Confident

I've been trying to see my daughter, not as a little one who's acquired a master's degree in the terrible twos but instead, as an individual. Yesterday as I turned the soil and bits of veggies, fruits, and plant matter that make up our compost pile, this little one showed a huge interest in what I was doing. I gloved her up and gave her the task of pulling out the small roots from weeds and those belonging to a very territorial hydrangea plant. She dove right in, excitedly skimming though handfuls of moist soil.

A moment arose when I encountered a large root from that territorial plant, it selfishly extending this part of its body deep through the heart of my compost pile. I grabbed it with both hands and began to pull, and pull, and pull. Being the kind and helpful little girl that she's become, she came up behind me, placed her two little hands on my waist and pulled with all her strength.

I imagined what this might look like, this little one's tiny hands clamped around her mama. I thought about the expression on her face, the exhaustion and determined look painted across her face as she tiredly exercised all her energy into each significant pull.

 We were able to pull that stubborn root up.

The other night was discouraging. I typed terrible twos into the search engine desperate to find some answers. Some remedy or some little bit of knowledge that would bring some clarity and revive my spirit from its uneasiness. I found an article that mentioned that these (very annoying) outbursts of emotions are normal. That they happen because the child has discovered his/her confidence.

Though I am not entirely amused by the tantrums, the famous limp-noodle body that's become so routine, it makes me so happy to think that my little one is becoming a confident little girl!

This phase

We've been treading water. Trying desperately to keep our heads above a sea of anger and frustration and self-blame. A sea that has since swiped up our little girl from a shallow and sandy perch, dunking her down deep into the dark abyss of the terrible twos. We're struggling along the fine lines of when and how to discipline. Defining those things considered unacceptable.We are not natural swimmers. And sometimes it feels as though we're drowning. Other days feel like today...

When early mornings start earlier than normal. The night sky, still deep and dark and quiet.Our sleep disturbed by the soft cries of our teething babe. She snuggles up, desperate to find the sweet spot between our pillows and in my arms. And it's okay.

Mornings when the only thing on my mind is driving the seven odd blocks in anticipation of the look on this little girl's face when I come through the front door. When I get an unexplained feeling deep down in my gut- I just need to be near her. Mornings when my heart longs for words of affirmation. Of hope. And courage. Reminding me that this stage is only a phase and as my father used to preach, This too, shall pass. And it's so true.

As she sits deep in suds, morning sun spilling onto the bathroom floor, I sit deep in thought. Meditating on what I hope to make of today. What I hope to obtain. How I want to love her. I take in each hopeful and perfectly woven sentence of this song, allowing it to speak to my tired heart, reassuring me that this phase is only temporary. Affirming that we are making progress. That with this stage comes growth and communication and a better understanding of who she is and who I've become as a parent.

 We're emphasizing please and thank-you, bearing through the sobs and fountains of tears which flow from her big browns. We've learned patience and love. We're learning to give direction and instruction, applauding her in her successes, even when it is only because she managed to eat every piece of unwanted food on her plate.

 We take pride in our ritualistic bedtime routine-both parents and lots of love, realizing that no matter how rough our day can be, we can always end them positively. We ask for peace. For patience. For understanding. For self-control. But most of all, we ask that we continue to act with love.

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.

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.

Uncharted Waters - First Edition

The uncharted waters of the terrible twos have been about more than the rogue waves of public temper tantrums. They have been about development. Independence. Spontaneous bouts of affection and a sensitive, comforting spirit.

I'll touch more on the other aspects later, but for now I just want to say that I am a proud mother. In the past two years, there have been countless times where I've sat and wondered if we're raising our daughter right. If by raising her, from what may as well be a state away from our family, will she be confident? Self-assured? Will she believe that she is worthy of everything that life has to offer and more? I've wondered if raising her without religious foundations but teaching her to love and be compassionate, will that be enough? Can she grow to be good and do good and to love all equally? Will she make the right choices?

I've seen a glimpse of a product of hope. And I am proud.

My hand-me-down cold took a turn for the worse when my ear became stuffed up to the point where I couldn't hear. Pros and cons, let me tell you! It turns out, it is only an ear infection, but a severe one at that. This morning after getting home from work, I felt horrible. Nauseated, cold, feverish, and dizzy. Desperate to be taken care of.

I was reassured that everything would be fine. Lola looked at me with those big browns and said, "Mommy sick." Did I mention that I love that she calls me mommy now? She came over and stuffed a variety of her plastic fruits and vegetables under my blanket, for nourishment of course, each time covering me up and patting my back softly and slowly. This little gesture, the affection and thought behind it, came through with her big, comforting spirit.

She's turning into a good little human.

Calm seas ahead!