A Mexican Called Me Fat

God knew what he was doing when he gave me my baby girl. He looked down from the heavens, saw that my Type A personality was doomed for disapointment in a world that doesn't have a concrete set of rules and instruction manual. And so he gave me her, a surprise, to soon, in my opinion, after her big sister.

The first year I wanted to send her back. She wouldn't sleep, wanted no one but me, would hit a newborn baby if I dared hold it in my arms. I would call my mom in tears, not knowing what to do. Why was it so hard?

And then, something happened. She got her voice around 18 month and it was if her world opened up - no longer holding her back. People would laugh at this tiny little bundle of energy speaking complete sentences. Engaging it conversations. She had so much she wanted to say. She had arrived. She is headstrong and witty and unafraid to speak her mind. She is downright silly. She has a temper and isn't afraid to fight. Timeouts and screaming don't do a damn bit of good. She will listen when she is ready.

She licks the table at breakfast and if you question her, you are the crazy one. Because there is syrup on it. Well, that makes sense now. She is always ready with an answer when her by-the-books big sister asks a question like "Where are all those birds flying Momma.?" "To Hobby Lobby," says Weesie. Of course that's where they are going. She pretty much has an answer to everything in fact. Why the bad mood Weesie, "A witch turned me into a toot." Good job shifting the blame.

But her tough attitude is just a cover for her gentle heart. Unafraid to speak her mind but afraid of anything that moves fast or goes to high (including car washes), she cried when her sister wanted to jump on an aerial trampoline. She is kind, and gentle and sticks up for her family.

And she keeps me on my toes. Looking sad one day I asked her what was wrong. If anything hurt. She replied, "Yes Momma. My feelings." My heart broke. "Why do your feelings hurt?" She replied, "Someone called me fat." Now I was mortified, afraid of what the pre-teen and teen years had in store for us. "Who called you fat?" "A Mexican." And now I could laugh.

She will read a book cover to cover making up the words. While in the bathroom. And at school, asking classmates to bring her books.

I thank God everyday for sending her to me. As we get closer to her turning 3, I am amazed at the little person she has become. I wouldn't trade a sleepless night, a public meltdown, a dinner-time battle, a battle of wits for anything. She is the person I wish I could be more like.

Why do we have kids?

Alot has happened recently that has me questioning -  why do we have kids? From facebook groups for babies passing well before their time to dear friends grappling with diagnoses no parent should ever have to hear. Nightmares and skinned knees, broken hearts, broken spirits, weekly visits to the pediatrician to clear up illnesses that just won't go - why do we do it to ourselves? Before having kids I didn't know how vulnerable they leave you. You open your heart to disappointment, fear and heartache. A very wise woman once told me that every time you see your baby hurt it leaves little scars on your heart. So wouldn't it be easier to just not deal with it?

Without kids my husband and I could take that Fiji vacation we've always dreamed of. I wouldn't be up at night worrying about how we're  going to pay for school. I could sleep 7 hours straight. I could take up a hobby, pursue some interests. My house would be clean and I could afford to furnish it in whatever matter I deemed appropriate, white couches and all. I wouldn't get a lump in my throat every time I thought about something happening to them. I could go to the bathroom by myself.

So why do we do it? Because they have provided my life more meaning in the four short years since becoming a parent than in the entire 30 before. Because my heart has grown in ways I didn't know possible. I have laughed so hard water has come out my nose and I have cried in frustration. And cuddling during story time makes my heart melt. I have created life, and now I get to cultivate it and watch it grow. And seeing the pride they take in learning things that I take for granted is pretty awesome. I get to have dance parties and spin around in the grass until I get dizzy. I bake cupcakes and clean up finger paint messes. Yes, I have wiped countless noses and booties. But I have also witnessed naked kids riding scooters through the house. I am smarter because of them. They have taught me that at the end of the day birds travel in flocks to Hobby Lobby and that the moon likes guacamole. Oh, and if you have to reach the moon, a giraffe is your best bet. And when I hear them giggling together its impossible not to smile. Sometimes my heart feels like it is going to burst. Because I can say that I honestly, truly know love. Mad, passionate, all-encompassing love.

They make me want to strive to be the best person I can be, because I want them to be the best people they can be. And I want so bad for them to be proud of me. They teach me that life is made up of tiny moments. And all the imperfections in those moments. They are beautiful, amazing, innocent people that view the world as a wondrous place.  They make me keenly aware of my own mortality, and how there are no guarantees in life. And it's hard. Really hard. And I know it will only get harder. I know that. And yet I accept the challenge. Because the rewards are so great.

Tucking my oldest in bed last night she wouldn't let me go. "Mommy - I love you sooo much. I just can't stop hugging you!" I think that pretty much sums it up.

Happy New Year

My husband says I am like a tornado. I come in, make a mess and leave;) Never truly finishing one thing. I used to argue with him, but with age comes wisdom. I can't seem to finish anything. I don't always remember being this way. Maybe it was having two kids 17 months apart and becoming a stay-at-home mom. Maybe it's the 3am wake up calls to let me know they fell out of the bed or want a banana. Maybe its the laundry that never seems to get done. Or the dinner that needs to be cooked. Or the fight that needs to be broken up. Or the boo boo that needs to be kissed. Maybe it's fear. I could go on. But I won't. Because to kick off the new year I am making a resolution - and one that I am going (to try really, really) to keep. I will do what I say I am going to do and I will finish what I start. Because there are to many inspirational quotes on pinterest telling me it is possible.

To put me in the right frame of mind I re-read Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project." I love that book. I've tried reading books from the likes of spiritual masters like Eckhart Tolle and quite frankly, I don't get them. I really tried, but honestly - they just aren't for me. But Gretchen approaches things differently. As a mom, a wife, a lawyer turned writer. So I can relate. I bring up the book because it provided me many "ah-ha moments". And reading it a second time, one line really stood out to me - "Don't let perfect be the enemy of good." 

Which brings me full circle back to my resolution. I think I stop doing things because I'm worried they won't be perfect. I tried sewing for a few weeks, jogging for a month, painting a piece of furniture that has sat in my garage for almost a year and starting a blog that hasn't seen a post in three months. But when I get out of my comfort zone and worry what others might think I come up with an excuse why I can't finish. God, I hate it when my husband is right.

I hope 2013 is filled with exciting new ventures, a lot of laughter, a few completed DIY projects and the acceptance that pretty good is sometimes the best we got. And that's plenty.  

Happy Birthday Peanut!

My sweet Peanut - you turn four today. The countdown started about three weeks ago and now the big day is here! You have been soo excited. I wish I could stop time and keep you just the way you are. But I said that at eight months, and 18 months and two and a half. So really I don't - because I wouldn't get to watch you grow into the amazing little person you are.

I always say I'm not sure what I did on this earth to get to be your mommy. That big smile that greets me every morning. That inquisitive little brain of yours or that big heart that says "that's ok" every single time your little sister whacks you over the head. The way you color in the lines and are a pro at puzzles but get annoyed if you can't get it right. How after baking together you look at me and say "thank you momma for baking cupcakes for my class." Your absolute love for anything involving craft paper and glue and how your tiny body fits perfectly in the crook of my arms as if we were made for each other. How you hate spaghetti but love sushi. I know perfect doesn't really exist but you are certainly perfect to me. Three year-old whining tantrums and all.

Your grandma used to always tell me that I "was the beat in her heart" and I never really got it. But oh do I get it now. You are the person that made me a mom. That's a pretty big deal. You are the person that showed me how much my heart was truly capable of loving. And how scary loving someone that much can be. You teach me everyday to slow down and savor the little things. And how much possibility the world has.

It's hard to believe that four years has gone by since I took that little five pound peanut with a head full of thick black hair home from the hospital. Thank you for being my sweet angel and happy birthday. I love you super big.

Mommy

Sleep

Isn't it funny how inspiration hits when you least expect it? I've been struggling with what to write for the past week, in between life and laundry I feel like I'm struggling to find my voice. And then at 4am I hear a tiny one. "Mommy - I have to go pee pee." So potty we go. Back to bed, although now I'm composing a mental to-do list in my head.

