There are a lot of things I do as a mom that I would never do as Shauna. Take this afternoon, for instance. I would be perfectly happy eating three minute ramen noodles and frozen egg rolls for lunch,but since Natalia is eating this same meal, I made some veggies to go with it. And just so she won't think I'm a total poser - I ate the vegetables with her. When she was a toddler I could get away with making her eat the veggies while I pigged out on the carbs. Now she will totally call me out on it.
Ice skating and water parks are another mommy vs. Shauna thing. Ice skating is cold and scary. The thought of falling and hitting my delicate rear end on some unrelenting ice does not sound fun, EVER! The water park thing stems from me being a nose holder when my face goes under water. Almost as embarrassing as my pasty body in a bathing suit - almost. Last time we went to the water park I even braved the very tall slide. The one that is a straight shot with no pool to land in. Natalia was only five and braved it. I told her I was scared, so she does what all good little children do - she takes the parenting advice that I make her live her life by and totally turned it on me. "Being brave doesn't mean that you aren't scared. It means you are scared, but do it anyway". Doesn't that sound like such good advice? Before you think very highly of me just know that I made this up on the fly outside the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland. I really wanted us to ride it as a family and Natalia finally met the height requirements.
All this is to say that being a mom makes me a better person. I don't recycle because I am trying to save the planet. I recycle because we all went to the movies to see Walle, and Natalia was adamant that we recycle to save our species from a never ending obesity cruise. I put on an elaborate charity lemonade stand because Natalia has such a wonderful and compassionate heart and was worried about the people of Haiti. I eat vegetables with lunch and sneak pureed vegetables into dinner because I want her to be healthy.
Natalia's favorite song for me to sing her is "Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride. I am a total sap, so even though I am not a fan of country music, I love this song. I like the first verses of the song best: "In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero. I am strong and wise, and I know no fear. But the truth is plain to see, she was sent to rescue me. I see who I want to be in my daughter's eyes."
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Mommy Chair
Before Natalia was born I knew my "new mommy must have" was a glider. I have loved rocking chairs since I was a small child. The rocking sensation is spiritually soothing to me. As soon as Natalia was old enough to articulate her take on the world, she named the glider "the mommy chair". True to any parenting form, we all call this chair "the mommy chair", even when daddy is throned on it.
When Natalia was an infant, the chair was in our bedroom and I would nurse her in this chair. My love for the mommy chair has deepened because, as any mother who has nursed her child knows, when you nurse you are flooded with oxytocin making you feel peaceful and all lovey-dovey. My brain is as simple as Pavlov's dog - I just don't drool as often. I also blame this mind body connection on why I love the smell of Pamper diapers. It is not unusual to see me smelling a Pamper while I am walking down the hallway at work to deliver it to a patient. In my defense, I don't smell the used ones. That would be weird.
When Natalia got older, we moved the chair (and her) into her own room and it became a steadfast part of her bedtime routine. It also became a part of her "I want mommy to rock me every three hours" routine. Then came Ferber - but that is another story for another time. I had an epiphany one night after I had fed her a bottle and sang her a song: She would not always fit in my lap. It was like being sucker punched in the heart, but I resolved to embrace every moment she and I spent in the mommy chair.
Now, those of you who have not seen my daughter recently won't understand the mental picture of me still holding my 95th percentile six year old in the mommy chair every night she is home. She is four feet tall and weighs fifty pounds. I am five-three, and weigh 122. I am almost at that dreaded point where she will no longer fit in my lap. I said almost - but not yet. I have to admit that I also still carry her around when she will let me. I'm pretty sure in the near future her feet will be dragging on the floor while I carry her.
In the meantime I cherish the time we spend in the mommy chair. She loves books, just like her dad, and it is amazing now that she reads to me before bed. She also loves my singing, which is good since I am almost always singing when I am at home. Yep, out loud; out of tune; don't care. She loves to sing too, and sometimes we will try and out-do each other. So at night we share a story, share a song, and then have some insightful chats - all in the precious mommy chair.
We have talked about death, boys, hygiene, her day, my day, why some of her friend's parents don't live together, plans for vacations, memories of vacations, God, scary dreams and weird room noises. We have problem solved nightmares by inventing the imaginary sweetie jar while in that chair. I have embraced every second of it, even when it has been 3am and she has been burning up with a fever. Tonight she turned to smell my hair and told me I smell like home. My eyes teared up a bit and I told her she smells like home to me, too. It is during this time that I know God is in the room with us, and He is proud of our love. Now don't get me wrong - my family is not one continuous hallmark moment. My loving memories of that chair also include when I feel her tense up on my lap to fart on me. Our house rule is: farting is always funny. It's gross and smelly, but very funny and always induces lots of giggles. I'm sure from us and God since it is His design.
