If you thought my description of Lydia's first day of school outfit was outlandish, you should get a load of what she came up with for today. Again, I apologize for not being able to post a picture, but suffice it to say, today's outfit has her equally ready for a day of learning or an evening at the prom.
A couple of years ago, my sister-in-law Mireya, who has 2 girls that are slightly older than Lydia, sent a couple of fancy dresses from Mexico. The one that Lydia chose for today is lavender, with 6 lbs of tulle under the skirt and comes to just above her ankle. There are various stains on the bodice of the dress, which I managed to convince her to cover with a white sweater. She added some white tights and some metallic purple and white polka dotted ballet flats, and she was out the door.
How did I not notice before this how much joy it brings her to pick out these outfits for herself? As someone that has to control everything as far as the eye can see, I understand that letting go in the this manner is a process. It started with, "pick your battles", which then turned into, "How about if I be in charge of washing the clothes, and you be in charge of putting them on before you go to school?", which has now evolved into, "Oh, your teacher said that its ok to wear tu-tus to school? Sounds great! Aaaaaaand, more importantly, looks great! Have a good day, sis!"
And Lydia? When you read this, and I'm certain that in time you will, on Wednesday, September 10th, 2008, when I dropped you off at school in the morning, and watched you make your way to the door, your beauty nearly took my breath away. It always does.
Love, Mama
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Getting Closer
When I got home from work yesterday, Shell reported that Jenna had woken up from her afternoon nap, quietly crept into our room, removed her diaper which was full of stool, and deposited the whole mess onto our bedroom floor.
"Who went poop in my room?" I asked her cheerfully when I heard the story.
.......blank stare.......
"Who was naughty after their nap?
........looks around the room, avoiding eye contact with me.......
"Genevieve, what did you do with your diaper in mama's room today?"
"Does TJ love me, mama?" she asks. This is a practiced tactic for her. Any time there is a hint of trouble, she learned at an early age to change the subject to divert attention from whatever heinous act she has been caught in.
"Yes, Genevieve. TJ loves you."
And so do I. I should warn you though, that stealthily depositing your soiled diapers in my bedroom will most likely be mentioned during the toast I give at your wedding reception.
"Who went poop in my room?" I asked her cheerfully when I heard the story.
.......blank stare.......
"Who was naughty after their nap?
........looks around the room, avoiding eye contact with me.......
"Genevieve, what did you do with your diaper in mama's room today?"
"Does TJ love me, mama?" she asks. This is a practiced tactic for her. Any time there is a hint of trouble, she learned at an early age to change the subject to divert attention from whatever heinous act she has been caught in.
"Yes, Genevieve. TJ loves you."
And so do I. I should warn you though, that stealthily depositing your soiled diapers in my bedroom will most likely be mentioned during the toast I give at your wedding reception.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
A Day of Firsts
Lydia successfully completed her first day of 2nd grade yesterday. I am cursing the fact that we don't currently own a camera, because the outfit that she chose has to be seen to be believed.
On Monday night, she disappeared upstairs and came down with a very stylish black dress and her black boots (or "high boots" as she calls them.) This was fine, except for the fact that the high boots are lined with fur, and the cold front that was going to pass through on Tuesday wasn't forecasted to arrive until late afternoon. I pointed this out to Lydia, explaining that fur-lined boots will be great in just a few weeks, but for a 79 degree day, with a dewpoint in the 70's, she may find herself a little overheated.
"Fiiiiiiiiiine!" and back upstairs she went.
Seeing where this is going, I decide to go upstairs and move things along. When I get there, she has chosen a red t-shirt, a leopard print baby doll type shirt to go over the t-shirt, and completing the outfit, a leopard print mini-skirt that I bought her for last Thanksgiving.
Probably, the horror registered on my face immediately, because she was quick to point out that this outfit, with it's leopard print/slightly different leopard print combo made it look like an outfit. Like she had just sauntered into a store and found the whole thing already pieced together on a mannequin by some junior stylist with a fondness for animal prints.
I tried to redirect her a bit: to different outfits altogether, and also suggesting different tops or bottoms to complement the leopard (squared) outfit she had chosen.
"No, mama. Those outfits are more like, fun, you know? And I want to save those for the 2nd or 3rd day. For the first day, I want to be taken seriously, like I'm not going to mess up, or talk back to the teacher. This outfit will make me be taken seriously."
There's nothing more deadly serious than 2 animal prints together in the same outfit, is there?
My response to her surprised even me. Of course, my inclination was to dig my feet in and explain to her that less is more, 2 leopard prints in the same outfit is too much, they'll think you're a mental patient, and on and on ad nauseum until one or both of us was in tears. But in a surprising moment of clarity and parental intuition I said, "You know what Lydia, if you want to be taken seriously by your friends and your teacher, and this outfit will help you do that, then I absolutely think you should wear it."
And so she did.
And you know what? She came home in one piece. No one had teased her. She reported that her teacher was very nice, and she had a good day.
What the hell did I think was going to happen? Honestly, the hyperbole of my own thoughts is unbelieveable to even me sometimes.
So Lydia completed her first day of 2nd grade and her mom, for the first time, chose to take the path seldom-traveled in our relationship and let Lydia be Lydia with no negative consequences at all.
Congratulations to us both.
On Monday night, she disappeared upstairs and came down with a very stylish black dress and her black boots (or "high boots" as she calls them.) This was fine, except for the fact that the high boots are lined with fur, and the cold front that was going to pass through on Tuesday wasn't forecasted to arrive until late afternoon. I pointed this out to Lydia, explaining that fur-lined boots will be great in just a few weeks, but for a 79 degree day, with a dewpoint in the 70's, she may find herself a little overheated.
"Fiiiiiiiiiine!" and back upstairs she went.
Seeing where this is going, I decide to go upstairs and move things along. When I get there, she has chosen a red t-shirt, a leopard print baby doll type shirt to go over the t-shirt, and completing the outfit, a leopard print mini-skirt that I bought her for last Thanksgiving.
Probably, the horror registered on my face immediately, because she was quick to point out that this outfit, with it's leopard print/slightly different leopard print combo made it look like an outfit. Like she had just sauntered into a store and found the whole thing already pieced together on a mannequin by some junior stylist with a fondness for animal prints.
I tried to redirect her a bit: to different outfits altogether, and also suggesting different tops or bottoms to complement the leopard (squared) outfit she had chosen.
"No, mama. Those outfits are more like, fun, you know? And I want to save those for the 2nd or 3rd day. For the first day, I want to be taken seriously, like I'm not going to mess up, or talk back to the teacher. This outfit will make me be taken seriously."
There's nothing more deadly serious than 2 animal prints together in the same outfit, is there?
My response to her surprised even me. Of course, my inclination was to dig my feet in and explain to her that less is more, 2 leopard prints in the same outfit is too much, they'll think you're a mental patient, and on and on ad nauseum until one or both of us was in tears. But in a surprising moment of clarity and parental intuition I said, "You know what Lydia, if you want to be taken seriously by your friends and your teacher, and this outfit will help you do that, then I absolutely think you should wear it."
And so she did.
And you know what? She came home in one piece. No one had teased her. She reported that her teacher was very nice, and she had a good day.
What the hell did I think was going to happen? Honestly, the hyperbole of my own thoughts is unbelieveable to even me sometimes.
So Lydia completed her first day of 2nd grade and her mom, for the first time, chose to take the path seldom-traveled in our relationship and let Lydia be Lydia with no negative consequences at all.
Congratulations to us both.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Unaware
We spent the weekend at the lake, where the wind blew and blew until finally yesterday, in the middle of trying to take down the brand new awning that my dad had installed on the RV I lost my mind and sobbed uncontrollably.
We were trying to get the thing rolled up, and the wind is gusting up to like, 40 mph, and Shell and I are getting pissed at each other because he's thinking what an idiot I am for not doing it right, and I'm thinking what an idiot HE is for not getting it right. So we get to a point where the thing won't roll up, and we can't get it back out where it was before we started, and all I can think of is that we don't have and extra $1000 laying around to pay for a new one. So I called my dad (I think it has been clearly documented here that I am, indeed, 12 years old), got my mom on the phone and started cry-talking about how we were stuck out at the lake with the awning half up and half down and could someone PLEASE come and help us?!?
Lydia hugged me and tried to reassure me that everything would be alright, even adding that I should take some deep breaths, "just like you tell me to do when I'm wound up, mom."
My dad arrived a few minutes later, having been woken up from his afternoon nap, with a smile on his face and a lilt in his voice that conveyed, "this is no problem, we can fix this". And then he did. If he arrived thinking (but not saying) "these have got to be 2 of the stupidest human beings on earth", he would have been right.
We stopped at my parents on our way home, to drop off some laundry and Genevieve waltzed in there and announced, "Mama cried."
Lydia took my mom aside and conspiritorially asked her in hushed tones if my dad had told her about the "deal with the awning", while casting me a sideways glance.
So I realized, if at 2 and 7 years of age my kids can pick up on irrational behavior, it might be time to calm the hell down a little.
Did I mention that while we were waiting for my dad to get there to help us, I was taking an armload of crap out to the car and banged my forehead, cartoon style with little birds flying around my head in a circle, on the awning that was half up and half down. Icing on the cake, my friends.
We did have a good time, despite all of my lunacy. The weather was beautiful for the most part, and we took the girls swimming and out for ice cream. OH! And, and, I found a copy of Uncle Buck for $5 at Walmart and we watched that on Saturday night. God, how I love me some big fat John Candy, may he rest in peace. ("You should see the toast! I couldn't even fit it through the door!)
