Monday night at the dinner table, I asked Kid Rock about her day.
She reveled us in her usual tales, mouth full of food.
Oh and I'm gonna be on the radio and I got free pancakes for doing it.
Well, double score!
The local AM station in our city runs a "Kids Speak" program that includes its morning deejay interviewing select students in first grade all about their summer vacations, what they like about school, and various other topics. The segments run on-air later that week.
Behold, baby's first radio interview!
Paraphrased, obviously.
9/15/14
Age 6 years, 9 months, and 8 days
Deejay: Lil' Dude. Ok. That's a great name! I bet you don't know anyone else with that name!
Lil' Dude: Ha. No!
DJ: Okay, okay, (laughing). Did you do something fun with your summer vacation?
LD: I did. I did go to the Black Hills.
DJ: What did you do after that?
LD: I did go to a Little Red Cabin, and I also went to my Grandpa and Grandma's for the whole entire week.
DJ: Wow! What did you do with Grandpa and Grandma?
LD: I had a few sleepovers with my friends from down there, and I went swimming with my friends.
DJ: Ok. Did Grandpa and Grandma give you a lot of sweets?
LD: No, no! I just only had ice cream.
DJ: Ice cream! What kind of ice cream is the best?
LD: Ice cream sandwiches.
DJ: Oh those are good. Do you like chocolate ice cream?
LD: Silence
DJ: How about ... ice cream with chocolate chips?
LD: Silence
DJ, obviously segueing way off course: What do you think it means to be a good person?
LD: I don't know.
DJ: You don't know? So if your mom says, 'Lil' Dude, be a good person today', what do you think she is trying to tell you?
LD: Be good and be yourself.
DJ: Be yourself? That's a good thing. And nice to other people? Yeah. Have you ever thought what a cool job to have would be? What do you want to be when you grow up?
LD: A teacher. At this school.
DJ: What would you have the most fun teaching?
LD: Math! And reading, too.
DJ: Who do you think is smarter: boys or girls?
LD: Girls.
DJ: Why are girls smarter, do you think?
LD: Because they like to learn about horses, and lots and lots of girls like to learn about fairies, and ponies, and they like to learn about more stuff than boys.
DJ: Yes, boys are that way, aren't they!
So she already knows being a good person simply means being yourself, and that girls are smarter than boys. My work here is done. Fistpump; parenting.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Try
Today is School Picture Day.
When I was about the Lil' Dude's age, my own Mama permed my bangs.
Permed.
My.
Bangs.
You see, each morning my own Mama curled my bangs- you know, the 1980's Mall Bangs slash The Claw Bangs slash That. She used deductive reasoning to conclude that she could save us both time and AquaNet if she just permed my bangs. My mullet (that's right) was long and stringy and the perfect dishwater blonde so it was always always Party in the Front.
Permed.
Bangs.
So much WINNING.
That being said, today is school picture day for my first grader. I let her choose her own outfit, right down to the accessories, which because she is a female and also because she is my daughter, she knows are the best part of any outfit.
Speaking of so much winning. Can't wait to see her yearbook photo! Neither can her Grandmas!
Her teacher asked students' parents to write out "Hopes and Wishes" for their child's academic year. The Hope stars are hung prominently in the classroom. Such a cool continuity for kids to see- home to school- and back again. I love her teacher for the inclusion.
On Kid Rock's star, the Dad and I wrote;
We hope you continue to be the happy, secure, proud and amazing girl you are today all the way through your year!
And until she's 85.
As a parent, you can't teach self-acceptance. But you can foster it. You can be the example.
And because someone else said it first, here's the perfect new song that empowers the whole self-acceptance gig straight into outer space.
Try
By Colbie Caillat
Put your make up on
Get your nails done
Curl your hair
Run the extra mile
Keep it slim
So they like you, do they like you?
Get your sexy on
Don't be shy, girl
Take it off
This is what you want, to belong
So they like you, do you like you?
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
Yooou don't have to try
Ohh
Get your shopping on, at the mall, max your credit cards
You don't have to choose, buy it all
Do they like you? Do they like you?
Wait a second,
Why should you care, what they think of you
When you're all alone, by yourself
Do you like you? Do you like you?
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to bend until you break
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
Yooou don't have to try
Noooo
Oooh
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
You don't have to try
Take your make up off
Let your hair down
Take a breath
Look into the mirror, at yourself
Don't you like you?
