Ahhh, what a day. I took a much-needed personal day today. I didn't think I would make it through the last month of school without it.
I planned this personal day a while ago; I wanted it to be the day after our last big 2-hour Relay meeting. The timing was great; last night's meeting...well, it could have been better. So it was a great night to come home and pop open a couple of guilt-free Dos Equises and watch American Idol. (AI is more fun, by the way, when you're drinking beer.) A weeknight buzz is a rare treat.
Then I got to sleep in a little this morning, go for a run, lounge around, and catch up on daytime TV. The commercials for daytime TV are definitely different than those for prime time. I had a few thoughts as I watched:
1. I must get some L'Oreal Dual Action Revitalift for eyes before my 15-year high-school reunion.
2. Wagon wheel furniture? Really? This is something you want to advertise in your furniture store? It reminded me of When Harry Met Sally when Billy Crystal has just seen his ex-wife, and he and Meg Ryan bring a gift to Bruno Kirby and Carrie Fisher, who have just moved in together and are arguing over whether or not they should keep Bruno's wagon wheel coffee table. Billy cracks and goes on a diatribe about relationships and their inevitable fall and how one day you wake up and you're breaking up and start arguing over who gets "an ugly, tacky, wagon-wheel coffee table!" And now there's a furniture store in my area advertising their wide variety of wagon wheel benches and end tables...
3. I know rheumatoid arthritis is a terrible and painful disease, but why would anyone be tempted to take a medicine that lists "lymphoma" as a possible side effect?
4. I still don't get the appeal of the Geico commercials. Even the caveman ones.
Any day where the most pressing issue I face before 3pm is the stupidity of commercials is a good day indeed.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Friday, May 4, 2007
Cat on a Hot Ceramic Stovetop
That damn cat. I had just gotten into bed last night when my mom called to tell me Scout jumped up onto a burner on her flat-top stove right after mom had taken a pot of soup off. She yelped and jumped down, and mom was convinced she had sustained serious injuries.
"She's not my cat anymore!" I wanted to yell into the receiver, but we both know that Scout will always be my cat. The only difference is she now lives at mom's house and doesn't recognize me anymore. But when it comes down to who is still resonsible for the cat's overall health and well-being, well, that'd still be me.
We had Scout trained to not get on our tables or our stove while we had her. Who wants to deal with cat hair and kitty butt on your dining room table? When she was a kitten we shook cans of pennies at her whenever she got on a counter or a table, and she learned. But it didn't take long for my mom to unlearn her.
I suggested future stovetop discipline in the form of a water bottle of a can of pennies.
"But I don't want to have to be mean to her."
Okaaaaay...it's better for her to fry herself?
While mom was fretting, I told her to check Scout's paws for blisters. This is easier said than done since Scout thinks if you touch her paws you're getting ready to clip claws, but somehow mom managed to rule out blistering.
"Well, if you don't see any blisters, mom, and if you can get her to walk over to you, then I would say she's OK."
"Oh, she just jumped up on the kitchen table, so I guess she's alright."
Greaaaaat. Scout's allowed to get on the kitchen table. I'll be thinking of that the next time Ainsley empties her McDonald's fries onto the table and starts eating them.
I told mom to keep an eye on her and to call me back if she thought she had really burned herself or seemed to be in pain; when the phone rang half an hour later, just after I had dozed off, I was ready to throw on clothes and go to the kitty emergency room.
"I just wanted you to know that she jumped up on my bed and went to sleep, so she really is fine. I didn't want you to worry."
Gee, thanks, mom. Because hearing the phone ring at 11pm while I'm sleeping really puts my mind at ease. I'll be able to get a great night's sleep now.
I did manage to sleep, but darned if I haven't been worried about Scout all morning. I know I'll be calling at lunch today to make sure she's not limping around the house.
Once a kitty mom, always a kitty mom.
