Dance of the Labyrinth

My daughter running through a corn maze in British Columbia

As a new, overwhelmed mom to a colicky baby I spent most days in the dark, running through what felt like a labyrinth without a beginning nor an end.

Why was my daughter screaming and crying all day and all night?
How did I not lose myself entirely in being a mother?
Why was I my own Goblin King?

Four years later and I am safely outside of that maze, no longer lost in the labyrinth of being a new mom.

My high-spirited four-year-old enters labyrinths of her own as she tries to understand rules, discipline, the tides of emotions, the absence of her deployed father, friendships at preschool, and the tug-o-war between independence and wanting mommy.

Unlike the innocence encapsulated inside my daughter's labyrinths, we adults may feel the Goblin King breathing down our unshielded necks at various points of our lives.

Most of the time the Goblin King isn't David Bowie, but ourselves.

I push myself to keep the day on schedule: shoes on before we leave the door, potty flushed, nap time rigid, TV as limited as possible, sugar off limits, outdoor time maximized, bed time as soon as possible, night time stories kept to three...

But who am I kidding?
What is the labyrinth I am trying to solve?
Why do I put pressure on myself?

Our days are actually far from a kept schedule. We go to the car barefoot, we flush when there's a brown deposit, naps may occur in the car, an entire movie may be watched while consuming not one, but two Dum Dums, we blow bubbles in the backyard for only a few minutes before my daughters want to go back inside, my girls watch an episode of Blues Clues with me while eating popcorn and staying up a half hour later, I read an extra book, I tell one more story...

But my day still feels like a maze at times.
Trying to navigate the uncharted waters of my oldest as her emotions sway to the extremes within the hour.
Being "on" 24/7 during this deployment.
Reminding myself that my time with my girls is our time, even if I am longing to sit in my writing chair and write.
Wondering how I'll gain back my confidence in my body one day.
Working towards living more simply with less "things" in our lives.

Perhaps our labyrinths evolve over time, a new one always dancing before us just as we exit the last one, eager to infold us in its walls.

Do you walk through labyrinths every day? What mazes are your children trying to solve?

The MotherShip

Long ago my husband deployed.
(Six months is a long time in the land of a pregnant mommy chasing after her four- and two-year-old daughters)

After I lost sight of his ship on the horizon, I came home and plugged myself into blogging.

Blogging became my lifesaver, keeping me afloat through the highs and lows of this deployment by having an outlet at the end of the day when I struggled to stay sane. 

Blogging is a therapeutic form of medicine, especially for a pregnant mama missing her husband.

So here I sit, anticipating the first speck of my husband's ship on the horizon in a handful of weeks and finding myself wondering where will I go with my blog...

I can no longer see my toes, as our third daughter will make her grand entrance at the end of November.

I can no longer keep up with our other two daughters as they bolt up the stairs and run around naked before bath time.

I can no longer sit in my writing chair for more than 10 minutes before my 10 little toes become swollen piggies.

Sigh.

My creative juices are spent.
My body is conserving all of its energy to sustain me until my husband gets home.

During this deployment I realized that "I can do this," and more importantly, that the only thing I am looking forward to with the end of this deployment is being with my husband.

Honestly, the thoughts of "good, now he can take over" or "finally, someone else to wash the dishes and pick up toys" or "it's my turn to sleep in" have not crossed my mind. Abigail Green of Abby Off the Record recently hosted me on her blog for two days about being a temporary single mom, and one of her readers made a comment that really hit home.

Malia Jacobson wrote, "Owning the difficulties of parenting (along with the good times) without needing him to rescue me has freed me from a lot of resentment."

And this is so true for me. I just want my husband home to hear his laughter, to feel his warmth, to see him play Tutti Frutti with our daughters, to feel the house fill up with his presence.

And this is why I question what will become of my blog.

I may take off a week, a month, or longer from blogging. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I will feel the creative juices start to flow again. Maybe I will feel inspired by the birth of our third little girl. Maybe I will receive an acceptance letter for a manuscript or a notice that one of my short stories won in a contest and I'll want to share my news on my blog...

But as I sit here, feeling like I've got a case of the blogging blaahgs because of being utterly exhausted, I know one thing: when I step on board my husband's ship in one month (after waddling up the bridge) I will melt into my husband's arms and I will no longer need a lifesaver to stay afloat.

I will want to be with him instead of in front of my computer writing on my blog.

So I just wanted to write this post in case any of my readers have been feeling let down that I have not been coming to your blog and commenting as much as I used to. I sincerely love your blogs as much as I love my blog. My blog means a great deal to me as it is a place for me to explore my thoughts and feelings. And I am so grateful to all of you for keeping me afloat during my husband's deployment.

I hope this message doesn't appear as if I am abandoning you. I won't be, I just may not be present as often as I have been.

I'm going to continue writing on my blog and reading your blogs, but I just don't know when and how often, so I thought it best to share with you the reasons behind my absence.

Blogging has been a mothership in a way for the past several months, but my true source of inspiration is soon to be rekindled: being with my husband and daughters, all together.

Crossing the Fence

Not so long along I began to realize that my blog could do more for me than serve as a place to write and explore my thoughts.

It can inspire me to reach out to others, both online and offline.

I've just begun taking small steps to do so, but I can report now that I am becoming closer to our neighbors!
Just awhile back I wrote about neighbors and how fenced off we are from one another. So I baked a pie.

