Tag Archives: kids

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.

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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.

 

 

Just a Tiny Bit Magic

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

He thumps quickly into the bedroom, breathless and scared.

“Mom, I had a scary dream,” he says, voice shaky.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry.  What was your dream about?”

“There was a bad man with white eyes who made me go to jail,” he says, crawling up into my bed and into my arms.

“That sounds very scary.  But you’re safe.  No one is going to take you to jail. You’re safe,” I repeat.

He sighs, his body relaxes, but his heart still pounds.  We snuggle in the pre-dawn light. I can just hear the birds starting to sing.  After a quiet few moments I ask, “Are you ready to go back in your bed?”  He nods.

“Will you carry me?” he asks, voice low.  It is a rare request.

“Of course,” I say as I pick him up and he wraps his thin, strong, spidery limbs around me.

I place him in bed, pull the covers over him, kiss his head and return to my bed.

Three minutes later I hear his footsteps again.

“Mom, I can’t get the pictures out of my head, can you erase them?”

I nod.

He climbs into my bed, and I reach up to rub the back of his head.  I brush his hair from his eyes, and massage his scalp, mumbling as I go, “Yes… got it… right there… this should work.”  This is the nightmare erasing ritual I created a few years ago, based on an improvisational parenting moment (aren’t they all?), based on an idea I had given my little sister post-nightmare, 25 years ago.  It is perhaps a bit dishonest, in the same vein as kissing away the hurt.  But it is a version of the mother/child pact that has probably existed as long as there have been mothers and children.  Moms make things better.

Someday, he will understand that I don’t have the power to erase anything.  That I can’t really fix very much, that I’m not even “just a tiny bit magic” like he thinks I am now.  He will realize that the world can be big, and mean and complicated.  Perhaps he’s started to figure this out already.

But tonight, in the dark, I am his mom, and I have the ability to fix it.  I can heal, I can help, I can calm.  And I can make the bad dreams go away.  I do not take that loving trust lightly.

“That’s better,” he whispers.  And this time, we hold hands as I walk him back to his room and warm bed.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDb6x2CO46l/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

To Plum at Four

Posted in Children, Kid Stuff, Kids, Miscellany by

(Late again on this birthday update – time and tax season are to blame.  But now, here we are, just around the corner from Pickle’s 6th, so Plum certainly deserves a small ode to her 4th.)

https://www.instagram.com/p/BEcK_UjO42t/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

To Plum at Four

And just like that, you turned the corner from toddler to kid.  Little to big.

 

https://www.instagram.com/p/BD1ss9Ru4wY/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

My sweet Plum with the “golden” hair and silly hula moves.

https://www.instagram.com/p/7ESvO2u4wt/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

You are the brightest star.  I finally understand what it means when they say someone is “beaming” because your huge smile IS sunshine.  Actual sunshine.

https://www.instagram.com/p/8vtb6eO4z3/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

You love to play and be heard.  You love your own space.  Your hugs are always lovely surprises.

https://www.instagram.com/p/88ddgfO41O/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

You are brave.  You love to run.  You love to help (until you don’t).  You love Elsie cat so much we worry slightly for her safety.  You are good at being part of a team.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDgYtoGu42W/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

You are silly and smart, fun and funny.  You are confident.  You work hard.  And more than anyone I know, the camera catches the essence of you.  Perhaps because you don’t hold back, or perhaps because you just can’t help but let your light shine through.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BB_XTYuO460/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

You are my middle, and perhaps – unsure when to lead and when to follow – you just decided to do it your own dang way in your own sweet time.   And I love you for it.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BBL-FHdu49-/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

Happy birthday Plum.  Four is awesome, and so are you.

https://www.instagram.com/p/4u9dX9u4-W/?taken-by=sarkytartlet

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/

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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/

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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/

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

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Plum is Three

Posted in Kid Stuff, Kids, Mommydom, Parenting by

My dearest Plum, 

Sweet Baby Girl

I was about to write your brother’s “Happy Birthday” post when I realized that I never wrote one for you.  Alas, your March birthday – right in the thick of winter and our family’s craziest time of year – means that your big 3rd birthday recap is 2 months late.