"She's not my cat anymore!" I wanted to yell into the receiver, but we both know that Scout will always be my cat. The only difference is she now lives at mom's house and doesn't recognize me anymore. But when it comes down to who is still resonsible for the cat's overall health and well-being, well, that'd still be me.
We had Scout trained to not get on our tables or our stove while we had her. Who wants to deal with cat hair and kitty butt on your dining room table? When she was a kitten we shook cans of pennies at her whenever she got on a counter or a table, and she learned. But it didn't take long for my mom to unlearn her.
I suggested future stovetop discipline in the form of a water bottle of a can of pennies.
"But I don't want to have to be mean to her."
Okaaaaay...it's better for her to fry herself?
While mom was fretting, I told her to check Scout's paws for blisters. This is easier said than done since Scout thinks if you touch her paws you're getting ready to clip claws, but somehow mom managed to rule out blistering.
"Well, if you don't see any blisters, mom, and if you can get her to walk over to you, then I would say she's OK."
"Oh, she just jumped up on the kitchen table, so I guess she's alright."
Greaaaaat. Scout's allowed to get on the kitchen table. I'll be thinking of that the next time Ainsley empties her McDonald's fries onto the table and starts eating them.
I told mom to keep an eye on her and to call me back if she thought she had really burned herself or seemed to be in pain; when the phone rang half an hour later, just after I had dozed off, I was ready to throw on clothes and go to the kitty emergency room.
"I just wanted you to know that she jumped up on my bed and went to sleep, so she really is fine. I didn't want you to worry."
Gee, thanks, mom. Because hearing the phone ring at 11pm while I'm sleeping really puts my mind at ease. I'll be able to get a great night's sleep now.
I did manage to sleep, but darned if I haven't been worried about Scout all morning. I know I'll be calling at lunch today to make sure she's not limping around the house.
Once a kitty mom, always a kitty mom.
It's a Beautiful Day (Don't Let it Slip Away!)
It's raining out, but by God, I declare this a beautiful day. Here's why:
1. The Office was exceptionally funny last night.
2. Whitney Pastorek posted a Chart Flashback from 1982.
3. The Kentucky Derby is tomorrow, and there's a horse named "Cowtown Cat." I love to bet on the pony with the "cat" name. Plus, I make a mean mint julep.
4. We received the new equipment I ordered for our library. That means I get to play with new digital cameras today. I'm a geek, so this is fun for me.
5. State testing is officially OVER!
6. Relay for Life is finally beginning to fall into place.
7. Tonight is a "Parents' Night Out" event at Ainsley's preschool, which means for a small donation to the March of Dimes, Ainsley can eat dinner at the center while mommy gets to go to happy hour with the girls and catch up.
It's a good day, kids. Feel the love.
1. The Office was exceptionally funny last night.
2. Whitney Pastorek posted a Chart Flashback from 1982.
3. The Kentucky Derby is tomorrow, and there's a horse named "Cowtown Cat." I love to bet on the pony with the "cat" name. Plus, I make a mean mint julep.
4. We received the new equipment I ordered for our library. That means I get to play with new digital cameras today. I'm a geek, so this is fun for me.
5. State testing is officially OVER!
6. Relay for Life is finally beginning to fall into place.
7. Tonight is a "Parents' Night Out" event at Ainsley's preschool, which means for a small donation to the March of Dimes, Ainsley can eat dinner at the center while mommy gets to go to happy hour with the girls and catch up.
It's a good day, kids. Feel the love.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Snuggin' With Simba
I love The Lion King. More importantly, my daughter loves The Lion King. Until The Little Mermaid came out on DVD last year, Simba and company were her go-to video friends. Even after being introduced to Ariel and Prince Eric, she prefers the Lion King CD over all others on car trips. Hearing her sing her version of "The Circle of Life" is one of the great pleasures of my life.
