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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

Children & motherhood

A ballerina firefighter and her brother the clown

September 29, 2010

The kids seem to be growing/changing/developing at a crazy fast rate these days, and I feel like I can’t keep up with it all. To remember for posterity, to share with family and friends who are far away and might possibly not check Facebook every second of the day. (Shoot, if that’s the case, they might not read this blog, either!)

Isabelle, at 2 1/2, has decided that she wants to go to kindergarten. Tomorrow. And ride a school bus. Today. We live along the school bus route, so when she sees the buses go by, she almost always  notices and asks, “Am I going to ride the bus?” She also has asked if we’re going to watch her when she rides the bus. Another almost-daily occurrence is the declaration that she’s going to kindergarten or school. She often dons her backpack and says she’s ready for school. I’ll remember these days when she’s a teenager and refusing to get out of bed, right? Who knows, though, maybe she’ll actually like school and be one of those weird kids (me) who wanted to go to school. It’ll be here soon enough; I just wish she wasn’t trying to rush it.

When asked what she wants to be when she grows up, her current response is “a firefighter.” Good thing her grandparents found a firefighter jacket for her to play dress-up with. Occasionally, she also wants to be a ballerina. You go, girl. We live in an age where she could totally do both.

Today at the park, I saw, once again, our little social butterfly emerge. When we arrived, there were no kids at the park. Within minutes, a woman showed up with six  kids and another woman brought her two kids. Forget whatever plans I had for a relaxing time at the park with my two kids. Instead of letting Corban swing in a baby swing and Isabelle play on the age-appropriate slides and equipment for her, I ended up following my daughter around as she tried desperately to join these other kids in their pursuits. She even started calling out their names when she heard the other kids call them. I sort of felt bad, like maybe she needs more social interaction. But maybe she’s just got the sort of personality that easily makes friends and includes everyone. She certainly didn’t get all that from me. I couldn’t even bring myself to say more than “Hi” to the other women at the park, even though I wanted to tell the woman with six kids that she was brave to take on such an endeavor.

This girl wakes up at 90 mph. and doesn’t slow down for most of the day. Including now when she’s supposed to be napping so we can go to the library later. Some days, she is a greater test of patience than others. But she’s better than a cup of coffee to get me going in the morning. She jumps out of bed and yells, “Mommy, mommy” then takes off for the kitchen or living room before I’ve even opened my eyes completely. And if her brother happens to wake up at the same time, she runs to him, loudly shouting, “Cor-ban. Cor-ban. Hey, popsters.” (His dad sometimes calls him Mr. Popsters or Popping-pops. The little sponge has picked up on this nickname and many others we use to describe him. I hope he won’t have a complex that therapy can’t solve later in life.)

Speaking of the boy, he is nearly 10 months old and just this week has started to stand without holding on to anything for longer and longer periods of time. It’s still only a few seconds, but I can see his improved balance and confidence on his feet. He also “walks” while pushing things. It’s only a matter of time. He’s also developed what we call the maniacal laugh. It’s different from his giggle or I-think-my-sister-is-hilarious laugh. He’ll be playing with something and all of a sudden let out this deep “ha-ha-ha” sort of sound that puts Phil and me in stitches every time.

He’s starting to eat us out of house and home. OK, so I know that’s not true yet. Friends with teenagers, especially boys, would tell me it only gets worse. But he’s eating more and more, especially if he can pick it up himself and put it in his mouth. He shunned baby food from a jar for a while, but now he’s eating entire jars in one sitting. We may burn through our stash yet.

Maybe he doesn’t intentionally do it, or maybe he does, but Corban seems to always be doing something goofy to put a smile on our faces. Sometimes it’s just putting an entire piece of fake food in his mouth then smiling. Or walking around with a fake hot dog hanging out of his mouth. Or banging on stuff to make loud noises. Whatever he does, he thinks he’s funny. And I guess that’s a good ingredient for a playful personality.

I often feel like we’re in our own little world and I forget to share these meaningful and ordinary moments with those we care about and who care about the kids. This is my attempt. I know it can’t totally make up for our physical absence in people’s lives, but it’s something.

