Those species that eat their young?
That must happen when the offspring turn three.
I think they may be on to something.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Friday, June 08, 2007
Princess Camp
Princess Camp. C'mon, doesn't the name make you smile just a little? Either genuinely or sardonically?
Today was the last day of Ainslie's week-long Princess Camp at the local dance studio. For an hour each morning this week, ten or so little girls twirled, dressed up, waved their wands, curtsied, made a craft, listened to a story and danced their little princess-loving hearts out.
This was our first drop-off-and-come-back-in-an-hour activity. This was the first time I've signed her up for something and then not been there to see what she was doing, so I only know what Ainslie told me. The first day they all got a princess name (hers was Gabriella, but they seemed to have dropped them after that first day.) They learned to curtsy "at a ball" and that was worth the price--the curtsy is priceless. She already knew the ballet/reverance curtsy, but this was a funny little bend-the-knee-and-bow number that makes me giggle each time she does it. They danced in a circle. They dressed up in costumes. There was a Hannah, a Lily, and a Rachel. That's about all I was told.
On Day 2, I peeked in as I left to make sure Ainslie was ok and not scared or lonely or anything. She was already telling the teacher something very important. She was fine.
On Day 3 when I picked her up, I was told Ainslie was cracking the staff up. That's all I know.
So today, finally, parents were allowed to watch for the last few minutes. Jasmine and Aurora had paid a special visit to dance with the princesses in training. Now, I still have mixed feelings on the whole princess thing, but tears sprang to my eyes watching these little girls absolutely suspending any disbelief over whether these teenage dance students in a prom gown and old recital costume WERE the real Aurora and Jasmine. Ainslie waved her wand, she twirled, she sang along, and when both songs (A Whole New World and Once Upon a Dream, of course)were over she rushed up with the other little girls to hug her heroines.
There was something so raw and poignant about watching her. I wish I had more moments of pure, unbridled in-the-moment-ness like that. Today, that's the lesson I've learned from my child. Let go sometimes. Don't hunt for errors. Take things at face value sometimes. And curtsy.
Today was the last day of Ainslie's week-long Princess Camp at the local dance studio. For an hour each morning this week, ten or so little girls twirled, dressed up, waved their wands, curtsied, made a craft, listened to a story and danced their little princess-loving hearts out.
This was our first drop-off-and-come-back-in-an-hour activity. This was the first time I've signed her up for something and then not been there to see what she was doing, so I only know what Ainslie told me. The first day they all got a princess name (hers was Gabriella, but they seemed to have dropped them after that first day.) They learned to curtsy "at a ball" and that was worth the price--the curtsy is priceless. She already knew the ballet/reverance curtsy, but this was a funny little bend-the-knee-and-bow number that makes me giggle each time she does it. They danced in a circle. They dressed up in costumes. There was a Hannah, a Lily, and a Rachel. That's about all I was told.
On Day 2, I peeked in as I left to make sure Ainslie was ok and not scared or lonely or anything. She was already telling the teacher something very important. She was fine.
On Day 3 when I picked her up, I was told Ainslie was cracking the staff up. That's all I know.
So today, finally, parents were allowed to watch for the last few minutes. Jasmine and Aurora had paid a special visit to dance with the princesses in training. Now, I still have mixed feelings on the whole princess thing, but tears sprang to my eyes watching these little girls absolutely suspending any disbelief over whether these teenage dance students in a prom gown and old recital costume WERE the real Aurora and Jasmine. Ainslie waved her wand, she twirled, she sang along, and when both songs (A Whole New World and Once Upon a Dream, of course)were over she rushed up with the other little girls to hug her heroines.
There was something so raw and poignant about watching her. I wish I had more moments of pure, unbridled in-the-moment-ness like that. Today, that's the lesson I've learned from my child. Let go sometimes. Don't hunt for errors. Take things at face value sometimes. And curtsy.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Got Your Jar Ready?
You may think I'm exagerrating if I say I live at the edge of town, next to a corn field, but it's true. I'm sure someday our subdivision will be further developed, but for now, I really enjoy having the fields around. It's very peaceful, the stars are bright at night, and now that it's summer, there is a new delight. Fireflies, or Lightning Bugs, as we grew up calling them, are everywhere!
Now, the cornfield to the west of us gives way to a soybean field about half a block down, and I saw something Monday night that I hadn't seen since childhood, visiting my grandparents. Hovering, as far as the eye can see (which, due to the treelessness of central Illinois is pretty far) were thousands of firefly lights. It was breathtaking. Ainslie was enthralled, and frankly, so was I. We all three just stood there and watched.
Yesterday, Ainslie was full of the promise of a "firebug" hunt, and she was at the ready, with a jar fashioned by Daddy and stuffed full of clover and grass. We managed to get enough of them to make quite a little lantern, and we 'kept' three of them, named Jaxey, Maxey, and Nanny. They are still alive, in case you wondered whether any lightning bugs were harmed...
We told her we'll go watch again tonight. Like most magical memories from childhood, Firefly Season passes all too quickly.
Now, the cornfield to the west of us gives way to a soybean field about half a block down, and I saw something Monday night that I hadn't seen since childhood, visiting my grandparents. Hovering, as far as the eye can see (which, due to the treelessness of central Illinois is pretty far) were thousands of firefly lights. It was breathtaking. Ainslie was enthralled, and frankly, so was I. We all three just stood there and watched.
Yesterday, Ainslie was full of the promise of a "firebug" hunt, and she was at the ready, with a jar fashioned by Daddy and stuffed full of clover and grass. We managed to get enough of them to make quite a little lantern, and we 'kept' three of them, named Jaxey, Maxey, and Nanny. They are still alive, in case you wondered whether any lightning bugs were harmed...
We told her we'll go watch again tonight. Like most magical memories from childhood, Firefly Season passes all too quickly.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
To Ainslie on (or a few days prior to) Her Third Birthday
Dear Ainslie,
Do you know that I don't think I've ever given you a birthday card? I'm sorry, but I hope that someday maybe you'll read some of these entries and they will take the place of cards.
To put it simply, and to use one of your, Bob, and Larry's favorite words, You Are Amazing.
I never dreamed I would be blessed with such a wonderful child. Sometimes I catch myself being smug at your wonderfulness. You really are so smart, funny, cute and well, ornery. Even though it frustrates me sometimes and makes me question whether I am fit to parent, I would rather you be your negotiating, independent, and yes, sometimes infuriating self than not express yourself and not try as hard as you can to get what you want. Someday, when you have gained some maturity, those traits will serve you well.
I can't believe the things that come out of your mouth. You use reason and logic in ways that astound me. You question processes beyond the usual "why" (although there is plenty of "why" in our house too.) Your perception of my opinions and feelings is a little disconcerting. I thought I had to be careful with what I say, now I have to be careful with tone. You understand sarcasm. You think "duh" is an hilarious word.
You break my heart with your sweetness. You tell me that you know Aunt Carrie lives with Jesus, so she must also live in my heart, since Jesus does too. You tell me you want to be a Mommy and a Teacher ("just like You!") when you grow up. Of course, you also say you want to be a princess.
You have a flair for the dramatic. You rarely just say you want something, it's usually, "It would be so (wonderful/amazing) to have a necklace like that, don't you think so?" You sleep in a tiara and plastic high heels. You refer to the Overskirt and Underskirt on your princess gowns, and you did NOT hear those terms from me. You make up epic songs based on stories or the events of the day. You make up words and then tell me you are speaking French or Spanish. "Cisco is French for Chicago, did you know that?" The fireplace hearth is your stage.
You're learning to spell and write. You're starting preschool in the fall and you are very excited. You insist on picking out your own clothes, sometimes several times a day.
You have no artifice. You have a confidence I never had and I hope you never lose. You love your friends, to the point of needing to "worry more about Ainslie." You are brave and outgoing. You talk to everyone.
Oh, kiddo. I pray that I can keep nurturing you the way you need to be nurtured in order to reach your full potential. I pray that the choices I make for you are in your best interest and not just what I deem Easiest or Most Fun. In my hubris, I'm afraid to turn you over to educators who, although I think they will recognize your gifts, may not realize how special you are. I pray that I can always be your best advocate, without embarrassing you to tears as you get older.
You are the best thing I've ever done; my biggest joy, my grandest blessing, and my greatest treasure.
I love you more than anything in the Whole Wide World,
Mommy
Do you know that I don't think I've ever given you a birthday card? I'm sorry, but I hope that someday maybe you'll read some of these entries and they will take the place of cards.
To put it simply, and to use one of your, Bob, and Larry's favorite words, You Are Amazing.
I never dreamed I would be blessed with such a wonderful child. Sometimes I catch myself being smug at your wonderfulness. You really are so smart, funny, cute and well, ornery. Even though it frustrates me sometimes and makes me question whether I am fit to parent, I would rather you be your negotiating, independent, and yes, sometimes infuriating self than not express yourself and not try as hard as you can to get what you want. Someday, when you have gained some maturity, those traits will serve you well.
I can't believe the things that come out of your mouth. You use reason and logic in ways that astound me. You question processes beyond the usual "why" (although there is plenty of "why" in our house too.) Your perception of my opinions and feelings is a little disconcerting. I thought I had to be careful with what I say, now I have to be careful with tone. You understand sarcasm. You think "duh" is an hilarious word.
You break my heart with your sweetness. You tell me that you know Aunt Carrie lives with Jesus, so she must also live in my heart, since Jesus does too. You tell me you want to be a Mommy and a Teacher ("just like You!") when you grow up. Of course, you also say you want to be a princess.