Cause I like you
When I was about the Lil' Dude's age, my own Mama permed my bangs.
Permed.
My.
Bangs.
You see, each morning my own Mama curled my bangs- you know, the 1980's Mall Bangs slash The Claw Bangs slash That. She used deductive reasoning to conclude that she could save us both time and AquaNet if she just permed my bangs. My mullet (that's right) was long and stringy and the perfect dishwater blonde so it was always always Party in the Front.
Permed.
Bangs.
So much WINNING.
That being said, today is school picture day for my first grader. I let her choose her own outfit, right down to the accessories, which because she is a female and also because she is my daughter, she knows are the best part of any outfit.
Speaking of so much winning. Can't wait to see her yearbook photo! Neither can her Grandmas!
Her teacher asked students' parents to write out "Hopes and Wishes" for their child's academic year. The Hope stars are hung prominently in the classroom. Such a cool continuity for kids to see- home to school- and back again. I love her teacher for the inclusion.
On Kid Rock's star, the Dad and I wrote;
We hope you continue to be the happy, secure, proud and amazing girl you are today all the way through your year!
And until she's 85.
As a parent, you can't teach self-acceptance. But you can foster it. You can be the example.
And because someone else said it first, here's the perfect new song that empowers the whole self-acceptance gig straight into outer space.
Try
By Colbie Caillat
Put your make up on
Get your nails done
Curl your hair
Run the extra mile
Keep it slim
So they like you, do they like you?
Get your sexy on
Don't be shy, girl
Take it off
This is what you want, to belong
So they like you, do you like you?
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
Yooou don't have to try
Ohh
Get your shopping on, at the mall, max your credit cards
You don't have to choose, buy it all
Do they like you? Do they like you?
Wait a second,
Why should you care, what they think of you
When you're all alone, by yourself
Do you like you? Do you like you?
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to bend until you break
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
Yooou don't have to try
Noooo
Oooh
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try, try, try, try
You don't have to try
You don't have to try
Take your make up off
Let your hair down
Take a breath
Look into the mirror, at yourself
Don't you like you?
Cause I like you
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Little Mercies
Consciously, I have plenty of thoughts and feelings as my daughter, my only child, enters first grade, and turns seven in a quarter of a year. Plenty. Mostly, I am excited. I am confident. That's new ground- to not have my heart beating rapidfire against my ribs. To not wring my hands in emotional misery. To not want to punch time in the face for being an asshole. I'm growing up, y'all. Right along side my child.
I didn't write her a letter the night before she started school this year. I didn't ... feel ... like I had to. She doesn't need a operator's manual. She should, technically. As I readied her for her first day, I whispered All Of The Things to her;
Your room number is 214.
Remember to take bus T28 home! Because it's actually Tuesday, not a Monday!
Your lunch code- do you remember it from kindergarten? 9 7 2 6 1 1
I will see you at 2:30pm
I love you 1,000 times.
And then I shoved her out the door and waved goodbye from the porch.
That's a lot of data for a tiny human who still can't pronounce thirsty correctly.
But damn if she doesn't nail life on the head all damn day long.
In fact, when she came skipping down the road from the bus stop at nearly 2:50pm yesterday (no panic here, swear), a neighboring Mama texted me to ask the Lil' Dude where her son was, as he no-showed the bus. Oh, he went to KidStop, for sure. And she was correct, my little mayor of social town. She always knows.
As I said, I didn't have a whole lot to say to her this year. She knows everything I would say.
Do your best.
Do no harm.
(but take no shit)
Be courteous.
Be grateful.
Have fun.
Be yourself.
Don't forget to be rad.
Be kind.
Be patient.
Make good choices.
Talk a little less.
Eat a little more.
Remember where you came from.
But I had a moment this morning when I read this paragraph from author Heather Gudenkauf from her novel "Little Mercies";
Motherhood is a procession of goodbyes. Some bittersweet and filled with promise and hope, some gradual, a gentle prying away of your fingers from something precious, some more violent, unexpected.
