just get started
Lift the darkness, light a fire
For the silent and the broken hearted

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up you girls and boys?

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up and use your voice?

There’s a comfort
There’s healing
High above the pain and sorrow
Change is coming
Can you feel it?
Calling us in to a new tomorrow

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up you girls and boys?

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up and use your voice?

When the walls fall all around you
When your hope has turned to dust
Let the sound of love surround you
Beat like a heart in each of us

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up you girls and boys?

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up and use your voice?

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up you girls and boys?

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up

Won’t you stand up
Stand Up
Stand Up
Won’t you stand up and use your voice?

Dukes

2011-11-10T07:31:00.000-06:00

This week, the lil' dude and I had a discussion about hitting- after she reported an incident she witnessed.

"Hands are not for hitting," I intoned, thinking of a book? I had seen somewhere, or something? "Hands are for ... hugging," I finished.

And, hands are for giving knucks. And high-fives, she said solemnly.

She always gets the last word, and rightfully so.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-09T07:50:00.000-06:00

Embers to Flames

2011-11-08T07:49:00.000-06:00

Wherever you go, go with all your heart. -Confucius

As is constant with any three-year old, your crazed obsessions come and go with fleeting abandon. I've learned to embrace it, and your ability to pick up and love new things with your entire being is my favorite thing about you.

Your constants remain the same, though. Your NaNa, lil' Beagle, plastic horses, Scooby Doo, and Sleeping Beauty all have major real estate in your heart and soul. But the things you obsess over and grind into your daily life come and go at whim. I'm teaching myself to remember each phase as they're introduced to me.

Introducing your newest love and adoration, your Lion King stuffed animals.
We've talked about the Lion King before- how much that movie meant to me as an 8th grader. How to this day, it still reminds me of your Auntie SG. But at the end of August, Daddy took you to see the 3-D theatrical release of the film, a movie you had already seen dozens of times. All lion pride hell broke loose from that point on.

You were redrawn to your existing Lion King books. And, holy Subway infatuation since you learned the kids' meal is all emblazoned with the Lion King logo! You talked your Papa into a plastic set of lions from the fleet supply store, too. You've got skills, I'll give you that! You did a hard sell on your Mama one Saturday morning at WalMart so you could end up with a stuffed Nala. I never give into you in the toy aisle, ever. But something that morning was different. Best $8 I ever spent.

Until I spent another $8 on Simba as your souvenir from my work trip to Miami.
Then your Grandma G. bought you another Simba, the baby version, for Halloween and boom! Your pride is numbered at three now. You four travel in a pack. I love it.

It's hard to not get as excited as you do over life's tiniest pleasures. I always want to support your current desires, even as they recede to embers as your next desire and passion starts to kindle into an entirely new fire. It makes me slow down and appreciate the rest of life away from the obligations and standardization.

Here's to you and your pride.
Just as it was to your little girls.
And your pink kitchen.
Your Beagle-pretending skills.
Or baking cookies.

All the Hurtling & Barreling

2011-11-07T07:39:00.002-06:00

One month from today, I will have a four-year old daughter.

November has always been a particularly sweet month for me- there is so much tied to this month. Of dates and times and places, and people and faces and belongings and remembrances and vows. So much has always happened this month.
So needless to say, my nostalgia and longing and memory meters are all in the red zone; pointing, pointing, pointing to everything that lives on in my heart. Just one, tiny month stands between three and four as we barrel and hurtle towards yet another 7th day.

The nurse who was assigned to me for the first 24 hours I was in labor was named Ann. The nurse who finally helped me deliver was named Trista. And the nurse who woke me up in the dark to give me drugs as my baby slept was named Karalee. I can't imagine going through something as awesomely large as childbirth without remembering each and every person who helped me throughout. So every November, when my remembering and reminiscing start to tangle and surface as December begins to stir, I think of those three women and the roles they don't even know they played in my life, four years ago.

Being in charge of a tiny human is unbelievable. I don't quite know how to pack the gravity of the task, or caliber of the gift into one sentence. As she grows and matures and develops, my tiny human makes me falter and question and fake it and study it so I can answer it. That she is now experiencing her own things and regaling in stories I will never see firsthand, like preschool, still shocks and amazes me. That we'll run into W's mom at Old Navy or N. at the library and she will just know who these people are! And introduce them to me! Makes my world tilt all off its axis!

I had to do the math of her months on a calculator just now. She is 47 months old today. I think Pampers finally stopped sending me her updates on a monthly basis, which is for the better. I can't stand other people telling me I have a preschooler! I know! I take her there everyday! I took her to kindergarten screening, I still watch her cry when the Widow Tweed has to release Tod to the wilderness to save his life in The Fox and the Hound, and I hear her whisper about her great-Grandma's dog, who passed away this summer after a long, fat, and lovely life. I know how she reasons; I understand her logic, appreciate her empathy, and encourage her defiance (albeit secretly). My tiny human is hell-bent on becoming a largish-sized human, both physically and emotionally whether or not I like it. It's been my absolute greatest pleasure and honor to be the rearer and Mama.

There's a song I can't stop listening to these days, as is my ever-lovin' nature.

No Fear of Heights, by Katie Melua.

I never walked near the edge
Used to fear falling
I never swam far from shore
Never tried the secret door

But when you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear of heights,
No fear of the deep blue sea,
Although it could drown me,
I know it could drown me

I didn't wander in the woods
Used to fear the darkness
I didn't like getting deep
I was scared of what I couldn't keep

But when you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear of heights,
No fear of the deep blue sea,
Although it could drown me,
I know it could drown me

No fear of the fall
No fear if it's with you that I fall
'cause nothing could break us,
No, nothing could break us, now

It resonates with me, word for word, because it's totally applicable to both parenting and childhood alike. Because? Neither of us- the lil' dude nor myself, still has any clue what we're doing. We're waking and breathing and laughing and apologizing and wiping tears and fearing while not, each day. Being girls in Uggs and lipgloss with over-sized handbags and even bigger visions just wondering when we can finally hang out with our besties. We're putting all our faith into every tomorrow, circling days on calendars and items in glossy catalogues until every wish comes true.

One month to go.
All the hurtling and barreling towards everything we can.

Mercy

2011-11-03T07:42:00.000-05:00

I made my daughter cry this morning.
I was rushed, and per usual, her lack of urgency was prominent in our entryway.
She burst into tears.
I burst into internal cussing and guilt.
It was one of those mornings.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
Seasons.
Year.

I love words- today I love someone else's.
ELD, I love you for sending this to me when you knew I needed it.
Even from where you stand, you sent it to me.
You're amazing and I love you, mean it.

When Mercy Sucks - by her.

I am a happy person. You bet. But happy people also feel sucky and their lives are also really complicated and painful. We simply seek out and build happiness in the middle of the pain and suckage.

Back in the days when my husband was a pastor and/or student minister, I took several tests to determine what my "spiritual gifts" were. At the top of that list, every single time, was mercy. Some would argue whether these are actually spiritual, or personality traits or what-not. Whatever your personal take is, there is no denying it:

I ooze mercy.

I cry mercy.

I sweat mercy.

I crap mercy (so maybe that's not totally possible ... but if it were, I WOULD DO IT!)

That also means that I feel the pain of the people I love. It's a blessing and a curse. I FEEL it. I carry it. I want to fix it or alleviate it or at the very least lessen it. I have been given many opportunities over the years to practice feeling mercy and not allowing it to crush me. It's hard. The more I love someone, the more I feel it.

My type of person is the reason we bring food to people after a death. We have to do something! Anything! We feel like WE will die if we can't make your life a little bit easier in those moments.

I have pushed myself to find balance in these times. I have to stop and sit with how I'm feeling (usually helpless and out of control). Oh, yikes. Hmmm. "Control" seems to always float to the top when I sit with feelings. Frick. So, perhaps my mercy starts as a very good thing, but floats to the wrong side as I start to feel the enormity of the pain, causing me to realize I can't fix everything, and then being overwhelmed with a desire to be in control.

Yeah, that's usually it. I work through it. I find that balance and allow people to hurt and be comforted/helped/loved by ALL the people in their life. I visualize myself releasing the need to control pain and distress, because let's face it ... I can't! What a waste of energy to try. I also state over and over what is true: "I can live out mercy in a healthy way, and it is good even when the pain is still there. I can come home, hang up the phone, end the conversation, whatever ... even when the pain is still present, and that is not going to make the pain worse."