So when we heard that the musical The Lion King was coming to town, we knew we had to make that Ainsley's first theatrical experience. Jason and I had seen if when it came to town 4 years ago, when Ains was just a baby. It remains one of my favorite memories--how do you not get a little choked up during the opening when all the animals come down through the aisles? It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
We were a little worried Saturday morning. Our tickets were for the Saturday matinee, and that's the time of day Ainsley usually naps on weekends. We figured the excitement would carry her through. What we didn't figure was that she would be up and at 'em at 6:30 that morning.
I am happy to say that even though she was tired and very overdue for her nap, she did very well. Her eyes got so big during "The Circle of Life"; you could tell she was having a hard time taking it all in and knowing what to look at. During the first act, she was absolutely rapt.
During the intermission the eye-rubbing and crankiness started to set in a little, but the bird puppets buzzing over our heads as the performers entered to start the second act had her pretty entranced. She dozed off a little in her daddy's lap right before Scar and Simba fought, but woke up for the end. She got so excited during the curtain call when everyone applauded for such a long time--she didn't want to stop! That may have been her favorite part.
She has been sleeping with a stuffed Simba every night this week, so her experience must be sticking with her. Ainsley loves to cuddle with a stuffed animal; she calls it (and this is so cute to hear her say) "snugging." Her all-time favorite snugger is Lumpy, the adorable little purple elephant from The Heffalump Movie. He has to be under her arm at night or sleep just isn't possible. She gets that from me; rumor has it I slept with a stuffed animal by my side right up until we adopted our first real live animal when I had long been a married woman. My all-time favorite snugger is the baby Simba a thoughtful boyfriend (so thoughtful that I later married him) bought for me when I cooed over it in a toy store after The Lion King first came out in theaters. He's been washed and passed on to Ainsley. The last few nights when I've tucked her in she's had Lumpy on one side, Simba on the other. It's too precious for words.
It's a wonderful feeling when you share something you love with your child, and she loves it more even than you do. It feels even better than snugging with a favorite toy.
So when we heard that the musical The Lion King was coming to town, we knew we had to make that Ainsley's first theatrical experience. Jason and I had seen if when it came to town 4 years ago, when Ains was just a baby. It remains one of my favorite memories--how do you not get a little choked up during the opening when all the animals come down through the aisles? It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
We were a little worried Saturday morning. Our tickets were for the Saturday matinee, and that's the time of day Ainsley usually naps on weekends. We figured the excitement would carry her through. What we didn't figure was that she would be up and at 'em at 6:30 that morning.
I am happy to say that even though she was tired and very overdue for her nap, she did very well. Her eyes got so big during "The Circle of Life"; you could tell she was having a hard time taking it all in and knowing what to look at. During the first act, she was absolutely rapt.
During the intermission the eye-rubbing and crankiness started to set in a little, but the bird puppets buzzing over our heads as the performers entered to start the second act had her pretty entranced. She dozed off a little in her daddy's lap right before Scar and Simba fought, but woke up for the end. She got so excited during the curtain call when everyone applauded for such a long time--she didn't want to stop! That may have been her favorite part.
She has been sleeping with a stuffed Simba every night this week, so her experience must be sticking with her. Ainsley loves to cuddle with a stuffed animal; she calls it (and this is so cute to hear her say) "snugging." Her all-time favorite snugger is Lumpy, the adorable little purple elephant from The Heffalump Movie. He has to be under her arm at night or sleep just isn't possible. She gets that from me; rumor has it I slept with a stuffed animal by my side right up until we adopted our first real live animal when I had long been a married woman. My all-time favorite snugger is the baby Simba a thoughtful boyfriend (so thoughtful that I later married him) bought for me when I cooed over it in a toy store after The Lion King first came out in theaters. He's been washed and passed on to Ainsley. The last few nights when I've tucked her in she's had Lumpy on one side, Simba on the other. It's too precious for words.
