The boy loves pebbles. Throwing a tantrum in the car, find a loose pebble from whatever parking lot for him to hold and he'll be content.
I am forever deporting randoms pebbles found on the bookshelf, in the cubbies, or in the toy box.
Today is a Mommy work day. But after I picked up E, there's no reason to head out again, so I'd try to work from home. The operative word is try. It usually unfolds like this.
The two little ones wake up upon our arrival. The boy cuddles with Nanny for awhile while his sister channels Octo-L, and attach herself onto me, extra-limb style. Free myself from one of her arms, and the legs cling on tighter. The little boy wakes up enough to realize Mommy has been taken over. He flies over a wage a battle against his sister over Mommy's lap. To others, the Mommy has grown to have three heads - two yelling at each other and the third yelling over them, six arms - four flapping and hitting each other two trying to separate them, and six legs, four of which are entwined around my torso.
The adults try to cajole the little ones off by reason, which never works, and bribery. The bribery ranges from snack to special outings, to TV when Mommy makes dinner. Today, I was able to bribe the little boy off of me by asking him to find me a nice, pretty rock outside in the yard. After all, what is a rock that gets forgotten in a pants' pocket and go clankity clank in the laundry machine if I get another hour to work.
Monday, May 05, 2014
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
A letter to Nathaniel (Fall 2013)
My dear little boy,
I never thought I would have a blond child. And here you are. People have looked at you and commented on how light your hair is and how unusual it is coming from a child with a Chinese mother. I guess this is a hint that there might be some Dutch blood somewhere in my ancestry back when they colonized Taiwan, huh?
You are a mommy's boy at this point. Sometimes, in my arms, you would lean back and look at me for no apparent reason, as if just so you can peer into my eyes. Flirt. At almost 17 months old, you don't have as many words as your sisters did at the same age. The term you used most, though, is Mama. Ma~ma, you would call in a singsong hi-low tone, sometimes to get my attention, sometimes just for fun. You'd call me from on top of our little indoor slide, as if asking my permission to slide down. You'd call me from a couple steps up our stairs when I accidentally left the stair gate open, as if tell me trouble is afoot if I don't come stop you. You'd call me again and again from the back seat of the car, as if... I don't know, why DO you do it? It is very cute. You don't like it if someone else is in my arms. Jealously would drive you to push the person, or pull their hair while you loudly protests. You don't even like someone taking my place. I sent Lauren into our bed the other day as I shower. You woke up, was not happy seeing her in my spot, and tried to push her off. Child, territorial much?
You love to climb. Evelyn has caught you sitting on top of our high dinner table. Without help, you climbed onto a dinning chair, and then made your way up to the table. You have no problems with stairs, and, if I read you correctly, you placed your sisters' bunk bed ladder and the kitchen stool next on your to-be-conquered list.
You love to play in water. Whenever we start a bath, you'd be the first to report for de-robing, impatiently trying to swing your leg over the lip of the tub. Once in the tub, you fill toys, splash water, kick, stomp, and have a grand time. Water on your face does not bother you a bit. You'd sit there with water drops hanging on your eyelashes, nose, and cheek, look up, and give me this big, happy smile.
I am not sure how interested you are in learning to speak. I have not been able to make you repeat sounds that I make. You have very specific ideas on what words you would like to master, such as hi and bye, please and no, and "go", as in dog in Chinese. Even so, you are able to express yourself quite well through the use of gestures and signs. Formal signs, like more, and your own inventions, such as patting your chest with both open hands to tell me you want, or patting at your bottom to tell me you need a diaper change. And if you need help, you would come grab my hand, lead me over to the specific spot, and pull my hand towards whatever it is you need help with. Though without many words, you do love to sing. Not yet a chatter box, you hum and sing all day long, especially on car rides. More impressively, you've gone from being loud to testing out tunes.
"Baba" from Ba-Ba Black Sheep, and "E-I-E-I-O" from Old McDonald are frequent snippets you repeat. When I sing, you'd stare at my lips, as if studying how I am making the sounds. Last night in bed, all you want is the first line of Ba-Ba Black Sheep. "Ma~ma, baba," you'd order, and I will sing you the lines. "Ma~ma, baba," you'd ask again. Sometimes, you'd switch it up by signing for more. But if I sing another song, you would kick your legs to tell me I got it wrong. So back to Ba-Ba Black Sheep it went.
Other than songs, you also love books and stories. With very distinct preference, too. At bed time, you'd fetch books over for us to read. Sometimes, you'd look for specific pages, or flip through sections you don't like. Favorites include From Head to Toe, Hop on Pop, Dr. Seuss's ABC, and King Bidgood's Bathtub. On the mornings when I have to leave for school early, your daddy can often get you settled in with your sister for a book or two while he takes his shower. I love the sight of you and Evelyn snuggled together in the big green chair, or rather, you falling into her because of the curvature, light streaming in from behind, a book opened in front, and your eyes trained on the pages. Lauren running around in the back ground gathering things from the dresser or playing with a doll.
You love playing with Lauren. You often follow wherever she goes. When your shorter stature prevents you from catching up, you'd stop and call her back. Often times, you'd play chase, her running for you to catch. Being four, she is much bigger and much faster than you, easily overtaking you, which means the chasee is lapping the chaser, yet that never breaks the game. You would continue to run, doing rounds around the house, sprinkling the air with laughter. Sometimes at bed time, you would want to snuggle into bed with her. When you are able to lay still for a minute, you'd turn towards her, close enough to touch noses, and laugh. Except you can't lay still. You'd kick and pull and toss and turn until she calls out to me to "take him away! Take him away!"
You are quite good at learning things from your sisters. You'd happily go "me!" with them when asked who wants certain things. And yesterday, we played a humming game in the car. Evelyn would tell us "ready, set, go!" and everyone would start humming. Whoever needs to take a breath first loses. After a couple of times, you were right there humming with us. By the time we got home, you were going "Go! M~~~". And of course, we need to give them credit for helping you learn how to defend for yourself. If someone is coming for something that you are not willing to give up, you'd instinctively hold it close to your body, turn slightly away from the person, and shake your head no. If the person does not back off, a scream will emit from your tiny body, shrill and ear shattering.
You love animals. Often fascinated by these moving bodies be they big (tigers) or small (caterpillars), close (doggy leaping by my feat) or far (guppies in the fish tank). You love the iPad. A true digital native, you know how to unlock it, what to do, and already have preferred apps. I can go on and on about every little thing about you. Faults on me. I have neglected these journals and left so much unrecorded, and now, I must stop this ever growing entry.
In your bed, after I turn off the light, we'd sometimes look for the moon when it is extra bright. Side by side, we'd peer through the windows to find the silver disc. If I lean away to look at you, you'd pull me back to make sure I'm seeing the moon as you are. The moon may be beautiful, but it is not more beautiful or magical than this sense of your cheek against mine, and our breath misting up the window in one foggy patch. I love you.
I never thought I would have a blond child. And here you are. People have looked at you and commented on how light your hair is and how unusual it is coming from a child with a Chinese mother. I guess this is a hint that there might be some Dutch blood somewhere in my ancestry back when they colonized Taiwan, huh?
You are a mommy's boy at this point. Sometimes, in my arms, you would lean back and look at me for no apparent reason, as if just so you can peer into my eyes. Flirt. At almost 17 months old, you don't have as many words as your sisters did at the same age. The term you used most, though, is Mama. Ma~ma, you would call in a singsong hi-low tone, sometimes to get my attention, sometimes just for fun. You'd call me from on top of our little indoor slide, as if asking my permission to slide down. You'd call me from a couple steps up our stairs when I accidentally left the stair gate open, as if tell me trouble is afoot if I don't come stop you. You'd call me again and again from the back seat of the car, as if... I don't know, why DO you do it? It is very cute. You don't like it if someone else is in my arms. Jealously would drive you to push the person, or pull their hair while you loudly protests. You don't even like someone taking my place. I sent Lauren into our bed the other day as I shower. You woke up, was not happy seeing her in my spot, and tried to push her off. Child, territorial much?
You love to climb. Evelyn has caught you sitting on top of our high dinner table. Without help, you climbed onto a dinning chair, and then made your way up to the table. You have no problems with stairs, and, if I read you correctly, you placed your sisters' bunk bed ladder and the kitchen stool next on your to-be-conquered list.
You love to play in water. Whenever we start a bath, you'd be the first to report for de-robing, impatiently trying to swing your leg over the lip of the tub. Once in the tub, you fill toys, splash water, kick, stomp, and have a grand time. Water on your face does not bother you a bit. You'd sit there with water drops hanging on your eyelashes, nose, and cheek, look up, and give me this big, happy smile.
I am not sure how interested you are in learning to speak. I have not been able to make you repeat sounds that I make. You have very specific ideas on what words you would like to master, such as hi and bye, please and no, and "go", as in dog in Chinese. Even so, you are able to express yourself quite well through the use of gestures and signs. Formal signs, like more, and your own inventions, such as patting your chest with both open hands to tell me you want, or patting at your bottom to tell me you need a diaper change. And if you need help, you would come grab my hand, lead me over to the specific spot, and pull my hand towards whatever it is you need help with. Though without many words, you do love to sing. Not yet a chatter box, you hum and sing all day long, especially on car rides. More impressively, you've gone from being loud to testing out tunes.
"Baba" from Ba-Ba Black Sheep, and "E-I-E-I-O" from Old McDonald are frequent snippets you repeat. When I sing, you'd stare at my lips, as if studying how I am making the sounds. Last night in bed, all you want is the first line of Ba-Ba Black Sheep. "Ma~ma, baba," you'd order, and I will sing you the lines. "Ma~ma, baba," you'd ask again. Sometimes, you'd switch it up by signing for more. But if I sing another song, you would kick your legs to tell me I got it wrong. So back to Ba-Ba Black Sheep it went.
Other than songs, you also love books and stories. With very distinct preference, too. At bed time, you'd fetch books over for us to read. Sometimes, you'd look for specific pages, or flip through sections you don't like. Favorites include From Head to Toe, Hop on Pop, Dr. Seuss's ABC, and King Bidgood's Bathtub. On the mornings when I have to leave for school early, your daddy can often get you settled in with your sister for a book or two while he takes his shower. I love the sight of you and Evelyn snuggled together in the big green chair, or rather, you falling into her because of the curvature, light streaming in from behind, a book opened in front, and your eyes trained on the pages. Lauren running around in the back ground gathering things from the dresser or playing with a doll.
You love playing with Lauren. You often follow wherever she goes. When your shorter stature prevents you from catching up, you'd stop and call her back. Often times, you'd play chase, her running for you to catch. Being four, she is much bigger and much faster than you, easily overtaking you, which means the chasee is lapping the chaser, yet that never breaks the game. You would continue to run, doing rounds around the house, sprinkling the air with laughter. Sometimes at bed time, you would want to snuggle into bed with her. When you are able to lay still for a minute, you'd turn towards her, close enough to touch noses, and laugh. Except you can't lay still. You'd kick and pull and toss and turn until she calls out to me to "take him away! Take him away!"
You are quite good at learning things from your sisters. You'd happily go "me!" with them when asked who wants certain things. And yesterday, we played a humming game in the car. Evelyn would tell us "ready, set, go!" and everyone would start humming. Whoever needs to take a breath first loses. After a couple of times, you were right there humming with us. By the time we got home, you were going "Go! M~~~". And of course, we need to give them credit for helping you learn how to defend for yourself. If someone is coming for something that you are not willing to give up, you'd instinctively hold it close to your body, turn slightly away from the person, and shake your head no. If the person does not back off, a scream will emit from your tiny body, shrill and ear shattering.
You love animals. Often fascinated by these moving bodies be they big (tigers) or small (caterpillars), close (doggy leaping by my feat) or far (guppies in the fish tank). You love the iPad. A true digital native, you know how to unlock it, what to do, and already have preferred apps. I can go on and on about every little thing about you. Faults on me. I have neglected these journals and left so much unrecorded, and now, I must stop this ever growing entry.