Motherhood is a procession of goodbyes. It sure is ... I hadn't thought of it that way until right now. All of those big, huge messy emotional things that live within- are simply goodbyes being processed at their own times. There's a name for what I'm feeling, experiencing each day. The goodbyes have ranged from her no longer needing help at bedtime as she showers, to her extended biking privileges to a further stop sign, choosing all of her own school clothes (oh, the battles we've raged in the name of fashion, Lord help us and maybe little baby Victoria Beckham or Anna Wintour while we're at it), to the evident self-soothing she administers herself as her first line of defense when the wheels fall off. It's all one great big, giant goodbye.
But, it's motherhood's goodbye, not my own. I feel a certain peace when I break it down that way- this godawful knowledge is every single Mama's rite of passage. I am armed and surrounded by villages and legions of women who do this every day. It's my baby niece spending her first night her in her own crib this week at the age of four months. It's three of my Besties sending their kindergartners off on a big, ol' bus this week. It's my aunt as my Goddaughter started her senior year of high school yesterday. It's three other Mama friends who chose to hold their summer babies back from starting their school days for one more year. It's my Grandma's wracked heart as her daughter submits herself to Chemo each week while she's 100 miles away. It's new daycares, new pregnancies, hearing aids fitted at five, Mamas seeing their beautiful baby girls walk down the aisle to the rest of their lives, and driver's ed.
It's all part of this incredible journey I have been so, so lucky to be on.
So in the famous words of Kid Rock herself ... PEACE OUT!
The leavin' here is all good.
Mama loves.
I didn't write her a letter the night before she started school this year. I didn't ... feel ... like I had to. She doesn't need a operator's manual. She should, technically. As I readied her for her first day, I whispered All Of The Things to her;
Your room number is 214.
Remember to take bus T28 home! Because it's actually Tuesday, not a Monday!
Your lunch code- do you remember it from kindergarten? 9 7 2 6 1 1
I will see you at 2:30pm
I love you 1,000 times.
And then I shoved her out the door and waved goodbye from the porch.
That's a lot of data for a tiny human who still can't pronounce thirsty correctly.
But damn if she doesn't nail life on the head all damn day long.
In fact, when she came skipping down the road from the bus stop at nearly 2:50pm yesterday (no panic here, swear), a neighboring Mama texted me to ask the Lil' Dude where her son was, as he no-showed the bus. Oh, he went to KidStop, for sure. And she was correct, my little mayor of social town. She always knows.
As I said, I didn't have a whole lot to say to her this year. She knows everything I would say.
Do your best.
Do no harm.
(but take no shit)
Be courteous.
Be grateful.
Have fun.
Be yourself.
Don't forget to be rad.
Be kind.
Be patient.
Make good choices.
Talk a little less.
Eat a little more.
Remember where you came from.
But I had a moment this morning when I read this paragraph from author Heather Gudenkauf from her novel "Little Mercies";
Motherhood is a procession of goodbyes. Some bittersweet and filled with promise and hope, some gradual, a gentle prying away of your fingers from something precious, some more violent, unexpected.
Motherhood is a procession of goodbyes. It sure is ... I hadn't thought of it that way until right now. All of those big, huge messy emotional things that live within- are simply goodbyes being processed at their own times. There's a name for what I'm feeling, experiencing each day. The goodbyes have ranged from her no longer needing help at bedtime as she showers, to her extended biking privileges to a further stop sign, choosing all of her own school clothes (oh, the battles we've raged in the name of fashion, Lord help us and maybe little baby Victoria Beckham or Anna Wintour while we're at it), to the evident self-soothing she administers herself as her first line of defense when the wheels fall off. It's all one great big, giant goodbye.
But, it's motherhood's goodbye, not my own. I feel a certain peace when I break it down that way- this godawful knowledge is every single Mama's rite of passage. I am armed and surrounded by villages and legions of women who do this every day. It's my baby niece spending her first night her in her own crib this week at the age of four months. It's three of my Besties sending their kindergartners off on a big, ol' bus this week. It's my aunt as my Goddaughter started her senior year of high school yesterday. It's three other Mama friends who chose to hold their summer babies back from starting their school days for one more year. It's my Grandma's wracked heart as her daughter submits herself to Chemo each week while she's 100 miles away. It's new daycares, new pregnancies, hearing aids fitted at five, Mamas seeing their beautiful baby girls walk down the aisle to the rest of their lives, and driver's ed.
It's all part of this incredible journey I have been so, so lucky to be on.