It's a wonderful feeling when you share something you love with your child, and she loves it more even than you do. It feels even better than snugging with a favorite toy.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Steal This Book
I am so loving this book I'm reading, y'all. It's one of the best young adult novels I've ever read. It's called The Book Thief and it's written by an author I had never heard of, Markus Zusak. I picked it up from the cart full of new books that just arrived in my library (when a book order comes in, it's better than Christmas) as it was recommended on our school library listserv. It is absolutely wonderful.
It's hard to describe. The most remarkable thing about it is that it is narrated by Death. Yes, Death. And he's a likable guy--he's not evil, and he doesn't make people die, he just retrieves their souls when it's their time to go. The book begins with Death talking about his job and how he tries not to get involved at the scene of a death. Rather than paying attention to the grieving survivors, he observes the colors in the sky at the death scene. He can remember certain deaths by the colors he saw as he retrieved the soul. Despite himself, he paid attention to one girl who was present on the scene for three different memorable deaths. Something about this human girl drew him in. He began to observe her and learned that she is a "book thief." He tells her story.
And that's really what the novel is so far--the story of this one German girl living during World War II as told by Death. As you can imagine, Death is pretty busy at that time and place. It's historical fiction, I suppose, but because of the point of view, it has some gothic and supernatural overtones.
This book received several young-adult book awards this year, but it's not like most YA stuff I've read. It's really making me think.
So if you're looking for something different to read, pick this up (or be a book thief yourself.) If you read it, post your comments--this is one I want to share with someone and talk about.
It's hard to describe. The most remarkable thing about it is that it is narrated by Death. Yes, Death. And he's a likable guy--he's not evil, and he doesn't make people die, he just retrieves their souls when it's their time to go. The book begins with Death talking about his job and how he tries not to get involved at the scene of a death. Rather than paying attention to the grieving survivors, he observes the colors in the sky at the death scene. He can remember certain deaths by the colors he saw as he retrieved the soul. Despite himself, he paid attention to one girl who was present on the scene for three different memorable deaths. Something about this human girl drew him in. He began to observe her and learned that she is a "book thief." He tells her story.
And that's really what the novel is so far--the story of this one German girl living during World War II as told by Death. As you can imagine, Death is pretty busy at that time and place. It's historical fiction, I suppose, but because of the point of view, it has some gothic and supernatural overtones.
This book received several young-adult book awards this year, but it's not like most YA stuff I've read. It's really making me think.
So if you're looking for something different to read, pick this up (or be a book thief yourself.) If you read it, post your comments--this is one I want to share with someone and talk about.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Embarrassing Moments
I heard on the radio that Blender magazine's current issue features a rundown of the top 20 most embarrassing caught-on-tape pop star moments of all time. I am sure you can think of a few: the Milli-Vanilli lip sync debacle, Michael Jackson's Artist of the Millenium "award", and the creme de la creme, the Ashlee Simpson jig on SNL.
I am soooo glad there weren't video cameras around for some of my finer moments.
Blender's article reflects our fascination with each other's embarrassing moments. People ask each other in those ubiquitous "get to know your friends" emails all the time: What is your most embarrassing moment? This is a really hard question for me to answer because there isn't that one, huge moment where I really made an ass out of myself; I have smaller embarrassing moments on an almost daily basis. That's just kinda who I am. I am not, shall we say, graceful by nature, and though I consider myself intelligent, I lack common sense. Put those two together and you've just created the perfect recipe for a walking, talking embarrassing moment.
There are a few worth mentioning, and a blog is for nothing if not for confessions. So, my most embarrassing moments:
1. The time I ripped my taste buds off trying to lick the frost off the inside of a metal freezer. Yeah, yeah, but this was before I watched A Christmas Story and saw what happens when you stick your tongue to a metal flag pole. It was really hot outside, and we were out of popsicles. Here's the dumb thing: when my tongue stuck, I panicked and pulled my tongue off, making an awesome ripping sound I (and I'm sure my mother) can hear even now. I looked in the frost and saw my own taste buds and knew there was trouble. I had to tell everybody what I did. The worst part? When my much-older and wiser sister called the ER to see if I needed to come in, and the nurse there said, "And she's how old?" I was 11.
