PLEASE BE PATIENT

as i update the site :) Thank you.

My Beanie at 3!

To my Beanie,

Mommy may not be the best mommy in the world. Mommy may not balance life so well all of the time, but everyday my wish is that you always know that you are so very loved. You've grown so much and you're the biggest chatter box. It makes me laugh most of the time, but it also makes me want ear plugs some days. You say the funniest things at the most random moments to remind me to slow down and listen to what you have to say. I love that we can have a conversation now. As much as it drives me bananas, I also love that you are feisty and coy and you make everyone that meets you work (hard!) for your affection. Frustrating at times, but mostly I'm proud. That little brain of yours retains so much information that at times I'm taken aback by how much you know and how much you actually remember. You're as cute as a button, as sharp as ever, so so sweet, and while our days don't always end the way it does in story books, or our mornings aren't so perfectly kicked off, it's our life and it makes my world perfect because you, my baby, make mommy's world perfect. At 3 or 13 or 30, I hope you know that, that will never change. I love you and there will never be enough ways to show you or enough languages to tell it to you. I can't believe you're 3!

Love,
Mommy.

Yes, yes, I am slacking in the blogging department. It's not that I don't think of it. I have 13 drafts just sitting there unfinished. Thoughts that don't have an ending. It was recently Bean's third birthday. It's still hard for me to believe that it's only been 3 years. This life changing, life altering moment happened merely 3 years and 18 days ago. I hardly remember what my life consisted of before she was born nor have I much cared for what it used to be prior to her birth. I remember very little about a whole crap mess load of things. I've grown so much that any other relationship outside of parenthood, I have very little trouble turning my back on without so much as batting an eye, but I haven't forgotten the moment since she's been born that I've had with her.

I've perused through my blogs back to the very first day, and I still remember the feeling of sheer and utter euphoria. Exhausted, overwhelmed and ever deliriously happy just to watch her sleep, make her smile, watch her eat, and to just stare at this little person I've created. Whatever the mess life was beyond that hadn't registered, and I'm not sure I would have cared even if I had been more cognizant. And you know what? Not much has changed. My imperfect perfection.









These are her angry, happy, sad and surprised faces. Hahah she cracks me up.













And bath time before bed




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Prayers Curses or Just Life?

As a parent, when children are targeted, it hits a very personal space in your heart. At least it does mine. It doesn't matter how old my child is compared to theirs. It doesn't matter that I don't know you or that I've never seen your son or daughter before. It makes it hard to swallow because tonight and every night since the shooting and every night from today - there is a parent crying a gut wrenching, soul shattering sob at the sight of a bed full of stuffed animals, a room painted a pale shade of pink with a dollhouse looking unnaturally lonely in a room that is now empty when it should be occupied with a little girl tucked in safely asleep with a night-light glowing beside her head. There will be a parent staring into a darkened room cluttered with toy cars and trains, with a t-ball bat leaning on the side of the wall crying softly and asking into the night to noone in particular "why my baby". These are the thoughts that consume me without the distractions of the outside. I can almost hear the whispers of the parents wondering "what do we do now", the sobbing of guilt ridden parents wishing they'd sent their son or daughter off with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without such a fight or the frustration they showed because the kids weren't putting on their coats quickly enough on the rush out the door, the prayers for someone to keep their angels safe, the cursing God for taking away their most precious part of life. This is what goes through my mind when I allow myself to think about it. I can't fathom what these families must be going through in their torment.

My daughter sleeps soundly in her bed, in her pink comforter and polka dot sheets, stuffed bunny tucked under one arm and a small yellow pillow tucked under the other, breathing softly and occasionally mumbling. I know the night before the incident, all the parents with their kids safely tucked away in much the same way felt the same thing I do most nights - "ahhh finally, some peace and quiet" not knowing that tragedy would take away the life you knew in a matter of single night.