I had the excuse of our stolen pot of carrots, which our neighbor helped get back for me when he saw a bunch of crazy youngsters stealing my daughters' pot of carrots off our front porch. At 3a.m. our neighbor from across the street witnessed the thieves taking our pot and he came out of his house to confront them and got our pot of carrots back.

He is a hero in my daughters' eyes.

So I wanted to thank him for helping us, but I had been wanting to thank him for some time for always asking how we are doing during my husband's deployment. And to be honest, I wanted to teach my girls a lesson: that bringing a peach pie and a tub of ice cream over to a neighbor is a common practice.

So we baked a pie after dinner one night. The three of us then walked across the street, my oldest wearing her nightgown and my youngest wearing a tutu (it was almost 8p.m. by the time the peach pie was done). And we gave our neighbors the peach pie and ice cream. This was something so frequently done among neighbors when I was a little girl, but my girls have never experienced this.

And it made my daughters so happy! To give, to share, to relate to our neighbors. My four-year-old was relieved, however, that I saved a peach for her back at home.

And then today, our neighbors (the mom and daughter) came over with a bromeliad plant and my pie dish full of nectarines for us!

But what made it even better was that we talked and talked (in Spanish), and I felt great getting to know our neighbors. I had to translate it all for my daughters, and my youngest one tried to show off her Spanish by shouting "Dora" over and over.

Even though my girls couldn't participate in the conversation, they got it. They understood that neighbors are friends, not just people we wave hi to or peek at through the gaps in a fence!

So I want to say thank you to all of my readers who comment on my blog, especially the post "Us and Them: A Backyard Divided," because you encouraged and inspired me to step outside of my shell, and my fenced in yard!

Stepping Into Shoes

We often hear ourselves saying "I wear many hats," but what we don't always talk about are the numerous shoes we step into every day.

Being a mom means feeling quite alone...

I am the only one on this planet who is going on three hours of sleep.

No other mother has to deal with a sick dog and a sick child at the same time.

Those other moms, the ones who publish novel after novel, 

they all have full-time, live-in nannies, right?

Everyone else is having a date night, while I'm the only one alone in a house with sleeping children.

But blogging let's us know, despite our reservation to trust it, that in fact, we are not alone. Quite possibly in this very moment another mom is alone in front of her computer, with her little ones tucked asleep, her husband deployed half-way around the world, and she is lonely.

I tentatively try to step into her shoes.

And she isn't the only one. I attempt to imagine what it might feel like to be in the shoes of the mom who locked her keys and children inside her car or in the shoes of the dad who coaches his son's soccer team or in the shoes of the mom who works 50 hour weeks or in the shoes of the mom who is single and deploys, leaving her child with her elderly mother or the dad who comes to the playground every day with his children and stares at his phone the entire time...

Several years ago I listened to a man giving a talk about measuring sticks.

He asked us, "Do you measure the people around you with your own personal measuring stick?"

He continued on to question "Who are you to measure someone else's morals and actions with your own stick?"

And I looked around, I still look around sometimes, and realize I am judging. I am assuming I know what a person is thinking, feeling, living.

But I don't.

Who am I to judge?

When my hair has gone unwashed for two days, my shirt has stains, my two-year-old's mouth is showing evidence of the morning's breakfast, and my four-year-old's sassy mouth is drawing attention, I wonder "Is someone judging me?" They don't know the whole story of why we all appear this way. They only see the surface of the moment.

And that is all they get.

So I tuck my measuring stick away. I've learned to appreciate the challenges of being a parent, and know that many others have it a lot rougher than me:

A mom who gives birth to twin boys with four other children at home and her husband deploys a month later.

Parents who deal with fear on a daily basis that their five-year-old's disease may take her life. 

A father who is struggling to understand why his four-year-old daughter refuses to talk after her mother, his wife, left them...

Stepping into shoes... I don't know if it makes a difference, but at least it reminds me not to judge, not to think I am alone, and not to believe no one has it rougher than me. It helps me to appreciate every moment I have every day.

The Hand Off

To get in and out of the rainforest where I once lived I had to hike for about two hours up a mountain to catch the bus. I always appeared a sweaty mess, and stood baffled beside the locals who were not only sweat-free, but mud-free and clad in wrinkle-free clothes and polished shoes.

To this day it remains a mystery how they managed to look so fresh after a journey up the mountain.

On one particular day I had to travel to the city of San Jose to visit the doctor (I could no longer hear the birds sing). I stood in line for the bus, anticipating the 4 1/2 hour bus ride that involved passing cars in no passing lanes around mountain curves and breathing in exhaust that made the street signs in the city literally black.

To my surprise, my friend Maria showed up with her three-month-old baby. They were traveling in my direction on the bus. I was thrilled to not be alone for part of the trip, and I offered to hold her baby. Maria gladly handed her over to me.

I held the baby girl in front of me, making silly faces and googley eyes, when the baby suddenly threw up all over me.

Maria, laughed whole-heartedly, and took her baby back, offering me a piece of cloth in exchange.

I smiled, genuinely appreciating Maria's laughter to take my mind away from the mess.

I could not return to my hut. I had to get my hearing fixed. Without being able to hear the birds I could not be a naturalist and a guide to those who came to the rainforest in search of manakins, motmots, and quetzals.

So I wiped myself off as best as possible, bordered the bus, and opened the window as much as possible.

I imagine I smelled when I arrived at the doctor's office, but it was mixed with sweat and dirt, and I had given up being embarrassed by it.