2. The fence-jumping incident. See, there was this older boy that lived in the house behind me, and my friend and I had a huge crush on him. My backyard and the alley that separated our houses were bordered by an old wooden fence. Well, my friend was wonderfully athletic (you may know her as Rollergirl and frequent commenter "Wanda Y") and could gracefully leap over this fence hurdle-style. One evening as our little crush was hanging out in his backyard playing yard darts with his almost-as-cute friends while we admired his, um, throwing style, "Y" hurdled over the fence so easily I thought, "Well, I run track, too, so I can jump over the fence and really make a good impression." I got both feet caught as I jumped and did a face plant in the grass. It went over well; both "Y" and our crush laughed for a while as I G.I.-Joe-crawled through the grass back to my house, trying not to be seen.
3. When I tipped over in my desk in 9th-grade biology class. I had dropped my pencil, you see, and was sitting in one of those old school desks where the desktop came around your right side. I leaned over, stretching my arm as far as I could; still couldn't reach the pencil. So I raised up a little, put all my weight to the right side of the desk, and leaned down to reach, tipping the desk ever so slightly. Got it! But I had leaned too much, and felt myself starting to go. Somehow, I managed to transfer my weight and tipped over backward instead of sideways, grabbing a classmate's shirt on my way down in a desperate attempt to stop myself. Next thing I know, I'm on my back, still in my desk, with my feet wiggling in the air. I know the sound must have been tremendous as the wood hit that hard floor. I could hear laughter, but couldn't see anyone--just my feet and my desk. The teacher came over to see if I was OK, and when he saw that I was, he turned around and laughed. The only good thing that came of this? I got asked out to the homecoming dance that very same afternoon by a boy who was in that class with me. I guess I got his attention.
4. Getting my hair caught in a product display in the middle of a grocery store. I was in graduate school at the time. It was Christmas, and I really wanted the bag of holiday-wrapped Rolos on the bottom shelf, and as I bent down a little too enthusiastically to get them, my long hair got stuck in a product display and I couldn't get free. My hair actually got wound around a clip used to display something or other. There I was, bent at the waist, rear in the air, wiggling and pulling to get myself free. A couple of bystanders offered to help but I would just as soon have left my scalp hanging there than look anybody in the eye at that point. I got free and immediately checked out, leaving some of my hair behind.
5. Unwittingly mooning many fellow Centre students while walking in costume to a dress rehearsal for our madrigal dinner. We had rented beautiful Renaissance-looking costumes for our big Centre Singers show and dinner that year, and my dress was a gorgeous-but-exceedingly-heavy suede gown with, unbeknownst to me, a broken zipper. The night of dress rehearsal, an eerily warm December night, I had thrown my gown on and raced to the student center, where part of our performance was, to stash away a tambourine. Then I rushed back to the fine arts building for our warm-up. I noticed I got some strange looks, but hey, I was in a Renaissance ball gown. When I arrived back at the dressing rooms to grab the hat for my costume I caught a glimpse of my backside in a full-length mirror. I had come completely unzipped in my travel but because the dress was so heavy, it had stayed up on my shoulders despite how it had gaped open widely from shoulder blades down. It was so freakishly warm outside I hadn't even felt a draft (well, I think I did once, but it was so refreshing through that hot costume I didn't think anything about it and thought it was a gift from the heavens.) The zipper extended all the way to the bottom of my bottom, so thank God I wasn't wearing a thong. But I still gave people an eyeful.
I am sure there are more, but that's a pretty good sampler. Chime in--what's your most embarrassing moment?
I am soooo glad there weren't video cameras around for some of my finer moments.