You have a flair for the dramatic. You rarely just say you want something, it's usually, "It would be so (wonderful/amazing) to have a necklace like that, don't you think so?" You sleep in a tiara and plastic high heels. You refer to the Overskirt and Underskirt on your princess gowns, and you did NOT hear those terms from me. You make up epic songs based on stories or the events of the day. You make up words and then tell me you are speaking French or Spanish. "Cisco is French for Chicago, did you know that?" The fireplace hearth is your stage.
You're learning to spell and write. You're starting preschool in the fall and you are very excited. You insist on picking out your own clothes, sometimes several times a day.
You have no artifice. You have a confidence I never had and I hope you never lose. You love your friends, to the point of needing to "worry more about Ainslie." You are brave and outgoing. You talk to everyone.
Oh, kiddo. I pray that I can keep nurturing you the way you need to be nurtured in order to reach your full potential. I pray that the choices I make for you are in your best interest and not just what I deem Easiest or Most Fun. In my hubris, I'm afraid to turn you over to educators who, although I think they will recognize your gifts, may not realize how special you are. I pray that I can always be your best advocate, without embarrassing you to tears as you get older.
You are the best thing I've ever done; my biggest joy, my grandest blessing, and my greatest treasure.
I love you more than anything in the Whole Wide World,
Mommy
Friday, May 25, 2007
Preschool Screening (it's a One of Those Moms post)
If you don't want to hear about how wonderful and smart my kid is, you should skip this entry. It's gonna get deep.
We did the preschool screening today.
At the beginning, we were told, "We will give you a short report before you leave, but you won't know whether you get in until all children have been screened, in a few weeks.
"Getting in" means you are somehow at risk academically. When asked whether I had any concerns, I said no, but that I just wanted an objective opinion on her development. C'mon. The Truth is, I wanted to hear an actual early childhood specialist say my daughter is brilliant.
As we left, we were told, "There is no way she will be accepted. She did a wonderful job and is considerably ahead of where she should be in all areas."
There. Thank you.
It was fun to watch. As usual, Ainslie told people everything they could ever want to know and then some. She was downright rapturous about the Scissors, since they are forbidden fruit most of the time at home. She kept taking little asides to remind me that it was ok for her to have the scissors because there was a grown-up Right There. She even told them, "You know, I should be taking a nap right now, but today I don't have to because I'm here at your school."
She played catch, she hopped on one foot, she walked on a line ("do you know I can walk on my tippy toes? I do that at gymnastics."), she ran, she climbed stairs.
Funny, in 75 minutes, they didn't see anything. They don't know about her zooming up on her scooter to tell me, "I just came from England and brought you some pasta and bacon!" They don't know that, "Captain Hook *officially* lives in Disney World." They thought it was odd that she kept wandering to the bookshelf. One of them noted that someone her age, "shouldn't be so interested in books yet." ???????? Weird. Anyway, it was a good day.
Very, very thankful and proud mommy here.
We did the preschool screening today.
At the beginning, we were told, "We will give you a short report before you leave, but you won't know whether you get in until all children have been screened, in a few weeks.
"Getting in" means you are somehow at risk academically. When asked whether I had any concerns, I said no, but that I just wanted an objective opinion on her development. C'mon. The Truth is, I wanted to hear an actual early childhood specialist say my daughter is brilliant.
As we left, we were told, "There is no way she will be accepted. She did a wonderful job and is considerably ahead of where she should be in all areas."
There. Thank you.
It was fun to watch. As usual, Ainslie told people everything they could ever want to know and then some. She was downright rapturous about the Scissors, since they are forbidden fruit most of the time at home. She kept taking little asides to remind me that it was ok for her to have the scissors because there was a grown-up Right There. She even told them, "You know, I should be taking a nap right now, but today I don't have to because I'm here at your school."
She played catch, she hopped on one foot, she walked on a line ("do you know I can walk on my tippy toes? I do that at gymnastics."), she ran, she climbed stairs.
Funny, in 75 minutes, they didn't see anything. They don't know about her zooming up on her scooter to tell me, "I just came from England and brought you some pasta and bacon!" They don't know that, "Captain Hook *officially* lives in Disney World." They thought it was odd that she kept wandering to the bookshelf. One of them noted that someone her age, "shouldn't be so interested in books yet." ???????? Weird. Anyway, it was a good day.
Very, very thankful and proud mommy here.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
I think we're ok
Me: Ainslie, later this week, on Friday, we are going to the big kids' school. You get to play for awhile--I'll be there too--and a teacher is going to play with you and maybe ask you some questions, ok?
Ainslie: Ok. What are we going to play?
Me: Well, I'm not sure, but probably lots of things. Can you try everything for the teacher, just so she can see whether you can do it? Like, if she asks you to stack some blocks, can you just show her how?
Ainslie: Ok. I'll stack them all the way to the light!
Me: Great! Thank you! If she asks you questions, you can answer her, ok? Like, if she asks your favorite things to play, or eat, or your favorite stories, you can tell her, ok?
Ainslie: Ok. Let's pretend that you are the teacher and we are there right now.
Me: Ok. Hi, I'm Mrs. Wilson. What is your name?
Ainslie: My name is Ainslie. Ainslie Jane Wilson. I live on Eagle Ridge, Chatham Illinois.
Me: Well, it's nice to meet you. Ainslie, what do you like to play?
Ainslie: I just LOVE to stack blocks! It's so amazing!
Yeah. I think we're ok.
Ainslie: Ok. What are we going to play?
Me: Well, I'm not sure, but probably lots of things. Can you try everything for the teacher, just so she can see whether you can do it? Like, if she asks you to stack some blocks, can you just show her how?
Ainslie: Ok. I'll stack them all the way to the light!
Me: Great! Thank you! If she asks you questions, you can answer her, ok? Like, if she asks your favorite things to play, or eat, or your favorite stories, you can tell her, ok?
Ainslie: Ok. Let's pretend that you are the teacher and we are there right now.
Me: Ok. Hi, I'm Mrs. Wilson. What is your name?
Ainslie: My name is Ainslie. Ainslie Jane Wilson. I live on Eagle Ridge, Chatham Illinois.
Me: Well, it's nice to meet you. Ainslie, what do you like to play?
Ainslie: I just LOVE to stack blocks! It's so amazing!
Yeah. I think we're ok.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Must Be My Lucky Day
At Sam's Club, you have to have your receipt checked as you walk out the door--so it's Ainslie's job to hold onto it as we leave. Some nice clerks turn the receipt over and draw a happy face. Ainslie loves that. The first time it happened, I must've said, "It's your lucky day!" because now, every time it happens, she gushes, "Must be my lucky day!"
Anyway. Today something great happened. Well, nothing actually happened. Well, some things happened that weren't so great--but I digress. I went in to request a sub for a class next week (reference the not-so-great thing, i.e. a husband who can't be relied on to fill in with child care even though he is MORE than happy for the income, but again, I digress.) While I was talking to my boss, she mentioned more classes for next quarter.
That is a great thing. The thing that has me kind of flabbergasted is that I think I am going to refuse one of them. I am already stretched pretty thin right now. I have had too many days lately where Ainslie watches too much TV. One class meets at night, once a week. That one, I definitely want. The other one is twice a week starting at noon. Yuck. That cuts into waterpark time with friends, plus it means I have to either get a babysitter or ask my in-laws (who would probably say yes) to watch Ainslie. I don't want to. I want to have fun with my monkey this summer before she starts preschool and grows up a little too much. For right now, I don't have to take the class.
I never thought, when I started staying at home, I'd have so much work (I mean the kind that pays money--then there's the other!) I feel like this is some sort of milestone. I have enough contract work (that I do mostly when Ainslie is asleep) that I don't have to teach both sections. Lucky me!
Anyway. Today something great happened. Well, nothing actually happened. Well, some things happened that weren't so great--but I digress. I went in to request a sub for a class next week (reference the not-so-great thing, i.e. a husband who can't be relied on to fill in with child care even though he is MORE than happy for the income, but again, I digress.) While I was talking to my boss, she mentioned more classes for next quarter.
That is a great thing. The thing that has me kind of flabbergasted is that I think I am going to refuse one of them. I am already stretched pretty thin right now. I have had too many days lately where Ainslie watches too much TV. One class meets at night, once a week. That one, I definitely want. The other one is twice a week starting at noon. Yuck. That cuts into waterpark time with friends, plus it means I have to either get a babysitter or ask my in-laws (who would probably say yes) to watch Ainslie. I don't want to. I want to have fun with my monkey this summer before she starts preschool and grows up a little too much. For right now, I don't have to take the class.
I never thought, when I started staying at home, I'd have so much work (I mean the kind that pays money--then there's the other!) I feel like this is some sort of milestone. I have enough contract work (that I do mostly when Ainslie is asleep) that I don't have to teach both sections. Lucky me!
Friday, May 11, 2007
No Idea Where She Gets It
"Grammie, I was talking and talking at gymnastics yesterday and do you know what Ms Kathy did tell me? She said I am a...a...a...Motormouse!"
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Dedicated to Tammy: Chiropractic Nirvana
Ahhhhhhh.
I've seen a chiropractor 3 times now and ahhhhhh. Slept like a rock last night. The pinched nerve in my neck that has been making my hands go numb for months is slowly getting unpinched. Traction rocks.
Anyway, Tammy, my friend, have YOU called a chiropractor yet? Your post several weeks ago about taking care of yourself has really been inspiring me lately--I'm also getting a haircut in 50 minutes, by the way.
I've seen a chiropractor 3 times now and ahhhhhh. Slept like a rock last night. The pinched nerve in my neck that has been making my hands go numb for months is slowly getting unpinched. Traction rocks.
Anyway, Tammy, my friend, have YOU called a chiropractor yet? Your post several weeks ago about taking care of yourself has really been inspiring me lately--I'm also getting a haircut in 50 minutes, by the way.
You Lost Me At "Babysitter."
I don't know whether anyone remembers my story about the student (who is in his 30's) who I hadn't met all quarter, who then e-mailed me the next-to-last week of class telling me how important his job is and how although he had never been to my class, he knew everything and would like to take the final and pass the class...? Maybe I posted it on PALP---anyway, he strikes again!
Last night, he actually showed up in a different class on Week 2 of the quarter! After class, he approached me and gave me the "my -job- is- so- important -I- work- at -the -mercy -of- the -legislative- session- because- I- am- a -lobbyist" spiel. My attitude is, if you don't have time to take a class, don't sign up for it.
Anyway, I very sweetly explained to him that I completely understand where he is coming from. I also have other commitments--I do consulting work at all hours of the clock and stay home full time with a child--yet since I committed to teach this class, I get to class.
"Yeah, but...is it really that important that I actually be present in class? I mean, this is my second career and all and I already know the information..."
(Silently) "Oh, really, you little pipsqueak?" (Aloud) "Look, B, everyone in here has other commitments. Yet, we make it to class. You will be graded by the same syllabus requirements as everyone else. If my husband can't get home in time, or I can't get a babysitter, I still have to find a way to get here, because I said I would."
"Oh, wow, if only I could get a babysitter to do MY JOB."
Alrighty then. We're on.
Last night, he actually showed up in a different class on Week 2 of the quarter! After class, he approached me and gave me the "my -job- is- so- important -I- work- at -the -mercy -of- the -legislative- session- because- I- am- a -lobbyist" spiel. My attitude is, if you don't have time to take a class, don't sign up for it.
Anyway, I very sweetly explained to him that I completely understand where he is coming from. I also have other commitments--I do consulting work at all hours of the clock and stay home full time with a child--yet since I committed to teach this class, I get to class.
"Yeah, but...is it really that important that I actually be present in class? I mean, this is my second career and all and I already know the information..."
(Silently) "Oh, really, you little pipsqueak?" (Aloud) "Look, B, everyone in here has other commitments. Yet, we make it to class. You will be graded by the same syllabus requirements as everyone else. If my husband can't get home in time, or I can't get a babysitter, I still have to find a way to get here, because I said I would."
"Oh, wow, if only I could get a babysitter to do MY JOB."
Alrighty then. We're on.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Words of Wisdom
Ainslie: Mom, chicken nuggets are just like candy.
Me: Really? Why do you think so?
Ainslie: Because if you eat too many you get sick and throw up.
Me: Really? Why do you think so?
Ainslie: Because if you eat too many you get sick and throw up.
The Power of Generosity
The project I am working on right now is based on Keith Ferrazzi's book, Never Eat Alone, and it talks about how relationships are the key to success in life. One of the cornerstones of this philosophy is Be Generous and Give--and Don't Keep Score. Without getting into the boring details (unless you are an ID geek) of the course, let me just say that I have been really focusing lately on how other peoples' generosity toward me has put me where I am--which is usually a pretty good place.
Today, I'd just like to give a few shout-outs of thanks.
To Wade, without your 'in' at the CPD (and you sharing that with me) I may not have gotten that job, which means I may never have been Training Manager anywhere yet. Also, because of your generosity of bringing me into that first project, I am living my dream of working AND being a SAHM. Thank You!
To my parents and in-laws--thank you for taking care of Ainslie as often as you do so I can Have It All, without worrying.
To Holly--Thank you for being so generous to Ainslie and I that first week at ballet--and ever since! Thank you for sharing such a fun group of moms and kiddos with us. You don't know how much that has helped us feel at home!
To Tracy--Thank you for being The One Who Knows Everything About Moving to Chatham. Without your generous sharing of information I would know much less about preschools, swimming lessons, the library, furniture stores, and Knight's!
To Jena and Heather--Thanks for, well, Everything! Mostly for listening. I know best friends are supposed to be generous with support, but you guys are superstars. Oh, and Jena, thanks for making me read Harry Potter. What would I be without Harry in my life?
To Suzi, Candy and Heather--thanks for being generous with friendship and sarcasm. :-)
To PALP and everyone there--Thank You for saving my sanity (for real) over the past 6 years. I'm not sure Ainslie would be here if it weren't for the support and friendship you've shared.
I'm probably missing people. My point is that I really feel so blessed and humbled, and also inspired to be generous myself, with friendship, information, job leads, and even things as simple as smiles.
Today, I'd just like to give a few shout-outs of thanks.
To Wade, without your 'in' at the CPD (and you sharing that with me) I may not have gotten that job, which means I may never have been Training Manager anywhere yet. Also, because of your generosity of bringing me into that first project, I am living my dream of working AND being a SAHM. Thank You!
To my parents and in-laws--thank you for taking care of Ainslie as often as you do so I can Have It All, without worrying.
To Holly--Thank you for being so generous to Ainslie and I that first week at ballet--and ever since! Thank you for sharing such a fun group of moms and kiddos with us. You don't know how much that has helped us feel at home!
To Tracy--Thank you for being The One Who Knows Everything About Moving to Chatham. Without your generous sharing of information I would know much less about preschools, swimming lessons, the library, furniture stores, and Knight's!
To Jena and Heather--Thanks for, well, Everything! Mostly for listening. I know best friends are supposed to be generous with support, but you guys are superstars. Oh, and Jena, thanks for making me read Harry Potter. What would I be without Harry in my life?
To Suzi, Candy and Heather--thanks for being generous with friendship and sarcasm. :-)
To PALP and everyone there--Thank You for saving my sanity (for real) over the past 6 years. I'm not sure Ainslie would be here if it weren't for the support and friendship you've shared.
I'm probably missing people. My point is that I really feel so blessed and humbled, and also inspired to be generous myself, with friendship, information, job leads, and even things as simple as smiles.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Mother of the Bride
During a big family love-in/snugglefest last week, Craig says, "Oh, Ainslie, you are going to live with Mommy and Daddy forever, aren't you?"
Ainslie: Yes. No. I'm going to get married.
Me: You are? To whom?
Ainslie: To a boy. When I'm bigger.
Craig: When you're at least 30.
Ainslie: Yeah. And I'm going to wear a long, beautiful Marry dress.
Me: You are?
Ainslie: Yes. Or wait. Mommy, may I just wear my Easter dress?
Me: Sure.
Ainslie: Yes. No. I'm going to get married.
Me: You are? To whom?
Ainslie: To a boy. When I'm bigger.
Craig: When you're at least 30.
Ainslie: Yeah. And I'm going to wear a long, beautiful Marry dress.
Me: You are?
Ainslie: Yes. Or wait. Mommy, may I just wear my Easter dress?
Me: Sure.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Real Mothers...
I was tagged for this by one of my favorite bloggers (and favorite people I've never met in real life).
The rules state that you post something that goes sort of like this:
Real Mothers blah blah blah. And then add a photo. (or maybe not).
The blah blah blah length is at your discretion.
You know, Real Mothers (ok, most mothers) do a lot of crap.
I'm going to go with this one--
Real Mothers carry on conversations as fictional characters and then analyze the lives of fairy-tale princesses, post-fairy tale. With people not old enough to have developed strong logic skills.
Exhibit A
Date: April 27
Time: Evening
All around the neighborhood on the new bike, as Wendy and Mrs. Darling, speaking in really horrible British accents.
"Motha, do you think I can fly with pixie dust on my new bike? Do you think I can fly all the way back to Neverland?"
"Of course, Wendy, dear, if you think enough happy thoughts, you can fly anywhere." (I may have gotten this flying method confused with Mary Poppins, but she bought it. Same accent, anyway.)
Etc.
Exhibit C
Date: April 24
Time: All. Flipping. Morning. In. The. Car. Driving. To. Chicago.
Ainslie was Ariel. Everything she talked about had to do with Ariel, and her worldview. I had to have some fun, so I asked her if she ever sees her father or sisters anymore. Of course she does! She meets them-- in a boat!
What about Flounder? Did she just write him off?
Of course not! He lives in the sea, right beside her castle!
Does she ever dream about being a mermaid again? Does she have recurring dreams about not being able to breathe the air above the surface.
No.
And, she told Scuttle that it's not a dinglehopper, it's a fork.
Exhibit C, D, E...Z
Date: Almost Daily
Time: Any time we are in public
"What's your name? My name is (fill in the Princess.)"
Cinderella takes the mice to live with her, Snow White occasionally visits the dwarves, and Aurora does not like being called Briar Rose, in case you were wondering.
I just have to add, as sort of an Honorable Mention list, that Real Mothers also wear small ponytail holders around their fingers, carry toddler sized underpants through airport security, sing The Potty Song in the grocery store, and fall into bed, exhausted most nights. Often, on top of some small, sharp, plastic toy.
Tag:
Holly
Suzi
Annie
The rules state that you post something that goes sort of like this:
Real Mothers blah blah blah. And then add a photo. (or maybe not).
The blah blah blah length is at your discretion.
You know, Real Mothers (ok, most mothers) do a lot of crap.
I'm going to go with this one--
Real Mothers carry on conversations as fictional characters and then analyze the lives of fairy-tale princesses, post-fairy tale. With people not old enough to have developed strong logic skills.
Exhibit A
Date: April 27
Time: Evening
All around the neighborhood on the new bike, as Wendy and Mrs. Darling, speaking in really horrible British accents.
"Motha, do you think I can fly with pixie dust on my new bike? Do you think I can fly all the way back to Neverland?"
"Of course, Wendy, dear, if you think enough happy thoughts, you can fly anywhere." (I may have gotten this flying method confused with Mary Poppins, but she bought it. Same accent, anyway.)
Etc.
Exhibit C
Date: April 24
Time: All. Flipping. Morning. In. The. Car. Driving. To. Chicago.
Ainslie was Ariel. Everything she talked about had to do with Ariel, and her worldview. I had to have some fun, so I asked her if she ever sees her father or sisters anymore. Of course she does! She meets them-- in a boat!
What about Flounder? Did she just write him off?
Of course not! He lives in the sea, right beside her castle!
Does she ever dream about being a mermaid again? Does she have recurring dreams about not being able to breathe the air above the surface.
No.
And, she told Scuttle that it's not a dinglehopper, it's a fork.
Exhibit C, D, E...Z
Date: Almost Daily
Time: Any time we are in public
"What's your name? My name is (fill in the Princess.)"
Cinderella takes the mice to live with her, Snow White occasionally visits the dwarves, and Aurora does not like being called Briar Rose, in case you were wondering.
I just have to add, as sort of an Honorable Mention list, that Real Mothers also wear small ponytail holders around their fingers, carry toddler sized underpants through airport security, sing The Potty Song in the grocery store, and fall into bed, exhausted most nights. Often, on top of some small, sharp, plastic toy.
Tag:
Holly
Suzi
Annie
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Ahhhhhhhhh.
Both cars are parked in the garage! The garage door no longer plays the theme to Sanford and Son as it goes up and down! (It was so full of half put-together deck furniture and boxes that it was embarassing to open it during daylight.) The weather is back to Spring, the deck furniture is on the deck, the grill has been fired up and, ahhhhhhh.
Last night we had Craig's family over to grill and ahhhhhh. I always like having people over, but really, after *that* 9 months, I relish having people over in (or outside of) our Own Home.
Seemed like a perfect opportunity to open that bottle of $$$$ wine we've been saving for a special occasion. Wine. Steak. Ainslie and Ben running around. Warm Weather. Cheesecake. Ahhhhhhhh.
Last night we had Craig's family over to grill and ahhhhhh. I always like having people over, but really, after *that* 9 months, I relish having people over in (or outside of) our Own Home.
Seemed like a perfect opportunity to open that bottle of $$$$ wine we've been saving for a special occasion. Wine. Steak. Ainslie and Ben running around. Warm Weather. Cheesecake. Ahhhhhhhh.
Right Place, Right Time
So, this past week I was in Northern Virginia piloting a class we are developing. It was designed for a group of trainers and instructional designers, so we were preaching to the choir, and it was wonderful. Although I missed my little family, of course, it was a somewhat nice change to do what I do and be with adults...
So, twice over the four days I was there I heard people vehemently complain about thir jobs and professions (nobody at our class though, hmmm) and I was struck by how blessed and lucky I am right now. I love my jobs. Being Ainslie's mommy is the best job I could hope for, and yet, I have this other great job where I get to keep my resume up-to-date, travel a bit (and see best friends for free!) and make some pretty great money.
I was there to "mirror" our project manager and take notes on the feedback we were getting from the pilot, and then I will be certified to facilitate it on my own in the future, but for all practical purposes, I was there as Second Banana. I had twinges of Competitiveness, because I think that is just how I am--I want the responsibility, the work, and yes, ultimately, the recognition. Or do I? Right now?
It hit me again--how lucky I am. I have this great part-time job where I don't have to be in charge, 'handle' touchy clients, or stay up all night working (too often.) I have the freedom to say that I can only handle working 20 hours a week (and that stretches my emotional resources) right now. AND, I know there is more work available if and when I am ready to tackle a larger role.
How wonderful is that? Kids are only little once. For Right Now, this is the Right amount of responsibility for me.
So, twice over the four days I was there I heard people vehemently complain about thir jobs and professions (nobody at our class though, hmmm) and I was struck by how blessed and lucky I am right now. I love my jobs. Being Ainslie's mommy is the best job I could hope for, and yet, I have this other great job where I get to keep my resume up-to-date, travel a bit (and see best friends for free!) and make some pretty great money.