The mommy chair is the place I go to when I am upset or feeling blue. It just makes me feel so comforted. Sometimes after a long, frustrating shift in the ER I will come home and rock in that chair while I watch her sleep. I miss the days when she was smaller and I could pick her up out of her crib and rock her for a while. She wouldn't even wake up, but she would reach over my shoulder and start unconsciously playing with my hair. If only Pfizer could bottle that feeling up. Now that she is big and not used to being constantly cuddled - I get decked in the eye by flailing arms and stinky breath telling me to put her back to bed.
When it comes to baby stuff (she'll always be my baby), I like to take care of it and pass it on to another family. I am a little superstitious and know that some of the joy will stay with the chair to give to the next family. That day is fast approaching and I will certainly cry when that chair leaves home. Jeremy will be hugging me and rolling his eyes at the same time. He is not emotionally stronger than me, because I know for sure that if it had been called "the daddy chair", It would NEVER leave the house.
When Natalia was an infant, the chair was in our bedroom and I would nurse her in this chair. My love for the mommy chair has deepened because, as any mother who has nursed her child knows, when you nurse you are flooded with oxytocin making you feel peaceful and all lovey-dovey. My brain is as simple as Pavlov's dog - I just don't drool as often. I also blame this mind body connection on why I love the smell of Pamper diapers. It is not unusual to see me smelling a Pamper while I am walking down the hallway at work to deliver it to a patient. In my defense, I don't smell the used ones. That would be weird.
When Natalia got older, we moved the chair (and her) into her own room and it became a steadfast part of her bedtime routine. It also became a part of her "I want mommy to rock me every three hours" routine. Then came Ferber - but that is another story for another time. I had an epiphany one night after I had fed her a bottle and sang her a song: She would not always fit in my lap. It was like being sucker punched in the heart, but I resolved to embrace every moment she and I spent in the mommy chair.
Now, those of you who have not seen my daughter recently won't understand the mental picture of me still holding my 95th percentile six year old in the mommy chair every night she is home. She is four feet tall and weighs fifty pounds. I am five-three, and weigh 122. I am almost at that dreaded point where she will no longer fit in my lap. I said almost - but not yet. I have to admit that I also still carry her around when she will let me. I'm pretty sure in the near future her feet will be dragging on the floor while I carry her.
In the meantime I cherish the time we spend in the mommy chair. She loves books, just like her dad, and it is amazing now that she reads to me before bed. She also loves my singing, which is good since I am almost always singing when I am at home. Yep, out loud; out of tune; don't care. She loves to sing too, and sometimes we will try and out-do each other. So at night we share a story, share a song, and then have some insightful chats - all in the precious mommy chair.
We have talked about death, boys, hygiene, her day, my day, why some of her friend's parents don't live together, plans for vacations, memories of vacations, God, scary dreams and weird room noises. We have problem solved nightmares by inventing the imaginary sweetie jar while in that chair. I have embraced every second of it, even when it has been 3am and she has been burning up with a fever. Tonight she turned to smell my hair and told me I smell like home. My eyes teared up a bit and I told her she smells like home to me, too. It is during this time that I know God is in the room with us, and He is proud of our love. Now don't get me wrong - my family is not one continuous hallmark moment. My loving memories of that chair also include when I feel her tense up on my lap to fart on me. Our house rule is: farting is always funny. It's gross and smelly, but very funny and always induces lots of giggles. I'm sure from us and God since it is His design.
The mommy chair is the place I go to when I am upset or feeling blue. It just makes me feel so comforted. Sometimes after a long, frustrating shift in the ER I will come home and rock in that chair while I watch her sleep. I miss the days when she was smaller and I could pick her up out of her crib and rock her for a while. She wouldn't even wake up, but she would reach over my shoulder and start unconsciously playing with my hair. If only Pfizer could bottle that feeling up. Now that she is big and not used to being constantly cuddled - I get decked in the eye by flailing arms and stinky breath telling me to put her back to bed.