Blender's article reflects our fascination with each other's embarrassing moments. People ask each other in those ubiquitous "get to know your friends" emails all the time: What is your most embarrassing moment? This is a really hard question for me to answer because there isn't that one, huge moment where I really made an ass out of myself; I have smaller embarrassing moments on an almost daily basis. That's just kinda who I am. I am not, shall we say, graceful by nature, and though I consider myself intelligent, I lack common sense. Put those two together and you've just created the perfect recipe for a walking, talking embarrassing moment.
There are a few worth mentioning, and a blog is for nothing if not for confessions. So, my most embarrassing moments:
1. The time I ripped my taste buds off trying to lick the frost off the inside of a metal freezer. Yeah, yeah, but this was before I watched A Christmas Story and saw what happens when you stick your tongue to a metal flag pole. It was really hot outside, and we were out of popsicles. Here's the dumb thing: when my tongue stuck, I panicked and pulled my tongue off, making an awesome ripping sound I (and I'm sure my mother) can hear even now. I looked in the frost and saw my own taste buds and knew there was trouble. I had to tell everybody what I did. The worst part? When my much-older and wiser sister called the ER to see if I needed to come in, and the nurse there said, "And she's how old?" I was 11.
2. The fence-jumping incident. See, there was this older boy that lived in the house behind me, and my friend and I had a huge crush on him. My backyard and the alley that separated our houses were bordered by an old wooden fence. Well, my friend was wonderfully athletic (you may know her as Rollergirl and frequent commenter "Wanda Y") and could gracefully leap over this fence hurdle-style. One evening as our little crush was hanging out in his backyard playing yard darts with his almost-as-cute friends while we admired his, um, throwing style, "Y" hurdled over the fence so easily I thought, "Well, I run track, too, so I can jump over the fence and really make a good impression." I got both feet caught as I jumped and did a face plant in the grass. It went over well; both "Y" and our crush laughed for a while as I G.I.-Joe-crawled through the grass back to my house, trying not to be seen.
3. When I tipped over in my desk in 9th-grade biology class. I had dropped my pencil, you see, and was sitting in one of those old school desks where the desktop came around your right side. I leaned over, stretching my arm as far as I could; still couldn't reach the pencil. So I raised up a little, put all my weight to the right side of the desk, and leaned down to reach, tipping the desk ever so slightly. Got it! But I had leaned too much, and felt myself starting to go. Somehow, I managed to transfer my weight and tipped over backward instead of sideways, grabbing a classmate's shirt on my way down in a desperate attempt to stop myself. Next thing I know, I'm on my back, still in my desk, with my feet wiggling in the air. I know the sound must have been tremendous as the wood hit that hard floor. I could hear laughter, but couldn't see anyone--just my feet and my desk. The teacher came over to see if I was OK, and when he saw that I was, he turned around and laughed. The only good thing that came of this? I got asked out to the homecoming dance that very same afternoon by a boy who was in that class with me. I guess I got his attention.
4. Getting my hair caught in a product display in the middle of a grocery store. I was in graduate school at the time. It was Christmas, and I really wanted the bag of holiday-wrapped Rolos on the bottom shelf, and as I bent down a little too enthusiastically to get them, my long hair got stuck in a product display and I couldn't get free. My hair actually got wound around a clip used to display something or other. There I was, bent at the waist, rear in the air, wiggling and pulling to get myself free. A couple of bystanders offered to help but I would just as soon have left my scalp hanging there than look anybody in the eye at that point. I got free and immediately checked out, leaving some of my hair behind.
5. Unwittingly mooning many fellow Centre students while walking in costume to a dress rehearsal for our madrigal dinner. We had rented beautiful Renaissance-looking costumes for our big Centre Singers show and dinner that year, and my dress was a gorgeous-but-exceedingly-heavy suede gown with, unbeknownst to me, a broken zipper. The night of dress rehearsal, an eerily warm December night, I had thrown my gown on and raced to the student center, where part of our performance was, to stash away a tambourine. Then I rushed back to the fine arts building for our warm-up. I noticed I got some strange looks, but hey, I was in a Renaissance ball gown. When I arrived back at the dressing rooms to grab the hat for my costume I caught a glimpse of my backside in a full-length mirror. I had come completely unzipped in my travel but because the dress was so heavy, it had stayed up on my shoulders despite how it had gaped open widely from shoulder blades down. It was so freakishly warm outside I hadn't even felt a draft (well, I think I did once, but it was so refreshing through that hot costume I didn't think anything about it and thought it was a gift from the heavens.) The zipper extended all the way to the bottom of my bottom, so thank God I wasn't wearing a thong. But I still gave people an eyeful.