I don't believe it, so I say it again. And again. And again. Then I'm better, and twenty minutes later have to say it again.

My pain? I expect pain and difficulty. But watching the people I love struggle? It kills me.

So, probably no need to review, but here we go.

Mercy = good

Crushing mercy = bad

The end.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-02T07:42:00.000-05:00

Boo

2011-10-31T20:25:00.003-05:00

Happy Halloween!
We just tucked in the horse ...
Who next year wants to be a lion.
Then a witch.
Followed by a froggy.
Then, she'd like to be a table.
The next year, a chair.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure at that point she was just naming inanimate objects in the house, like Brick from Anchorman.

We watched The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, ate Grandma S.'s apple crisp and Grandma G's popcorn balls. We handed out treat bags to our peeps and played with plastic skeletons and rubber bats.

We learned the lessons of self-restraint and sharing.
Sorta.

We fell in love with Butterfingers.
Seriously. How underrated!
Pretty sure one little horse's pumpkin is going to be missing all of those golden little nuggets of deliciousness come November 1st!

She's Just Sayin'

2011-10-21T07:35:00.001-05:00

You never stop talking.
I am your mother.
And your Grandma G. is your grandmother.
And your great-Grandma S. is your great-grandmother.
So, I get it.
You're a talker if not by heritage alone.
We're women! Who have a lot to say.
Like, so much a lot.
Ask your Daddy.
Or your Papa.
If great-Grandpa R. was here, he would totally concur.

And as you continue to talk your tiny face off, I must force myself to remember not just what you say, but how you say it.
I, admittedly, will be sad the day your language and vocabulary straightens out permanently.

Chapstick- Patchick

BandAids- Belmans

Sippy Cup- Siccy Cup

Just in Case- Case in Sure

Umbrella- Cabrella

High Heels- Dot Shoes

CSI- Cop Show

Grey's Anatomy- Doctor Show

Minnesota Lynx- Girl Timberwolves

Movie Theatre- Movie Gator

Chipotle- Poachlay

Lemonade- Lemmelade

Sprinkles- Sparkles

Wordless Wednesday

2011-10-19T21:05:00.002-05:00

Right Where I Need to Be

2011-10-18T17:33:00.001-05:00

Last night, for the first time ever, I laid with you until you fell asleep.
At your request.
And I don't know who needed it more, at that moment in time.

At 9pm, you whipped open your door, as I walked in for the day, and said, You are home and didn't come into my room!?
I explained to you I literally just walked in. I needed to kiss your Daddy and all that before I tiptoed in to kiss your blonde head.

With you in your footie, fuzzy froggie pajamas, you led me into the dark.
Wanna get in my bed, Mama? Not like before?

You took your place, at the edge of the bed, your stuffed menagerie aligned perfectly, as I took the spot against the wall.
You rolled over to face me, found my arm, yawned. I knew it wouldn't take long. I wouldn't have cared if it had taken hours.
We whispered about a few things. You became quiet.

And I laid there in the dark, with tears rolling into my ears as the day wore away.
I needed this goodnight, little girl.
I don't know how you do it.
Sensing.
Knowing?
But thank you nonetheless.

Mama loves.

Cold Hard Truth

2011-10-17T07:32:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the three of us were driving, and the Dad and I were talking about our parents.
Why do you have a Mom and a Dad? the lil' dude asked.
"Well, why do you YOU have both a Mom and a Dad?" I asked her.

I need you both, she began. I need both Mommy and Daddy.
I turned to look at the Dad, my heart swelling, eyes watering.

I need both of you to wipe me when I am done pooping, she concluded.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-10-12T07:18:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

2011-10-05T07:17:00.000-05:00

Little Learner

2011-10-04T19:47:00.003-05:00

Preschool has been well underway for three weeks, and all is going gangbusters. So far, my girl likes painting the most.
Not surprising given the fact her Mama's not too keen on that activity at home. I'm clearly stifling her artistic side.
As if sending my baby to preschool wasn't enough for the fall of 2011, this morning she had her kindergarten screening.
I know.

First day of preschool, 9/12/11

First day of preschool, 9/12/11

I sat in the corner with a clipboard for parental feedback as I sat right next to my little girl for her testing. The 8am time slot made me nervous; she's like her Daddy and not a morning person. The testing began.

A few minutes in, the instructor kept saying, "lil' dude, watch where I am pointing. Listen to me ..."
Sitting in her child-sized chair, the lil' dude crossed her legs and said to her, what's your name?
Fair enough. She hadn't introduced herself to either of us! I bit my lip to keep from smirking.
"Pam," the instructor continued.
Oh, you're Pam. Pam.
And the testing continued.

I was sent home with a District 742 Early Childhood Screening Summary and it reads (for memory preservation purposes):

Height: 41", 90%
Weight: 37#, 70%
Vision: R 20/20, L 20/25
Hearing: R Pass, L Pass
Immunizations: Up-to-date
Family Data: Only child. Lives with Mom + Dad
Primary Language: English
Parent report of Development/Behavior: Easygoing, confident, independent, friendly, and imaginative
Development:
Motor Score- 22 (normal range 10-35)
Concepts Score- 20 (normal range 11-35)
Language Score-14 (normal range 8-35)
Total Score- 56 (normal range 31-105)
Speech: clear articulation
Behaviors observed: happy, confident, cooperative, and attentive
Summary of screening: scores are within age appropriate ranges!

I was, as ever, proud of her.
She was shown random pictures- hangers, tweezers.
She knew what they both were, and what you use them for.
I am continually blown away by this tiny being who belongs to me and what she is capable of.
Motherhood rocks my face off.

Ride On

2011-10-03T17:12:00.000-05:00

When I was around eight months pregnant, The Dad installed the baby's carseat in the truck.
When I went to practice fastening and unfastening, in that cold, frigid garage with my giant belly, I couldn't do it.
I cried my face off at my inability.
That was not a pretty picture.
Mama Disch, I am sure you remember. You were there.
So we returned that particular model STAT.
And found one that worked.
And eventually housed our real-live baby girl.
I sat right next to that carseat on our 11-mile ride from the hospital home, too.

That was nearly four years ago.
That carseat was dismissed from active duty over two years ago.

And today, we moved onto bigger and better things:

That's right. Baby's in a booster.
And Mama's in a perpetual state of disbelief, and panic.
Four!
Oh, get used to my melancholy drama. It's only getting worse, and gaining momentum, as the days forge toward December 7.

Four.
She sits with her legs crossed when we get coffee, sitting to chat.
She understands the concept of time- how many more sleeps until ... etc.
She loves preschool.
She's completely done with sippy cups.
She wants to know where she was the day her Mama and Daddy got married.
She defends her dog.
She remembers her stories.
She.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-21T17:19:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-14T17:18:00.000-05:00

Letter From Mama

2011-09-12T22:07:00.000-05:00

Hi, sweetest girl.
How long has it been since I wrote you a letter?
Too long, I'm afraid.

As I think and type, you lie sleeping. Tomorrow is your first day of preschool. I don't know where to begin.
Yes, yes I do. I am so proud of you. I am so excited for you. I am only minimally anxious and scared.
Preschool. Unbelievable.
Your Auntie E. said this week, "in two short years our daughters will be starting kindergarten!" Two years? You're nearly four. I know how time work, I see how time flies. Together, we just keep wracking up the milestones, don't we.

I can picture you in the morning, sitting at a tiny table in front of your name. Your enormous eyes will be wide, and scanning. You'll be quiet, shy with trepidation. I am not worried about how you'll interact with your peers. I know the kind of friend you are, the kind and loving and happy little girl who naturally draws people to her everywhere you go. You're going to be fine.

Don't pick your nose.
Don't stay quiet when someone asks your name.
Don't forget to say thank you.
Don't walk out of the bathroom with your pants around your ankles.
Don't interrupt.
Don't forget to have fun.

In all my years, your Papa has always said to me, "Be good."
When I was younger, he meant behavior-wise.
As I left home and navigated college and career, he meant actions and decisions.
Now, he means at life.
Be a good wife, mother, friend, neighbor, employee, co-worker, member of society.

So I am starting that with you, too.

Be good, lil' dude.