When it comes to baby stuff (she'll always be my baby), I like to take care of it and pass it on to another family. I am a little superstitious and know that some of the joy will stay with the chair to give to the next family. That day is fast approaching and I will certainly cry when that chair leaves home. Jeremy will be hugging me and rolling his eyes at the same time. He is not emotionally stronger than me, because I know for sure that if it had been called "the daddy chair", It would NEVER leave the house.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Kick 'em back, bubbie!
I'm sure I'm not the only mom who wants her child to be the better version of herself. If we are really being honest, I would rather Natalia be just like Jeremy. She is this amazing combination of the both of us that only God can genetically put together and not have her turn out weird. I am learning that the hardest part of parenting is to not freak out when I notice my less desirable traits surfacing in my mini-me.
I totally remember being "boy crazy" as young as age five. His name was Sam, he was in my kindergarten class and he kissed me on the cheek at recess. Now, only being the mother of a little girl, I cannot attest to the gossiping skills of boys. Natalia is a pro at giving daddy and I a detailed description of the emotional aspects of her day. Today's first grade soap opera was the fact that Zachary has a crush on her. The rationale for this is when they were playing Star Wars, he didn't "kill" her; and when it was group time in class and she didn't have a group, he invited her to join his. Hey, at least she is logical with her reasoning. Jeremy and I smile, but we are both secretly sweating when we picture her as a hormone-laced teenager. The key to parenting is being a duck - smooth on the surface, paddling like hell underneath.
Her other crush involves Orlando Bloom. Yes, the actor. Specifically the Orlando Bloom from Pirates of the Caribbean. This was cute until she was crying one night because she isn't sure what to do about her feelings for him (I'm not exaggerating. Thank goodness Jeremy was the parent at bat that night). Jeremy and I also exchanged looks when she told us that she had googled him, wrote him a letter, and sweetly left her contact information which includes her address and my cell phone number. Being "The Protector" that he is, Jeremy wants to have a talk about not giving out our personal information to strangers. I know that Natalia will argue that he is not a stranger because she has seen him on TV. I told him to save that talk for when she can construct a proper sentence and not spell half the words phonetically.
Another one of my (many) faults is how I hate doing things that I am not good at. Natalia is the same way. Again, "The Protector" wants her to be able to do some ass kicking should the need arise. I swear she is the only student in her Kenpo karate class who sports a pink flower hair clip pinned behind one ear. She surprised us both because for being such a princess, she has really taken to Kenpo. That being said, she hates getting hit. I feel the same way: please let me wail on you, but don't hit me back because it is uncomfortable. Tonight she got kicked in the thigh by this little hood rat while they were sparring. The studio room is small, so when I say out loud "Kick 'em back, bubbie!", I'm pretty sure all the parents around me can hear. I was hoping that a switch would flip in her little mind and she would go ninja on his little orange belted bootie, but instead she started to cry. Not just a little lip quiver and tear roll - a full on ugly cry. She could barely catch her breath and I caught site of myself in the studio mirror and I was red in the face. I wasn't red with embarrassment, I was red with anger. I know that I am a mean momma bear and really have to rein it in when anyone hurts my child. It will please you all to know that I didn't jump off the wooden bleachers and pound the kid who made my sweet little boogerface cry.
What makes me feel good as a parent is that after she caught her breath, she went back out on the mat to finish her class. Don't get me wrong, she was done with sparring. She bravely stood at her place, finished her push-ups and saluted out. It is times like this that I realize she inspires me to be a better person. Her bravery pushes me to find my place, finish my push ups, and salute out in a way that will inspire more people around me. Hey, moms are works in progress too.
I totally remember being "boy crazy" as young as age five. His name was Sam, he was in my kindergarten class and he kissed me on the cheek at recess. Now, only being the mother of a little girl, I cannot attest to the gossiping skills of boys. Natalia is a pro at giving daddy and I a detailed description of the emotional aspects of her day. Today's first grade soap opera was the fact that Zachary has a crush on her. The rationale for this is when they were playing Star Wars, he didn't "kill" her; and when it was group time in class and she didn't have a group, he invited her to join his. Hey, at least she is logical with her reasoning. Jeremy and I smile, but we are both secretly sweating when we picture her as a hormone-laced teenager. The key to parenting is being a duck - smooth on the surface, paddling like hell underneath.