I was there to "mirror" our project manager and take notes on the feedback we were getting from the pilot, and then I will be certified to facilitate it on my own in the future, but for all practical purposes, I was there as Second Banana. I had twinges of Competitiveness, because I think that is just how I am--I want the responsibility, the work, and yes, ultimately, the recognition. Or do I? Right now?
It hit me again--how lucky I am. I have this great part-time job where I don't have to be in charge, 'handle' touchy clients, or stay up all night working (too often.) I have the freedom to say that I can only handle working 20 hours a week (and that stretches my emotional resources) right now. AND, I know there is more work available if and when I am ready to tackle a larger role.
How wonderful is that? Kids are only little once. For Right Now, this is the Right amount of responsibility for me.
Friday, April 13, 2007
French Minor at Work
As hard as it may be to believe, I seldom get to use all the French I acquired once upon a time in undergrad here on the Prairie--other than being able to read wine bottles.
Well, today I am glad to be somewhat francophonic. I saved one of Ainslie's little boutiquey dresses from the dryer, thanks to my deft international reading skills.
Well, today I am glad to be somewhat francophonic. I saved one of Ainslie's little boutiquey dresses from the dryer, thanks to my deft international reading skills.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Six Years
As of today, April 12, I have been a member of an exclusive club (that I wouldn't wish on anyone) of mothers who have lost babies. April 12, 2001, I had my first miscarriage.
Now, after six years, Of course I remember how heartbroken I was and I will never, ever forget the horror of the next 2.5 years, trying so desperately to get pregnant again...but this post isn't a pity party. Really.
What I was wondering this morning is this: Am I really a different kind of mother because of what we went through to have Ainslie?
I've definitely been impacted forever by those years, but really, do I parent differently?
Yes and No.
I think I am more paranoid about safety. I think I tear up more easily when she says and does certain things. I think I see everyday miracles shining through her on a more frequent basis.
On the other hand...
I think I would still have her in all kinds of activities--that is just the way I am. I think I would still be a fiend about early reading skills. I think I would still hold the same basic philosophies about potty training, spanking, foods, etc.
But.
There is that certain, thing, that je ne sais quoi, that PAL sistas know. It's a fierceness with which I love her that is different. I believe that most mothers love their children more fiercely than anyone else ever will, but this is different. In a way, she is my prize, my wonder, my hard-won little bundle of stars that I had to fight tooth and nail for, and that creates its own category of motherly love.
I still think about the what-if. What if I had a five-year old now? Would I still have my monkey? There is no answer to that question, of course. I do know this--if I didn't have this young person in my life; this thinking, reasoning, climbing, jumping person who comes up with things that astound me, frustrate me, crack me up and make me cry with joy, I would not be who I am--not even close.
Then, of course, there are the wonderful friends I have made through the journey of grief, hope, frustration and joy who again, have helped mold me in so many facets of my life. Thank you, ladies.
So, six years later, I miss that first child, but I am profoundly grateful.
Now, after six years, Of course I remember how heartbroken I was and I will never, ever forget the horror of the next 2.5 years, trying so desperately to get pregnant again...but this post isn't a pity party. Really.
What I was wondering this morning is this: Am I really a different kind of mother because of what we went through to have Ainslie?
I've definitely been impacted forever by those years, but really, do I parent differently?
Yes and No.
I think I am more paranoid about safety. I think I tear up more easily when she says and does certain things. I think I see everyday miracles shining through her on a more frequent basis.
On the other hand...
I think I would still have her in all kinds of activities--that is just the way I am. I think I would still be a fiend about early reading skills. I think I would still hold the same basic philosophies about potty training, spanking, foods, etc.
But.
There is that certain, thing, that je ne sais quoi, that PAL sistas know. It's a fierceness with which I love her that is different. I believe that most mothers love their children more fiercely than anyone else ever will, but this is different. In a way, she is my prize, my wonder, my hard-won little bundle of stars that I had to fight tooth and nail for, and that creates its own category of motherly love.
I still think about the what-if. What if I had a five-year old now? Would I still have my monkey? There is no answer to that question, of course. I do know this--if I didn't have this young person in my life; this thinking, reasoning, climbing, jumping person who comes up with things that astound me, frustrate me, crack me up and make me cry with joy, I would not be who I am--not even close.
Then, of course, there are the wonderful friends I have made through the journey of grief, hope, frustration and joy who again, have helped mold me in so many facets of my life. Thank you, ladies.
So, six years later, I miss that first child, but I am profoundly grateful.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Riding home from Peoria
You know what's funny? An almost-3-yr-old's rendition of "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from The Little Mermaid.
"No, mommy, don't sing this part. I'm Ursula. You can be Ariel... Do I help them? yes INDEED!"
"No, mommy, don't sing this part. I'm Ursula. You can be Ariel... Do I help them? yes INDEED!"
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