Tomorrow is your first day of preschool.
In a cruel twist of reality, your Mama will be on a flight bound for Dallas for work instead of holding your hand all the way to your classroom. It breaks my heart, and I've apologized more than necessary. But, you and Daddy will be just fine, as you always are. At your place at the dinner table tonight will be your favorite meal, cooked by Daddy. There will be sparkly cupcakes- and go ahead, honey, eat the icing off all six. I give you, my big preschooler, full permission to do just that! And from your Mama, a small present and card- a special treat I know you are going to love. You're never far from my mind, baby girl, and always in my heart in everything I do.

Mama loves.

Where You Were

2011-09-11T11:13:00.000-05:00

Photo courtesy

Each generation will defined by some sort of tragedy. It's the unfortunate reality of the world we're lucky enough to live in.

As a kindergartner, I remember watching the Challenger blow up from the school's lunchroom where the only TV's were located.
In my 9th grade civics class, I sat in a silent classroom watching Channel One project the Oklahoma City bombing news that took place that April.
In 1996, I remember hearing about the Olympic bombing in Atlanta as I worked my summer job in a cashier's smock at a grocery store.
As a college freshman in my tiny dorm room, I sat huddled with my girlfriends and floor mates, crying as coverage of the Columbine shooting took over every channel.

But, one Tuesday morning, September 11th, 2001, is the tragedy that defined my generation.
I was a college senior, walking home from my boyfriend's in glasses and a hoodie before 8am to get ready for class. As I did every morning, I turned on the Today Show in my bedroom. As a journalism student, Katie Couric was my true hero, and I lusted after the daily news the way some people lust after music videos.

I remember sitting on my bed, in my towel, and listening to what was happening in New York ... in my country.
I remember my roommates waking up to the news.
I remember walking in a tight, quiet huddle to campus, because the only thing we knew, was we didn't want to be alone.
Campus was not chaotic as I imagined, or hoped. The eerily silence of 10,000 students made what was happening on the east coast real. It was heartbreaking. I can't even remember if classes were cancelled, because the first class I made it to was full of my peers. We sat in front of our instructor, who's sole purpose was to teach a class full of students how to report and write bylines. He was speechless, as well. So we sat. We cried. We feared.

As a college senior, you're considered an adult. A few months later, after commencement, you'd walk the line straight to a real job. You gradually began to worry more and more about your rent, car insurance, meals, working two jobs, meeting deadlines, writing papers, leaving the only city you'd known the past four years. It was a fine line to straddle at 21, and here on the very cusp of adulthood, you were left to wonder about terrorism and death tolls and retaliation and war and, oh, my God, you knew people from your hometown who were already in the Army. What did this mean? What was going to happen?

As I often did at that age and stage in my life, I prophesied on moving to Seattle, or North Carolina. Somewhere very non-Midwest. I often talked to my parents about post-college adventures.

I remember my Mom's email that day, on September 11, 2001. "So glad you are safe and sound in good old Minnesota. Maybe moving to either coast isn't such a good idea ... "
It didn't matter where you lived that day. It still doesn't matter. We're all on American soil. It happened to all of us. And it continues to. It's been 10 years, an entire decade. We're still healing, we're still leery, we're still learning that we're not exempt from terror, unspeakable intentional damage, or deeply inflicted pain just because we live in America.

But, that can't diminish our hope, or extinguish our pride. It hasn't. It can't. It won't.

Robert Brault said, "Sometimes in tragedy we find our life's purpose - the eye sheds a tear to find its focus."

It's hard to imagine something as unspeakably horrible like the attacks on 9/11 happening again, and defining my daughter's generation. But, something will. Something that will make her remember where she was when it happened, how she reacted, who she relied on, how she found the confidence to rally.

And how she never, ever gave up hope the outcome could be unlived in the next generation.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-09-07T07:49:00.000-05:00

In the Waning Sun

2011-09-01T07:53:00.000-05:00

On the last Saturday of August, against the summer's waning sun, there was a little girl and her bestie who took to the shores of Mound Lake to celebrate.

And celebrate they did.

Goodbye, summer of 2011.
We'll never forget you.

Thanks for the ...

Tanlines
Taglines
Memories
Melodies
Stickiness
Sweetness
Heat
Heart

Wordless Wednesday

2011-08-31T07:48:00.000-05:00

The Plastic Contingency

2011-08-29T07:52:00.001-05:00

More than any other reason, I started this blog as a way to document the little things about the lil' dude that wouldn't necessarily make it to my memory 20 years later. I know, I know. Right now, she's on the cusp of four and I haven't forgotten a single thing, but that's not guaranteed.

Like, I want to remember what her favorite toys were when she was little.
And here they are.

When we went to Disney World in February, I cheated.
I locally stocked up on memorabilia before we even boarded the plane.
Yes, she still picked out a hot plenty of souvenirs, but I was able to supplement her joy with the items I had stowed away for her.
Like a tiny little Cinderella doll with a rubber evening gown.
That miniature, sparkly, $4 piece of plastic sparked a whole new revolution in my daughter's world.
She went on to find Sleeping Beauty and Snow White while on vacation, and when we came home, we set about finding the rest.

Belle showed up in her Easter basket.
Rapunzel was a secret gift when I spent 10 days traveling in March.
Ariel was waiting at Grandma G's one weekend.
Mama snuck Tiana into her luggage when she went to Camp Grandma in July.
And, together we found Jasmine at a Wal-Mart 150 miles from home.

Everywhere we go, the princess brigade goes, too. She has a little cloth bag her great-Grandma S. made her to contain her make-believe life. There is Sleeping Beauty's horse, Flynn Rider, about 17 rubber dresses, and 100 teeny, tiny accessories which she has catalogued within her brain.

She calls them her little girls.
Bless her heart.

Major

2011-08-16T07:58:00.000-05:00

When I was a sophomore in college, I changed my major.

I completely changed schools within the university I attended, leaving the school of business and my marketing major behind for the college of liberal arts, and a mass communication degree instead. I was 20; and telling my Dad about my decision was the single most difficult thing I had encountered in my life. I was worried my parents wouldn't see the value in a liberal arts degree. I should have known better.

Over a lunch of greasy burgers, french fries, and canned soda in August before my junior year, I told my Dad when I resumed classes in a week, I would be doing so in mass comm. Yes, I procrastinated ... since I had been registered since May.

My Dad was quiet. Until he said, "Kid (he's called me that for 31 years now), you can do what you want. You know that. Mom and I will support you no matter what. There is a quote, a famous one, that goes, Whatever you are, be a good one. (Abraham Lincoln)

I was crying at this point. Part from relief, part from reassurance, part from the realization that I was now a grown-up and clearly, entitled and expected to make all my own decisions from here on out.

Then my Dad said, "I still expect you to graduate in four years, however."
Oh, right, I said, calculating. Of course.
I've never been one to disappoint anyone, especially my parents, so I agreed.

And I threw myself into the major. Courses and classes with Dr. Pepper (for real, Dr. Jerry Pepper), Dr. Sunnafrank, Dr. Katz. I loved what I was studying, and I worked my ass off for the next two years, taking more credits, more night classes, and more summer courses while working two jobs to graduate on time, despite my game change midway through.

And I graduated in the the spring of 2002, just four years after I graduated from high school.
My Dad? Was proud. He said he never had the notion I wouldn't do it.

So, where am I going with this story?
Straight to my three-year-old.
Who, yesterday I told that if she slammed her door one more time, I was going to take it off its hinges.
Who, yesterday I told that when you're angry, it's not okay to tell someone you no longer love them.
Who, yesterday I just stared at as she faced me off, hands on hips, tears on cheeks, life on fire.

I am 31, a Mass Communication major who cannot communicate with her 3-year-old daughter.

Last week, we sat down to dinner- chicken Alfredo, a dish I know my kid loves. Cheese, chicken, and carbs?
She sat down at her spot.
Poked around on her plate, begrudgingly took a bite ... chewed. Coughed a little, an incident aside from eating.
Then all Hell broke loose.
She spit her food all over the table and floor.
Crying, screaming, this food makes me sick!
Said, Mama never make this again! People get sick!
The Dad and I just stared at each other.
Until, finally, he told her to get down and go to her room, so we could continue to eat in peace.
She stormed off, hysterical, slamming her door.

