Moments in Magical Modernity: X


Pixie-small feet find terra firma as a mother warns against flying on the public sidewalk. On the baseball diamond in the park, there are complaints against winking from third base to home in a kickball game and the rules are changed to keep things fair all round. Starlings swarm and meld into eccentric shapes at the turn of a childish finger, the tiny birds eager to please an equally tiny artist.

Nemiah, the park’s caretaker, watches with appraising eyes as his young students imagine unruly hedges and bushes into lovely topiaries for the Children’s Garden, coaxing the plants into the shapes without every clipping or snipping a single leaf. Animals, geometrics, knights on horseback, and shapely towers materialize under the fruitful imaginations of nature-sensitive children.

Leina leads her prenatal yoga class in her studio of soft blues and whites. She guides and transitions her class through the movements in soft, soothing tones, the sound of water pouring and rushing through her dulcet voice. Together, they bathe souls and bodies weary with the work of fostering and growing life in consolation, commiseration, and calm.

A young satyr blushes from his horns to his hooves with joy as a lovely, rosy redhead accepts his invitation to the Solstice Block Party and Dance with a pretty smile.

Childhood and growth are as full and varied and joyful and tumultuous as it can ever be. Babyish “I love you’s” still give way to the intermittent “I hate you’s” of adolescence and puberty. New life is celebrated profusely and milestones. First steps, first words, first flights, first shapeshifts, first discoveries of hands, feet, tails, wings. Lullabies are sung over cradles, midnight feedings stumbled and whispered and sleepily cooed through. Children grow and learn. They make friends and attend school. Magic does not separate them. Rather, it pulls these little ones together in a world sewn together by Magic.

A little girl is awoken in the deep night, sensitive ears catching the sound of crying through her open window. Peering out, she spies the neighbor boy weeping in his darkened bedroom with only the silver of moon to witness. Weeping for fear of the shadows.  A bit of paper folding, a silvery bit of flame whispered on a breath, and the little Mrs. Darling nightlight floats across the hedge barrier to rest on the boy’s window sill. There the paper lantern sits to cheerily flicker away throughout the night and assure him that he is not alone. Never alone.


Photo Credit – Pinterest


See Me and Delight In Me

For our wedding anniversary this year, the only gift I requested from my husband was a set of coloring books and crayons of my own, separate from those that belong to my toddler daughter. What? I like coloring. Of course, he came through with coloring books of Disney Princesses and My Little Pony (yay!), but I beefed up my coloring book collection the other day with some of the new wildly popular coloring books for adults. The one I worked on last night for my winding-down time was one of floral mosaics. I wanted something simple so I chose a picture of daisies and settled in quite happily with a colored pencil in one hand and an apple in the other. Even as I finished the stems and started working on the flowers’ yellow hearts, I felt this sudden urge to leap up from my chair at the kitchen table and run into the living room crying, “Mom! Mom! Look, look!”

That hit me hard. Even at thirty-two, I still long for my mother to see me and find beauty in me and what I do. I was over the moon when she commented that I had indeed lost a few inches. All those months of work and she noticed! When she compliments my mothering, I am chuffed for days. My mother is my hero and I want her to be proud of her girl. (I’ve definitely noticed that I’ve been singing Aladdin’s “Proud of Your Boy” more often lately.)

Then I realized that is all Elizabeth wants from me, too: to be seen, to be enjoyed, for me to be proud of  my girl. Her new trick is to come up to you with something behind her back.

“Please (close) eyes,” she asks.

You cover your eyes.

“1-2-3. Eeprise (surprise)!” And she shows you what is behind her back.

Your role is to be elated, tell her it’s wonderful, and give her a hug.


My mom and my girl

I have lost count of just how many times we have done this over the past few days. Last night, though, I was very tired and refused to participate a few times (or at best was rather lackluster about it). My mom played along enthusiastically every single time. I am sorry that I didn’t. Elizabeth wants, needs, me to joy in her and in all she is learning to do. I want her to know that I do joy in her and I am proud of her.

One of her favorite movies is “Lilo & Stitch 2: Stitch Has a Glitch”. At the end of the film, the whole ohana is dancing Lilo’s hula together and she and Stitch hug each other. Then Nani comes over and tells Lilo, “Mom would be so proud of you.” At that point in the film, Elizabeth always runs to me for the hug and I amend the line and tell her, “I am so proud of you.” And I am. I will always be. When she is thirty-two, I want her to want to run to me, show me what she has accomplished or created, and know without a doubt that I will be elated for and with her.

“Mom, Mom! Look!”