"Momma!!" "Momma!" I jump out of bed and go running to Weesie's room. "I want an apple," comes through tear-filled sobs. "It's to early for an apple, go back to bed," I tell her as I lovingly stroke her little head. Back to my bedroom I go. "What was that about," comes a voice from the other side of the bed. "She wanted an apple." He laughs. I don't.

Pitter, patter. Pitter, patter. It's the oldest again. "Mommy, I need to pee pee again." Dear lord, we may need to see a doctor. Mid-potty break, the sounds of screaming come from the little one's room yet again. "Go back to sleep baby, it's to early to get up." "But Momma, I want a granola bar." (I'm glad she's at least asking for healthy snacks :) "When you wake up honey."

Then I hear that squeaky voice again. "Mommy, what's wrong with my sister?" "She wanted a granola bar." She smiles and goes back to bed. Last ditch effort, it's 4:40, I can get one more hour of sleep in. "Momma!! I want some water!" It's a compromise, I bring her the water.

5am. All is quiet. I wish I knew what my husband took at night that immobilizes his legs and keeps him snug in bed from the hours of 11pm-6am. And I really want to be annoyed with the fact that my day has begun earlier than expected but now I laugh. Because its funny. And I remember something I saw posted on facebook the other day.



Ain't that the truth :) Time to make some coffee.

Lessons from Issac

Preschool started and unfortunately was not the hit I was hoping for. After a great summer, I don't think any of us were really ready for what "back to school" entailed. And after just two weeks, everyone was on edge. Peanut was making up illnesses, Weesie was crying and Momma was going crazy because no one seemed happy and I was at a loss as to what to do. I was having a million conversations in my head...

"Do they really have to go to school so young?"
"It's great for socialization."

"Why doesn't Peanut like it?"
"She misses her friend silly, she will get through it."

"I'm not working, shouldn't I just save the money?"
"Mommies need time to."

I'm a worrier by nature - my husband calls me Chicken Little. And then a few weeks in we were told to "hunker down" due to possible impact from Tropical Storm Issac.  I was secretly excited about a couple days at home. And worrying about Issac moved my mind from worrying about preschool. The girls and I stocked up on supplies, and prayed for family and friends in Louisiana as the storm neared closer.

When there is no where you have to be you can take time to just be a family. We were lucky - we never lost power, just got wind and a whole bunch of rain. And so I guess you could say Issac put it in perspective for me, sometimes you just need to slow down, take a deep breath and...

Bake cookies

Leave the house in your jammies

Play board games

Watch reality TV (Peanut pointing out her favorite contestant on So You Think You Can Dance)

Run in the rain

Cook a fancy breakfast

Have a dance party

And cherish all the little moments. "Hunkering down" accomplished :)

Pretty Good, Not Perfect

Every momma has her "go-to" dish. You know the one you whip up when you have absolutely no desire to cook but know that feeding your children is the right thing to do? Mine is chicken spaghetti. With a maiden name like Vinterella you may be thinking "yum!". But in reality it requires three things - boneless chicken thighs, a jar of spaghetti sauce (one with absolutely no clumps of stuff in it which will drive my finicky 3 year old into a tailspin) and noodles. One pot and dinner is served.

So I thought all was well in the land of chicken spaghetti, until the fateful day I decided to ask Peanut (the finicky 3 year old) what she thought of dinner. Her response, "Umm. It's pretty good, not perfect." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Sure I hadn't slaved all day over a hot stove, but I also didn't realize I was grooming a tiny perfectionist in the making. So, I laughed. Something I have learned to do a lot since becoming a stay-at-home mom.

I saw a quote the other day, it was attributed to Jill Churchill. "The most important thing she had learned over the years is that there was no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one."

Since walking away from my job at an ad agency two years ago, being that perfect mom has eluded me. At work you get raises or bonuses for a job well done and if you screw up, well no one is afraid to tell you that either. But when your clients fall into the three and under category the feedback isn't as clear cut. 

But on that fateful chicken spaghetti night, the wheels of change began to turn. My sweet little Peanut had a voice now. And right after she told me that my cooking was mediocre, she followed it up with, "I love you mommy." I'll take that.