Her other crush involves Orlando Bloom. Yes, the actor. Specifically the Orlando Bloom from Pirates of the Caribbean. This was cute until she was crying one night because she isn't sure what to do about her feelings for him (I'm not exaggerating. Thank goodness Jeremy was the parent at bat that night). Jeremy and I also exchanged looks when she told us that she had googled him, wrote him a letter, and sweetly left her contact information which includes her address and my cell phone number. Being "The Protector" that he is, Jeremy wants to have a talk about not giving out our personal information to strangers. I know that Natalia will argue that he is not a stranger because she has seen him on TV. I told him to save that talk for when she can construct a proper sentence and not spell half the words phonetically.
Another one of my (many) faults is how I hate doing things that I am not good at. Natalia is the same way. Again, "The Protector" wants her to be able to do some ass kicking should the need arise. I swear she is the only student in her Kenpo karate class who sports a pink flower hair clip pinned behind one ear. She surprised us both because for being such a princess, she has really taken to Kenpo. That being said, she hates getting hit. I feel the same way: please let me wail on you, but don't hit me back because it is uncomfortable. Tonight she got kicked in the thigh by this little hood rat while they were sparring. The studio room is small, so when I say out loud "Kick 'em back, bubbie!", I'm pretty sure all the parents around me can hear. I was hoping that a switch would flip in her little mind and she would go ninja on his little orange belted bootie, but instead she started to cry. Not just a little lip quiver and tear roll - a full on ugly cry. She could barely catch her breath and I caught site of myself in the studio mirror and I was red in the face. I wasn't red with embarrassment, I was red with anger. I know that I am a mean momma bear and really have to rein it in when anyone hurts my child. It will please you all to know that I didn't jump off the wooden bleachers and pound the kid who made my sweet little boogerface cry.
What makes me feel good as a parent is that after she caught her breath, she went back out on the mat to finish her class. Don't get me wrong, she was done with sparring. She bravely stood at her place, finished her push-ups and saluted out. It is times like this that I realize she inspires me to be a better person. Her bravery pushes me to find my place, finish my push ups, and salute out in a way that will inspire more people around me. Hey, moms are works in progress too.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Yep, I talk about my kid pooping
I have to admit, I get a bit stressed over stupid stuff. This morning was kind of typical, so I don't know why I expected something different. I'm pretty sure that is the definition of crazy, but - whatever. I waffle in the mornings between wanting her to make her own independent fashion choices, and wanting her to not look like a 6 year old making her own fashion choices. The middle ground were these leggings that look like jeans - but look like leggings. I have to admit I won when it comes to hairstyle, but feel secretly guilty for shutting down her excitement toward fixing her own hair. Random hair clips, barrettes, scrunchies and such seem to multiply like bunnies in her bathroom drawer. I can pick out a handful of hair accessories that I have bought her, I think the rest come from grandma. She is properly groomed, brushed, and weather-appropriately dressed way before it's time to travel to the bus stop. This is a pretty amazing feat. It's finally time to head to the bus stop (a little late because I was caught up in the facebook alternate universe where time travels more quickly) and she tells me she has to poop. Ugh. She is not a speed pooper. She is a leisurely read-a-magazine and wait-to-make-sure-that-was-it pooper. Needless to say I pack us up in the car and barrel down to the end of the street to make it to the bus by parking the car in front of the loading bus to let her out. I'm pretty sure the bus driver really doesn't care when he sees a straggler running down the street. So I pit him, then smile and wave when she is safely on the bus. Oh, by the way, all while still in my pajamas.
When she gets home, it is family time. My husband and I both have the day off, so it is off to a coffee shop for homework and checkers. Jeremy is really good at strategy games, so I'm glad he is teaching her. I love watching her pace around the game table, contemplating her next move - out loud. She's not very sneaky, but I'm impressed with the thought process. There is a lot of laughter, sugary drinks, and a new found go to spot for family night.
Natalia made us dinner tonight - all except the frying. Six year olds are notoriously clumsy around hot grease. Dinner was a total success and she was so proud. At the coffee shop I was reading a few inserts from the book "Chicken Soup for the Soul". In the parenting section I read about a mother who let her kid play in the milk he spilled all over the kitchen floor. This was like an omen for the full glass of juice spilled at the dinner table tonight. No, she did not get to play in the juice. The moral of the story was not to get ruffled, and have the kid clean it up. Check. That, and the pooping lateness were the most difficult part of my day as a mom today.
Nice work mom. I stayed cool during an inopportune bowel movement and spilled apple juice.
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