The thing is in Costa Rica, where I lived at least in a small valley with only 20 some families, hygiene is very very important. If I skipped a morning shower, the local women who came to cook breakfast at the research station where I worked would ask me: "Kimberly, why is your hair not cleaned?" And on the days when I did shower (trust me, taking a shower in the mountains with frigid mountain water is not the ideal way to wake up at 5a.m., even in the tropics), the women all nodded their heads in approval and touched my wet curly locks.

Nevertheless, the doctor did not say a word. He gave me medicine in my ears, and we waited and waited and waited. Then he flushed my ears out. An entire tablespoon of earwax came out of each ear. Both the doctor and I were so disgusted, so shocked that in that moment I forgot about my throw up/sweat/dirt-stained attire.

And I realized, there was background music playing in the examination room I was sitting in! I could hear!!

When I returned late that evening the rainforest was screeching and roaring with life that I had not been able to hear for weeks.

I washed my clothes and took an icy shower. I pulled on my wool socks and fleece sweater. I checked my bed for scorpions and tarantulas. And I hunkered down into my bed, smelling fresh and clean.

As I closed my eyes, I smiled remembering Maria's laughter over her baby throwing up all over me.

And I remember this now, after spending seven days inside my home with both of my daughters throwing up all over me and me throwing up as well. I desperately felt the desire to hand over my girls to a friend.

Like Maria, I didn't want my girls to throw up on a friend. I just needed a break. I'm glad I took Maria's baby all those years ago. I'm glad Maria didn't have to travel with a baby and throw up. I know now that being clean is a small matter compared to being strong enough to keep going when the day never ends.

Silencing the Pain

 

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop is today!

I've chosen the following prompt: 1) A mom fail moment.

My four-year-old is "super brave," as she puts it.


When she had blood drawn from the vein in her arm, she shed a single tear.
When she had six cavities fixed in one appointment, she hummed the entire time to stay calm.
When she has an upset stomach, she runs to the bathroom and throws up in the toilet and tells me as I come running after her that she's all better and smiles.


So when she had her most recent MMR shot, I did not plan on it being a traumatic experience for her.
I also did not plan on the nurse being new and young and with a case of the shakes.

We entered the scene unaware:

Nurse: "Do you see these three shots? These are the needles I'll be using."
(Nurse holds up each LONG needle in front of my daughter's eyes)

My Super Girl: "They're different colors."

Nurse: "Yes, which one do you want first?"

My Super Girl: (starting to tremble, because the nurse is still showing her the LONG needles) "The blue one."

Me: "Remember, this will only hurt for a second and then the pain will stop."

Nurse: "Okay, I am going to give you the first shot right here."

(The Nurse then proceeds to SLOWLY insert the LONG needle, seriously taking about 10 seconds to put the needle into my daughter's arm.)

My Super Girl: (crying hysterically now)

Nurse: (hand uncontrollably shaking now)

Me: (steam blowing out my ears in rage)

Nurse: "Okay, only two more to go. Which needle do you want next?"
(Nurse holds up the remaining two LONG needles for my daughter to see.)

Me: "Let's just finish this, please."

My Super Girl: (crying so hard she can't talk)

Nurse: (20 seconds later) "Okay, we're all done."

We've had numerous nurses administer numerous shots, and they've always been very quick, 2 seconds tops per shot.
I watched in horror as this nurse took 10 seconds per shot to insert the needles into my daughter's arms.
My daughter ended up getting severe swelling and bruises  and complained about the pain deep inside her arms for days.

And I felt so helpless. I kept my mouth shut. I felt like I failed my daughter.

I tried comforting my daughter with words and hugs, but for the nurse I remained silent. I felt bad for him, being new and not knowing the better method for giving shots to children. But if we are assigned to him again for any shots in the future, I will ask our doctor for a different nurse.

There is no way to silence the pain, but I can use my voice to make it hurt less.

Hidden Gems

 

I lucked out in college. I found my two best friends, Meredith (above) and Emily (below).

I didn't even have to go digging around for them for very long. We met during our freshman year at Indiana University.

Since then they have traveled miles upon miles to see me, to help me, to meet my daughters. I am so fortunate, and so humbled. I wish I was as good a friend for them as they are for me.

Meredith flew to Costa Rica to help me hack with machetes and dig with shovels into abandoned cow pastures. Just so I could collect samples of dirt by any tree in the pasture.

I was hunting for hidden treasures: fungal spores. They're quite lovely, little round balls ranging in color (under the microscope).

Emily traveled to Canada as I neared the end of my first pregnancy and then to D.C. to meet my second daughter after she was born.

I was experiencing the mystifying treasure of motherhood, and needing a friend.

Despite my lack of communication, my efforts to travel to see my two friends, my forgetfulness of birthdays, my two best-friends are my true friends in my life. And I am so grateful that they understand me so well, to know that I love them, cherish them, and hold them as gems in my heart.

I know most bloggers write tributes to other bloggers, and I truly value the relationships I have with other bloggers, but I wanted to write this blog post for my two dear friends tonight.

Thank you Meredith and Emily for always being there for me!

A Call to Arms

I'm enlisting all able bodies to be on the receiving end of the "all-day cling" in my house!

I love hugs, abrazos, прегръдка, 拥抱, yakap, memeluk, kumkumbatia, kram, ôm. 

I bet you didn't know I can speak nine different languages, I didn't either, until now. 

If I really did I think I'd be in Brussels with the UN.

I digress; back to my advertisement...

I seriously need arms to hold my two-year-old. She is an angel!