I am sure there are more, but that's a pretty good sampler. Chime in--what's your most embarrassing moment?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Big Girl
Now that Ainsley has moved into her "big-girl" room and bed, I guess it's official: she's a big girl. And her mom is a big, blubbering mess because of it.
Ainsley is my first child, but because of my medical history and the possibility that she will be our only child, she's also my baby. I've been both thrilled to see her grow up and hit all those milestones that are supposed to make my parenting life easier--first steps, first words, adult food, potty training--and sad because each step takes her a little further away from me. You want your babies to be healthy and strong and to learn to take care of themselves, but learning to take care of themselves means they don't need their mommies as much.
We've all been guilty of babying her too much. She was the first grandchild for my parents in 14 years, and their only granddaughter. In the first two years of her life her mom faced a life-threatening disease and her grandfather died; in our worry and grief I think we all clung to her a little tighter and did things for her rather than teaching her to do for herself. But in the last school year, the first year that's she's attended her learning center full-time, she's gotten more independent and more sure of herself. She doesn't want to be our baby anymore; she is her own little strong-willed being and she asserts her independence at every turn. I've gotten a glimpse of the young lady she will become, and it's made for both some of my happiest moments as a parent and some of my most heart-breaking.
Earlier this month she balked at me calling her "Ains." When we named that child, we swore we would never shorten her name or call her any nickname, but early in the game my mom started calling her "The Ains" and it stuck. Now I get corrected when I call her "Ains"; she lets me know, in her child-like but assertive little voice, that she wants to be called "Ains-LEY!" I have a feeling that our "Mommy" and "Daddy" titles are about to get updated, too; last night in the shower during yet another discussion about Ains v. Ainsley, she asked if she could call me "Mom" and Jason "Dad." I've spent the last 4 years seeing myself as a "mommy"; I don't know if I am ready to be a "mom" with all its connotations of a more grown-up mother-daughter relationship.
There are times she has a teenager's attitude. Tell her to do something like put away a toy when she is already on her way to pick it up, and you get "But I am putting it away!" and a look that tells you you're just too clueless for words. Ask her to do something she doesn't want to do and she lowers her head and looks at you with angry eyes and clenched eyebrows in an early attempt at a dirty look. And her latest comeback when we get angry with her? "I don't want to live in this house anymore!" My mom tells me she's just testing boundaries and asserting her personality, but I fear her headstrong ways foreshadow major battles when she hits her teen years. It's enough to make me want to skip head to her college graduation.
Oh, but what I would miss if I did that. I would miss her surprise hugs, when she suddenly drops whatever she's doing to wrap her arms around my legs and say, "I love you" for no obvious reason. I would miss how sweet she smells after her bath at night and how soft she feels cuddled up next to me at storytime. I would miss watching her sleep flush-cheeked with her best friend Lumpy tucked under her arm. I would miss her telling me that she wants to be a mommy and a dancer when she grows up and her absolute faith that anything is possible. During those times, when she's doing those pure and innocent things that young children do, I can forget that she's growing up and will soon be too cool to want goodnight kisses and ask me to sing songs with her at the top of our lungs with no adult embarrassment or self-consciousness. A few minutes a day, she's still my baby, even if she is in a big bed in a big room that she helped to decorate.