 Birthday #3

The way I feel about you, the way I love you is difficult for me to type out in words. Not just because the feelings are so big, but because you are a complicated and amazing little person.

 Bed head

You are my girl.

Love this Goofy gals Mom love

You are so able to go with the flow. Until you aren’t.  

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You know what you want. 

Anna loves balloons (1)

We never have to wonder about what you’re feeling, though I often wonder what you’re thinking.

All style (1)

You have worked so hard lately to understand your very big feelings.  I’m so proud of you for this. And I’m so proud of how you’ve put words to them.  

Joyful (1)

Sometimes you thrive on your successes, working to be a big girl.

She found a highlighter (1)

Sometimes you choose to do whatever the heck you feel like.  I love this about you, although it can make parenting you a challenge.

So serious.

You challenge me, you always have.  I hope I help to guide you to good choices, without tamping down your spirit, your pluck, your voice.

My Anna (1)

You are silly.  You ask good questions.  You are learning how to be in charge of yourself. 

Joyful Anna

You are brave. Not a daredevil, but brave. Braver than I ever was.

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Your waters run deep, my little girl.  This is so very obvious to me, and perhaps why it is hard to describe and define you. 

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I am sometimes too hard on you – and perhaps expect too much. After all you are only 3.  I’m not sure why I do this – maybe because we’re so different, or maybe because we’re so alike.

 Outside fun. Spring finally (1)

Happy birthday dearest Plum, you are my heart.

Questions and Answers

Posted in Kids, Mommydom, Parenting by

Pickle is 4.5 years old.  I’ve already fielded some tough questions.  Why is the sun hot? Why are grandmas called grandmas?  Did they have to cut you to get the baby in your tummy? Why do we have seasons?  But today’s question was the hardest.

Pickle was sitting in the rear row of the minivan, gazing out the window.  The heat was cranked up, since the thermometer read “12” and Frozen was playing loudly (per Plum’s request, of course).

“Why do people die?”  he asked.

“WHAT?!” I yelled.  It was hard to hear his soft voice over the heater vents and Idina Menzel.

“WHY DO PEOPLE DIE?”  he yelled back.

I paused.  I turned down the radio, and the heat.

“Are you worrying about that?” He nodded.  “Pickle, all living things die.  I know that sounds scary, but it is just the way the world works.”

“Even cars?”

“Well, cars aren’t alive, but cars break and stop, and their parts wear out.  Just like our parts can wear out or stop. Remember how I told you about Grandpa Harvey?  How his heart broke, and they couldn’t fix it? How they couldn’t make it better?”  He nodded again.

I looked in my rearview mirror.  He was thinking.

I wanted to be honest.  I wanted him to know about the bad things, the bad people, the sadness, but I want him to love this life, to live fully and freely and to be happy despite those things.  I wanted him to know that maybe there is a heaven, that maybe there isn’t.  I wanted him to know that there are things I don’t know.  Though at 4 years old, I’m sure he is comforted by the fact that I probably know everything. Because moms and dads do.

His brow furrowed.  “Will it hurt?” he asked, lip trembling.

“Will it hurt when you die?”  He nodded.  “Pickle, I don’t know.  I don’t know what it is like to die.  I know that sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it doesn’t.  But I do know that you have a very long time to live before that.  Maybe even a hundred years.”  I hoped with all of my heart that I was telling him the truth.

I wasn’t sure, after the very normal morning we’d had, why these thoughts were running through his head.

I wanted to comfort him.  I am the fixer, after all.  I am the mom.  According to Pickle, I am even “a little bit magic.”  I can tell him when he’s going to throw up.  I know when he has thwacked his sister, even if he has denied it.  I know where his misplaced toys are, the t-shirt he wants to wear.  I know things.  I’m the mom. It’s what we do.

“Pickle, I wish I had better answers for you.  I wish I knew why we died, or if it will hurt.  But I don’t know.  All I know is that you have a lot of things left to do.  You’ll play basketball, you’ll learn to drive. You can grow up big and tall like Dad, you can get married and have your own babies if you want.  Do you think you might want to do that?”

He paused, took a breath, and caught my eye in the rearview mirror.  “Yeah,” he said nodding, mind made up, “I think I want to do that.”

 

Pickle