We were having dinner the other night and enjoying the sounds of our youngest family member, Addison, finally chatting it up. At 18 months, she is by no means a late talker, it’s just that her big sister was a chatterbox straight out of the gate. She simply requires a bit more coaching.
After several rounds of her cutest words, like please (“peezsh”), cock-a-doodle-doo (“COKE-a- dee-dee-dee”), and sorry (“sah-bee”), she pushes herself back from the table, clearly done entertaining us. She sticks out her lip, looks me directly in the eye and puts her foot square on the dinner table. She knows it drives me crazy.
“Addison, you are NOT a hillbilly. Please put your foot down, “ I say. She kind of snorts a little and grins her orneriest grin. Her foot remains firmly planted, of course.
I suppress my laughter because it’s hard not to enjoy (or at least appreciate) her antics. “What?” I continue with a smile “Are you a hillbilly? She wiggles her toes in response, as if to taunt her poor, mannerly mother.
I can’t resist. In the spirit our dinner game I coax her “Adders- can you say hillbilly?”
She grins- wide this time- and lets out a belly laugh. She looks me dead in the eye and shouts “Poppy, Poppy, Poppy!” in her sing-songiest voice.
Alas, my father- her Poppy- is fully understood by his granddaughter.
And we roar with laughter.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Acknowledging My Weaknesses...
Okay- I committed to this blog at least once a week and I’ve blown it already. I’m human. Did you hear that, folks? Human. One of the things that I’m trying to focus on in my own life is balance. I’m often out of whack on time versus commitments.
I regularly promise the people I love and cherish that I’ll pitch in and help out or pledge to them that we’ll “definitely get together soon and catch up soon.” Problem is- I feel pretty “used up” by Thursday because I’ve got a lot to handle in my immediate realm of being Mom/House Manager. No-make that “Quality of Life Director.” Hmmm. I like that. I will continue to refer to myself as such.
Anyway- while the “helping hand” side of my being is pretty dependable, the part of me that promises to reconnect with friends and family is utterly reckless. I think it’s because I see it as something for my own benefit (and therefore less important) so it is only “penciled in.” This blog is just another example of something that I enjoy, but seems as if it’s a selfish pastime and it must be cut to fit in all the other obligations.
I’m working on it, though; I do honestly try to say “no” to projects and commitments that cannot be fit into my schedule in a realistic fashion. I want to continue pursuing my own interests (like blogging) because it’s good for my soul. I want to know the feeling of having the daily commitments work in concert with higher aspirations and in sync with meaningful relationships. Seriously. It could happen.
As for now, I am still best categorized as a “Yes Man,” er, Woman. I’ll get there, though. One day and one less promise at a time…
I regularly promise the people I love and cherish that I’ll pitch in and help out or pledge to them that we’ll “definitely get together soon and catch up soon.” Problem is- I feel pretty “used up” by Thursday because I’ve got a lot to handle in my immediate realm of being Mom/House Manager. No-make that “Quality of Life Director.” Hmmm. I like that. I will continue to refer to myself as such.
Anyway- while the “helping hand” side of my being is pretty dependable, the part of me that promises to reconnect with friends and family is utterly reckless. I think it’s because I see it as something for my own benefit (and therefore less important) so it is only “penciled in.” This blog is just another example of something that I enjoy, but seems as if it’s a selfish pastime and it must be cut to fit in all the other obligations.
I’m working on it, though; I do honestly try to say “no” to projects and commitments that cannot be fit into my schedule in a realistic fashion. I want to continue pursuing my own interests (like blogging) because it’s good for my soul. I want to know the feeling of having the daily commitments work in concert with higher aspirations and in sync with meaningful relationships. Seriously. It could happen.
As for now, I am still best categorized as a “Yes Man,” er, Woman. I’ll get there, though. One day and one less promise at a time…
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
The Shampoo Incident of 2008
My one-year-old is what I like to call “spirited.” She is curious, carefree and willing to try anything. She is also quiet as a church mouse when it serves her purpose. Just the other day, I was reminded of her deep desire for experimentation. It seems that her purpose is to find the consequence to every action.
It all started rather innocently. I had three different dishes that I planned to make for our family reunion. My plan of attack was to pull together the two easier recipes, since I wanted to involve my girls (who are budding chefs) and save the last for, well, last. They’d be tired of helping out and I could pull it together while they were playing in the next room.