All was quiet for 40 minutes. We finished dinner, cleaned the kitchen.
I heard her door creak open ... out she came, still sobbing.
You, she said to me, I don't love you to the top anymore. Just a little.
And, where's my Dad?
I told her he was outside, picking raspberries.
And she continued, I am not riding in the truck with Daddy anymore! He made me cry so bad.
And I just stared at her.
She was so deliberate, so intentional with her hurt and anger.
So I did what I knew how to. I gave her a bath, hoping to scrub off as much fury as I could.
I dried, lotioned, combed, pajamed her.
Tucked her in.
Read her a story.
Kissed her and told her how much I love her.
At 7:02pm.

I cautiously woke her up 12 hours later.
She came into the bathroom on her own, a rare feat.
Good morning Mama, she said to me, hugging my thigh.
As I curled my hair she commented, you look like, so pretty.
Just like Sleeping Beauty.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-08-10T07:33:00.000-05:00

Best Sunday Ever

2011-08-09T07:45:00.000-05:00

Sleeping in.
Putting on pretty dresses.
Wearing fancy hair.
And sunglasses.
Eating nothing but chocolately goodness for breakfast.
At the local coffee shop.
Just girls.
Playing board games.
Stealing whip cream from Mama.

Wearing SPF.
Another fancy dress.
From Hawaii.
And sunglasses.
Parking at the fence.
Of the closed greenhouse.
And having all the fish to ourselves.
Pursing our lips to mimic the creatures.

One whole loaf of bread.
One whole flock.
And one tiny baby.
Who was doted on.
No fear at the edge of the Mississippi.
Just singing.
And tending to the ducks.
As simple as it gets.
For as long as it takes.

Remind Me

2011-08-04T08:00:00.000-05:00

As is always the case, I heard a song recently that made me think ...
Remind Me, by Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood.
While the lyrics relate to a relationship's ebb and flow, the title alone sparked this post.

This picture, from last weekend.
As I edited it, I kept staring at it. Something about it reminded me ... of something.
Her eyes, her nose. Her scrunched little girlie face.
Remind Me.

Oh. Oh, yes.
I remember.
She's this:

Remind Me.
December 7, 2007. Nearly 1pm ... this face is burned, burned into my soul.

I hope she always reminds me of her initialness her whole life.

When she is eight, missing teeth.
When she is 13, always mad at her Daddy.
When she is 17, in love and making her Mama worry.
When she is 26, in my kitchen asking for recipes.
When she is 40, helping me deal with grief.

Remind Me, baby girl.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-08-03T07:30:00.000-05:00

Retro

2011-08-02T17:55:00.000-05:00

Your Grandma S. is notorious for saving things.
Seriously, love her for it.
Especially when there is another, cute, blond generation who benefits from all the retro.

You and Daddy sure had a blast putting together his old Disney puzzle.
He swears between he and Uncle D., the puzzle was put together roughly 800 times.

Your favorite were the princesses, naturally.
Even if all the news girls like Tiana, Ariel, Rapunzel, and Belle were missing.
Princess Aurora was not.
Good, good thing.

Were all the pieces intact?
You bet.
You were able to put the last one in.
A miracle over 30 years old!

My Happy Place

2011-08-01T07:38:00.000-05:00

The lakes are something which you are unprepared for;

they lie up so high, exposed to the light, and the forest is

diminished to a fine fringe on their edges,

with here and there a blue mountain,

like amethyst jewels set around some

jewel of the first water, - so anterior,

so superior, to all the changes that are to

take place on their shores, even now civil

and refined, and fair as they can ever be.

-Henry David Thoreau

Of the Moment

2011-07-24T17:36:00.000-05:00

She gets on kicks of wanting certain books read to her, over and over.
Here's our current favorite.
I say our because ... it's the truest replication of life at our house.
Man, I love having a daughter.

Whenever Birdie's mother got ready in the morning, Birdie was there to help.
She would start by picking out the sparkly jewelry.
Next she would find the perfect pair of sunglasses.
Then her dog, Monster, would help her choose just the right perfume.

But more than anything in the whole wide world,

Birdie longed to wear her mother's shoes.

She loved her crocodile pumps and summer peep-toes and all her strappy sandals ...

Birdie couldn't wait a minute longer.

"Mommy, I think I'm ready to wear big-girl shoes."

"Birdie, you'll have years and years to wear high heels,"

her mother said. "I promise."

Birdie imagined how grown up

she'd feel dancing in high heels.
She thought about how much

better she would be at hide-and-seek.

Monster would never find her.

She pictured how fun it would be to cartwheel in beautiful shoes,

her feet glittering in mid-air.

"Mommy?" Birdie asked again later, "could I wear your shoes, just for a little while?"

"Oh Birdie," her mother said.

"I promise to be careful, cross my heart! Pretty please?"

Birdie's mother looked into her daughter's hopeful eyes.
"Well ... okay, sweetheart. But you have to be very careful."

"I will, I will, I will!" she promised, then raced to her mother's shoe closet.

Birdie carefully slipper her little toes into one shoe,

then slid into another.
She looked at herself in the mirror ...

and gasped.

She felt beautiful.
She felt glamorous.
... she felt like a movie star.

"Let's shim-sham, Monster! said Birdie as she started to dance.
But twisting wasn't easy in wobbly peep-toes.
"Let's play hide-and-seek, instead. I'll hide first!" she decided.

But hiding was impossible with pointy Mary Janes sticking out.

"Cartwheel time!" Birdie shouted.
But landing sure was tricking in sky-high stilettos.

Birdie looked down.
Her feet were sore and knees were scraped.
This is no fun, Birdie thought.
She knew just what she needed to do.

First, she kicked off one shoe ...
... then she kicked off the other.

Barefoot, Birdie did the best

cartwheels she'd ever done.
She tangoed and hand-spun

and grand-jeted all across the living room.

At bedtime, she played hide-and-seek.
Her mother couldn't find her.

"Here I am!"

From that day on,
Birdie decided
she wasn't quite ready for
grown-up shoes - yet.

For now, she liked her beautiful barefoot shoes
most of all.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-07-20T07:56:00.000-05:00

The Carseat EXPOSÉ

2011-07-19T07:35:00.001-05:00

I've been meaning to do a purge of the photos on my phone.
So I purged and noticed a very common theme, too.
It appears the only pictures I manage to snap of my daughter with my phone are those where she is confined.
Please overlook the poor quality of the images.
Instead, enjoy the very many faces of the lil' dude via her carseat.

After cheering the Minnesota Twins to a late, rallying victory on opening day.

In a straight-up coma from Thanksgiving at Grandma G's Sugar Shack.

Complaining about the insulting sun on a particularly sunny spring morning.

Sleeping during snack time. Yeah, can you predict how this ended?
When she startled awake like crazy mad, those Goldfish FLEW all over the car.
It was awesome.

In my favorite carseat shot, here she is in yet another coma from Christmas at Grandma G's Sugar Shack.
Those crashes are the worst!
Trust me.
I've been doing it for 31 years.

Making Mama's heart soar.
Best Fridays ever.

Testing out Mama's new stunnah shades.

Eating an ice cream cone.
Sure, she 's not an ice cream fan.
However, every once in awhile will eat a plain vanilla cone.
But, this photo will always remind me of who she is at this age.
Tattoos, Band-Aids, and sticky happiness.

And double carseat love.
Lil' Tenie and her bestie, B$ ridin' solo in the back of the truck.
Those two.
Will BE trouble in a few more years, trust.
Now they are sweet. Too sweet.
But if you know their Mamas ...

On a snow day.

And a tired kitty cat after a long afternoon of summer fun.

I love these photos.
I love the consistencies.
NaNa, NighNigh, and sleeping.
Just what carseats are made for.

Random

2011-07-18T07:53:00.001-05:00

I have a lot to say about a certain blond in my life, and no real subject was consistent.
So this is a really random post, but isn't that life with a three-year-old, anyway?

...

I used to say, my kid will eat like a rockstar. She'll possess a very diverse, experimental palate.

My kid loves to eat cold turkey dogs, dry wheat bread, and cereal (the sugary, taboo kind) for dinner.
I pick my battles; eating is not one of them.
Trust me when I say, that was a hard thing to die to.
Thursday night, she ate a baked potato (dry) and the Dad and I just stared, silently.
She won't eat jelly, chocolate milk, popsicles, or ice cream ... but add starchy russets to her list.
This week, that is.

...

Fell in love with this photo when I edited it. Love, love it. Might even make the dining room wall for the big 4th birthday party this winter. Look at me, talking about her 4th birthday like it's no big deal! Why is that? Well, because you see, for the past 232 days, the lil' dude has talked about her next birthday. Not a single day goes by without at least a tiny mention of invitees, menu, or wish lists. I created a monster ... every April, it's all about Mama and her 30 days of birthday wonderfulness. Ask my people!