So in the famous words of Kid Rock herself ... PEACE OUT!
The leavin' here is all good.
Mama loves.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
1st Grade Diaries
1. What are your favorite foods?
Chicken drumsticks, sausage pizza, and BBQ ribs.
Chicken drumsticks, sausage pizza, and BBQ ribs.
2. What are your favorite toys?
Barbie dolls, (especially Anna and Elsa), swing set, Legos, and Saige.
Barbie dolls, (especially Anna and Elsa), swing set, Legos, and Saige.
3. Who are your favorite friends?
E., B., A., (my neighborhood!) Big T. and Little T., B$, and Gdub!
E., B., A., (my neighborhood!) Big T. and Little T., B$, and Gdub!
4. What do you like to do in your free time?
Watch Netflix (LOL), enjoy my family, doing wood projects with my Dad.
Watch Netflix (LOL), enjoy my family, doing wood projects with my Dad.
5. What were your favorite things from the summer?
Little Red Cabin, The Black Hills, camping, and my Fairy Godmother's wedding was my BIGGEST, FAVORITE one.
Little Red Cabin, The Black Hills, camping, and my Fairy Godmother's wedding was my BIGGEST, FAVORITE one.
6. What are you proud of doing after you finished kindergarten?
I learned how to remove old nails from wood. I can also read!
I learned how to remove old nails from wood. I can also read!
7. What are your favorite books?
The chapter books.
The chapter books.
8. What are your favorite TV shows?
Netflix- Scandal, CSI, Grey's Anatomy, Sophia the First, Peppa the Pig, Jessie.
Netflix- Scandal, CSI, Grey's Anatomy, Sophia the First, Peppa the Pig, Jessie.
9. What is something that makes you happy?
My family.
My family.
10. What would you like to be when you grow up?
Good question- I don't even know yet! Starbucker, mailman, Old Navy girl, a Vet ... The boss of the vet.
Good question- I don't even know yet! Starbucker, mailman, Old Navy girl, a Vet ... The boss of the vet.
11. What are you most looking forward to in first grade?
Learning how to read more and do math!
Learning how to read more and do math!
Friday, August 29, 2014
Where We Were
#thesummerofyes
11 roadtrips
4 tubes of SPF
1 new bike
6 pounds of coffee beans
7 new bathing suits
1 fairytale Fairy Godmother wedding
1 new Village people
13 ice cream cones
4,000 songs
7 growlers
900 cucumbers
90 good night kisses
That was the recipe for our summer. It was epic. It was tiring. But as someone mentioned to me over the course of the season, how lucky we are to have so many opportunities to love, and be loved. How lucky we are to have a datebook full of people, places, and things. I never took one second or one morning waking up in a different place for granted. If we could cram, we crammed. If we could show, we showed. If we could do, we did.
You, my best sidekick, grew up this summer. Your face is lean. Your legs are long. You pulled out more teeth, learned how to tie your Nikes, graduated to a bigger bike, and ponytailed your own hair. You stopped using your hooded baby towels and learned how to make a turban with your hair towel. You willed time to fly so you could get back to school- you miss math the most. You adopted vocabulary like frustrated, chaos, chemotherapy, and irate. There is no shortage of communication where you're concerned. You fall asleep talking, and wake up in the morning to finish your sentence.
When I was pregnant, your Auntie H. gave me the best advice of my life- put your baby into your life, not your life into your baby. Best. Advice. Ever. We've always done that, this summer was true testament. Baby, this life is one wild ride. I'm so glad you're here to share it with us.
Mama loves.
(Mama is TIRED)
11 roadtrips
4 tubes of SPF
1 new bike
6 pounds of coffee beans
7 new bathing suits
1 fairytale Fairy Godmother wedding
1 new Village people
13 ice cream cones
4,000 songs
7 growlers
900 cucumbers
90 good night kisses
109 Selfies
22 pounds of fresh cherries
73 bike rides
5 wishes made on shooting stars
9 quarts of pickles (and counting)
23 sunfish caught
3 buckets of ice water
3 face paintings
1,000 I Love Yous
8 airplanes
2 more baby teeth
5 gallons of coconut water
125 limes
1 happy family
73 bike rides
5 wishes made on shooting stars
9 quarts of pickles (and counting)
23 sunfish caught
3 buckets of ice water
3 face paintings
1,000 I Love Yous
8 airplanes
2 more baby teeth
5 gallons of coconut water
125 limes
1 happy family
That was the recipe for our summer. It was epic. It was tiring. But as someone mentioned to me over the course of the season, how lucky we are to have so many opportunities to love, and be loved. How lucky we are to have a datebook full of people, places, and things. I never took one second or one morning waking up in a different place for granted. If we could cram, we crammed. If we could show, we showed. If we could do, we did.