“That is wonderful, my love! I am so proud of you!”

Fascinating Facets

I sit with my daughter in my lap as she indulges in some Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. As she sits quietly (a rare occurrence in and of itself), I take advantage of the opportunity to wrap her lovely pigtail curl around my finger and find myself once again mesmerized as I twirl it again and again and again.

Her hair is soft and glossy and smooth, as soothing as silk as I coil it around my finger. As I do and the curl tightens, I find myself marveling at it. It almost looks like an ombre candy cane, composed of shades of brown sugar and sable, though it is also shot through with bright copper and even honeyed blonde in some spots.

Her hair is smooth like her father’s but also curly like mine naturally is. She gets the shades of brown with red highlights from us both, but the shot of blonde is her father’s, as are her long eyelashes. We deal with the snaggles and tangles and she hates every minute of me combing them out of her hair. When her hair is loose, it is curly and fun and wild; when it is combed into pigtails or a ponytail, it is cute and coquettish. Either way and both, she is brilliantly lovely and I am constantly fascinated by the work of art that is my daughter’s hair. It is beautiful and unique and perfectly suited to her sunshiny, smiling face.

I dream of what that hair will be like some day, falling over her shoulders in abundant, glossy curls that bounce, the most superlative physical complement to my girl’s own buoyant spirit.

NaBloPoMo 2014 Day 8: Two and on the Move

Today was my daughter’s 2nd birthday picture session. We decided to do it early (her birthday isn’t until next month) and get it out of the way before the Holidays get busy. It was a vastly different experience than last year because now, of course, she can move and run freely. So keeping her on task for the pictures was rough, coupled with having to switch studio rooms back and forth as they were needed by other photographers. Just another testament to her growing up. But, all in all, it turned out well and fun was had, as you can judge from below. Many thanks to the hubby for the help with wrangling.



Hey! I Was Playing With That!

The other day on Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood (my daughter’s favorite show), the characters were dealing with feeling jealous and what to do about it. I held my fourteen month old on my lap and talked to her about it. Though I know that she still is too little to really understand, I know for a fact that she is familiar with that feeling already. She doesn’t have the capacity yet to recognize it for what it is or think about what to do about it aside from take what she wants but I still talked to her. I told her that, when she gets bigger, if she feels jealous or wants something that someone else has, she can come to Mommy and Mommy will help her talk about it and figure out what to do.

No one has to teach a child how to be jealous. We see it immediately in toddlers with no prompting whatsoever. They aren’t necessarily interested in a toy or item until they see you or another person with it. Then, immediately, desire kicks in and the child is at your side, or the side of another child, reaching for and/or taking the item for themselves. If it is between two children, there is no mistaking the look on the face of the other child. We all know that look or those words.

“Hey, I was playing with that!”

 It’s a protest, a cry against the sudden change. What was dear to us, even for a short amount of time, has been snatched from us, even feels like it has been stolen. I have seen Elizabeth both take and be taken from and observed her reactions, as well as those of the other little ones. My girl is not retiring or demure when she wants something but it was clear to me that she did not like being on the other side of the mirror (who does, after all?), having had something taken from her by another child. She almost seemed to wilt a little bit, coming over to me with that look in her eyes of, “What do I do?” And all I could do was hug her and give her a new toy from nearby.

Adults are no different from children in their needs, wants, and the resulting jealousy and fear. However, with adults, it tends to be less about things and more about people. We treasure the attention of the people in our lives, enjoy the novelty and excitement of meeting new ones, and relax in the comfort of familiar attentions. Whether those people are siblings, parents, significant others, or friends, we will, at some point, find ourselves in the position of “sharing” that person’s friendship, time, and/or attention with others. And that is hard, especially at the outset. For lack of a better example, adults often have the same reaction as children when someone new comes along into the life of someone they care about.

“Hey! I was playing with that!”

 However, that reaction is usually hidden away in our private thoughts and feelings (as we are painstakingly taught to do in ‘polite society’), but they are still there. We have to give up the attention of the person in question, or at least a modicum of it, to make room for this new person in their life. And you’re often very right: you were there first, you were playing with them first. We all know that people are not toys, they are not possessions to be “played with”, but the principle is the same. We have to share because interdependence and relationship are part of the human existence. However much of a loner we may wish to be, there is no escaping relationship, not really. With relationship, then, comes a vulnerability born of caring, and jealousy is part of that. If you don’t like the term “jealousy”, call it “envy”, call it “being protective” or “territorial”. Use whatever describer you may prefer, but the result is the same. It happens when you care, even the littlest bit. It can blindside you in a moment’s blink. It can make your cheeks flush and stomach flop and make you want to become the Incredible Hulk and just SMASH!