In your bed, after I turn off the light, we'd sometimes look for the moon when it is extra bright. Side by side, we'd peer through the windows to find the silver disc. If I lean away to look at you, you'd pull me back to make sure I'm seeing the moon as you are. The moon may be beautiful, but it is not more beautiful or magical than this sense of your cheek against mine, and our breath misting up the window in one foggy patch. I love you.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Happy birthday, Lauren
Happy birthday, dear Lauren. Today, you turn four.
You are the little imp who can't help but mug the camera when it's focused on someone else but would hide away if the camera is on you; who would occasionally feel the need to see how loud you can yell, especially when you are in a car with windows all rolled up; who loves to find your sister's buttons and press them, one by one, deliberately. At home, you are exuberant, quick to laugh and sure of yourself. But out in the public, you are reserved and cautious. When you were little, you would cling to my side. I never needed to worry about you being lost, for you would never go far on your own. This summer, you started to venture out. You would run as far as you dare, laughing all the time, until I beckon you back, or until you are far enough that I must fit between your thumb and index finger when you look back, you would than do your crazy run back, big steps, swinging arms, hair swaying wildly, laughing all the way.
You love your siblings, and I love watching you play mommy with your older sister, or chase with your younger brother. You are quick to defend yourself or hold your ground if someone encroaches on your space or take your things. But you are also willing to let your sister persuade you or keep your brother happy. Often times, you can be reasoned with. You would be on the verge of tears and rein it in, blinking hard, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, if we present you with a logical reason to do so. It is quite a feat to witness. You are, after all, just four. When the hurt or unjust is too deep for you to resist, you would succumb to emotions and let it out, sometimes even asking to go to the bathroom so you can cry and scream in earnest. But it never lasts too long. Once you are done, you'd wipe your eyes and on with life again.
You have very clear ideas of what you want to achieve, and how you want to do it. You have yet deigned to humor my attempts to get you to practice your letters. You've learned to sign your name, however. When you want to, you will sign your name one alphabet at a time, slowly and deliberately, once, and that's it. No matter how they turned out, you are done. The van's door needs a bit more strength to open than a four year old could easily muster? You pull at it with all your might, using your body weight, straining and leaning away from the van. If one try doesn't work, you pull and pull and pull at it again in quick succession, using your whole being to operate it. Finally, you found that if you leap while you pull, you are able to trigger the door opening sensor in one go. That is how you do it now. With a leap. It is hilarious to watch.
One day you decided that you want to learn to a piano piece, so I taught you Mary had a Little Lamb. An easy piece that mostly uses only three fingers to play. The day we did this, you practiced on the piano by yourself for about 40 minutes. Long after I left your side and refusing your Nanny's request to stop. Over and over you played. Sometimes half-closing the lid so you can see the note name on far end of the piano key, E-D-C, you'd search, placing your finger with beautiful form on the correct keys.
Just four, you are filled with big, big questions. Where did people come from? How did the world start? Who taught the first people how to do things? Why are you a girl and your brother a boy? The scope of your questions are so big I often don't know where to begin, or how to explain it to a preschooler.The questions surprised, challenged, and delighted me. They offered me a glimpse of how you are observing the world, reflecting on what you know, and wondering about how things fit or work together. I've come to recognize your I-have-been-thinking tone, and wait for your question with bated breath not unlike a child on Christmas morning waiting to see what Santa has brought them.
The other day, on our way home from school, you all of a sudden had a scary thought. "Mommy," you cried, and I can hear the urgency in your voice, "what if I don't know how to go home?" "You can call me and I will go pick you up," I told you. "Even after I have a baby and I am a mommy?" you followed. "Even after you have a baby and become a mommy." Silly girl, don't you know that no matter how old you are, no matter what you became, when you need me, I will go and bring you home. We love you. For all your questions, never question that.
You are the little imp who can't help but mug the camera when it's focused on someone else but would hide away if the camera is on you; who would occasionally feel the need to see how loud you can yell, especially when you are in a car with windows all rolled up; who loves to find your sister's buttons and press them, one by one, deliberately. At home, you are exuberant, quick to laugh and sure of yourself. But out in the public, you are reserved and cautious. When you were little, you would cling to my side. I never needed to worry about you being lost, for you would never go far on your own. This summer, you started to venture out. You would run as far as you dare, laughing all the time, until I beckon you back, or until you are far enough that I must fit between your thumb and index finger when you look back, you would than do your crazy run back, big steps, swinging arms, hair swaying wildly, laughing all the way.
You love your siblings, and I love watching you play mommy with your older sister, or chase with your younger brother. You are quick to defend yourself or hold your ground if someone encroaches on your space or take your things. But you are also willing to let your sister persuade you or keep your brother happy. Often times, you can be reasoned with. You would be on the verge of tears and rein it in, blinking hard, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, if we present you with a logical reason to do so. It is quite a feat to witness. You are, after all, just four. When the hurt or unjust is too deep for you to resist, you would succumb to emotions and let it out, sometimes even asking to go to the bathroom so you can cry and scream in earnest. But it never lasts too long. Once you are done, you'd wipe your eyes and on with life again.
You have very clear ideas of what you want to achieve, and how you want to do it. You have yet deigned to humor my attempts to get you to practice your letters. You've learned to sign your name, however. When you want to, you will sign your name one alphabet at a time, slowly and deliberately, once, and that's it. No matter how they turned out, you are done. The van's door needs a bit more strength to open than a four year old could easily muster? You pull at it with all your might, using your body weight, straining and leaning away from the van. If one try doesn't work, you pull and pull and pull at it again in quick succession, using your whole being to operate it. Finally, you found that if you leap while you pull, you are able to trigger the door opening sensor in one go. That is how you do it now. With a leap. It is hilarious to watch.
One day you decided that you want to learn to a piano piece, so I taught you Mary had a Little Lamb. An easy piece that mostly uses only three fingers to play. The day we did this, you practiced on the piano by yourself for about 40 minutes. Long after I left your side and refusing your Nanny's request to stop. Over and over you played. Sometimes half-closing the lid so you can see the note name on far end of the piano key, E-D-C, you'd search, placing your finger with beautiful form on the correct keys.
Just four, you are filled with big, big questions. Where did people come from? How did the world start? Who taught the first people how to do things? Why are you a girl and your brother a boy? The scope of your questions are so big I often don't know where to begin, or how to explain it to a preschooler.The questions surprised, challenged, and delighted me. They offered me a glimpse of how you are observing the world, reflecting on what you know, and wondering about how things fit or work together. I've come to recognize your I-have-been-thinking tone, and wait for your question with bated breath not unlike a child on Christmas morning waiting to see what Santa has brought them.
The other day, on our way home from school, you all of a sudden had a scary thought. "Mommy," you cried, and I can hear the urgency in your voice, "what if I don't know how to go home?" "You can call me and I will go pick you up," I told you. "Even after I have a baby and I am a mommy?" you followed. "Even after you have a baby and become a mommy." Silly girl, don't you know that no matter how old you are, no matter what you became, when you need me, I will go and bring you home. We love you. For all your questions, never question that.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Dobby's in the house
"I TOLD you someone comes and moves things around."
Lauren lectured as we went in search of her little stuffed panda bear. For a while now, she is convinced that some one comes in the middle of the night to move things around, namely, to put them away.
I don't understand why it never occurred to her that I am the culprit. The one who, you know, would try to straighten things up after she goes to bed. Like a good house wife doing her bit. Create some structure in an (almost) organized room. When I told her I am the person who "move things around", she refused it. It was not a valid answer. Is it that I just don't look the straitening type? That the laundry may wait a day or two (or five) before they get folded and put away? Is it because I look too relaxed when hurricane Evelyn and cyclone Lauren whips the room into disarray? Should I make more noise when I clean up? Should I do a time sheet and sign in every time I do so?
It is very cute how she skips over the obvious and came up with a romanticized version of explanation.
We eventually found the panda on the floor of the room covered by two blankets. "See, I told you," Lauren continued, "when I went to sleep, I hug her like this on my bed!" She showed me how she laid in bed with the panda snug in her arms, three inches away from where we found it. "Okay," I told her with a smile, "perhaps Dobby came and moved it. Naughty Dobby."
Wednesday, October 09, 2013
A letter to Evelyn (Fall 2013)
Time goes by. Here and gone. If I don't do something to capture the moments, the present becomes memories that will be easily lost or distorted with time. So, here we are, already fall again.
Evelyn, where and how should I begin. Big E, little e, what begins with E? Six going on seven, hardly waiting to become a teenager. You are still such a little girl, playing adventures and family with your friends (it used to be hedgehog adventures, but since scooting around is a bit hard on a big play ground, you've ditched the hedgehog act and moved on to human adventures). Yet on the same time, princesses are of the past. You can't wait to turn 7 and 8 and on to a teen. Which means you love to put on chapsticks, wear cool cloths, and pretend you have a phone while climb trees and hang on monkey bars. Once, you got five blisters across your palms hanging on the big red wheels during recess. You are so easy to make laugh. Gross bathroom humors gets you, just about every time. I sold you the Captain Underpants series just by mentioning that one of the villain is a giant poop.
Following behind you on our family bike ride last Sunday, I watched as you paddle as fast as your just-about-too-small bike would go just so I can maintain a speed that allows me to keep my balance, your two pig tails streaming back under your pink helmet, I hear your laughter that gets send back with the wind when I say something silly, and my heart just does this strange thing. It feels as if it is growing too large and burns inside my chest. The sight was the pure, innocent childhood writ large. My love for you over flows. But this love is sometimes hard to express, for oh-my do you try me some times. My instructions to you were seldom followed the first time they were given. Raised voice does not guarantee your attention either. I have yelled until I was red in my face with veins throbbing in my neck and got a "Mommy, why are you so loud? Other people will hear," in return. I've clapped my hands so hard when I'm trying to make a point, that my hands stung. What you didn't get is that I was afraid if I don't hit my own hands, I would hit you instead. None of this threatens you though. It does not light any fire under your bum and make you hop to where I want you to hop any faster. You'd be on your meandering way, smelling the flowers and smiling at birds along the way. Which is all fine and well, except it's eight o'clock and you should be getting ready for bed already. Until I finally played the Santa Claus card. If I need to ask you three times before you do what I told you to do, I'll send Santa a note and tell him about it. Oh boy do things finally become more urgent.
You are so anxious to grow up. Asking for your Christmas list, you gave me four items: an iPhone, makeup, high heel shoes, and a wedding dress like gown. No, no, no, and no. You no longer pretend to be a princess, you pretend to be a teenager using my iPod as your pretend iPhone, carrying around a Nantucket nectar bottle as your "coffee". One afternoon during our vacation, I found myself telling you to hang up on your pretend friend on your pretend phone so you can spend some real time with your real family. Totally did not see that coming. For all that you want to be a teenager, your favorite games are still family and adventures. I am thankful for this. You are still so innocent. Gullible sometimes. Often an easy prey to daddy's tease. Trusting. "For real, Mama, so-and-so told me." Innocent. Stay this way a bit longer, please.
You love to create. To make up a dance, a story, or a song. To draw, to write, to make a necklace. You also love to make up scenarios to question about. "What if there are five dozen people in our house, do we need to get five dozen donuts then?" "What if I need to perform tomorrow and I only know about it today?" The "what if"s can keep coming and coming and coming. Sometimes, there are too many of them for me to parley, and the situations can be so far fetched, I am struck wordless. I don't want you to scare yourself with an endless list of "what if's". What I do want though is for you to keep your imagination and creativity. Keep coming up with new songs and dances. Keep making up these scenarios and spin them into stories.
I often fear that I push you too hard. That I am always asking you to do more, to try harder. Know that it's because I love you. I want you to grow up knowing that you can do more, knowing that you can become better if you want to. Life, sadly, is not a walk in the park. I want you to grow up loving and happy, tough and strong, so that whatever gets thrown your way will get hammered out of the ball park.