You, my best sidekick, grew up this summer. Your face is lean. Your legs are long. You pulled out more teeth, learned how to tie your Nikes, graduated to a bigger bike, and ponytailed your own hair. You stopped using your hooded baby towels and learned how to make a turban with your hair towel. You willed time to fly so you could get back to school- you miss math the most. You adopted vocabulary like frustrated, chaos, chemotherapy, and irate. There is no shortage of communication where you're concerned. You fall asleep talking, and wake up in the morning to finish your sentence.
When I was pregnant, your Auntie H. gave me the best advice of my life- put your baby into your life, not your life into your baby. Best. Advice. Ever. We've always done that, this summer was true testament. Baby, this life is one wild ride. I'm so glad you're here to share it with us.
Mama loves.
(Mama is TIRED)
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
The Summer of Yes
If this spring has me taught me anything, it's that life really is too short.
So I am embracing that this summer, and declaring it The Summer of Yes.
Less thinking, less rules, less contemplation.
More freedom, more flexibility, more fun.
We were on our way to my parents' at dusk last Friday.
They live in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by quiet woods, lakes, ponds, hills.
As we sped past a Painted turtle tucked into its shell in the middle of the highway, the Lil' Dude begged her Daddy to stop. Too late, we dodged it and flew past.
I told her how it seemed like when I was a little girl, I was always harboring a turtle or two. The perks of growing up in the middle of nowhere. She has already dabbled in some turtle-raising of her own; she mothered a 50-cent piece sized baby Painted turtle last winter named Florence.
RIP, Florence the Machine. You weren't long for this world. We won't forget.
So I told her as we left that turtle in our rearview, we would most definitely stop for the very next one we saw.
And of course we did. The Dad stomped on his brakes, and I sprinted back to the creature holding the Puke Bucket from the car. Car sickness; the struggle is real. I grabbed the turtle, allowed it to pee as they always do when a predator threatens, and stuffed it the bucket. Painted turtles are great pets because they are sweet, lumbersome, docile.
False. This particular Painted wanted to eat my face. Mean ... the remaining five minutes to my parents' seemed like forty as our beloved new pet clawed and hissed and clawed and scraped up my shins and arms as I tried to keep it contained.
The Summer of Yes. Hashtag; parenting.
My Dad always supported my creature-finding habit and this time was no different. He got down the kiddie pool and together he and the Lil' Dude set about arranging the turtle- a boy named Clem by now- in its forced habitat. Home sweet home.
It turned out Clem the boy turtle was mean for a reason- SHE, now renamed Jewel, had eggs to lay.
Oh Mama, I'm so sorry about the little adventure I just forced you to take as labor was imminent. How rude of me!
So we explained to Kid Rock that this particular turtle was not going to be part of her Summer of Yes. She could spend the night in the blue plastic pool, but the next day needed to go to a pond to let nature continue its course. She understood, however sad it made her. Some days I swear her bravery about does me in.
So that's what we did. Drove two miles to the nearest pond and furthest from traffic with Jewel tightly secured in a brown grocery bag. No more bucket turtle management for me. Hell no. I walked with my girl, her hand in mine, and the bag in her other, and we shimmied Jewel out of her cargo hold and she slid on her belly like a penguin directly into the water. Go be a Mommy! We shouted.
When she left, the Lil' Dude made her Papa promise pinky-swear he'd look for other turtles, and hopefully baby ones, for her to adopt since Jewel didn't work out so well.
Imagine our shock when my own Mama called tonight, asking to speak to her granddaughter. She had some news.
"Guess who is back? Jewel."
OMG SERIOUSLY SHUT UP HOW DO YOU KNOW OMG
Sure enough, that Mama turtle hoisted herself approximately 34,987 turtle miles, literally up hill both ways, back to where she was forced to temporarily reside thanks to The Summer of Yes. Two miles in real life. Without getting smashed on the road or eaten alive. She's currently furiously burrowing her nest right in my parents' dirt driveway to lay those eggs. 3 days after she left the premises.