The arms must be strong, however, she is a 30 pound monkey with great toe gripping capabilities.

She gives the neck lots of loving smooches.

She giggles and sings for minutes on end.

She's warm and smells of sweet summer grass and chlorine.
She combs through corkscrew-curly hair of the holder until it is a mass of frizz, on one side of the head.

After awhile you'll forget she is a separate entity as her body will mold to yours until she's an extension of yourself.
And best of all, you get an unending hug of love.

I must forewarn you that she might cry if it is not her mommy's arms that hold her.

You see, I want to hold her, and I do, despite my doctor's disapproval.
But it's getting harder and riskier for me to do so. I'm only 24 months weeks along in my pregnancy, but I am sticking this much out (I've already had people ask me if I'm due this month):

If I get no takers, I will send this on to my husband and request that he come home early from his deployment to hold his little girl, who matches her growing clinginess with every inch my belly expands. She knows that soon she won't be the baby of the family by late November, and she's trying to get as much of me as possible in the mean time.

I love my little girl so much. Maybe I won't give up holding her just yet.
But what will I do if I seriously can't pick her up and hold her before my husband gets home?
It honestly is starting to break my heart to see her sad if I can't hold her as long as she wants me to.

The Swimming Saga Continues: Mama Doesn't Lie

Okay, I'm not much of a sunbathing person. At all. It bores me to tears. But I do like to swim.

Despite my terror of my maternity suit (or rather my watermelon belly inside of one) and the anger of observing a child being bullied at the pool (by his own family), the swimming pool next door to our house is giving me quite a mouth full.

My four-year-old is just beginning to test the waters of lying...

"No, Mom," she says, "I didn't push my sister. She did it to herself."

"Mom, I was speaking French!" (after she said stupid, a word I have tried to teach her is not okay; besides, none of us speak French)

"Mom, that's not MY pee. It's Willow's." (our Sheltie puppy) as she stands spread eagle 

over the puddle.

Despite these lies, I understand this is her age. It is (hopefully) a phase, a learning one.

But what is a mama to do when a grown woman lies to me in front of my children?

I took my girls swimming in our neighborhood pool (the night before our pot of carrots had been stolen off our porch by teenagers around 3a.m.; so I was feeling a little shaky).

The pool is right next door to our house. It is gated and locked, so only the residents of the neighborhood can have access.

While we were swimming, a black car pulled up and parked on the street in front of my house. A couple in their mid-20's came to the gate and I heard their surprise "ummff" at finding the gate locked.

"Excuse me," the young woman called out to me. I turned from my floating two-year-old and thrashing four-year-old to see the couple waiting outside the gate.

"Yes?" I asked.

"The gate's locked."

"Can you go home to get your key?" I asked, thinking they drove here from their house down the street.

"No," the woman replied. Her friend, a man, smiled (a bit sheepishly).

"Well, what house do you live in?" I asked.

The woman casually looks at my house, before answering, "2890" (not my real address, to ward off stalkers)

"But that's my house!" I said, as a faint laugh followed from my lips at the woman's stupidity.

(Oops, I used the word stupid)

But oh so stupid, to think she could pull it off that the house next door to the pool, the one they parked their car by, is her house, the one she can't get her key from.

The man looked embarrassed by now. His female super sleuth uttered a meek "oh" and then they turned around, went back to their car, and drove off.

See, I wanted to say to my girls, lying doesn't work.

But instead I answered my four-year-old's question" "Mama, why can't they swim with us?"

"Because they didn't have their key, Sweetie."

When do our children go from the early stages of lying to pseudo-masters of it? 

By this young woman's lack of talent with it, I hope it means she doesn't make lying a daily habit. It was a hot sunny day after all. Maybe I should have just let them in.

Or maybe I need to just try my best to make sure the act of lying gets out of my children's system before they become adults wanting to sunbathe on a hot summer day.

The Greens

My favorite color used to be blue.

Then, I became a mother. And green became my new favorite color.

Why did my favorite hue turn to green? I've never tried to figure out why until now...

1

Mother Nature 

From pregnancy to nursing to nourishing a child's spirit, I've never experienced Mother Nature quite like this. Between the sea and the sky, blue dominates our planet, but green is what grows and flourishes.

2

Nature's green is gold,  

  Her hardest hue to hold. 

Robert Frost may not have had motherhood in mind when he wrote this in 1923, but as I watch my children grow from babies to toddlers to little girls in the blink of an eye, I realize how 'golden' these earlier years are and how fleeting they seem to be.

3

Seedlings

My daughters are fascinated by the miniature buds of life: cotyledons. The fragile green little leaves hold so much potential, so much promise, it makes me want to hold my breath in anticipation of what they will become.

4 

Green Slime

My four-year-old daughter is fascinated by the idea of green slime. She begs me to tell her stories about it ALL DAY LONG. Yes, it gets old, inventing new stories about princesses, superheroes, and GREEN SLIME, but her passion for it makes me love green even more.

5 
Unseen Secrets

The amazing talent of a seven-year-old child, Quinn Whitlow. Children amaze me with the way they capture our world in words.

6
Metamorphosis

Motherhood is an experience of metamorphosis. I've gone from being a new mom roaming the house like a caterpillar to a mom undergoing change inside a protective case to a more confident mom, exposing my wings and letting go.