And what was my sweet daughter doing in this photo?

Earning room and board.

I can't believe I am posting these photos. But if it's honesty we're after, this is as honest as it gets.
It's no secret I clean the bathroom while the lil' dude bathes. It's so time efficient. I can pay attention to her, while paying attention to my grout. But this week, for whatever reason, she lost her shit when I started to scrub the toilet, wailing for me to save it for her.
By all means.

When she is 12, and cleaning bathrooms is on her permanent chore list just as they were on mine at that age, I am going to remind her how much she loved it at three. It will never get old. For me.

...

Yesterday, she came into our room at 6:53am.
No thank you.
I turned her around, and climbed into her bed with her.
Where we both promptly fell asleep until 10am.
That's more like it.
When I opened my eyes, she was a millimeter from my face.
Mama. Thank you for sharing my bed with me. We were both sleeping in here.

...

It was 99* at our house yesterday.
The Dad and I were in the back yard talking about our ginormous raspberry bush.
When our daughter came onto the deck in just her t-shirt.
I just got too hot and sweaty in my undies and shorts. I am gonna come outside without 'em.

...

Her imaginary friend is 7'0" tall.
His name is Kevin.
He wears #5.
In Celtic green.
And, according to the lil' dude, was playing a real-live basketball game in the yard.
With Rondo and crew.
She begged her Dad to sit and watch the game with her.
I don't know which one of them is crazier.
Her, for her imagination.
Or him, for putting it in her head in the first place.

...

I have an injury on my big toe.
A pair of heels, 6 hours of dancing, and one NKOTBSB concert later, I am missing a portion of my toenail.
I am way too old for that shit.
But will never learn.
This morning, sporting a Scooby AND a Cinderella Band-Aid on my wound, the lil' dude spies me slipping on my sky-high wedges.
Mama, are you sure your owwie is going to be OK in those shoes?
Always a critic.
Where was she Friday night when I made that foolish footwear decision?

I Miss ...

2011-07-14T07:30:00.000-05:00

... the feel of her back in her tiny footie jams.
... watching the Beagle lick and lick and lick her face.
... finding pacifiers in my handbag.
... bibs.
... buying diapers & wipes at Target every Friday.
... washing crib sheets.
... being in complete control of another human.
... her fuzzy hair before it was blond.
... buckling her into her infant seat.
... watching her fall asleep in her exersaucer.
... reading books without 89 questions.
... the sour smell of baby puke.
... the hours I spent, just looking at her.
... having people stop us in the grocery store to comment on her big eyes.
... those fat, fat thighs.
... keeping her from putting everything in her mouth.
... watching her fascination of NaNa evolve.
... having a baby.

Picture

2011-07-12T17:44:00.000-05:00

As a parent, you often wonder what traits and characteristics your children will inherit from you.

Like, will the lil' dude have a fascination with words?
Will smell be her biggest trigger of memories?
Will she be type-A personality?
Will she speed read?

At this point, it's clear she's becoming a little like her Mama.
I hope she takes that as a compliment.
Just as I do, when people compare my Mama and I.

When she was at Camp Grandma in June, she took this picture of her Grandma G. when they were at the playground.
As my Dad said when he forwarded it to me, the lil' dude took this all by herself! And it's probably the best picture anyone has taken of your Mom!

My Mama famously hates having her picture taken.
But look at that genuine smile for her granddaughter!
The lil' dude, snapping portraits at three.
Yep, a little bit of her Mama indeed!

A Day at the Beach

2011-07-08T07:20:00.000-05:00

The girls in our house sure do love them some beach days. My entire summers as a kid revolved around when I could be in the water; lakes, rivers, pools, mud puddles (sure, a little redneck, but true), the rain. Apparently that desire hasn't left me.

Combine that with the Dad's solid career as a lifeguard at the town pool where he spent his days being loved by little girls, and hated by the bigger ones who had to unplug their noses on his watch, and we have ourselves a fish for a daughter.

(Who, yes, failed her first grown-up swimming lessons. Good lesson in humility for all parties.)

We camped last month with our people, and patiently waited for the skies to cooperate with our need for water. When the sun finally broke, and the wind was the last things on our mind, we headed for the sand.

It was freezing, but her screams of delight probably had less to do with that, and more to do with joy.

She even shucked her rash guard, exposing all that skin, wanting to soak up as much love and sun as possible.

She wore her old, too-small water wings, and retrieved from the waves just like a good little puppy would. Not that it elicited any weird looks from other beachgoers or anything ...

While the real puppy pretended his wasn't tethered to his Mama's ankle instead of asleep under the truck.

Sandcastles were built for tiny fairies and mermaids to live in.

Tattoos were appropriately covered with SPF so no fading would occur.

That photo is in the running as my favorite of all summer.
Much like those sunglasses that were brand new that day (mine) and never made it back from that little trip.
So, lil' dude, I hate to keep doing this to you, but you now owe me $4 for those.
Cheap sunglasses?
One of the best perks of summer.
For obvious reasons.

And then, because even sunshine burns if you get too much, all good things came to an end.

There's nothing better than post-swimming pig out sessions because you're ravenously hungry.
Your hair is wet and smells like lake.
Your fingers and toes are wrinkled.
Ears, full.
Smile, huge.
Spirit, restored.
And you sleep the best sleep ever.

The Face of the Off-Season

2011-07-07T06:54:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, the biggest Timberwolves fan I know brought the littlest Timberwolves fan I know to see some team members in a caravan fashion right here in town. Anthony Tolliver, Wayne Ellington, and assistant coach Darrick Martin represented the squad.

The guys were met by a gym filled with tiny humans.
Tiny humans with big questions, like one little girl's:
Why are you guys so bad at basketball?
Oh, yes she did!
But, the players laughed it off and turned it into a lesson about building teams through blood, sweat, and tears.
And 20 year olds from Spain. (We're comin'!)

But do you know who this little face was most excited to see?
Not Anthony.
Not Wayne.
Not Darrick.
Maybe KLove or Beasely if they had been in attendance, but they were not.
So who, then?

The freaking mascot, Crunch.
Hey, at least it wasn't the cheerleaders.

This is her howl face.
Howling right back at her beloved woodland canine creature in the NBA mesh.

And, when life couldn't get much better for the three-year-old Timberwolves fan, in the off-season, on a rainy Tuesday morning, the gym erupted with more of that crazy Crunch and his crowd-pleasing antics.

Which, rocked her face off.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-07-06T07:07:00.000-05:00

Open Letter to Mother Nature

2011-07-05T18:56:00.004-05:00

What do you get when a three year old is faced with 14 days in a row of rain?
Some pint-sized weather angst, that's what.

Look at this face, Mother Nature.
Let's hope July is a lot better.
Less rain.
Less umbrella-wielding Ninja skills.

And, if you're keeping track, lil' dude, I am adding my $11 umbrella to your tab.
Although, it was worth it to watch you kick the shit out of it.
From the dryness of the garage, that is.

Independent

2011-07-04T12:04:00.000-05:00

While the favorite man in our lives turns 33 today, you are making the world a better place at your grandparents', where you are spending the week reveling in Daddy's hometown, Grandpa's treats, and Grandma's adoration. Your weeks spent at Camp Grandma are some of your favorites of all time, as they should be. We are grateful for them, for you and your will-never-miss-us attitude, and the strange quietness that is our home when you're not in it.

Grandma sent me these photos just this morning. Since I packed you up two evenings ago, I have been missing your perfect little face, giant eyes, sweaty hugs, and ridiculous catchphrases. It was so good to see you having fun in the 4th of July sun!

But what I wasn't ready for is how damn huge you appear at that parade. I mean, in that lawn chair? I died. Who is that girl? Where did those long legs come from? Where is your stroller? I can't get over it! At least you had NaNa by your side, so I was able to recognize my baby girl amongst all the girl and general person in these photos!

Don't ever do that to me again!

And, holding your own sparkler?
I mean ... I remember when you learned how to hold your own bottle.
That was a feat.
This?

I can't wait to see you Friday.
It would be okay if you reacted the way you did when I picked you up from Camp Grandma last month.
When you clung to me for 10 minutes straight, glued to my chest, petting my hair, and saying Mama, Mama over and over.
Because that was awesome.

Have fun ... be good.
Mama loves.

