Category Archives: Baby

To My Child

Posted in Baby, Beauty, Children, Kid Stuff, Kids, Mommydom, motherhood, Parenting by

To My Child

I hope you learn that life isn’t fair.  But that that doesn’t mean it is all bad.

I hope you smile at people, even strangers, and look people in the eye.

I hope you chew with your mouth closed.

I hope you learn how to listen – really listen – to others when they need to be heard, and to the quiet beat of your own heart.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BJ-2ue3jmrr/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

 

I hope you learn to win and lose with grace.

I hope you love and appreciate the beautiful, intricate, amazing body you’re in.

I hope you can be silly for the joy of it, and can laugh at yourself and with others kindly.

I hope you have good manners and know when to use them (almost always) and when to relax them.

I hope you trust. In others, and in yourself.

I hope you know how to make something with your own brain and hands – a song, food, a painting, a stone wall.

I hope you learn, without too many tough consequences, that attempts to escape problems, hurt, and heartbreak never really work for long.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BKdyYH9DTe8/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

 

I hope you pick up after yourself.

I hope you decide that it is wise and healthy to get enough sleep.

I hope you learn how to advocate for yourself without demanding, complaining or whining.

I hope you understand that stuff is just stuff.

I hope you learn you can expect goodness, but not perfection, from other people. Or from yourself.

I hope you learn how to own up to your own misdeeds, mistakes and slights without excuses, blame or deflection.

I hope you keep learning, about the world, about other people, and about yourself.

I hope you work in any small or large way to make your community, corner, city, world, a tiny bit more just and beautiful.

And I hope you know that when in doubt, you should just put stuff in the trash, and not the garbage disposal.

First Day and Everyday

Posted in Baby, Balance, Children, Home, Kid Stuff, Kids, Mommydom, motherhood, Parenting by

Pickle

First grade starts next week.

First grade for my kind, freckled thinker who is finding his voice, and up at night pondering the merits of inboard motors.

He will be fine.  What choice does he have other than to be fine, to navigate his life on his own, at least a little bit, and figure out the way of the world through the small, significant, triumphs and heartbreaks of childhood.

The skinny-legged boy with the too-big backpack (aren’t they all?) will walk into school and I will drive away.  And get a coffee.  And drive to work.  I will not worry.

I am ready for the big moments.

I am ready for first steps, lost teeth, first days.  I am ready to watch them glide away without training wheels, to sound out books on their own, to tie their shoes.

My tender heart catches when I least expect it.

When the biggest helps the littlest with his shoes.

When the middle uses a big word I haven’t heard her use before.

When the wobbly toddler gait all of a sudden becomes smooth and coordinated.

We may mark the time with first steps and first days.  But it is those tiny changes, the ones we almost don’t see, that add up to people, our people, growing a hair’s width every night.  Our little people whose lives slowly and beautifully start to become their own, separate from us.  One millimeter, one second at a time.

In the cool dark, the clock ticks and they sing our bedtime songs with lyrics of their own.  And then a quiet pause as they drift away into dreams that are theirs alone.

 

 

Pistachio Turned Two

Posted in Admissions of a Tired Mom, Baby, Children, Kid Stuff, Kids, Mommydom, Parenting by
A few weeks late my dearest little.
You turned two.  TWO!
And cried when we sang to you.
And passed on the cake, too.
Because now it’s time to do things your way.
Because you’re two.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BC4AVOVO4xh5DyFHjMtMkVQoniCHNdJjs4nojs0/

Our puzzle doer, our book reader, who loves to show us and tell us that you get it, that you’ve got things figured out. You ask for what you want. Your demands are most often reasonable, a banana, a book, a binkie, a blanket, and bed.

https://www.instagram.com/p/2Mt0q0O46ptWvRAOLZvUXJbTr-9E9pDlQRxJ80/

https://www.instagram.com/p/65ywCNO45uJe14OrerIAzS19sgYTsWMUphcmk0/

Our blonde, dimple-cheeked boy, with the adorable almost-buck-toothed grin and throaty giggle.  I worry about that mischievous glint in your eye, but I don’t worry much.

https://www.instagram.com/p/8GUYDcO463clkgtKocfv_9ej-d2uh7IBNYHo40/

https://www.instagram.com/p/4dCMecO47-ehcZo4o8wGl8qtAfVzkEkLk-nIM0/

Our curious boy, who tries to stump us, by suggesting random animals and items during our nightly singing of “Old MacDonald.”  I never knew that Old MacDonald’s farm contained a bear, an ear and a blanket.  And I do not know what sound an ear makes.

https://www.instagram.com/p/5VpfCou4yhbi-tzyzYb4GOuSxlIVQoEAD-r2k0/

https://www.instagram.com/p/9hbhy4u472ZX0zyKPOSagV49ihuVURqKz3GEs0/

Our cuddly guy, the one most likely to climb into my lap, and cuddle into my side. Always willing to snuggle in the low light before bed.  Longer legs dangle now, but your head still fits perfectly between my ear and my shoulder.

https://www.instagram.com/p/6vnF0ku48O9swFjHNp9n-qbjktAUTJCFIrxVM0/

I love how you love your siblings, and how they love you.  The three of you are so joyful in the mornings, when you greet each other in your room, tickled that you’re all together another day, making that laughing, glorious noise that can only be created by gaggles of small delighted children. You are gifts to one another.  You are gifts to us.

https://www.instagram.com/p/_sKLWRu4_YQ60q5XQhB-gX7qLQ0YGJzFNxMSw0/

https://www.instagram.com/p/_QIvmGu40sTWMyQT1sFlqnroadwfCIJJFGQ4Q0/

I love you so much my dear littlest one. Happy birthday to you.

https://www.instagram.com/p/_uXVWZu4yGq9TQfT8zoQtIQPBxX3Qeu_DGMXU0/

To my firstborn at midnight.

Posted in Baby, Children, Kids, Mommydom, Parenting by

To My Firstborn at Midnight

I wake you gently at midnight.

And you yawn and stretch,

Your mouth widening into the imperfect “O” I suddenly remember from years ago,

When your limbs were not so long, your sleep not so solid.

When you were still so small you fit in my arms. And we spent minutes and hours in the glow of the hall nightlight.

Your face, grown, is still yours.

And your crooked yawn is the same.

And I can’t quite believe how heavy you have become as I pick up your slack, warm, lanky body that smells like spit, and sweet sweat, and blankets.

And I am glad. And tired.

Because the middle of the quiet nights with you are mine alone.

It will be years until another person knows your midnight yawn.

For now, it is all mine.