7

Green Mom

My home does not radiate Organic, Handmade, Chemical-free, Eco-friendly, but it does harbor a good sense of nature. We have more TV, computer, toys and "stuff" than I ever wanted, but I try to balance it with a love and appreciation of nature by growing vegetables and flowers, raising butterflies, checking out library books about animals, and playing outside as often as possible. I find the amount of information out there about being a Green Mom overwhelming, but one site in particular is the best one I've found for me: Nature Moms.

8

Watermelon Babies

My baby belly sticks way out every time I'm pregnant. I'm not kidding. Here I am swollen like a watermelon and no, I'm not carrying twins.

9

Henry Graham Green

"There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets in the future."

The Power and the Glory (1940)

Every time I read this quote, every moment I think of it, I get covered in goose bumps, thinking about how precious childhood is and what an incredible blessing it is to be a mother and to witness the moment a door opens in my childrens' lives.

10

Green Eggs and Ham

Because mothers will go to any degree to get their child to eat, even if it means adding green food coloring to eggs as a final attempt to get her daughter to eat eggs.


Link up your list of "10 Green" at The Good Life's Monday Listicles:

Mama Global, Baby Local

I'm not the kind of mother who has roots to one home, one community, one town. I love the experience of living in different states, and even better, different countries. But is this a good thing when it comes to my children?

Sure, I can say, we can't help it, we're military. But if we tried hard enough, we could probably stay in one location more than a year or two. Are children better off developing roots? Are children happier having the same friends throughout childhood? Are children healthier living in the same area and not being as exposed to international bugs? Are my children going to miss out on forming relationships with cousins by living so far away?

I don't have roots, and never really did. We moved to several different states during my childhood, and as a result I have the travel bug, the restless bug if I've lived in an area for more than a couple of years.

As much as I'd like to say that yes, moving frequently made me more 'worldly' it also left me without a lot of friends, without the desire to make deep, lasting friendships, and without a place to call home. My family is my definition of home, but I don't really have a place to show my children one day "this is where your mommy grew up."

I loved my grandparents home: 50 Mauck Lane, a two-story white home with a screened in front porch and irises growing outside in a rural town of Illinois. My mother spent her childhood there. I went there on the weekends during college and graduate school. It became, in a way, my home. I miss it. I miss my grandparents.


Our children can connect with individuals across the globe in ways we never could when we were young. This connection added to the frequent moves in my daughters' lives may make it impossible for them to one day establish roots and be satisfied living in one place. Will they know the building blocks of how to do it? I don't even know if I will be able to do it one day, the day my husband retires from the Navy.

I think deep down inside of me, there is an ember of longing, to one day have a place to call home.

I Did Survive

I have a handicap: I commit to a plan (like hosting a birthday party for my 4-year-old) before I think it really through. Like sleeping on it. Chewing on the idea. Letting it simmer.

Nope. That's not for me.

I have a brain child: "Hey, I'm going to throw a birthday party for my daughter. Her daddy is deployed. This will give her something to cheer about."

And then I announce it. Send out invitations, immediately. Invite a dozen of her preschool classmates. And then I think about. Then I sleep on it. Or should I say, I toss and turn, and get up at 3 in the morning and say "What the heck was I thinking?"

So that's my curse, my fault (one of many), but I am here to tell you:

I did survive!

Over the weekend I had a bunch of munchkins over. My daughter, dressed in her mermaid Halloween costume, was the loudest, the most excitable, and she loved it.

So how did I survive doing this all alone with my husband deployed on a ship half-way around the world? This is how...

1. I smiled sweetly at the parents and blocked the door from any that arrived thinking they could simply "drop their children off."
2. I apologized for the menacing Batman pinata hanging from our railing right when you walk in the front door, but its presence let it be known to all kiddos "Behave, Or Else."  
3. I designated our family room to be the "dress up station" and had two big boxes full of dress up clothes, so the parents had to parent all of the children as they could not tell which one was actually their child.
4. I loaded the children up with sugar right at the end of the party, so that the children left just as their sugar highs started to kick in.
5. I had our babysitter stay for the whole two hours. God bless her!
6. Other than the Spiderman cupcakes (Yes, my daughter wanted a Superhero themed birthday party), I did not cook a single thing for the party. (Thank you Pizza Hut; you made a pretty penny. I'm still waiting to win free pizzas by doing the surveys)
7. I used tape on the tails, so Pin the Tail on the Donkey game didn't turn into "Who can poke each other's bum with a tack?"
8. I designated my two-year-old daughter to be the food monitor, as her favorite thing to do is sit and eat and eat and eat while all of the other children were off shrieking and causing all kinds of ruckus.
9. I put a Bean Bag Toss Game in the corner for any child who got in trouble, so it would keep that child out of more trouble.
10. I inhaled the smell of wine through the corks after the last party goer had left, and promised myself that as soon as the baby is born, well as soon as the baby is big enough not to be nursing every two hours, I will savor a glass of wine.

And Taa Daa! I did survive!!

And a big thank you to Stasha of The Good Life for letting me join her Monday Listicles! I know it's not a list of 10 words, but I had to write about my adventure over the weekend :)

The Halves of Hearts

How often do the hearts of mamas get torn in two?

Letting go of your child's bike sans training wheels for the first time, but wanting to chase after it the entire time.


Dropping off your child a preschool and looking forward to the break even though you really just want to keep your child home with you, safe in your arms.


Finally breaking the co-sleeping habit with your baby as you fall asleep in your room listening to the monitor all night long as your baby sleeps in a crib down the hall.

These moments halve our hearts. 

Our children pull on the strings of our hearts, because that's what being a parent is all about.