I didn't allow myself to think very much about the incident. Mostly because I'll panic. My thoughts will run wild with the what-ifs and when you're already in a gray zone in the feel-too-much department, those thoughts will consume you and make you handicap. I'm good at shutting down and compartmentalizing things. I did just that all weekend. I shopped for Christmas as I'd planned to do. I played with my little girl, we ate junk food - more than I normally would allow, we shopped, we laughed, we teased, I still got frustrated with her, and I still made her eat all her food like the bully parent that I am. She still had to say all her please-s, sorries, and thank you-s, but I'd catch a moment where my thoughts would drift to the incident of the shooting and my heart would constrict and I'd kiss her lightly on her nose. I would ignore the sad thoughts and bring myself back to the present because as selfish as this will sound - I still have my baby to nuzzle into that makes her squirm and yell "no mommy, no kiss neck", to make silly faces with, to squeeze her cheeks because it makes her laugh hysterically, to yell at because she wouldn't eat her lunch, to squeeze the jelly out of donut holes while waiting to pay for all the things we gathered at the stores and laugh as if it were the funniest thing ever. I didn't want the thoughts of Newtown, CT associated with her in any way to take away the moment I needed to enjoy her.

I was kept busy. We spent a good amount of time outdoors, at the outlet, watching throngs of people going about their shopping expedition and flowing along with the crowds. Kept well distracted by the TV at the end of a long shopping day eating take out Chinese food from the containers over mindless conversation. I spent the remainder joining in on the fun of friends getting together for the holidays over drinks, great food, overwhelming quantities of cakes, pastries, laughs and jokes, endless banter and chatter.

It's quiet and dark now and since I'm left without much distraction, the much ignored thoughts and feelings arising from the incident of the shooting weigh heavily replaying in my head - a version possibly thought up in my own mind from the pieces I couldn't help but hear on the news, or maybe that's exactly how it happened. The terror and fear, the knot and weight, the anxiety and the panicky feelings bubble just beneath the surface because I am aware that these things happen all around the world, and unfortunately, they happen far too often and there are no exceptions.

I don't like the sugar coating and the truth is, none of these families will get over what happened because there's no explaining something so tragic, something so senseless, so brutal. It should serve as a reminder for the rest of us far more fortunate that it's okay if you're running late and your daughter has her shoes on the wrong feet or that you're on the way out and your son has to go to the bathroom the minute you pull out of your driveway because at least, at the very least, we can put our daughter's shoes on properly and the worst that can happen is that our sons don't make it all the way to the bathroom and we have just a little more laundry. We still sleep tonight knowing that they're in the next room, safely tucked away in their rooms dreaming sweet dreams. There are parents now out there whose time expired to enjoy even those moments that make us want to scream and pull our hair out. This should also serve as a reminder that it could've been any of us and there are no guarantees in life. There is no order in which we are to live or die. We only have the cards we hold.

Still my heart and mind fail to grasp the how in all this and what I see when I hear these stories is the sweet face of my baby girl and that is enough to unravel me entirely. Just the simple thought of the possibility is enough to undo me at the seams.

Crappy Parent Award

Goes to.... (Drum roll please!).... Yours truly.

My Bean is getting bigger. By bigger I mean smarter. By smarter I mean feistier and opinionated and she tests me to limits beyond limits, but I make no excuses. I don't always have the patience I should. I don't always speak kindly, my tone with her rises frequently now and too often I forget that this month marks her 3 years, and I at times expect more from her than I have a right to expect from a baby. I talk about how much she understands, knows, thinks, because I watch her blooming but she is still only a baby. My fears arise from the fact that I am the only disciplinarian. She gets babied by everyone else and I had almost felt that it was becoming "baby demands; baby gets" and I don't have the kind of self clearance to be okay with it. I also remind myself constantly that there has to be more than tough love to reign in the whining and tantrums and my "how to make a perfect parent" manual failed at preparing me for such things. I will be better. I will always try.