“Hey! I was playing with that!”

Life is constantly new and exciting and jarring and it comes along with new twists and turns, well-met’s and fare-thee-well’s, for all of us. Along the way, somehow, we learn to cope. We learn to deal, to speak, to adjust, to adapt, and to love nonetheless.

The Truth About Birthdays

Pinterest is a fantasy world, in case you haven’t noticed. For the heck of it, I looked up ‘baby first birthdays’ (check it out for yourself) and looked through the pins that showed up. And I almost laughed out loud. Elizabeth’s first birthday looked NOTHING like these elegant, magazine-glossy affairs.

I had planned a simple, laid-back day with snuggles and cuddles and reflections on the past year, to be culminated with an afternoon nap to be fresh and ready for a family dinner at Johnny Carino’s that night. Yeah, that is NOT what happened. The morning was filled with errands, what should have taken perhaps two hours, took four, there was no nap when we got home, there were presents to wrap amidst amusing a rightfully sleepy baby. Then it was bathtime and getting ready time. The birthday girl did NOT want to get dressed, comb her hair, etc. Mommy ran through three outfits before she found one that she didn’t feel ridiculous in. Once we got everything packed and loaded up, including Elizabeth, we were fifteen minutes late leaving the house for dinner. She wasn’t happy being back in the car, naturally, and the rush hour traffic had begun. Even my husband beat us to the restaurant, coming from work, and he works about an hour away.

When we got to the restaurant, Ben took Elizabeth inside while I got the stuff out of the car. Naturally, as I’m getting out of the car, I drop her birthday presents. On the ground. In the mud. I could have cried right then and there, as I could have at many points that day. My mother handed me some tissues and I brushed them off as best I could. We got inside and found out that some family friends who had come had to leave at 6pm (it was almost five). We got Elizabeth situated and our drink orders placed (our server was patient and wonderful, thank you!). When Elizabeth’s milk came, I overfilled her sippy cup so when I went to screw on the lid, milk shot up into the air, only splishing her rather than soaking. Her bag got most of the wet. I sat there and just covered my face, again almost crying. Throughout dinner, Ben and I fed Elizabeth lots of bread and bites off our plates, though I know that she wasn’t getting as much food as she might normally. But she really seemed to like the bread and the milk at least.  Elizabeth suddenly decided that she had had enough of being in her high chair so I managed to free her and give her to our friends so they could cuddle her. They soon had to get ready to go so I had to rush along opening her presents from them, singing happy birthday and giving Elizabeth her birthday cupcake (we didn’t bother lighting it).

And there was my moment: watching Elizabeth stick her fingers in the frosting and eat bites of the cupcake as well as tasting her fingers. For a few minutes, I got to sit there and tape my girl and watch her enjoy her cupcake and frosting, eating far more daintily than I think I have ever seen a one year old eat cake. She did try to smoosh it towards the end but there was no huge mess.

On the whole, the day was not the best. I felt a great deal like a failure as a mommy, weary as a woman, and a shadow of a person, run off my feet and brain-weary. It was a ‘the universe hates me’ sort of day. But there was that moment and that moment made all the difference.

Baby Year 1

photo (1)

As my husband says, I look like I’ve been hit by a truck here. Yeah, I felt that way, too. But this moment, it’s the only moment that I allowed myself to be photographed, even requested it. Because I wanted to remember that first moment of ultimate joy with Elizabeth.

Tomorrow, my baby girl will be one year old. I don’t quite know how to put all of that into words. I don’t at all, actually. When I look back through all of the pictures, read through her baby book, look at the portraits on the wall, and see her toddling around or reaching her arms up to be picked up by Mum-mum or Dada, I just…marvel.

Here is this little life that was lifted out of me almost a year ago, whom I fearfully bundled up and brought home through the snow several days later. Here is this babe whom I recorded with the hiccups on her week-old-day in the wee hours of the morning. Here is this baby girl who greets me with a smile and a bounce in the mornings, who sets up a wail when I tell her no or when her loved ones leave. Instead of a tiny baby cuddled in my arms, there is this fearless, energetic kid starting to walk quickly around my living room, squealing and laughing and playing. It’s amazing, beyond words amazing.

So, Elizabeth, on your first birthday, I want you to know how amazing your Mum-mum and Dada think you are, as do everyone P6else in your life and everyone you meet. Thank you for blessing and challenging us this year, and we are looking forward to many more wonderful years with you, my little love.

Dream Memories: Little Precious

Author’s Note: This is the storified version of a dream that I had on March 10, 2005. Yes, I actually do write these things down. 🙂

= = = = 

I was so very tired; every part of me ached. I was sweaty and felt nearly ripped in two. The room still swam a bit and I felt too tired to lift a finger. I could hear voices around me, people moving around the room. Some leaving, others staying.

It was over. Finally.

I felt the doctor place a little blanketed bundle in my arms and they shook a little as I raised them to grasp it. It squirmed. I blinked to clear my vision and my breath was taken away for the umpteenth time that night.

He was perfect, absolutely perfect! Perfect little hands, perfect little nose, perfect little mouth. He clenched his little fists and squirmed again, opening his eyes. He looked right at me and seemed to almost visibly relax in my arms. Such clear, bright little eyes. I couldn’t believe it.

I felt lips kiss my forehead and a whisper of absolute amazement above me. I sighed. “Say hi to Daddy.” And lifted him into his father’s arms.

My pillow was soaking wet when I leaned my head back against it. The nurse said they would change my linens and bed after I’d caught my breath. She said he was a beautiful baby boy. We should be very proud. I assured her that we were.

I watched him hold our son, look into that brand-new face, so fresh from God’s presence. I found myself smiling, though I didn’t know what to say. But it was just the most beautiful moment.

After a minute, he placed him back in my arms. “I think he wants his mama.”

Mama. Me? It sounded so foreign to me, so impossible. And yet here he was. I held that precious, terrycloth-wrapped bundle and marveled all over again. Lips kissed my cheek and breath brushed my ear.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too…Daddy.” That didn’t sound foreign to me. I had always pictured him as a father, with a little boy or girl trailing after his heels. Playing with dogs, climbing trees, teaching his child to love the earth, the forests, and the fields that he had loved all his life. A little boy to teach how to open doors for a lady and to be simply charming, to play video games and knights and dragons with. A little girl—his own little princess—pelting around in the dirt after her grandfather’s chickens in her dress while her father laughs; a little girl to indulge in fairy tales and to teach to dream.

I determined then that our son would be encouraged in his wildness, to dash around the backyard, climbing trees, jumping rocks, and building forts in order to break every bone in his body. To dream of battle, of being a hero. He’d go camping and hiking and hunting with his father and grandfather, learn to love the land. I would read him bedtime stories full of heroes and quests, help him put together costumes for Halloween of superheroes. Campouts in the living room, safaris in the backyard. Yes, I knew there would be hard times, difficulties, shouting matches maybe, even. But we would make it through. God had placed him in our arms and we would give him back to into His hands.

I felt him smile against my temple as I set the little one to nurse.

“We still have to give him his name.”

I smiled, too. “Yes. But what do you say we tell Him thank-you first?”

NaBloMoPo Day 19: Month 11

Cross-posted from my mommy blog.

11 Months

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you this special post. My little girl is 11 months old today! YAY! One month more. She’s growing so quickly, I tell you.

Elizabeth is now:

  • smiling socially at almost everyone; it’s rare that she isn’t at ease with people.
  • imitating and practicing the sounds that you make, like ‘m’, ‘b’, and ‘g’, and expecting you to imitate/talk with her.
  • clapping her hands when she’s pleased or enjoying something (she apparently stood on her feet for a full minute and clapped at “Fraggle Rock” last night).
  • saying “mama” and “dada” with some discrimination.
  • recognizing faces and voices, such as her grandparents, and shows joy at them and is sad/cries when they leave.
  • very social with other babies, the few times she’s been around them.
  • standing on her own, walk with her walker or assistance, as well as take a few steps on her own (her first two came on 11-12-13).
  • holding steady at only two teeth on the bottom but we shall see how things progress.
  • constantly on the move, playing, exploring, etc. She is only still when she sleeps.

Elizabeth loves to sit and look at pictures of her family. She has a little book with pictures in plastic envelopes of her family and she likes to sit and thumb through it. She is learning to turn the pages in books and that is one of her favorite things to do….besides eat the books. She loves paper and will probably poop out a book one of these days.

I am amazed day by day, even when I am weary, worn, and frustrated. She never ceases to amaze me.

Just a moment but a beautiful one

So I had a total Mom moment last night. I went to check on my baby girl after she had gone to bed and, when I held her little Snow White nightlight over her crib, I was so struck by how beautiful her little face was that I just had to stand there for a moment and marvel. I guess I never really imagined just how much you can love an infant; it’s really striking and beautiful.