Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Little Things - Pals

Lola loves her Jessie doll. Naturally, when a child loves something as much as Lola does, mishaps, broken and misplaced pieces are to be expected. Tears and confusion are also to be expected. A lack of understanding. A sense of helplessness. Like the tiny little world she thought she knew was crumbling before her eyes.

I wish the part where I explain how I put Miss Jessie's boot back on what appeared to be an amputated leg was both intricate and intriguing, leaving you wanting to hear more about the parts where I elaborately stitched a stitch so fine, attaching the two, leaving her good as new. I wish that I could get into detail about the time it took to meticulously place that little brown boot on her nub to match up perfectly with the opposing. Details that resembled a little more of this and a lot less Gorilla Glue.

 Moments where I tell you how this complicated and high-risk procedure had my little girl sitting at the edge of her high chair nervously awaiting the fate of her dear Jessie doll. The tension subsided once I finished. I explained to Lola that Jessie needed to rest so she would be better and ready to play in the morning. 

Jessie has fully recovered. She and Lola are once again best pals. Keeping Gorilla Glue on  hand is a life saver. Lesson learned.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Utopian Summers

When I was pregnant, I remember thinking about the perfect Summers we'd have. Summers spent day after day at park playgrounds on quilted blankets with books and snacks, our toes tickled by single blades of bright green grass as we huddle beneath the beauty of a single merciful shade tree. I'd picture the fun we'd have with bubbles and big pieces of sidewalk chalk, the way your flawless and exposed skin would become warm and pink from the bright bright sun. I'd dream about the wonderful whimsical patterns you'd wear, the bright vibrant colors intertwined, rhythmically creating bliss on your sweet little sun dresses, shorts, and tees.

 I'd imagine our walks to nearby parks, your little legs taking the tiny yet significant steps, each time a little less wobbly, a little stronger, a little more confident. And in my mind I'd see this fictitious world through a warm yellow filter, mimicking the sun's light at high heat, illuminating your little body with a beautiful golden hue. 

Two years into this wonderful life I'm privileged to be a part of, those dreams of perfect Utopian Summers are becoming my reality. Each day, I'm overjoyed. Elated at the fact that this here, very present life mirrors the life I thought we'd live.

Lola, like any other child, is passionate about bubbles. And just like my dreams, we watch these perfect clear but iridescent spheres be seduced and swept away in a romantic love affair with an early evening breeze.

And just like all children, she is anxious for an unassisted turn. She thrusts the wand up and down in the bottle the way we mamas do when trying to get the last of the mascara from the tubes we can't seem to discard. Pulling the wand from its bubbly abode, soapy suds spilling down her legs, she brings it close, exaggeratedly puckering her lips for the first blow. Bubbly bliss.

And when she's worn out and in need of a break, she flocks to me for a sweet Summer treat. She indulges in each perfect piece, red and juicy from months of growing under a ripe Summer sun, leaving my little girl a happy one.

We are glad to watch you grow, sweet girl, happy you are ours. You bring us joy each day, a greater understanding of who we are and how we should love. You've taught us to be patient and to bask in the sweet moments of our Utopian life.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Little Mental Notes

My blog has been collecting dust lately. Neglected and set beside the mountains of things I'd rather be doing. Things that have consumed our days from the early moments when my alarm chirps so softly that I gamble recklessly, sleeping through it for the last few minutes of extra sleep, finally ending in those quiet moments long after the sun has settled and the last bit of day's heat is quickly overpowered by the brisk nightly breeze that sweeps through our opened windows. Lola is tucked away in her crib. Calm and quiet. Peacefully embracing the piles of stuffed plush that rest on her chest.

The last eleven days have been full. Busy, yet calm. Spent well.

We've spent early afternoons walking the grid, rediscovering old parks with new produce stands where my little girl plays fruit critic-extraordinaire. I watch her carefully examine peaches, blackberries, strawberries, and cherries for the best of the best- the leaders of the pack. After making her decision, she excitedly carries the bags of lucky chosen ones to the playground nearby where she's reunited with an old friend.
And just like that, in the moment when her eyes meet those of the large green piece of plastic playground equipment, I realize where we were and how far we've come.

We prolonged afternoon naps, snuggling up with snacks, Lola's PBS Kids app, and this blog. We set our lists aside and took advantage of the opportunity to sit and be. And sometimes, that's okay.

 Lola has broadened her horizons and set her sights on bigger and better things. She has abandoned her love for Dora the Explorer and has since moved on to Go Diego, Go. I personally back her decision 100%. Since she's moved on, I consistently have this song stuck in my head. With this new found love for Diego comes an interest in photography. Behold, Lola's sweet shots.
 Like her mama, she photographs the things she loves. 

Lola had her first swimming lesson last week. As she sat along the pool's edge nervously looking around at parents and toddlers coupled in the water beneath her, I could see the fear shamelessly pouring out of her big brown eyes. She finally gave in and entered the pool. Proud parent moment number one. Later in the lesson, the parents were instructed to face their child out, their backs to our chests, and were prompted to rest the back of their head on our shoulder, allowing their tiny bodies to float. Lola was not okay with this. She would quickly stiffen up the moment she felt the rush of cold pool water run up the back of her neck. We pressed on though, trying time after time. Suddenly, I felt her relax, her tiny body floating up slowly. She let go. Trusted me. Proud parent moment number two.
We decorated signs and baked goodies for my brother. Lola was very reserved with her coloring skills at first, but with a boost in confidence and a few encouraging words, she added her own little flair, perfecting and creating a one of a kind masterpiece.
 Be free, my little wild flower.

Friday, July 01, 2011

New Day

 When you are in love you can’t fall asleep because reality is better than your dreams. -Dr. Seuss

The sun rises each day, presenting a new opportunity to love her a little better. A little more. To get to know her and to see her a little clearer. And I've been falling so hard for this little girl lately.
Even after those that seem never ending, exhausted from a day's worth of mothering, after all the smooches, the noses, and the group hugs, when she's all tucked away in her crib and I sit on the couch to reflect on my day, all I want to do is scoop her up and have a couple more minutes. In those reflective moments, the moments at the end of the evening when my day is put into rewind and played back in my mind, that is when my life is put into perspective. All the negativity, the exhaustion, the irritable state of mind I was in during nap time because Lola's animals wouldn't stop talking to each other and because she wouldn't stop shaking the bed, those little moments are stripped down and puffed away and all that's left is how I think her little two year old imagination is beautiful and the realization that she squirms only to prevent herself from napping when in reality, she ends up knocking herself out. I should just go with it more.
She is so charming and so expressive.

I've come to realize that every night as I go to bed, I don't do it hoping to fall asleep and dream the dreams of my little girl running through fields of wild flowers, laughing so hard because she thinks knows her mom is the funniest human on the planet. Those dreams would be nice, of course. But I do it to wake up to her. To see her little morning face with matted hair and hear her little voice chirp the sweetest words as her little eyes catch me in her sight, "Hi, Mommy!"

I sleep to wake to a new day with her. The next page in this chapter of our lives.