And because we asked with incredulousness in our voices, how do we know it's our turtle?
She's marked- probably forever- with some doggie toenail marks right on the top of her shell. That poor girl is probably permanently terrified of dogs as the Beagle and my Dad's dog batted her around a bit when the Lil' Dude wasn't supervising Jewel's territory.
Now the Great Turtle Watch 2014 is underway, and someone way over here (135 miles) is already preparing to become a mother herself to however many babies a Painted usually produces in a ... what? Litter? Gaggle? Posse? of turtle eggs.
I could easily use this amazing tale to spin an analogy of mothering and sacrifice and resolve to protect our offspring, uphill both ways. But I won't.
Sometimes all it takes is one little Yes.
So I am embracing that this summer, and declaring it The Summer of Yes.
Less thinking, less rules, less contemplation.
More freedom, more flexibility, more fun.
We were on our way to my parents' at dusk last Friday.
They live in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by quiet woods, lakes, ponds, hills.
As we sped past a Painted turtle tucked into its shell in the middle of the highway, the Lil' Dude begged her Daddy to stop. Too late, we dodged it and flew past.
I told her how it seemed like when I was a little girl, I was always harboring a turtle or two. The perks of growing up in the middle of nowhere. She has already dabbled in some turtle-raising of her own; she mothered a 50-cent piece sized baby Painted turtle last winter named Florence.
RIP, Florence the Machine. You weren't long for this world. We won't forget.
So I told her as we left that turtle in our rearview, we would most definitely stop for the very next one we saw.
And of course we did. The Dad stomped on his brakes, and I sprinted back to the creature holding the Puke Bucket from the car. Car sickness; the struggle is real. I grabbed the turtle, allowed it to pee as they always do when a predator threatens, and stuffed it the bucket. Painted turtles are great pets because they are sweet, lumbersome, docile.
False. This particular Painted wanted to eat my face. Mean ... the remaining five minutes to my parents' seemed like forty as our beloved new pet clawed and hissed and clawed and scraped up my shins and arms as I tried to keep it contained.
The Summer of Yes. Hashtag; parenting.
My Dad always supported my creature-finding habit and this time was no different. He got down the kiddie pool and together he and the Lil' Dude set about arranging the turtle- a boy named Clem by now- in its forced habitat. Home sweet home.
It turned out Clem the boy turtle was mean for a reason- SHE, now renamed Jewel, had eggs to lay.
Oh Mama, I'm so sorry about the little adventure I just forced you to take as labor was imminent. How rude of me!
So we explained to Kid Rock that this particular turtle was not going to be part of her Summer of Yes. She could spend the night in the blue plastic pool, but the next day needed to go to a pond to let nature continue its course. She understood, however sad it made her. Some days I swear her bravery about does me in.
So that's what we did. Drove two miles to the nearest pond and furthest from traffic with Jewel tightly secured in a brown grocery bag. No more bucket turtle management for me. Hell no. I walked with my girl, her hand in mine, and the bag in her other, and we shimmied Jewel out of her cargo hold and she slid on her belly like a penguin directly into the water. Go be a Mommy! We shouted.
When she left, the Lil' Dude made her Papa promise pinky-swear he'd look for other turtles, and hopefully baby ones, for her to adopt since Jewel didn't work out so well.
Imagine our shock when my own Mama called tonight, asking to speak to her granddaughter. She had some news.
"Guess who is back? Jewel."
OMG SERIOUSLY SHUT UP HOW DO YOU KNOW OMG
Sure enough, that Mama turtle hoisted herself approximately 34,987 turtle miles, literally up hill both ways, back to where she was forced to temporarily reside thanks to The Summer of Yes. Two miles in real life. Without getting smashed on the road or eaten alive. She's currently furiously burrowing her nest right in my parents' dirt driveway to lay those eggs. 3 days after she left the premises.
And because we asked with incredulousness in our voices, how do we know it's our turtle?
She's marked- probably forever- with some doggie toenail marks right on the top of her shell. That poor girl is probably permanently terrified of dogs as the Beagle and my Dad's dog batted her around a bit when the Lil' Dude wasn't supervising Jewel's territory.