*

It was a crazy night. My oldest woke up from a bad dream and crawled in bed with me at 2:30a.m. My youngest screamed at 3:45a.m. for me, because she was ready to start her day.

By 3:50 I was snuggled in between my two girls in my bed.

Half of my heart loved the warmth of their bodies, the sound of their breathing out of sync with one another.

But the other half of me (the pregnant half) wanted the bed all to myself. By some miracle I dozed for an hour before everyone woke up, ready to go downstairs and start the day.

What are the halves of your heart? Do your children pull on your heartstrings all day long?

A Fan of Unconditional Love

At first, I thought it was funny. My husband deploys and my girls go from bad sleepers to the worst. But now it's been three months and my two-year-old has a permanent wake up time somewhere between 4 and 4:30a.m.

Not wake up, like drowsy, let's cuddle Mama. Nope.

Wake up, like I'm ready to start my day! And I'm gonna SCREAM until we go downstairs.

"No Night, Mama!!" my little ray of sunshine says at 4:10 in the morning.

I get it. I "used" to be a 5:30 riser, until I became a mother. Waking at 5:30 let me conquer the world while everyone was still asleep. And I was NEVER grumpy.

But this 4:30 wake up call seven days a week, on my own, well, my pregnant body can't take much more of it. I am Mrs. Grumpy.

In a crowd, you can pick me out:

The Talk

Day Three of a Blog Series on Conversations with My Daughters

"Conversation 3: Sex is Great and Worth the Wait"

In case you missed it, I am doing a five post blog series on conversations with my daughters. After reading Vicki Courtney's book, 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter, I decided to reflect on how each conversation takes place between me and my daughters (ages almost-4 and 2).

Probably in the not so distant future, we will be traveling down this road, the road of conversations about s.e.x.

Photo by Ben Dalton, used with Creative Commons license.

But for now, my daughters are only curious about who the baby is in my belly. My older daughter asked me once, "Mama, how did the baby get in your tummy?" to which I answered "Daddy and I love each other so much and that's how we made the baby." And that was that.

But then a week later my daughter asked, "Mama, why don't daddies have babies?" soon followed by "Can babies have babies?" Ahem, I cough... Is it time for the anatomy talk? So I told her that mommies and daddies have vaginas and  penises, and that these differences mean we have different roles in making babies. She listened and then patted my belly. "Okay, Baby," she said.

She and her two-year-old sister then proceeded to sing to the baby until they got distracted with their own dancing.

I have been told by parents with older children "Have the birds and the bees conversation earlier than what you think you should" and "Don't let them learn about s.e.x. from their friends first" and "Don't rely on Sex Ed to teach your children about sex." But it wasn't until I read the third conversation in Vicki Courtney's book, 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter, that it all became clear to me.

It's a given that my daughters will see girls wearing clothing that makes boys think of s.e.x., they will hear rumors about who did what to whom, and they will be bombarded by messages in the media that suggest everyone is doing it. But my daughters don't have that in front of them right now, they are too young.

So what is a parent of young children to do? Is it too early to begin having conversations that are a prelude to "The Talk," which is really continual, on-going "Talks."

It's never too early. And so I begin...

I help my girls to find their voices and believe strongly in themselves.
I show them what love is.
I teach them patience and honesty.

And I continue to teach them about our bodies, about nature, and about the miracle of life.

Dinosaurs and Aliens vs. A Prince and A Princess

Day Two of a Blog Series on Conversations with My Daughters

"Conversation 2: Don't Be in Such a Hurry to Grow Up"

In case you missed it, I am doing a five post blog series on conversations with my daughters. After reading Vicki Courtney's book, 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter, I decided to reflect on how each conversation takes place between me and my daughters (ages almost-4 and 2).

I like the feel inside my daughter's preschool classroom: it speaks of complete and genuine innocence. It is safe. It is small. It is school before all of the rough and tumble of growing up banters into the classroom.

In the news, we hear that even a kindergartener is capable of bringing guns to school, a first-grader is suspended for sexually harassing another, a second-grader is pepper sprayed, third-graders plot to kill their teacher, a fourth-grader commits suicide, and fifth-graders are having sex. (Sharing these news clips is not done to be dramatic; they disturb me and I don't wish to make my readers feel sick to their stomach. I share them to express the extremes of what can happen in elementary school).

I was in a hurry to grow up. I shaved my legs and wore a bra by fifth grade. But when my friends started drinking and having sex in 7th grade, I dug the heels of my feet in, scared to grow up that fast.

I pray my daughter won't get exposed to the extremes in elementary school; however, I know she will see hand holding, kissing, cheating, lying, fighting, cliques forming, and more. Such experiences will make her grow up. But how much of a hurry will she be in?

Vicki's second conversation in 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter discusses the numerous influences our daughters face in their young lives. From social media and technological gadgets to friendships and boys, our daughters may be pushed to grow up in a hurry.

My oldest daughter is not yet four, and fortunately she is still really innocent. She only recently started asking me questions like "Mama, why do boys hit each other?" and "Why are those kids dark and I'm light?" and "Why doesn't that girl want to play with me?" As simple as these question might sound, they are still challenging for me to answer. I don't tiptoe through conversations with my daughter, but I definitely think about what I want to say before I speak.

Yesterday my daughter drew two pictures: one for me and one for her daddy, who is deployed.

I got the "Dinosaurs vs. Aliens" picture. My husband got the "Prince and a Princess" picture. In both, however, the creatures/people are all holding hands. Love still dominates her little world.