On Saturday, Genevieve took off her diaper and proceeded to walk around the place, urinating at will. At one point, it was like she and the dog were in a competition to see who could mark the most territories. I thought, "this is great, we'll leave her pants-less for the entire weekend, so she can really get a feel for when she has to go, and I'll just follow her around with the potty chair the whole time." Not so much. I never did catch a drop of urine in the damn potty chair, and after we ate on Saturday night, she climbed up on the 4-wheeler and pooped on the gas pedal. On went the diaper. Grandma got her a 2nd potty chair, a spare if you will, that is a little more portable than the Dora the Explorer one that we have at home. I was cleaning it out yesterday morning, and noticed what I thought was maybe a sensor of some kind down in the hole. Further examination revealed a compartment for batteries. What's this, I thought? So after installing 3 AA batteries, it turns out that this magical potty chair has a motion detector built in, and when urine, or whatever, passes from the kid into the bowl (or "hat" as Genevieve calls it when she's wearing it on top of her head), it plays a very regal "dah da da daaaaaaaah". Like maybe her poop is decended from royalty?
So the basic elements are there - she realizes that we have purchased just about all of the diapers that we're going to in her lifetime, she realizes that she has not one, but two personal toilets (one with music), and she realizes that if she were to ever deposit anything legitimate into either of the personal toilets for real, the fanfare and candy rewards would be never-ending. She also realizes that she has a drawer full of undergarments with Dora the Explorer on them which she calls her unaware (pronounced UN-a-ware), which is exactly what she is when it comes to putting all of this together and actually eliminating into the potty chair.
We were trying to get the thing rolled up, and the wind is gusting up to like, 40 mph, and Shell and I are getting pissed at each other because he's thinking what an idiot I am for not doing it right, and I'm thinking what an idiot HE is for not getting it right. So we get to a point where the thing won't roll up, and we can't get it back out where it was before we started, and all I can think of is that we don't have and extra $1000 laying around to pay for a new one. So I called my dad (I think it has been clearly documented here that I am, indeed, 12 years old), got my mom on the phone and started cry-talking about how we were stuck out at the lake with the awning half up and half down and could someone PLEASE come and help us?!?
Lydia hugged me and tried to reassure me that everything would be alright, even adding that I should take some deep breaths, "just like you tell me to do when I'm wound up, mom."
My dad arrived a few minutes later, having been woken up from his afternoon nap, with a smile on his face and a lilt in his voice that conveyed, "this is no problem, we can fix this". And then he did. If he arrived thinking (but not saying) "these have got to be 2 of the stupidest human beings on earth", he would have been right.
We stopped at my parents on our way home, to drop off some laundry and Genevieve waltzed in there and announced, "Mama cried."
Lydia took my mom aside and conspiritorially asked her in hushed tones if my dad had told her about the "deal with the awning", while casting me a sideways glance.
So I realized, if at 2 and 7 years of age my kids can pick up on irrational behavior, it might be time to calm the hell down a little.
Did I mention that while we were waiting for my dad to get there to help us, I was taking an armload of crap out to the car and banged my forehead, cartoon style with little birds flying around my head in a circle, on the awning that was half up and half down. Icing on the cake, my friends.
We did have a good time, despite all of my lunacy. The weather was beautiful for the most part, and we took the girls swimming and out for ice cream. OH! And, and, I found a copy of Uncle Buck for $5 at Walmart and we watched that on Saturday night. God, how I love me some big fat John Candy, may he rest in peace. ("You should see the toast! I couldn't even fit it through the door!)
On Saturday, Genevieve took off her diaper and proceeded to walk around the place, urinating at will. At one point, it was like she and the dog were in a competition to see who could mark the most territories. I thought, "this is great, we'll leave her pants-less for the entire weekend, so she can really get a feel for when she has to go, and I'll just follow her around with the potty chair the whole time." Not so much. I never did catch a drop of urine in the damn potty chair, and after we ate on Saturday night, she climbed up on the 4-wheeler and pooped on the gas pedal. On went the diaper. Grandma got her a 2nd potty chair, a spare if you will, that is a little more portable than the Dora the Explorer one that we have at home. I was cleaning it out yesterday morning, and noticed what I thought was maybe a sensor of some kind down in the hole. Further examination revealed a compartment for batteries. What's this, I thought? So after installing 3 AA batteries, it turns out that this magical potty chair has a motion detector built in, and when urine, or whatever, passes from the kid into the bowl (or "hat" as Genevieve calls it when she's wearing it on top of her head), it plays a very regal "dah da da daaaaaaaah". Like maybe her poop is decended from royalty?
So the basic elements are there - she realizes that we have purchased just about all of the diapers that we're going to in her lifetime, she realizes that she has not one, but two personal toilets (one with music), and she realizes that if she were to ever deposit anything legitimate into either of the personal toilets for real, the fanfare and candy rewards would be never-ending. She also realizes that she has a drawer full of undergarments with Dora the Explorer on them which she calls her unaware (pronounced UN-a-ware), which is exactly what she is when it comes to putting all of this together and actually eliminating into the potty chair.
What kind? This kind
Dear Little Reyes Sisters,
Pay attention here, because I'm about to save you several hundred dollars in co-pays on your mental health visits when you are older.
I am the kind of mother who will take you on a Tilt-A-Whirl ride when what you really need is a nap.
I am the kind of mother that will happily take you to the beach to swim and play (because afterall, who doesn't love the beach?) but then forget to bring your sand toys along with us, which will force you to either reappropriate someone else's toys as your own for the afternoon, or cause you to build sand castles with someone's used lemonade cup.
I am the kind of mother who will forget to pay your school bus bill, but then nervously shove you into the middle of the throng of children that are climbing aboard, with nothing more than a kiss and my most fervent wish that the bus driver isn't keeping track of who's paid up and who isn't.
I am the kind of mother who will encourage you to eat your bedtime snack next to me on the couch in front of the TV, and then scold you for trying to eat your breakfast burrito down there while you watch Sponge Bob a week later. ("God! This couch is like sitting on a beach for Christ's sakes!")
I am the kind of mother who will tear up when I try to let you know how proud I am of you, and then wonder if you even understood what I was trying to tell you through the tears.
I am the kind of mother who might have to hang your shirt out the car window on the way to an appointment to have portraits taken, so that it will be dry enough for you to wear once we get to the portrait studio.
I am the kind of mother who really would just like an hour of quiet so I can read a little, but will probably play a game with you if you cajole me long enough.
I am the kind of mother who will absolutely feed you tuna hot dish and summer sausage and sour cream -n- onion potato chips for breakfast if it's easy and I've run out of time to fix you anything else. (And I doubt that I'm the only mother like this.)
I am the kind of mother that complains alot about just needing 2 damn hours to myself to get some errands done, but then will have pangs of guilt about being away from you about an hour into my trip.
I am the kind of mother who will search for a way to teach you the real meaning of Christmas, and also buy you an Ipod because mine is broken and I could really use somewhere to put all of the songs I downloaded before it broke.
What I am trying to say is this: I am a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, inside of alot of insecurity about being a mother. I won't always have an explanation for why I do the things that I do. But I promise you this - I will always take my job as your mom seriously, and will never stop trying to do the very best job that I can.
Love,
Mama
Pay attention here, because I'm about to save you several hundred dollars in co-pays on your mental health visits when you are older.
I am the kind of mother who will take you on a Tilt-A-Whirl ride when what you really need is a nap.
I am the kind of mother that will happily take you to the beach to swim and play (because afterall, who doesn't love the beach?) but then forget to bring your sand toys along with us, which will force you to either reappropriate someone else's toys as your own for the afternoon, or cause you to build sand castles with someone's used lemonade cup.
I am the kind of mother who will forget to pay your school bus bill, but then nervously shove you into the middle of the throng of children that are climbing aboard, with nothing more than a kiss and my most fervent wish that the bus driver isn't keeping track of who's paid up and who isn't.
I am the kind of mother who will encourage you to eat your bedtime snack next to me on the couch in front of the TV, and then scold you for trying to eat your breakfast burrito down there while you watch Sponge Bob a week later. ("God! This couch is like sitting on a beach for Christ's sakes!")
I am the kind of mother who will tear up when I try to let you know how proud I am of you, and then wonder if you even understood what I was trying to tell you through the tears.
I am the kind of mother who might have to hang your shirt out the car window on the way to an appointment to have portraits taken, so that it will be dry enough for you to wear once we get to the portrait studio.
I am the kind of mother who really would just like an hour of quiet so I can read a little, but will probably play a game with you if you cajole me long enough.
I am the kind of mother who will absolutely feed you tuna hot dish and summer sausage and sour cream -n- onion potato chips for breakfast if it's easy and I've run out of time to fix you anything else. (And I doubt that I'm the only mother like this.)
I am the kind of mother that complains alot about just needing 2 damn hours to myself to get some errands done, but then will have pangs of guilt about being away from you about an hour into my trip.
I am the kind of mother who will search for a way to teach you the real meaning of Christmas, and also buy you an Ipod because mine is broken and I could really use somewhere to put all of the songs I downloaded before it broke.
What I am trying to say is this: I am a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, inside of alot of insecurity about being a mother. I won't always have an explanation for why I do the things that I do. But I promise you this - I will always take my job as your mom seriously, and will never stop trying to do the very best job that I can.
Love,
Mama
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