Life Imitating Art

2011-06-30T07:49:00.000-05:00

A few mornings ago, I began the wakeup process per usual.

You scared the crap out of me when I was drying my hair and bumped right into you in the bathroom.

Mama, you said, rubbing your eyes. I can't find Nemo.

Finding Nemo.

We found him smashed between the bed and wall. Smiling like the silly little clown fish he is.

To Get to the Other Side

2011-06-27T07:49:00.001-05:00

We went to the park one gray, quiet morning last weekend just you and I.
Literally, the place was empty.

All you wanted to do was go across the monkey bars by yourself.
Even though you weren't convinced you actually wanted to. Or could.

Just looking at them, so high up, so wide across, made you nervous. You kept telling me you were so little.

You told me to come watch, but to not touch you.
As I eyed the distance from the bars to the tiny, gravelly pebbles below, I wondered just how hurt you'd get if you fell.
That doesn't make me a bad Mama. Just a proactive one ...

So you just hung on and swung and swung.
As I kept the camera in your face.

I kept speaking to you calmly telling you to reach for the next bar. That in order to finish, you first have to start.
Over and over I repeated myself to you. Waited and waited.
Held my breath a little.

I also told you it was OK to be scared.
Everyone, no matter how big, gets scared of reaching for the next solid thing to grasp in life.
Everyone.
But we have to talk ourselves into it.
There's no other way to reach the other side.

And you did.
You reached the next bar, an impressive feat.

Then, even more impressive, you asked for help.
I was right there to do just that.
I'm proud of you.
For trying to do it yourself, and for asking for help.

And I'll always be right beside you, ready to catch you if you fall. Ready to cheer you on when you get to the other side. Ready to wipe your tears if you get hurt.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-06-22T07:51:00.000-05:00

Bigger

2011-06-21T07:50:00.000-05:00

I literally feel like it was yesterday I wrote about your monumental night's sleep.
And here I am again, already updating that story. Sure, it took me two weeks to put this into words, but I'm like that. This is just one more milestone I - we - hurdled and I wanted to get it right.

A few months ago, you began asking for a bigger bed. For specific reasons; so you could have legitimate sleepovers with your besties, E., and B. You asked Daddy everyday if your new bed was here. We both knew it was time. You're tall, your toddler bed was cramping your style. The soft, pliability of your crib mattress wasn't doing you any favors. I knew it was time.

So, two weeks ago you went to Camp Grandma's and the transformation I feared took place. I emptied out your changing table, and moved that to the office. Did you know there was still a tube of diaper rash cream in it? Yeah, I kept it. I know. It's ridiculous. I know; I know. Daddy dismantled your crib, and fit the pieces onto your new double bed. I only cried once. Sorta twice. But ... it was just so bitter sweet to fold up that crib sheet for the last time. Now your bedding looks just like ours, all big and proper.

You screamed with delight when you saw your bed for the first time. You hugged Daddy hard, for making your nocturnal dreams come true. You wondered if you could even scale it; of course you did. Look at how freaking tiny you look in that big bed.

You went to immediate work assembling your entire stuffed menagerie on your new bed. I could barely pick you out of the crowd. We then spent the next two hours of pure daylight telling you it wasn't time for bed.
We gave in, at 6:42pm, and tucked you in.

You made sure you had NaNa by your face, per usual. You located your Nigh-Nigh from Auntie SG. You asked for Gloworm, and made sure she had batteries. You said goodnight to all your animals, no small feat these days. And, when there was nothing left do, you went to sleep.

For your standard weekend 15 hours, too.
I guess it's a sign you were right where you should have been.
Your bed is backed against the wall. I put it there so you could always wake up on the right side of the bed.
But, let's be honest. You're related to your Dad and you two are as far from morning people as anyone I know.
So, mornings are still rough at 7:15am, five days a week.
You know I love you, right? You know I hate to wake you up?
You know the last thing I want to do is try to dress an alternately wet noodle, straight-limbed crier into clothes, right? So we're clear?

But, I'll do it. I do it already.
Because I am your Mama.
And you're my baby.
(even if you're not)
And we have thousands and thousands of more mornings ahead of us.
Big beds and all.
You and me.

Daddy Man

2011-06-19T19:18:00.003-05:00

Happy Father's Day to the father of my child.
Mama loves!

Around Mother's Day, the lil' dude came home from daycare with a fabulous handmade necklace, strung together with wooden beads, a giant red heart, and love. I immediately fell in love with it, and the tiny girl who brought it home.

Tonight, the Dad is wearing it.
Because she asked him to.
And ... because it's his.
It always was meant for her Daddy.

You two speak your own language.
You embody the true mystique of Father-Daughter relationships.
Sometimes, you let me in.
But that doesn't matter.
From the outside, I could watch you two tango and tangle and tackle all day long.
I often do.
There's nothing more in this world I love.

Summer

2011-06-14T07:43:00.000-05:00

It's the middle of June already.
And we are already in love with summer at the Casa de Lil' Dude!

We have fashionable and UV-Free eyewear in tons of colors.

We have ridiculously cute summer outfits to replace lasts.
Don't tell anyone about that morning I tried to wrangle you into those 3T shorts (that you just wore to Florida in February, by the way!) and you cried, get these baby shorts off me!
I had to buy you one romper. I wore them non-stop when I was little, and I will pay any price for nostalgia. Mine were probably velour or terry-cloth, and most definitely homemade!

We're adhering to healthy, fresh eating.
Well, sorta.
There's just something SO good about McDonald's orange soda when at the park.

And we're not caring about anything else.
Not bedtimes.
Not dirt.
Not scrapes.
Not sticky hair.
Not work.

We're admiring ballerina bathing suits in a 5T.
5T.
That makes me want to cry.
But, I simply cannot shove your tiny tushie into a BABY SUIT anymore, can I?
Besides, you're taking swimming lessons next month.
Again.
The ones you failed in April.
But that's another story for another day.
(I'll preface it by saying, you're totally three years old)
You owe me $28.
So I can immediately buy more of those ballerina bathing suits.

We're asserting your independence.
You + preschool in the fall = time to get a grip on your own life, ladybug.
You want your pool filled up?
You do it yourself.
While Mama watches from her sun bathing chair.
Observing, encouraging, doting.
Sorta.
Daddy did give you pails and pails of warm water.

Yep, it's summertime at our house.
We're ready for the sun.
The dusk.
The sweat.
The tan lines.
The music.
The watermelon.
The hummingbirds (you told me Friday that males have red necks. My head exploded).
The friends.
The bonfire-scented fleeces.
The flip-flops.
The peonies.
The neighbors.
The molting Beagle.
The late mornings.
The Daddy brunches.
The Mama coffees.
The love.

3.5

2011-06-07T07:15:00.000-05:00

You are three and a half today, lil' dude.
I have been a Mama for 42 months.
36 months ago, you got your first tooth.
I cried.
You have your second dentist appointment next week.
24 months ago, you were still wearing diapers.
12 months ago, you started wearing underwear for the rest of your life.
I cried.

How can I sum you up at three and a half?
You've been at Papa and Grandma G's since Sunday. I have only had one report since you left, and it sums you up at three and a half:

"The lil' dude changed her name to Sally and has worn nothing except "patchstick" (chapstick) all day."

Yep.
You're so my kid.
And I am so damn lucky.

Love you, Sally.
Have a fun week in the woods with your peeps.
Say hi to all the animals.

Girls Just Wanna Have ... Fights?

2011-06-03T07:28:00.000-05:00

You live about 40 steps away from your best friend's front door.
You two are as close as sisters. You have your own love language, and it makes me so happy to see you developing in your relationship. You first met E. when you were only two weeks old, and she was eight weeks. I'll never forget that Friday evening, you laying on the floor, E. in her daddy's lap with a pacifier, still sad and hurting from her immunizations that afternoon. I knew right then you two ladies were about to start something very special.

We love our neighborhood and our neighbors. We are so lucky to live where we do. You two princesses think so, too.
You both love frill, glitter, shrieking, princess stories, jewelry, horses, and lip gloss.

And much to your daddies' delight, when you each were handed a tiny iron from E.'s legitimate golf set, the first thing you wanted to do was ... fight! Each other.

Little bit princess, little bit dragon.
I say it's a perfect combo.

1,000 Faces

2011-06-02T07:18:00.000-05:00

There's a song I think of when I look at you, little girl.
Naturally. There is a song for everything.
That song is called 1,000 Faces by Randy Montana.

The lyrics?

There's debutantes, drama queens
Glued to Bride magazine
Half caff, two pump, no whip in the Coffee Bean
Love has a 1,000 faces
Love has a 1,000 faces
But I see you
Before I ever knew you
Before I ever knew you
I dreamed of you
I dreamed of you

There's small town, itty-bitty
Tomboy in a big city
Turn your head when the light ain't red
Stop traffic, kind of pretty
Love has a 1,000 faces
Love has a 1,000 faces
But I see you
Before I ever knew you
Before I ever knew you
I dreamed of you
I dreamed of you, yeah

You're a storm at night, thunder crashing
Mystery, full of passion
Quiet as a Sunday morning
Change without any warning
Love has a 1,000 faces
Love has a 1,000 faces
But I see you
I see you
I see you
Baby, I see you
And I see you
Before I ever knew you
Before I ever knew you
Before I ever knew you

The reason?

Wordless Wednesday

2011-06-01T17:52:00.000-05:00

No Use Crying

2011-05-31T07:16:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, something out of character for you occurred: you spilled your entire container of newly-opened milk while we were eating lunch. You doused yourself, your Mama, the floor, my wallet, and keys. You whimpered.

I sprang into action to save what dry parts of our laps we could. I told you not to worry, and I meant it.

I'm not too proud to get down on my hands and knees in a McDonald's and mop up spilled milk.
We make messes; we clean them up. No greater life lesson than that.

This morning, we were about a mile from daycare when the lid of your princess sippy cup came off and doused you with 8oz. of freed apple juice. This time, you wailed.

You cried and cried. Saying you did it again. How you spilled yesterday AND today. How you ruined your favorite horsey shirt. How the Daycare Lady was going to be mad at you for being wet. Your sad, terrified rant broke my heart.

Mama, I am going to need so many wipes today. My elbow is even wet, you said.

I kept telling you it would be fine. That it was an accident, completely coincidental from yesterday. That everyone has accidents, that no one was mad at you, and we would fix it.

You're awfully serious for a three-year-old. Your reaction reminds me that I am parenting a sensitive child who is beginning to understand logic. A child, who just like the rest of the world, is scared of being judged or punished for accidents or inconsequential events.

Baby girl, I meant what I said. It was an accident.
And I'll love you no matter how big a mess you make, intentionally, unintentionally, or otherwise.

I promise.

Killer

2011-05-27T07:13:00.000-05:00

Daddy, "Killer", and Uncle D., 1988

This week, our family and entire state is mourning the death of Harmon Killebrew, #3 and third base player for the Minnesota Twins from 1961 until 1974. Killebrew is your Grandpa T's favorite baseball player of all time. It's hard to lose a legend, a childhood hero, and lifelong inspiration. His #3 jersey has been hanging Grandpa and Grandma's picture window since he passed away last Tuesday.

Killebrew embodied what professional athletes usually don't: poise, grace, quality, respect, integrity. He was a simple, quiet man who loved his job and did it well. He was free of endorsements, drama, and ego. He set an example for the rest of the league.

Killebrew will always be remembered for the 573 career home-runs he hit, being inducted into the Hall of Fame, and his 13 All-Star game appearances, without a doubt.

But he will be most remembered for being that hero and inspiration to thousands and thousands of people, young and old.

Thanks for the being the cornerstone of Major League Baseball in our state.
Rest in peace.

1,000 Words

2011-05-20T00:38:00.000-05:00

I am behind on this post ... current story of my life! In March, your Grandma G. and I went on a solo girls' vacation to the East coast, visiting Savannah, GA and Charleston, SC. It was in honor of our big birthdays- 30 and 50- and I finally boarded an airplane with my own Mama for the first time ever. When I was a kid, if we couldn't reach a destination in our silver Ford Taurus wagon, we simply didn't go. This was truly, a trip of a lifetime.

Grandma G. is one of the most easygoing people I know. I love that trait. She let me completely plan the trip. She let me drive the red-hot 2012 Mustang with four miles on it ... like I stole it. And we freestyled like Thelma and Louise when airports and deicing and tarmac time and weather threatened our trip. We just took off into the sunset with half a map, lots of caffeine, and sunglasses on our giddy faces.

We stayed in luxurious, historical beds. We ate Southern. We laughed Northern. We drank more Starbucks that anyone should in a months' time, let alone five days. We bought souvenirs for our favorite people, requested our sweet tea be unsweetened, wore SPF, bought scarves, shoes, and lipgloss, and called home each night to whisper good nights.

I loved every second.
And, took hundreds of photos.
Hundreds.
But, after the laborious task of whittling that list down to an editable amount, I kept coming back to these 15 photos. They speak for themselves. They hold the memories that will unlock the stories of our sacred trip.

Kid Rock

2011-05-19T07:23:00.000-05:00

I made you your first ever playlist last weekend for a roadtrip, and named it, appropriately, LOUD.
You always want to rock; you always want it loud.
You make me SO proud, my little protege!

Please forgive me for including not one, but TWO explicit lyric songs. I don't even realize when I download them, that they'll be heard by tender ears. Parenting, FAIL. Don't tell your friends, or their Mamas.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-05-18T21:10:00.002-05:00

On Growing

2011-05-17T17:12:00.001-05:00

I am not sure what I should be more worried about ... that I left you on the edge of the sink, with naked toes, to wash off the day's grime and found you like this:

Or, the sobering fact that not very long ago, your tush actually fit in this sink.
All of you did.

4 Generations

2011-05-16T07:23:00.001-05:00

Last Sunday was one of your Mama's favorite days ... in that I was able to spend the day with some of my favorite women.

My Grandma, who just turned 80.
My Mama, who just turned 50.
My daughter, who just turned the world upside down, per usual.

I loved that afternoon. I loved Daddy taking our picture, and I'll treasure it forever.

But not as much as the memories we made during our photo shoot.

Note Exhibit A:

And, Exhibit B:

So, we got one, sort of decent photo, and about 17 not-so decent. But those are the realistic ones of life with a three year old. I love how I kept on smiling, Daddy kept on snapping like your antics were no big deal. You had your Grandma's both in stitches.

Thanks for the memories, lil' dude.
Per usual.

Scooby Doo ... Where Are You?

2011-05-13T11:14:00.000-05:00

One of your favorite things to play is Scooby Doo. You're always Daphne, and I get to be Velma, and Daddy, Fred (you call him Freddy). The Beagle, of course, is Scooby Doo!

You and Fred were playing outside last week, when a bad guy got you and tied you up.

Pretty sure Scooby Doo saved the day- and you from the evil shackles of your confinement!

Mini

2011-05-12T07:44:00.000-05:00

These days more than ever, you long to be a grown up like Mama. You will back up to my legs, to measure how tall you are against my height.

I am loving the attention you bestow upon me. I love that at least for now, I am your idol and you want desperately to be like me. You are so incredibly good for my spirit and soul. You make me stand a little straighter, and choose my words a little slower. Imitation is flattery, and I am enjoying this journey one high-heeled, giant handbag stealing step at a time!

Wordless Wednesday

2011-05-11T11:11:00.000-05:00

Mother's Day

2011-05-10T07:16:00.000-05:00

I don't need a day on the calendar to celebrate being a Mama. I do it every single day.
Since you were seconds old, calm as can be, eight pounds, three ounces, 21 inches long, and 10 days late, I was a Mama.
Your Mama.
And I celebrate that sweet, amazing, gifted titled every single day.
As I have for the past three years and five months.

And in the lyrics of your very favorite song, Soul Sister, by Train, lies this notion:

Your sweet moon beam, the smell of you in every single dream I dream,
I knew when we collided, you're the one I have decided who's one of my kind

Ever single day, baby girl.
You and me.

Thank you for making me a Mama, by simply being you.

An Open Letter to my Big Girl

2011-05-09T17:26:00.000-05:00

Last week, Daddy casually mentioned preschool and what we had planned for you, our three year old. Admittedly, I hadn't thought too much about it for whatever reason; we just wrapped up Sunday School and swimming lessons and are slowly starting to make plans for the summer. Preschool wasn't even on my horizon.

Well, it is now.

We enrolled you just this morning. You'll start September 12, and will go every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday from 9am-11:30am.

Daddy and I took you to tour preschool and meet the staff this morning. You were familiar with the location, because it's at our church where you already go to Sunday School. We watched all the three, four, and five year olds interact in their classrooms, as you quietly inspected everything. You marched right into one class and joined their circle time; you made an art project, and you joined the 5 year olds for snacks and cleaned up after yourself.

And made my heart burst with pride.
And, truthfully, fear.

You are so smart and so capable. You are so ready for preschool. Daddy remarked he wishes we could have enrolled you for five days a week. You are going to excel and love it the way you love everything: with everything you have. I absolutely adore the gusto you have for every aspect of life. I am not afraid you'll struggle, or be scared, or be frustrated, because I know you won't.

No, I am just afraid that this is yet another milestone we'll reach and cross off the list and all of a sudden, it will just be happening. Life is still moving along way too quickly for my liking. I try to soak up as much as I possibly can before it changes, but it's hard to get you, or life, to sit still long enough.

Because in a few months, I'll drop you off with your big backpack and the ability to write your name. You'll come home smelling like classrooms and brimming with stories of adventures, friendships, and little person growth.

Promise me this: at least one time this summer, just once, you'll fall asleep on my chest, your arms and legs splayed on either side of my body, your little cheek pressed tight against my skin, making us both sweat. I'll watch your face contort with the dreams in your head, and trace your hairline. I'll will you to stay this way for an hour, for a day, for an entire week.

Promise me.

50

2011-05-08T09:09:00.000-05:00

Meeting her first grandchild, 12/7/07, love at first sight!

I would like to wish my Mama, the lil' dude's Grandma G. a very special 50th birthday today!
To the woman who loves coffee, decorating cupcakes, giving thoughtful gifts, fresh flowers, quiet, her family, sewing, and vacation ... happy birthday, we love you!

Super Trooper

2011-05-03T17:20:00.001-05:00

When I was on the track team in 7th grade, a friend and teammate made me a tape of Abba's Greatest Hits. I listened to that on my Walkman on repeat for the next six months, or until the tape wore right out. Hearing any Abba song for the past 18 years makes me think of being a bus, surrounded by teammates in Lycra and Nylon.

Last fall, you randomly starting singing the first few lines of Mamma Mia and I was 13 again. But, there's more to this story and our shared love affair.

A few Christmas ago, right after you turned one, your Papa started a holiday tradition of watching Mamma Mia. He loves musicals and doesn't care who knows it. That Christmas, you shook your baby booty to every song. Christmas at two, you danced more, and cried when it was over. This past Christmas, at age three, you got your own copy.

Photo Credit

We watch the movie weekly, for the most part. You love to crank the volume, clear the floor, and dance and sing like your life depends on it. You can sing most the lyrics to Mamma Mia, the song. It's one of your favorites.

I've been cheated by you since I don't know when
So I made up my mind, it must come to an end
Look at me now, will I ever learn?
I don't know how but I suddenly lose control
There's a fire within my soul
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring
One more look and I forget everything, w-o-o-o-oh

Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I've missed you
Yes, I've been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, now I really know,
My my, I could never let you go.

I've been angry and sad about things that you do
I can't count all the times that I've told you we're through
And when you go, when you slam the door
I think you know that you won't be away too long
You know that I'm not that strong.
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring
One more look and I forget everything, w-o-o-o-oh

Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I've missed you
Yes, I've been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go?
Mamma mia, even if I say
Bye bye, leave me now or never
mamma mia, it's a game we play
Bye bye doesn't mean forever

Mamma mia, here I go again
My my, how can I resist you?
Mamma mia, does it show again?
My my, just how much I've missed you
Yes, I've been brokenhearted
Blue since the day we parted
Why, why did I ever let you go
Mamma mia, now I really know
My my, I could never let you go

The Apple of Our Eyes

2011-04-29T07:54:00.000-05:00

There once was a little girl, who was the apple of all her grandparents' eyes.
Who asked for a pink refrigerator for Christmas.
So, Papa found some elves in the 11th hour.
And gave that little girl a pink refrigerator to open on Christmas.

And, there was once a little girl, who always wanted more.
Who told Papa she needed a pink sink to match her pink refrigerator.
To wash her wooden veggies in.
And to stow all her utensils in.

And Papa delivered, as he always does when it comes to that little girl.
The apple of everyone's eye.

Disappearing

2011-04-28T07:37:00.000-05:00

You completely understand cause and effect. Logic is becoming more and more part of your day.
The baby you once were is disappearing further and further from our lives. The child, the girl you are becoming is taking root instead. You're empathetic and righteous; you're indignant and relentless. Your favorite phrase is the unanswerable why and you know the difference between right and left. You identify correct emotions and can lip-sync to any genre. Your microphone is your new weapon of choice. You wear us out and down, you make us boast and cry. We love, love, love you more than anything on this planet.

Every night, I kiss you as the last thing I do before I go to bed. It's part of our routine, and if I am in this house and so are you, I kiss your head every night. Sometimes I catch you looking like that baby who once chewed all the varnish off her crib, like in this photo. You always slept with your arms over your head when you were an infant; Daddy joked you'd go dressed as a goal post or an NFL referee to your first Halloween. One night last week, I had to be away for work. You woke up the next morning and immediately told Daddy I didn't come in to say goodnight. He mentioned that I hadn't kissed him either, since I was gone! I think you then understood.

All these nights, little girl. All these years you knew I was there, that I was part of your midnight landscape.

I promise I'll be there every night.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-04-27T19:36:00.002-05:00

Easter Morning

2011-04-24T20:15:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

2011-04-20T19:35:00.000-05:00

There's Always Next Season

2011-04-15T17:21:00.000-05:00

Every diehard sports fan hates to hear two things:

It's only a game.
And, there's always next season.

But sometimes, those sentiments say it all.

Wednesday night we attended the Timberwolves' final game of the season as a family. It was fan appreciate night, and we did feel the love. The season didn't go the way anyone hoped, and it actually went the way most people feared. But that didn't keep us from cheering on the boys in blue for one more night.

They saying losing makes a person gracious. We've got an entire team of graciousness delighted it's the off-season.

And we had one three year old happier than heck to be sporting her #42 jersey dress, dancing to the music, eating and spilling popcorn and asking her Daddy if they could have one more shot.

They'll get another shot, just not this season. And when preseason rolls around and the Dad is all, 'we're coming!' from day one, his girls will be at the ready.

Because that is what diehard fans do.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-04-13T08:04:00.000-05:00

Sugar & Spice

2011-04-12T07:54:00.000-05:00

People always ask me if you're a tomboy, or a girly-girl. I just answer, yes. At this stage in your life, you're perfectly balanced. You love everything princess, but with an edge. You spend an awful lot of time with your Daddy, learning rosters, rough housing, looking for worms, and wearing sweatpants. It's the best of both worlds, and I honestly can't wait to see who you'll be at 7, 13, and 18.

This is the perfect snapshot of you at three (albeit blurry); half princess, half place kicker. Wearing school colors, Mama's heels, and a glittery tutu.

I am so proud of you, all parts of you.

Monkey See

2011-04-11T07:39:00.000-05:00

You're a girl after my own heart, and love spending time at your Mama's hip as I get ready in the bathroom. You smear your lips and face with my tinted lip balms, dust your face with my makeup brushes, and comb your hair.

But you're most obsessed with contact lenses.

Mama, I hafta take my glasses off now for bed. We don't wear glasses to bed, do we?
I must say, the cheetah cat-eyes style is making its comeback and you're leading the charge!

I found an old pair of contacts and let you have free reign.

And now, taking out your contacts has become part of your daily routine. You store your case right next to Daddy's, and take your time with the task. (and, just what your pokey little behind needed each day, was something else for you to 'accomplish' without help!) It's a riot.

I love you for your randomness, monkey see!

The Return of the Season

2011-04-08T19:32:00.000-05:00

I have never seen two more serious MInnesota Twins fans in my life!

The beauty of the MLB season is its length. The time between the last home game and the opener of the next season always flies. We were more than happy to don our TC gear this morning, pack our staples like Twizzlers, Goldfish, and Pringles, and head for the bleacher seats in left field. The magic of last season's inauguration at Target Field has not worn off, neither has our optimism for our hometown team. Speaking of hometown, some late-inning heroics by #7, Joe Mauer, propelled the Twins to a 2-1 victory over the Oakland A's. The sun was shining, the field was dry, and our hearts were buoyed as the familiarity of baseball seeped back into our veins.

It's the return of the season!