"Your daughter keeps looking to find the good in each person," my daughter's preschool teacher recently told me.

"How is that?" I asked.

"Because she befriends the children who struggle with sharing, hitting, and fussing, and cheers for them when they do something well. She even tries to set it up so they make a good choice, because she's made it easy for them."

"Hmmm, that's really sweet of her," I said,  wondering how did my daughter discover how to do this and why does she do it? Well, I know she has a really big heart, but still, I am left wondering.

This is why our conversations about friendships happen on a daily basis. She brings it up, trying to figure out why some children play together and why others don't. She wants to know that everyone loves everyone. She sleeps better knowing that right wins out over wrong, that superheroes can always save the day, and that an alien is just as beautiful as a princess.

A is for Apple, B is for Boobies

Day One of a Blog Series on Conversations with My Daughters

"Conversation 1: You Are More Than the Sum of Your Parts"

In case you missed it, I am doing a five post blog series on conversations with my daughters. After reading Vicki Courtney's book, 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter, I decided to reflect on how each conversation takes place between me and my daughters (ages almost-4 and 2).

It's bath time and my oldest daughter is sitting in a pile of white bubbles (I stubbed my toe oh so accidentally with the bubble bath soap). My youngest steps gingerly into the bubbles, she doesn't like them. Bubble baths only happen once a month in our house, because my little girl usually won't take a bath if there are bubbles in the tub.

My oldest daughter pats bubbles on her chest and says to me, "Mommy, why do we have to keep boobies safe?"

I look at her and stutter. "Uh, um, what do you mean? Like in a bra?"

"No," she says. I look perplexed, she looks curious.

"Why did something happen at school today?"

"Yes," my daughter replies. "A girl hit the teacher on her boobies and the teacher said 'Ouch' and that boobies have to be protected."

I watch my daughter make a bikini top out of bubbles.

"Well, I guess it's because it doesn't feel good to get hit anywhere on the body, so we protect our body everywhere."

Somehow my explanations don't always sound very convincing.

"And now, Mommy, you have to keep your boobies safe because they're bigger."

For a second time, I am a stuttering mess. I look down at my chest. Yes, at four months of pregnancy my chest is getting bigger I guess. I hadn't really noticed. But my little apparently has. How is that possible?

"I guess so Sweetie. Come on. Let's finish getting cleaned up."

And so she happily goes about playing with bubbles, while I sit and wonder if this is just the first stepping stone in talking about our bodies.

Later, after my girls are fast asleep, I bury my nose in "Conversation 1: You Are More Than the Sum of Your Parts" from Vicki Courtney's book 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter. I reread the chapters about how we view beauty and how we can find a balance in complimenting our daughters about the outer beauty and inner beauty.

A few months ago my oldest daughter suddenly left princesses behind her and moved on to superheroes. She knows all of them by name and superpower. She wears her Spiderman costume around the house. For her upcoming 4-year-old birthday party she wants it to be a Superman and Spiderman theme.  We even bought a Batman pinata that is taller than my daughter.

One day I asked my daughter, "Why do you like superheroes so much now?"

"Because they do things Mama."

At night she wants stories about heroes who save others, who stand up for what is right, who find qualities about people and values those qualities. The Paper Bag Princess struck a cord with her awhile back, when she still lived in the fairytale land of princesses. In her eyes, all princesses married their princes.

"Why didn't she get married?" my daughter asked at the end of the story.

"Because the prince was more worried about how she looked. He didn't say thank you for being brave and smart. So I guess the princess realized he didn't love her for who she is."

"Who is she Mama?"

"She is a girl who had courage to stand up to a dragon and outsmart it."

"Oh. Okay."

And so at this time, our conversations are not very deep about character, but my daughter's inner beauty radiates strongly every day and each day I bring up these qualities when I see them sparkle or wither, and why. I also say she looks beautiful when she is stepping out of the swimming pool or after she's been jumping on the trampoline. But most of all I say to her that I love her for who she is, not what she does.

And my youngest daughter listens intently and finds herself getting hugged for the little things she shows me every day in her two-year-old way.

Conversations may start out small at this age, but they are so rewarding to me as a mom.

Conversations With . . .

Two girls, soon to be three. My girls.

Soon after hearing the news that I am going to have a third daughter, like on the drive home from the ultrasound office, a question popped up in front of me as I watched two teenage girls walk down the sidewalk in barely there clothing: How do I prepare my daughters for their future?

How many times in a day are we as women bombarded with how we should look and act and feel? So many that I've lost count. I'm grateful we don't have cable; it means my daughters aren't exposed to this form of media.

But it's all there, waiting for them: the billboards, the fashion magazines, the ads, the Internet, their peers... Of course, we can't live in a bubble.

My mom taught me from early on the value of looking someone in the eye during a conversation. From this, I learned the importance of the conversation: the kind of conversation - the realistic kind.

So during my drive home and feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility of raising three daughters in today's world, I realized conversations can start early. I'm not talking about serious conversations that unsettle a four-year-old and two-year-old, but conversations nevertheless to help them as they grow up in today's world.

I've always parented from the style of 'learning as we go along.' But this time, I decided I didn't want to get it wrong, so I bought a parenting book: Five Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter, by Vicki Courtney. Vicki Courtney's book, Five Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter, captured me from the beginning.