As planned, they were WAAAY over being my sous chefs by the time Recipe #3 rolled around. They ran off to play in the living room and I got a little peace in the kitchen. So- I’m stirring the blue cheese mixture on the stove, being careful not to burn it (and feeling pretty proud of my efforts thus far )when I smell strawberries. “Hmm. Funny. Why would this smell like strawberries? Lauren’s shampoos smells like straw….NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “ I round the corner to the stairs and I hear it. “Uh ohhh.” That’s Addison’s calling card for destruction. On the landing between the two flights of stairs I find her (completely slathered from ears to toes in kid’s strawberry shampoo) and happily smearing three quarters of the bottle all over the floor. She is all smiles.
I froze. Lauren, my 3-year-old joined me at the disaster site. “Mom- what are you gonna do?” My options are not black and white here. I’ve got boiling and burning happening downstairs on the stove, a one-year-old who smells like a living, breathing Strawberry Shortcake and a mess that would rattle even an expert house cleaner. “I don’t know, Lauren.” And then I took a deep breath. With an exasperated sigh (and a half-smile) I plopped Addison in the tub (clothes and all), cleaned up the shampoo slick, and managed to finish the casserole.
Later that night I had to laugh as I recapped the days’ events with my husband. That girl of ours. I love and fear her curiosity. It is, after all, inherently good that she have this passion to unravel, demolish, test boundaries, and find the balance of her surroundings. It is both entertaining and exhausting, but I love her for it. It’s who she is and I will continue seeking ways in which I can encourage her spirit- perhaps without sacrificing the hardwood floors. And, yes, they still smell like strawberry, but at least they’re not slippery anymore.
It all started rather innocently. I had three different dishes that I planned to make for our family reunion. My plan of attack was to pull together the two easier recipes, since I wanted to involve my girls (who are budding chefs) and save the last for, well, last. They’d be tired of helping out and I could pull it together while they were playing in the next room.
As planned, they were WAAAY over being my sous chefs by the time Recipe #3 rolled around. They ran off to play in the living room and I got a little peace in the kitchen. So- I’m stirring the blue cheese mixture on the stove, being careful not to burn it (and feeling pretty proud of my efforts thus far )when I smell strawberries. “Hmm. Funny. Why would this smell like strawberries? Lauren’s shampoos smells like straw….NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “ I round the corner to the stairs and I hear it. “Uh ohhh.” That’s Addison’s calling card for destruction. On the landing between the two flights of stairs I find her (completely slathered from ears to toes in kid’s strawberry shampoo) and happily smearing three quarters of the bottle all over the floor. She is all smiles.
I froze. Lauren, my 3-year-old joined me at the disaster site. “Mom- what are you gonna do?” My options are not black and white here. I’ve got boiling and burning happening downstairs on the stove, a one-year-old who smells like a living, breathing Strawberry Shortcake and a mess that would rattle even an expert house cleaner. “I don’t know, Lauren.” And then I took a deep breath. With an exasperated sigh (and a half-smile) I plopped Addison in the tub (clothes and all), cleaned up the shampoo slick, and managed to finish the casserole.
Later that night I had to laugh as I recapped the days’ events with my husband. That girl of ours. I love and fear her curiosity. It is, after all, inherently good that she have this passion to unravel, demolish, test boundaries, and find the balance of her surroundings. It is both entertaining and exhausting, but I love her for it. It’s who she is and I will continue seeking ways in which I can encourage her spirit- perhaps without sacrificing the hardwood floors. And, yes, they still smell like strawberry, but at least they’re not slippery anymore.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Small Victories
My daughter went to preschool today. Ever the mature and poised child, she confidently stuck her hand out to shake her new teacher’s hand and introduced herself. I believe her teacher almost fell off her chair. It was a proud moment for her mother- a quiet achievement to see her exceptional manners in action.
It occurs to me that this was not only her day, but “our” day. I mean, we MADE it. We got past diapers and teething and late-night feedings. She is relatively self-sufficient and prepared to reach out and begin her path without my constant (and vigilant) supervision…at least two days a week for three hours per day. She is beautiful, smart, and fun and creative as any child could be. I helped with that, as did my very dear husband (who will continue to get the acknowledgment he deserves throughout this blog).
So- after it was over and we waved goodbye to her teachers, we walked through town and went for ice cream -to celebrate our accomplishment.
It occurs to me that this was not only her day, but “our” day. I mean, we MADE it. We got past diapers and teething and late-night feedings. She is relatively self-sufficient and prepared to reach out and begin her path without my constant (and vigilant) supervision…at least two days a week for three hours per day. She is beautiful, smart, and fun and creative as any child could be. I helped with that, as did my very dear husband (who will continue to get the acknowledgment he deserves throughout this blog).
So- after it was over and we waved goodbye to her teachers, we walked through town and went for ice cream -to celebrate our accomplishment.
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