Now the Great Turtle Watch 2014 is underway, and someone way over here (135 miles) is already preparing to become a mother herself to however many babies a Painted usually produces in a ... what? Litter? Gaggle? Posse? of turtle eggs.
I could easily use this amazing tale to spin an analogy of mothering and sacrifice and resolve to protect our offspring, uphill both ways. But I won't.
Sometimes all it takes is one little Yes.
Friday, June 6, 2014
The Mighty
This week you told me it was no longer acceptable to refer to any part of you, physical or physiological, as little. Moving forward acceptable addressing includes Big Girl, First Grader, Child. You're my little girl with (some) little baby teeth and the littlest ponytail. It's your last day of school.
For you, this has been a long time coming. I think the conscious countdown began around Day 47. I assume your wonderful teacher who is in her 20 or 30th-something season of teaching started said countdown. Even sunshine burns if you get too much; there IS such thing as too much of a good thing. And other assorted and relatable cliches.
I talked to your Grandma G. earlier this week about my plans to volunteer at school all day today, and she told me to soak it up. She was a stay-at-home mom until I was a 6th grader and said right around 3rd grade I no longer passed the volunteer slips onto her. I no longer "needed" her to be part of my life at school. Shit. Hindsight is always 20/20. She went on to say "kids these days" probably are even younger than I was when they shut their parents out. Shit.
Your Dad and I continually go back and forth on your life. I probably would have kept you as an infant ... Maybe until last year. He's been pumped for driving lessons and team tryouts since you were swaddled. I think that is just the dynamic of genders and parental roles. The bigger you get, so does your stuff. I liked having a diaper bag full of cups and compartments and extras and the things I needed to pacify or calm you. I carried all the answers and solutions around with me. But now, you carry your own bag. Your little (sorry) chin trembled last night as you replayed your day to me- why wouldn't your friend let you sit with her on the bus when she had just Tuesday morning? I don't know, sweetheart. I am 34 years old and I have no idea why people act the way they do from one day to the next. Maybe it's what the carry in their own bags, they stuff they don't let anyone see. I do know it certainly isn't for me to worry about and I try hard each day not to. You will have to, too.
You had a wonderful year. You're a lot like your Mama- you love social settings, rules, routines. I loved school- ask your Papa about any of my GPA's and he'll tell you I learned a lot more outside the classroom than in! But my attendance record was sterling. I hated to miss out on ANYTHING. You're the same way. We call you the Mayor- you know everyone, and your school is large, spanning Pre-K through 8th grade. You know everyone's siblings and neighbors and cousins and daycare affiliates. Last names, first names. Today you attended the 8th graders' graduation and you are "just going to miss them so much!" Of course you are. You can't teach humanity or interpersonality so that's all you, baby (sorry) girl. I am so proud of you. I always, and still to this day, take great pride in being the girl my Grandma or own Mama ask about people- what was her name? Where did they move to? That skill will get you far. Keep honing.
You're thrilled for 1st grade; you're excited for your own desk and to be able to read more. I just don't want you to grow up too much this summer. Sooner than later, we're going to tell you your beloved Grandma G. has cancer and that she will be working on her health and recovery for a long, long time. She will shave her own head before medicine makes her bald. She will look sick and act sick and not be the superhero you've always known. Up until now, you think she's had the world's longest lasting stomach ache. We didn't want to taint your last weeks of school with any of the above. I know, it's not my job to protect you from life's shitty stuff. But it is my job to put you first and make what I believe are the best decisions for you, while I am able.
You had a wonderful year. I already said that. You had your locker moved once because you were too slow in the mornings, chitchatting with your neighbor. You also sat out a recess recently for The Woodchip Incident. But you know what? You told us about both of those occasions. The school didn't notify us. Hell, if they had to report every minor incident students do, they'd never be able to teach. Truth. Thank you for telling it. It's what I am most proud of you for all year long. I'm also pretty proud of you for not getting sent to the Principal's office, or setting fires, or taunting kids, or disrespecting your teacher. And there was just that time or two we let your lunch account balance slip below $0.00 and we forgot Sharing Day items three times. But who's counting?
I'm so proud of you. I am as excited for your summer as you are.
And I'm so dang lucky I get to be your mom.
To my mighty kindergartner!
Mama loves.
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