(I've only read one parenting book prior to now: Raising Your Spirited Child, by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka, when my husband and I were seeking answers to why our colicky daughter transformed into a high-spirited little girl with amazing talents who keeps us on our toes. And it was a tremendous help! But since then, I haven't picked up another parenting book.)



When images like this pop up in the media:

my first reaction is to laugh.

These beautiful women have been Photoshopped so obviously that it looks so unreal, so fake it is laughable. But then the serious side of me kicks in and the sunny side fades way into a somber mood.

My girls, many girls, don't know that images are skewed, changed, altered, airbrushed, chopped, and chiseled. What they see is, in their minds, real.

Society and the media keep us in a vicious cycle of wanting and teasing and disappointing and searching. But a mom is not helpless, we are quite powerful actually. My mom is a role model for this.

Sure I grew up wishing I had straight hair instead of corkscrew curls, size A or even B instead of a C, an hourglass shape instead of a rectangle, and of course, a smaller nose. But I didn't lose sleep over my wishes, I didn't have an eating disorder thankfully, and I didn't go the route of changing my appearance to make myself into the ideal female body projected by the media. And I thank my mother for keeping me on course. She taught me what was important: my self, my inner me, my character.

She made me strong.
She gave me a gift, the power of belief in oneself.

And it all came about through conversations. The power of words astounds me.

So for my next five posts I am doing a series on five conversations I have with my own daughters. Five conversations that stem from Vicki Courtney's book and how even conversations with my little ones may help guide them on the right path.

Wishes Do Come True

Since I became a mother almost four years ago I've had several moments where I've crossed parallels into the other universe, the one where I am not a mother, the one where I am single, working in the Peace Corps or living in the rainforest, the one I thought I was destined to live because my dream of falling in love with the right man and having a family seemed not possible for someone like me.

Today my oldest daughter found an old journal of mine from Costa Rica. Using the blank pages near the back of it she drew this

a portrait of my husband in his Navy uniform.

I got hit with a double whammy of shocks. The first, to see that my soon-to-be four-year-old could draw something so well. The second, that it was done on a piece of paper that I've held on to for over 10 years, paper from a journal that I wrote in when I was single and dreaming my big dream and crying at night because I was so lonely, so alone, and feeling hopeless that maybe my 'somewhere out there' wasn't really there.

It's happened many times, looking through the glass to the other universe... my daughters stepping into my old heals from college, my oldest tracing her finger over a leaf print I made of a Hasseltia tree that stood outside my casita in Costa Rica, my youngest pulling my 'going out dancing' shirt from college and asking me to wear it (even though I am four months, looking six months pregnant), my daughters trying on a hat my first boyfriend from Nicaragua gave me 11 years ago, my oldest putting a Bouganvilla flower from our backyard behind her ear like I used to do with mine when I was in my 20's...

In each of these miniscule moments I travel back in time in a flash. I never knew when I put on those heals that someday I'd have little girls wanting to wear them. When my fingers took a leaf from my favorite tree and made a rubbing of it, I never knew someday I'd have a beautiful daughter whose heart is as big as her fathers who would outline the veins of the leaf under her fingertips. And I never knew a flower behind a little girls' ear could connect me to her beyond time and space.

I want to tell my daughters to dare to dream those big and impossible dreams, no matter how you see yourself, no matter what people think of you, no matter if you are the loner, thinker, philosopher one in a sea of girls who appear more at ease with themselves.

I'm glad I never stopped dreaming that I'd fall in love and have children. But it's these little moments, like my daughter drawing a picture on a piece of paper, a piece of paper that long ago had no such destiny, that makes goose bumps race across my arms and my heart to skip a beat.

The Tubal Question

Fruit season is flourishing here in southern CA, and I think I'm loving it more than my girls! The blueberries, raspberries, peaches... so big, so fresh, and so affordable compared to what I grew up with in the Midwest. My oldest daughter has been asking questions about fruits, seeing as our sour orange tree in the backyard is producing oranges right now. The hummingbirds and bees flock to the fruit, and so I tell her a story about pollination and fertility.

Is four years old to early to talk about the birds and the bees, because my daughter is asking me now "Mama, how did the baby get in your tummy?"

For now, I answer "Daddy and I love each other so much and that's how we made the baby." Fruit making is much simpler to describe.

But just a few days ago we had our puppy spade and my daughter questions me, "Why can't Willow have puppies?"

Who am I to determine if a dog shouldn't experience motherhood? Have I taken something away from our dog?


I try to explain to my daughter, "Sweetie, there are so many puppies in the world that there aren't enough homes for them. We want those puppies to find homes. If Willow has puppies, then that means there are too many dogs and not enough homes."

She is sad and I feel like I am bordering on something immoral.

The day before my scheduled c-section for my second daughter my OB asked me (or stated to be more precise): "So, you'll be having your tubes tied.?.?"

"Uh, um, no. No!" And then I felt the need to babble.

"This might be our last, but I'm not sure. Even if it is how do I know?"

I googled "Tubes Tied" that night and met with a swarm of sites about sterilization and how it is immoral.

I am pro-choice. I don't equate the potential of life each of my egg holds in its DNA with the creation of life; however, a part of me shudders at the idea of getting my tubes tied.

And now I am in that position again. Although my OB hasn't asked me yet, I don't have an answer. My husband and I are definite that three children is the number we want, not four or more. But the idea of closing the book on my eggs leaves me feeling unsettled.

It's not a question of morality for me. It's not a question of if I want more children.

I don't exactly know why I feel this way. I am trying to figure it out, and I have five more months to do so until I have my third c-section.