In her mind, this move from her toddler bed and nursery has made her a big girl. In my mind, she will always be the little baby who watched the pastel animal mobile and counted on mommy and daddy for everything. Throughout our lives together I will have reminders that that baby is becoming her own person--the first day of school, the first lost tooth, the first heartbreak, graduation, her wedding, the births of her own children. I imagine many of our struggles will be because I see the baby when I should see the young lady.
Giving birth and staying up all night with a crying newborn is hard. Letting go and letting her grow up? So much harder. But more and more I see that that's what being a "mom" is really all about.
Ainsley is my first child, but because of my medical history and the possibility that she will be our only child, she's also my baby. I've been both thrilled to see her grow up and hit all those milestones that are supposed to make my parenting life easier--first steps, first words, adult food, potty training--and sad because each step takes her a little further away from me. You want your babies to be healthy and strong and to learn to take care of themselves, but learning to take care of themselves means they don't need their mommies as much.
We've all been guilty of babying her too much. She was the first grandchild for my parents in 14 years, and their only granddaughter. In the first two years of her life her mom faced a life-threatening disease and her grandfather died; in our worry and grief I think we all clung to her a little tighter and did things for her rather than teaching her to do for herself. But in the last school year, the first year that's she's attended her learning center full-time, she's gotten more independent and more sure of herself. She doesn't want to be our baby anymore; she is her own little strong-willed being and she asserts her independence at every turn. I've gotten a glimpse of the young lady she will become, and it's made for both some of my happiest moments as a parent and some of my most heart-breaking.
Earlier this month she balked at me calling her "Ains." When we named that child, we swore we would never shorten her name or call her any nickname, but early in the game my mom started calling her "The Ains" and it stuck. Now I get corrected when I call her "Ains"; she lets me know, in her child-like but assertive little voice, that she wants to be called "Ains-LEY!" I have a feeling that our "Mommy" and "Daddy" titles are about to get updated, too; last night in the shower during yet another discussion about Ains v. Ainsley, she asked if she could call me "Mom" and Jason "Dad." I've spent the last 4 years seeing myself as a "mommy"; I don't know if I am ready to be a "mom" with all its connotations of a more grown-up mother-daughter relationship.
There are times she has a teenager's attitude. Tell her to do something like put away a toy when she is already on her way to pick it up, and you get "But I am putting it away!" and a look that tells you you're just too clueless for words. Ask her to do something she doesn't want to do and she lowers her head and looks at you with angry eyes and clenched eyebrows in an early attempt at a dirty look. And her latest comeback when we get angry with her? "I don't want to live in this house anymore!" My mom tells me she's just testing boundaries and asserting her personality, but I fear her headstrong ways foreshadow major battles when she hits her teen years. It's enough to make me want to skip head to her college graduation.
Oh, but what I would miss if I did that. I would miss her surprise hugs, when she suddenly drops whatever she's doing to wrap her arms around my legs and say, "I love you" for no obvious reason. I would miss how sweet she smells after her bath at night and how soft she feels cuddled up next to me at storytime. I would miss watching her sleep flush-cheeked with her best friend Lumpy tucked under her arm. I would miss her telling me that she wants to be a mommy and a dancer when she grows up and her absolute faith that anything is possible. During those times, when she's doing those pure and innocent things that young children do, I can forget that she's growing up and will soon be too cool to want goodnight kisses and ask me to sing songs with her at the top of our lungs with no adult embarrassment or self-consciousness. A few minutes a day, she's still my baby, even if she is in a big bed in a big room that she helped to decorate.
In her mind, this move from her toddler bed and nursery has made her a big girl. In my mind, she will always be the little baby who watched the pastel animal mobile and counted on mommy and daddy for everything. Throughout our lives together I will have reminders that that baby is becoming her own person--the first day of school, the first lost tooth, the first heartbreak, graduation, her wedding, the births of her own children. I imagine many of our struggles will be because I see the baby when I should see the young lady.
Giving birth and staying up all night with a crying newborn is hard. Letting go and letting her grow up? So much harder. But more and more I see that that's what being a "mom" is really all about.
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