Enjoy. We sure do.

Filed Under: Children & motherhood Tagged With: children, growing up, memories, school

Dear daughter, in case I forget to tell you when you’re older …

September 2, 2010

… here are some reasons you continue to steal my heart.

First, this smile. It’s there when you wake up in the morning and is a constant reminder of the joy you have for life. You have an energy and a zest for living that I hope does not disappear when you get older and more “seasoned” by life. You inspire me and give me purpose.

Second, your prayers. You are 2 years old and you already know how to pray. When our friend prayed for the meal tonight, you bowed your head, folded your hands and sat quietly. One of the best parts of my day is hearing you say, “Dear Jesus, for my mommy, for my daddy, for my Corban. Amen.” And hearing you add in other people and things to your prayers. Keep praying, my daughter. It will be your lifeline.

Third, your imagination. As we walked home tonight, you stopped every few minutes and said, “Let’s take a picture.” You pulled out the worn-out camera Nana gave you and snapped a “smile” every chance you got. Will you be a photographer? I do not know. I love watching you play with your babies as though they were real. How you feed them, diaper them, offer them your snacks and entertain them. How the space between our front door and the door that leads to our attic can become an elevator to anywhere. And the other day out of nowhere you decided to show us the chicken dance.

Fourth, your creativity. You’ve loved to draw and color for a while now, but your pictures are becoming more than just scribbles. You love circles and drawing them over and over and over again. When you pull out your fingerpaints, we’re never sure what the outcome will be, but we’re as proud of what you created as if it were hanging in an art gallery. Jackson Pollock, watch out. And you are the best snake maker in the Playdough genre that I’ve ever seen.

Fifth, your negotiating abilities. “Just one more,” you say sweetly when you’ve finished your umpteenth episode of Dora. And even if I wanted to resist, I couldn’t. Between your smile and tone, I give in. I’m convinced you could win any case brought against your client, if you choose to be a lawyer. This could serve you well in life, but I’m almost certain you’ll outgrow it.

Sixth, your recall. As you were playing your memory game yesterday, you started saying, “Dos. Cinco. Dos. Cinco” as you placed the pieces on the table. This is the result of too much Dora and nowhere near the correct order of counting in Spanish, but I’m tickled nonetheless. Also, you know that the Spanish for open is “abre” and that if you really want me to follow you to another room, “Come on, vamanos,” gets me every time.

Seventh, your personality. You’ve started waving at strangers. Sometimes they wave back. Usually they smile. Your mother has a hard time initiating conversations or even contact with strangers, but you are young enough and have enough of your father’s genes that you make friends easily already and are quick to offer a wave or a “hi.” I can learn so much from you.

Eighth, your curiosity. “What’s that, Mama?” is a favorite question right now. And you really are interested. Daddy was telling you about his class tonight and when he said it was about the triune God, you repeated, “The try-oon God?” and he explained about Jesus, the Father and the Holy Spirit. That may be a bit over your head at this point, but keep asking questions. You’ll learn something new all the time.

Ninth, your innocence. You don’t yet know that it’s not OK to look out the front picture window when you’re not wearing clothes or a diaper. We constantly have to tell you to get away from the window until your jammies are on. I don’t think this means you’ll be an exhibitionist. It’s like Adam and Eve, before the Fall. Naked and unashamed. You don’t yet feel weird about the way you look, with or without clothes on. You don’t know that bad things happen for no reason you can explain or that loving too much can sometimes hurt you. Your world is safe. I wish I trusted God as much as you trust your mommy and daddy. I’m working on that.

And lastly, although I’m not sure there’s really an end to the things that I love, I love that God put you in our lives. Your father and I have not known many married days without you, and although your birth changed everything for us, we can’t imagine our lives any differently or remember what they were like before you came along. We haven’t scratched the surface of the things you’ll teach us, but you’ve grown us in ways we couldn’t have imagined. We are better people for having you in our lives. You are only 2, and it’s been an adventure with so much more to come.

Isabelle, you are a gift. If you should ever read this, try not to roll your eyes too much. Mommy is foolishly sentimental sometimes.

Filed Under: Children & motherhood

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