Like what I told you, I am your mother. My job is to not only love you and take care of you, but also to make sure you grow up tough and strong.
Evelyn, where and how should I begin. Big E, little e, what begins with E? Six going on seven, hardly waiting to become a teenager. You are still such a little girl, playing adventures and family with your friends (it used to be hedgehog adventures, but since scooting around is a bit hard on a big play ground, you've ditched the hedgehog act and moved on to human adventures). Yet on the same time, princesses are of the past. You can't wait to turn 7 and 8 and on to a teen. Which means you love to put on chapsticks, wear cool cloths, and pretend you have a phone while climb trees and hang on monkey bars. Once, you got five blisters across your palms hanging on the big red wheels during recess. You are so easy to make laugh. Gross bathroom humors gets you, just about every time. I sold you the Captain Underpants series just by mentioning that one of the villain is a giant poop.
Following behind you on our family bike ride last Sunday, I watched as you paddle as fast as your just-about-too-small bike would go just so I can maintain a speed that allows me to keep my balance, your two pig tails streaming back under your pink helmet, I hear your laughter that gets send back with the wind when I say something silly, and my heart just does this strange thing. It feels as if it is growing too large and burns inside my chest. The sight was the pure, innocent childhood writ large. My love for you over flows. But this love is sometimes hard to express, for oh-my do you try me some times. My instructions to you were seldom followed the first time they were given. Raised voice does not guarantee your attention either. I have yelled until I was red in my face with veins throbbing in my neck and got a "Mommy, why are you so loud? Other people will hear," in return. I've clapped my hands so hard when I'm trying to make a point, that my hands stung. What you didn't get is that I was afraid if I don't hit my own hands, I would hit you instead. None of this threatens you though. It does not light any fire under your bum and make you hop to where I want you to hop any faster. You'd be on your meandering way, smelling the flowers and smiling at birds along the way. Which is all fine and well, except it's eight o'clock and you should be getting ready for bed already. Until I finally played the Santa Claus card. If I need to ask you three times before you do what I told you to do, I'll send Santa a note and tell him about it. Oh boy do things finally become more urgent.
You are so anxious to grow up. Asking for your Christmas list, you gave me four items: an iPhone, makeup, high heel shoes, and a wedding dress like gown. No, no, no, and no. You no longer pretend to be a princess, you pretend to be a teenager using my iPod as your pretend iPhone, carrying around a Nantucket nectar bottle as your "coffee". One afternoon during our vacation, I found myself telling you to hang up on your pretend friend on your pretend phone so you can spend some real time with your real family. Totally did not see that coming. For all that you want to be a teenager, your favorite games are still family and adventures. I am thankful for this. You are still so innocent. Gullible sometimes. Often an easy prey to daddy's tease. Trusting. "For real, Mama, so-and-so told me." Innocent. Stay this way a bit longer, please.
You love to create. To make up a dance, a story, or a song. To draw, to write, to make a necklace. You also love to make up scenarios to question about. "What if there are five dozen people in our house, do we need to get five dozen donuts then?" "What if I need to perform tomorrow and I only know about it today?" The "what if"s can keep coming and coming and coming. Sometimes, there are too many of them for me to parley, and the situations can be so far fetched, I am struck wordless. I don't want you to scare yourself with an endless list of "what if's". What I do want though is for you to keep your imagination and creativity. Keep coming up with new songs and dances. Keep making up these scenarios and spin them into stories.
I often fear that I push you too hard. That I am always asking you to do more, to try harder. Know that it's because I love you. I want you to grow up knowing that you can do more, knowing that you can become better if you want to. Life, sadly, is not a walk in the park. I want you to grow up loving and happy, tough and strong, so that whatever gets thrown your way will get hammered out of the ball park.
Like what I told you, I am your mother. My job is to not only love you and take care of you, but also to make sure you grow up tough and strong.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Happy birthday, my dear baby boy.
