Eight

We are eight days into the new year and she is eight days into being an eight-year-old. I'm not sure where the time has gone, and I can remember her birth day as if it were yesterday, and all the old clichés of time going to fast and children growing up.

About a month before her birthday I already started thinking of her as an eight-year-old and even had to correct myself a few times. Strange for me to rush her age considering I am usually holding back tears at the thought of them getting older, yet in this case when the day actually came, it felt right. Probably because I was already referring to her as eight in my mind.

Since having a New Year's Day baby eight years ago, the first day of the New Year does not feel as renewing and fresh and calling me to make resolutions and goals and to start my year with pep and zest. Although maybe I was never that way and now I'm just more aware of it. The New Year is fun, of course, but mostly I am thinking about my oldest and how it is HER day because that's what birthdays are.

This was the first year we let our girls (the older two anyway) stay up until midnight, and they did. And when the countdown to midnight came to an end instead of, "Happy New Year!" my husband lifted his glass and said, "Happy Birthday, Hope!" And my heart skipped a beat and I was mostly just happy that he thought to do something so special (and I didn't let myself focus on feeling sad that I hadn't thought of it too).

I am continually amazed at what a beautiful young soul this child of mine is. And I am continually scared that I am going to completely mess up raising her in some significant way. I will never have all the answers and I will never do everything single thing right, but I will promise to do the best that I can and to be there for her, however she needs.

On January 1st eight years ago, she came into this world with big, blue eyes that stayed open for hours. She came into this new place and immediately wanted to see it all. She has been that way ever since. At one day, at five weeks, at eight years. Her eyes are open and they are taking it in. She does not want to miss a moment of anything. And she won't.

Happy Birthday to my beautiful, intelligent, caring, sweet daughter! May this year be as silly and joy-filled and magical as you. I love you, Hopey!

xoxo, mommy

Aaand, It's Off!

My seven-year-old got her cast off today. Oh, did I forget to mention that she had a cast? Because she broke her arm? (I guess that's what happens when you don't blog for a month.)

So, the clunky, bright orange, weight that was wrapped around her right arm (yes, her writing arm) for the past four weeks was finally removed. And we were all Hooray! It's coming off! Back to our regularly scheduled programing! Monkey bars! Gym class! Diving head-first down the slide!

Our jubilee was short-lived though, because we soon discovered that activities are still limited for another two weeks. Two weeks! Which, to be honest, does not seem that far away to me, after all the past four weeks went by pretty quickly and in two weeks time it'll be Thanksgiving (!!), but for a seven-year-old well, talk about the devastation.

I understand though, and if I had actually taken the time to think about it beforehand, I would not have been so surprised. Her poor little wrist hasn't been moved for the past four weeks. It is incredibly stiff and extremely weak. She and her wrist need time to regain mobility and strength before venturing on something as risky as the playground equipment.

Which is most definitely good and necessary considering how little she moved it the rest of the day today. Apparently when your wrist hasn't moved for a month it feels scarily odd to have it free and naked again. (Again, a thought I didn't even consider because well, I've never had a cast on before.)

So, we are taking it a little more slowly than we thought. Sitting out recess and gym and dance class. (Sad face.) But the cast is off! Which is still exciting.

And I am mostly thrilled because her arm can finally get a good cleaning again. No, I did not smell her cast, but she assured me that it was getting stinky, which is pretty much when I started counting down the days of removal with her.

Two more weeks. Then you can slide down the slide head-first as much as you want. Well...maybe...

xoxo, christine

Seven is...

Last year she was six. And as the new year was ushered in, so was she, into the big, wide world of seven. There is something about the age "seven" that feels foreign in my mouth. It feels bigger, older. Less Little Girl and more Girl.

Seven is a tiny baby teeth smile turning into a big grown-up teeth grin. It is learning and practicing math over and over and over again. It is sight words and picture books and the allure of long chapter books with no pictures.

Seven is teasing her sister in the morning and spending hours playing Honey with her sister in the afternoon. It is wanting to have the top bunk as an option, but choosing to sleep in the big bed with her sister every night instead.

Seven is making her baby sister giggle and wiping the spit up off her face. It rushing to grab a toy or a diaper or a burp cloth. It is being the Helpful Big Sister.

Seven is understanding more grown-up jokes, and pointing out sarcasm. It is rolling her eyes and stomping her feet and huffing out "fine." Seven is becoming more and more embarrassed by her parents.

Seven is full of questions and wonder, but also fear and apprehension. It is understanding more of the bigger picture and being responsible.

Seven is deciding to have her first friend birthday party. It is knowing what she wants and asking for it.

Seven is playing outside by herself. It is being ready for a bigger bike, now that she doesn't need training wheels. It is wanting someone to play with, but not needing someone to play with.

Seven is wanting more independence, but still needing cuddles and snuggles.

I realize that she has only been seven for a handful of days. Some of these things linger from when she was six and continue on. Some things will change as she moves further into the year.

Her amazingness though, that will be with her always. It is the spark that makes her Hope. And I am so grateful to be a witness to all that she is.

Happy 7th Birthday, Hopey!

xoxo, christine

Taking a Break and Being Thankful

My kids are off from school this whole next week. I jokingly say I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but the truth is, it's a good thing.

Although Hope has started to enjoy school again, she still doesn't joyfully skip onto the bus like she used to. She claims the length of her days are difficult, she misses being with me for more of the day. Her adjustment to full day school after half-days in Kindergarten has been tougher on her than expected, and she has been needing more from me than I've been giving lately.

We are all adjusting to having a new family member quite well, but it is still an adjustment with a baby in the family, and I forget sometimes that Nora hasn't always been here. And sometimes it is difficult juggling three kids, one of whom is extremely needy at this point in her life because she's a baby and that's just how babies are.

Both Hope and Paige absolutely adore their sister, and they are pretty much the most understanding big sisters ever. When Nora cries they are quick to give me advice on what she might need, and if I try to make Nora wait they will often tell me to "go get Nora!" or "pick up Nora!" even if it means their time with me is interrupted.

Because of the ease in which Nora was welcomed into our family, I do forget that it is still an adjustment, my attention being mostly focused on our baby, so it isn't strange or out-of-the-blue that sometimes Hope or Paige act out in ways they never have before. Or that Hope and Paige are perhaps feeling more needy than they were because they aren't getting as much from me now.

I do not feel stretched thin, because my older children are not showing their neediness often, but I am trying to be more aware of their (unasked) needs, and giving them the attention and time they want and deserve.

All this to say, it will be good to have Hope (and Paige) home all week this next week. They won't necessarily get one-on-one time with me, but there will be plenty of time for us to do things together. Which I think Hope has been feeling left out of while she's at school.

So I have big plans of hot chocolate from the coffee shop, reading a gazillion books together, playing some games, and maybe even messing up the kitchen with some cookie baking.

Or maybe we'll just cuddle on the couch and watch movies all week.

Either way, it'll be nice to have all three girlies with me for a few days. I am most definitely thankful for that.

xoxo, christine

There Goes My Baby

I just sent my first-born off on the bus. To first grade. All day.

I wish I was one of those parents who jumps for joy when their kids go back to school. I want to be doing a happy dance. Instead I feel like crying. And little bit like puking too.

There's nothing to worry about. I do know this. She loved Kindergarten and has been eager and excited to start first grade. Her best friend from last year is in her class again this year and we met her very friendly teacher last week. She's familiar with the school and thrilled to be eating lunch there, even if she doesn't really know the specifics of the lunchtime and recess routine yet. She will adjust and pick things up easily, because that is how she is.

I, on the other hand, feel like a hot mess. I have been having back-to-school anxiety dreams for weeks. Visions of putting her on the wrong bus, a friendless classroom, the school turning into a maze... these have been haunting me, confirming that I was more nervous for this school year than my six-year-old.

My heart feels ripped in two, with one piece desperately trying to follow the bus, keep up with my baby, hold her and cradle her and protect her from any feelings of loneliness or fear.

I know I sound like a crazy lady. And I promise that I am well aware of this and trying my hardest not to be. I mean, just because my heart breaks at the thought of my daughter's feelings being hurt, doesn't mean that I'm going to run over to the school and stick my nose in. Just because I want to butt in and shelter her forever and ever doesn't mean I'm going to.

But my goodness, this parenting gig is hard. I love it. And wouldn't change it for anything. But it is hard. (And this is only first grade. This isn't even the really tough stuff.)

I will just keep reminding myself that she will be fine. I will be fine. And I'm not going to think past first grade because, well, let's just take one thing at a time.

Happy First Day of School, I raise my box of tissues to all the crying mamas out there. (And the rest of you can laugh at us.)

xoxo, christine

Six.

To my first-born,

Today, my beautiful daughter, you turn six years old. Today we celebrate your life, your joy, your 'you-ness'.

You have brought so much into our lives, starting with that first positive pregnancy test six years and nine months ago, to today. You are such a sweet joy, full of light and love for the world.

This past year you have really opened up. You have grown from a timid little five-year-old into a confident six-year-old. You are no longer afraid to try new things, and even jump right into them. Kindergarten has taken me by surprise with how much you love it, how easily you dance onto the bus, how much you come home having learned.

Your interests are becoming fine-tuned with an absolute love of art, adoration of puppies (and most animals), and a wonder for being and playing outside. (The kind of wonder and joy I remember having when I played outside for what felt like hours, even by myself, as a kid.)

I love watching you at your tennis lessons because you look like you are having so much fun, skittering around the court and learning something new. I loved watching you put on your first pair of ice skates and slipping and sliding around the ice. And even though you kept falling, you didn't give up. You didn't even want to hold onto me, instead telling me, I want to do it myself, Mom.

As you grow up you are learning the meaning (and use) of grown-up words and how sometimes they aren't literal but figures of speech. And even though sometimes I wish you'd stop growing (it's happening so fast!) I love that you are growing up and becoming more and more of your own person.

Even though I sometimes claim you are emotional, you keep most of your feelings and emotions inside, something that worries my mama-heart. I want you to know that I am always here for you, and that I want to hear what you are thinking and how you are feeling whenever you need to talk.

I love you from the tips of my fingers, with every beat of my heart, to the tips of my toes. I wish I could explain to you how my love for you is bursting in every cell of my body.

Today is a new year for everyone, but for you it is a doubly over, filled with the possibility of 2014 and also being a new age, six.

I wish for you to be happy with who you are, to be healthy, to find joy in your life. I wish for you to always know how much you are loved, how special you are, how much the world needs your amazingness.

Happy Birthday, Hope Margaret!

xoxo, mommy

Thin Skin

Thursdays are rough, I think because we're tired from getting through the first three days of the week, and also because it's a really busy day with preschool, Kindergarten, and dance class. Today, though, was the roughest Thursday we've had yet.

It's a long story, but basically I made a decision that I hadn't thought out, and then shortly after changed my mind without thinking it through again, which then caused Hope to be very upset. I mean, EXTREMELY upset. I made a mistake. I was wrong. This was a not-well-thought-out decision, and it was made simply because I was tired. And I feel awful that I caused her pain. That I hurt her. So, once she calmed down we talked about how I was sorry and that mommies make mistakes too. I suppose it was a good learning moment, for both of us.

The thing is, what makes me the saddest about the whole situation is that I caused Hope's first field trip to leave a sour taste in her mouth. And when people ask her if she had fun, she tells them no, not because she didn't have fun on the actual field trip, but because of how the day ended. The first experience I got being a part of Hope's Kindergarten year and I messed it up. And that breaks my heart.

And that she is mad at me, and that she told me she does not want me to go on a field trip with her ever again, break my heart. I mean, it really breaks my heart. Of course, I know this is just a blip on the radar of our relationship. There will be many, many moments in her childhood and adolescence when she is mad at me. But I think this particular situation hurts so much because I know I was in the wrong.

I have a hard time getting over that. I have a hard time forgiving myself for those mistakes.

But then I wonder, if I'm having a hard time handling this little moment now, when she's five, how in the world will I have a strong enough heart to make it when she's a fifteen-year-old screaming that she hates me?

I'm not sure my skin is thick enough for teenagers. Of course, as long as I don't beat myself up for the next several years, I do have those same years to build up a thicker skin. There might be hope for me yet.

But until then, I will ask for forgiveness and try move on. And really try to keep myself from repeatedly asking Hope if she's forgiven me and if I can come volunteer at her classroom again. Because whether she wants me to or not, I'm gonna be there . I'd just rather that she want me there too.

xoxo, christine

Her Lips Are Sealed

Trying to get information out of my Kindergartner is harder than wrestling my kids down for their doctor's shots. Every day after she gets of the bus, when I ask her what she did that day her response is a shrug of the shoulders and an I don't know.

I don't know how many hours I've already spent (she's only been in school for a week), asking questions and getting the bare minimum of responses. I try to ask non yes or no questions knowing that otherwise there will be no elaboration.

Most often I find myself asking those yes or no questions and filling in the information for her. Did you have circle time today? Yes. What did you talk about at circle time? Blank stare. Did you talk about getting to know each other and the letter A? Yes.

I'm beginning to wonder if the answers she gives me are actually accurate or if she's just saying Yes to appease me and get me to shut up. I could ask her if she danced on the backs of elephants and she'd probably tell me yes just to get me to leave her alone.

I've thought about denying her after school snack until she tells me about her day. Or, even better (or maybe worse), offering her a piece of candy to talk. Desperate times here, people.

It is definitely hard to go from feeling so connected and aware of her days and experiences at preschool to blindly stepping into Kindergarten. She seems to be having the time of her life (she was disappointed that there was no school over the weekend -- which I'm very glad about), and I am the one feeling anxious and bittersweet about this next stage of her life.

It's a big change. And while I love to see her so happy and excited, it is hard for me to know that her days at home with me are coming to an end. Of course, this is how it goes, I'm sure, with the first child. By the time Paige gets around to Kindergarten maybe I'll be pushing her out the door.

But probably not. This momma just likes to know what's going on. And I will continue to bug my five-year-old as much as I can so that she knows that I care. And when she does finally want to talk to me about her day, I am all ears.

xoxo, christine

The End and the Beginning

Last Friday was Hope's last day of preschool. Forever. As my oldest baby she is stuck with all the firsts. The first to go to preschool, the first to end preschool, the first to go to Kindergarten. My goodness, I just realized this means I officially have a Kindergartener at home now.

I loved Hope's preschool teacher. She was the perfect fit for our sweet and extremely timid daughter, and a perfect fit for our family struggling through our first experiences of sending a child to school. She made each family feel important and each student feel special. And the only reason I didn't bawl when we said good-bye was because Paige will have her for a teacher next year.

There are so many mixed emotions going through me right now. I would blame the pregnancy, but who am I kidding? I'm a mixed emotions kind of girl any time.

I love that Hope is getting older. That she is growing up and gaining independence. That she is learning about the world and meeting new people. That she is understanding jokes and sarcasm. That she wants time to herself but she still likes to snuggle. I love love love it all.

But sometimes it's hard to watch her grow older too. It's hard to say goodbye to preschool. To know that she will be gone every single day. (And the year after that she'll be gone every single day all day long.) That things are shifting in our family. I love it all, I really do. But sometimes it's hard. It's hard to know that there will come a time when she doesn't think I'm great, but is instead embarrassed by my very existence.

It's hard. But I try to remind myself that today is not that day. Today I am still her world (along with numerous friends). And this growing up thing? I've got time.

Here's a photo from Hope on her first day of her last year of preschool this past fall, and then on her last day of preschool this spring:

Happy Summer to all!

xoxo,

Christine

Battle of the Hippie vs. Conventional

Decision making is not my greatest trait. (That may be the understatement of the year, right there.) There's something about the possibility of making the wrong choice that makes my throat swell up, my stomach flip-flop, and my head basically spin circles (think "The Exorcist" with a little less of the "possessed" factor).

You see, I am terrified of failing. I know, not a very good trait to have considering life is pretty much guaranteed to be filled with big decisions and even some ::gasp:: failures. It's my perfectionism at its finest.

So, you can imagine how making a choice of what school to send my oldest daughter gives me a heart attack to the Nth degree. Logically, my dear brain reminds me that she will get a good education wherever we send her. Emotionally? I am FREAKING out. I mean, what if I make the wrong choice? This decision doesn't just affect me, it's my daughter. It's her LIFE.

The wanna-be free spirit in me is intrigued by the Artful Learning and wants my daughter's creativity to be overly nourished and encouraged. The straight-laced rule follower in me doesn't want to risk something "different" and thinks that traditional school worked just fine for my husband and I, so it'll be just fine for my daughter.

Ultimately, I know that whatever we decide, wherever she goes, it will all work out. And, if we really dislike her Kindergarten year, we can always try a different school the next year. But oh, the pressure I'm putting on myself. I almost can't breathe.

So, excuse me while I go curl up in the corner and rock back and forth. But first I'll go treat myself to a hazelnut mocha. That's a decision I can always make just fine.

xoxo,
Christine

A Whole Hand

Today she is five. A whole hand old. My beautiful and sweet first-born. The first of January will forever be first and foremost Hope's birthday, secondly the New Year. And Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper will always be a little special to me, as they were the New Year's Eve show we watched that night before heading to the hospital those five years ago.

Five.

She is growing up. She is getting so big. Every day she becomes more and more her own person, her own self. I love it. And I am terrified. Not that I would ever want to decide who she is, but I worry so much for her hardships and difficulties. She is so much like her Mama, and while I think I've turned out pretty well, it hasn't been without a fair amount of struggles, and I just don't want her to have those struggles I had. But maybe they won't feel like struggles for her... I constantly remind myself that my issues are not her issues.

But oh, my daughter, she is a miracle. She is a Gift, a Joy, a Blessing. Her heart is so sweet, I see it when she kisses her sister and when she offers a toy to keep a friend from being upset. I see it when she snuggles up next to me, wrapping my arms around her. When she asks me to lay in bed next to her.

She is reserved, to be sure. She holds back with unfamiliar people, hiding behind my leg when she's uncomfortable, shushing me when she hears me talk about her. And on that playdate, as desperate as she is for that snack, she will not make the request herself if there's a chance I will do it for her.

But with her mommy and daddy and sister, she can be so boisterous and silly too. I wake in the morning to giggles from the sisters. She dances around the room with pants on her head. Her energy explodes while she yips and yells and chases imaginary monsters from room to room.

Today she is five and I am filled with Joy. With MotherLove. My heart it beats for her (and her sister). I am proud and teary-eyed and overwhelmed and in love. I smile when I think back to our trip to the hospital, those hours of anticipation before the reality of parenthood was placed on my chest. The fear and excitement of her arrival. The child I never could have imagined but is exactly what she was meant to be.

My dear, sweet Hopey Margaret is five-years-old today. And, I wish for her the joy of another New Year ahead.

xoxo,
Christine

Swim Baby Swim

Hope is becoming a little fish.  She loves the pool more this year than any other summer.  But when it comes to swim lessons she is timid.  Nervous.  Scared.  Which is why, being the first lesson since she was 18 months (don't judge), I signed her up for the Parent and Child class.  It is also why, at four and half years old, she was easily two years older than the next kid.

She was not at all bothered to be in a class with babies.  But it was obvious her comfort with the water and skill level was beyond the class.  She kicks, paddles, floats (assisted), and blows bubbles with ease.  I didn't need to be with her at all.  But when I tried to talk to her about moving up to the next class, the class where she would swim without me, she became sullen and upset.

We talked about it a lot.  We tried to figure out her hesitation and fear.  And with a lot of conversation, some encouragement from the teachers, and yes, some tears, Hope participated in the preschool level swim class today.  On her second day of swim lessons.

I even saw her smiling.

I know how hard new situations are for her.  I know how hard trying this class was for her.  And she did it.  And I am so proud.

Afterwards she ran up and gave me the biggest (and best) wet hug.  Wrapped in her towel she curled up into my lap, and we rested on the lounge chair.  She had fun, as much fun as the day before when I was with her, she told me.  But even so, it was apparent that this new and big experience left her drained and needing a little mommy snuggling before moving on to the next part of the day.

She assured me that she had enough fun that she wants to do it again next time.  And my heart feels full.  She is growing up.  We are growing.  And it makes me happy and sad and everything all at once.

xoxo.
Christine

Mud Soup

Hope has recently discovered a love for mud.  Thus we made some mud soup the other day.

Ingredients needed:

A beautiful day

Dirt

Water (to add to dirt to create mud)

A willing and able chef

Instructions:

Let the little chef go to town and...

Voila!

A muddy delicacy!
This recipe can be used for mud soup, mud pies, mud pancakes, or just about any other mud creation.

xo
Christine

Joys (again)

Last week I shared a few moments of joy brought to me by the girls.  And because these are sweet things that I want to remember, I want them to know, and I want to share with those who do not see us regularly, I am doing it again this week.

*****

When Paige makes a request from Dairy Queen for "silly bars" (instead of Dilly bars).

When Hope asks to sit on my lap during their bedtime stories.

When Paige says, I like broccoli.  And proceeds to actually eat said broccoli.  (One of my children actually likes vegetables! Wahoo!)

When Hope requests my goodnight song while being tucked in.  (I made it up when she was a baby to sing away her cries.)

When every time we see an airplane Paige says, Ah-pane!  We see Auntie Liz, Mommy? Because she knows this summer we will be flying out and visiting her auntie.

When the girls wake up in the morning and Hope climbs into Paige's crib and they read stories together.

*****

These are the joys that make my heart swell.  These are the joys that I feel like I will remember forever, but I know could be forgotten in the passing of time.

These are the joys that are mine.



Linking up for Miss Elaine-ous Monday.

The Busy and the Quiet

We stepped off the train and I felt the energy around me.  Not the city when I usually visit on a weekend, this city had a definitive pulse.  Alive with corporate lunchers, busy shoppers, and food vendors.

I could tell she felt it too.  Her eyes were wide and there was a skip in her step.  Which one is Daddy's?  I pointed and she smiled in awe.  That big one?  Wow.

We walked hand in hand.  She was light and happy, eager to make our lunch date.  And in the middle of the street her grin multiplied as he scooped her up into a hug.

Lunch, just the three of us, a rare and special occasion.  And then another treat, a stop at the candy store for some saltwater taffy.  Distraction for the trip home.

Back on the train, the hum of the city quieted.

Sometimes the busy is fun.  Sometimes it makes me feel Alive.  And sometimes I crave home.  Where the quiet can come.  The quiet makes me feel Alive too.

Joys from The Big One and The Little One

When the big one peaked her head in the door on Sunday morning and whispered, Happy Mother's Day, Mommy, and closed the door and let me sleep longer.

When the little one says, You Kiss-teen, Momma?  You Kiss-teen?  Yes Paige, my name is Christine.

When the big one put a stuffed animal in her bag and gave it to me as a gift (to borrow) just from her to me on Mother's Day.

When the little one wears her sunglasses inside: during church, or her sister's gymnastics, or class.

When the big one tells me, I will always want to sit on your lap, even though I know there will come a time when she won't.

When the little one lifts her arms to the sky and says, Stah-baaaah-dee and giggles.

When the little one called to her sister from the top of the slide, Catch me, Hopey!  And the big one held out her arms and said, Okay, Paige.  I'll catch you.

These are the joys that fill my heart.

She Will Eat What She Eats

We sit at the dinner table, all four of us together.  One dinner prepared, but all of us eating different things.

Suddenly, Hope announces, I'm a picky eater.  Immediately I think of all the times Adam and I have talked about her limited diet, with each other, with our parents, with other parents.  And even though I think she is, I do not want her to think she is -- I fear Merton's self-fulfilling prophecy.

I tell her she is not.  And then "picky eater" must be defined, and to convince her she is not we list as big of a variety of foods that she eats as we can.  It does not feel like much.

We go around the table naming foods we each don't care for.  I am thoughtful and careful with my choices, mentioning two foods she already knows she likes so as not to encourage any more "dislikes-even-though-it-has-never-been-tried-s."

She almost sways herself into disliking maraschino cherries until I remind her of her ice cream sundae the night before.  The cherry stays safe on her "will eat" list.

The conversation moves onto other things but I hear her voice, echoing words she absolutely heard from our mouths.  And I know that we must let go.  Any frustration has to be released and discussions must be saved for when we are far away from little ears.

She is only four.  And I do not yet need to worry.  Her time of discovering new and delicious flavors will come when she is ready.  And not a moment before.

Refocus

Sometimes words are too hard.  Too raw.  So then I focus on this:

my two babies, my two loves.

A Science Lesson

Mommy, the moon is usually on the other side of the sky.

Well, that's because the moon moves across the sky as the night goes on.  (I suddenly realize that it is not really the moon that moves and I am giving my daughter misinformation.)

What!?

Actually, the earth (which is what we live on) spins which makes it look like the moon is moving across the sky.

How, Mommy?

Um, because of physics.  (I realize that I don't actually know if this is the correct answer.)

Magic?

No, honey.  Physics.

What?

Because of planetary science.  (I'm not sure if this is right either.)

What's that?

The laws of nature...  (I am discovering I really don't know what I'm talking about.)

But what is it, Mommy?  Why?

(I am becoming desperate to figure out a way to explain it so that she stops asking, but I'm not dismissing her, but also not giving her wrong information.)

Because God made it that way.

Oh, okay.

So, aside from the fact that I feel like an idiot for not knowing what scientific vocabulary word is used to explain the earth's rotation, I realize that my daughter is already at the age of asking questions I don't know (or remember) the answers too.  Or at least how to explain it to her so she understands.  I thought I had at least another six to ten years before this would happen.

Thank goodness for Google.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See?

I see two girls fighting over me.



We've had a situation in our house for awhile now.  A serious one, because it influences bedtime, and bedtime is a serious thing, if you ask me.

Hope is a stuffed animal lover.  She snuggles them, plays with them, collects them.  But she's never been attached to a specific one.  She never had any type of lovey.  Each night she chose a different stuffed animal to cuddle with.

The offending Bear

And then, during a particularly rough nighttime patch (when it happened I can't say for sure because we have certainly had a lot of those patches since she was born), in my groggy and desperate-for-sleep state, I pulled the nearest stuffed animal to my chest, gave it a big squeeze, and told her that when she was feeling sad or lonely she could hug that animal and it would be like Mommy was giving her a hug.

So she did.  And it seemed to help.  Some nights she asked for her "Bella Bear" and other nights she was fine without it.

Somewhere along the line, growing from an indifferent baby not caring what toys were hers into a very mindful toddler, Paige also formed an attachment to a stuffed animal.  In fact, she asks for her "Papa Bear" every single night.

And you know what?  It is the same bear.  The.  Exact.  Same.  Bear.

Do you know how many stuffed animals we have?  We have about 1,722 stuffed animals ranging in size, shape, color, and fluffiness.  Do you know how many of those animals are bears?  One.  We have one flippin' bear in the entire house.

So of course, try as I may, I could not influence the mind of my stubborn toddler or my equally-as-stubborn-when-it-comes-to-her-stuffed-animals preschooler.

Our bedtime is a little dance between me silently praying no one will ask for Bella/Papa Bear and one of the girls requesting said bear and then me hoping the other girl did not hear the request and then fumbling between who should get the darn bear when they both start calling out for it.

Needless to say, we got another bear.  But because I (mush of a mother that I am) could not figure out who would get the new bear, each girl got a new bear.

Our house is exploding with stuffed animals.

I took the girls to Build a Bear, and told them we are getting bears.  Only bears.  Not puppies, not dragons, not bunnies with adorable long ears.  Bears.

And these wonderful, new, lovely bears are to become the new nighttime cuddle bears.  Bella/Papa Bear will have her (his?) own special place to sleep and they each get to sleep with their brand new bears.

The optimist in me is hopeful.  The pessimist?  Pretty sure we wasted our money.  And the realist just knows that it probably won't work out quite like I'm expecting.

In any case, tonight will be the first night with their new bears.

Wish me luck.

With their new bears