Berenstain Bears Live - a day on the town!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Miss Bean at Near 3

I've been suffering from some slight block. I have so much to share but between drafting, deleting, filtering and curbing some thoughts - it's hard to get a feel of the wheel turning smoothly so that what I share is conveyed the way it should be. My Bean at almost 3 years old is challenging as ever and oh so edible still. I watch her silly ways and laugh to tears, I watch her meltdown-y kind of tantrums and at times wish to throw one down with her. Most of all, I wonder to myself often, how can I be better, how can I give her everything she deserves, what can I do for her to make her grow into exactly what she is now - compassionate, emphatic, happy, jovial, pure, full of spunk, full of smiles, affection, and just ever so happy for the simplest things in life. How can I repay this little girl for teaching me things I would not have learned any other way? How can I give back to her so much of what she has given me?












- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Happy Pickin'

We haven't been here a while. I've had a bit of mental block for writing.
Pictures speak volumes too so here we are saying hello














One below is my cleanliness obsessed baby complaining that the pumpkins are dirty.
















Pumpkin carving is not something I would do had I not been a mom.... But hi, meet Putter!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

It's Your Fault

When your baby gets sick, there is always some part of you that wonders if perhaps it isn't all the other children in daycare, but just maybe, maybe, it's your fault. You ask, "has she not enough nutrition lately? I have been rather busy...". "Has she not been sleeping as well? I have been staying up a bit late these days. Am I keeping her up?". Somehow, the little voice in your head says it's you who have been doing too much or not enough to pay more or better attention to the baby. You promise you'll be better, do more, do less. Whatever it takes if just she would come back to her peppy little self. And she has and I get to breathe a little sigh of relief.






Then FINALLY! -







- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Inadequacy

As I get older, the more I feel I should be doing. For her because nothing is ever enough, for me because I feel like I had more potential and that should never be in the past tense, yet as of late, it is used more in the context of "I once had" than a "I can". There's so much I want for this little girl, and yet - ... I feel so limited. This is what I have been doing:



And of course, so much and never enough of this:






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I love you

Let's call her JoJo. Actually, I do call her that. Anyway, her question to me was, "you're just in love with her, aren't you" to which I said nothing and smiled and then we both sat a while laughing and comparing stories. Yes, it's true. Every mother loves their baby unconditionally and it shows when you speak of them. I absolutely love mine. Is that something that is announced? No. It just is and they just know as her name flows out of my mouth in answer to whatever question I am asked about her. It's also true that she makes me insanely bonkers some days and frustrated too, but it doesn't change that it is truly something that cannot be explained or described in words of any language. It just is what it is, in the best sense of its meaning, ya know?




















- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Quality Time

Some days I just don't feel like there are enough hours in the day to spend the kind of time I want with her. Between work, dinner, dishes, the cleaning up, bath before bed - it doesn't leave a lot of time leftover for the snuggling or the bedtime stories before sleep and the guilt associated with that is enormous. In all honesty, some nights, I can't wait until she's asleep because the day has just been way too long. There's that word again - guilt. It'll kill you slowly. Lately, I've just been feeling like a crap parent. Not because I'm doing or not doing anything differently but more so because the kind of balance I am used to keeping has shifted a bit. I can watch her sleeping - this tiny little lump on her too large twin sized bed, butt up in the air, and I can feel my throat tighten and the tears threaten to flow - out of sheer love. I never knew the meaning of "tears of happiness". It sounds like a load of crap, doesn't it? Who cries because they're happy!? Well - it wasn't until I gave birth leading up to present day that it made total sense. I'm not exactly the emotional type, but even I can cry almost at will watching her. This impossibly strong willed, do it all myself, sweet, playful, funny, kid that I baked. It's hard to watch her and not feel the kind of love and contentment. This is what parenthood is and it's so easily forgotten through the routines, the bickering which has begun, the tantrums at times, but if you stop for even a moment to look over and really freeze in that moment, you realize that's really what it's about. Not the amount of time, but the small moments that catch your breath unexpectedly. The sweet smell of baby, the sweet moment that she lays her head on your shoulder, the way she comes to you as your running from one end of the house to the other with your various tasks at hand and says "mommy, I need help", the way she walks over to your bed as you vaguely hear her tiptoe-ing her way in as she snuggles up to your side saying, "wakey wakey mommy". It's moments like these that make your heart swell and sing.
























Even though you promised that you would walk, but still made me carry you all around the park, I am the luckiest mommy ever baby because I have you.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone