Conversations with My Daughter

I've come to cherish seven miles.

That's the distance of my daily commute- to daycare, to my office. It doesn't seem like much, but she had me thinking of the conversations I have with my daughter as we're driving in to start our days, or home together at the end.



In the mornings, she's usually full of excitement for her day to begin- to see her littles as she names them off one by one. She asks for her sunglasses, shrieking about the sun as we head due East. She repeats endlessly that the Beagle is still sleeping. We talk about what she wants for breakfast- hotdogs and pretzels, naturally. We count buses and motorcycles and point out the movie theatre, car wash, fire station, and the school.

In the afternoons, we make a production out of waving goodbye to anyone left at daycare. She asks for her sunglasses, shrieking about the sun as we head West. She says goodbye to the swing-set, dogs, and sidewalk chalk. I ask her how her day was, and she says good. She'll tell me if she had any accidents, if she was mean to anyone, and what her last snack was. She talks about the Beagle in his kennel, and how he needs a treat when she will play with him at home. She tells me what she wants for dinner- hotdogs and pretzels, naturally.

And within seven miles, we're home. That's all it is- girl talk on the variables of everyday life.
But it's important to me, these conversations with my daughter.

I remember reading in the Sunday paper, years ago, that the most important thing you could do for your children was to be present. For some reason, that stuck with me, even though I was childless at the time.
Being present- giving your entire attention to your child- sans cell phone, TV, radio, book, laundry ... the environment around you.

Be present. Be it seven miles or seven whatever.

A Monumental Night's Sleep

It's true I have a million favorite things about you.
A million.
But, my favorite, favorite is how good of a sleeper you are.
You always have been.
You know ... sleeping through the night at 5 days old.
You little rockstar you!

You and your crib have always gotten along brilliantly.
But, I knew a day would come when I'd have to separate you two.
And apparently, at three feet tall and 28 pounds, that time is now.
Hoisting you night after night, and morning after morning over the edge.
I knew it was time.

So last night Daddy grabbed his tools and shut your bedroom door and went to work.
Dissembling your crib.
Transforming it into the toddler you bed you need now.
And probably needed prior to this week.
But someone wasn't ready for that.
Ahem ... {me}.



You were so excited when the door opened and your new sleeping center was unveiled.
The first thing you did was jump on it like you were on vacation at the Holiday Inn.
You climbed in and out.
Out and in.
You laid down and pretend-snored. For effect.
You squealed and clapped and cheered.
And reassured your ol' Mom the right thing had just happened.

At bedtime, we did the routine.
As it was time to tuck you in though, your chin began to tremble.
"Where's the other one?" you asked, pointing to your bed.
It about broke your Mama's heart. I know you to be a girl who loves and respects routine and the way things always are.
But you've always been my trooper handling change- taking away the bottle and pacifier; changing car seats, potty training.
I knew you could handle this.

And you did.
You wiped your own tears, a gesture I'm still getting used to.
It's just SO grown up of you.
You hopped into bed.
NaNa, monkey, Gloworm, and Woody.
Tucked in tight.
And for the first time in 944 nights, I didn't lift you into bed.
Or tuck you into a crib.
And this morning, there you were. A sleeping girl.

I'm so proud of you.

Letter from Mama, v28

There are days when being your mother is like wearing my heart outside my chest, and hoping like Hell nothing bad happens to it. This week, I had to to do what no human should ever have to do. I had to attend the funeral service and celebration of life for a little boy who never even had his first birthday cake or candle. There are days, Miss lil' dude when I want to hold you in my arms and stare into your eyes so I can further memorize every feature I already know. The dimple in your nose. The way your hair parts to the right. The red stork's kiss on the back of your neck. I want to gather our most beloved things and stow away together in a dark and quiet closet because it's where I can protect you. There are days.

And then there are the days where you point out the fat Robins on the fence and counting them one by one for me. It's watching you try kiwi for the first time, then eating two of the whole fruits in a row. It's the songs you sing to your own melodies, the ones I sing later, when we're apart. It's still marveling at this magical creation of life. How you were once here, deep inside, and now you're there. Three feet of blonde beauty, brilliance, and bravery. Your heart beating in your chest to its own rhythm. A rhythm I gave you and can still feel.

I love you when you're mad. I love you when you're sad. When you're hurt. When you're dirty. Afraid. Misbehaving. Rioting. Laughing. I love you when you're sick. When you're crazy. When you're sleepy. Hungry. Needy. Wild. I love you when you're all these things. And I promise you that list will grow and grow as you are more and more things. There is nothing that I won't love you for. When you don't want peas or hair or to come with me ... I will still love you.

Because you are my heart outside my chest.

Mama loves.

Easter Monday

I hope your bellies ache from eating too many red jellybeans yesterday.
I hope your faces hurt from laughing at family stories.
I hope your faith is renewed in everything living and green.
Happy Easter, a day late.

LDM

30

Thirty years ago today, at 12:55pm, a 9 pound, 4 and 3/4 ounce baby girl was born 18 days late.
And that, my friends, is how my story begins.



I love hearing my story. I just recently found out my Grandma S. brought my Mama potted red tulips when she visited the hospital. I didn't know that until recently. And I don't know why hearing that brought tears to my eyes.

The last decade has been amazing- there is simply no other word to describe it.

I became a college graduate.
A career woman.
A homeowner.
A wife.
A mother.

And while I know I've been apt to whine and balk at turning 30, I am in a good place to be OK with it.
I'm young.
And healthy.
Able.
Loved.

I am happy with who I am and where I am.
30 is just a reward for surviving your 20's.
It's just a number.
And I am lucky to celebrate this birthday and this day.
I am grateful to be 30.

I'm going to live like I'm living- to steal a recent statement from one of my best girlies, E.
So, thank you for letting me be your friend, daughter, mother, sister, wife, auntie, and blogger as I say farewell to 29 and hello, gorgeous! to 30.

Mama loves!

Busted

It's Final Four Saturday, and we couldn't be sadder this year.
The Dad mentioned this morning as he and the lil' dude were eating breakfast- this just isn't right. We should be prepping for our game day!
Oh, the sadness only true fans can feel.

And, my bracket is completely busted.
As least the lil' dude had there wherewithal to find mine this week in the office, and help herself to blocking out the bad choices I made this year.

Seriously- she's wise beyond her years.

Bicycle Built for Two

The best thing about being a December baby is the birthday gifts that wait until spring.
Like your shiny new red tricycle.
Built for toddlerhood.
You're ready to ride.



The best thing about birthday gifts are the hidden lessons that come with it.
Like learning how to share with your best friend.



Ride, baby ride!