My dear baby boy,
Last year this time, I was just getting to know you; Counting your fingers and toes, memorizing your face, and wondering what you would be like once your personality starts to show.
You are a loving, lovable boy. On the days that I work, I would step through the door and see you dropping anything you were holding, your whole face blossoming into a gigantic smile, walking as fast as your legs can carry you (at one, you can't really run yet), coming towards me with an enthusiastic "[h]i~~~~~". It was one of the best sights and sounds in the world. When we are playing at home, you'd be off on your own for awhile, and then run towards me with your arms outstretched for a "mommy recharge". I love to crouch down to your height and let you plunge into my arms for a tight, tight hug.
You are so small and so young, but you demonstrate such interest and curiosity towards the world. A ball and a bucket, light switches, an open window, the thermostat, a water bottle, my kindle. Any thing can spark and hold your interest for a long time as your chubby fingers touch, feel, grasp, turn, and flick in all ways imaginable. Every time someone starts to play the piano, you'd run right over to it, tip your toes and reach up to play a few keys. Just a few keys, and you'd come back to the rest of us happy. And books. Oh my do you like books. You vie for your turn when we do bed time readings with your sisters, thrusting a book towards us, pointing at it, opening the pages, demanding that it be read to you now. When we comply, you settle down with a huge grin on your face, happily follow along, looking at the pictures and help flip pages.
You love to play with water, too. Every time I draw a bath for your sisters, you'd race to the side of the tub. You'd reach for my hand for support, and then lift up your chubby leg that is still shorter than the side of the tub in an attempt to climb into it. I could never strip you fast enough as you try to get into the water. Water over your eyes or ears bothers you not. The one day that the weather reached the 80's, I pulled the kiddie pool out. You did not wait until it was filled or for me to take off your shoes. In you step to your sister's delight, onesie, diapers, shoes and all.
You know how to ask for help. You would ask for my hand for support or so that you can take me to where something is out of reach. You would tug at my shirt and than point to my mouth to ask to be nursed. You would take your father's hand to pull something that was stuck fast out so that you can play with it. In this way, you are constructing sentences.
You also know how to say no. You'd brush a hand away, push your sometimes overly passionate sister further, or shake your head vehemently at an unwelcome spoonful of yogurt. Determined, that you are. Determined on your preferences, and determined to do things yourself in your own way. You are learning to climb steps. But instead of climbing the stairs on your hands and knees, you'd rather grip tightly on my hands and scale it. Each step on the stair is higher than your knee. Fazes you not, though. Well, you are a child who was impatient with crawling. And I will not be surprised if one day you decide to bend down and do a forward roll.
All too soon, you are one. I held your hand as you lay beside me and nurse, with your legs tucked, you fit right into my curve. Disregarding those rules on nursing, I made a face at you and watch as your eyes sparkled and the corner of your mouth lift into a smile. All too soon, these moments will be but a memory. But you will be running, jumping, talking, laughing, exploring, learning, growing, and fascinate and amaze us with all the wonderful things that you are and do. We love you, baby boy. Happy birthday.
Thursday, May 02, 2013
I don't want children
One afternoon, we sat chatting about whatever flew into our heads. Evelyn mentioned mommies having babies. I reminded her that mommies need daddies in order to make babies. "Oh, so they have to be married?" she asked. "Well, yes," I chose to answer her, not wanting to confuse her with too many different scenarios, combinations and alternatives. Lauren piped up and said "I don't want to get married."
"Oh, you don't need to decide now," I said, "you can decide way later. But why don't you?"
"Because I don't want any children."
That, was not what I was expecting.
"Oh... why?"
She answered with a shrug, eyes twinkling.
I decided not to press her for a reason. "Okay... well, you don't need to decide now. You have plenty of time to decide on that." A safe answer I can offer.
Later on, when we were alone, I brought it up again, and asked why she doesn't want children.
She gave me that impish look and that little smile that seems to hide thoughts unsaid. Finally, she came up with "because I don't want to carry them around."
Hm. When I relay this story to others, people often burst out laughing here. Especially if I told them that prior to this conversation, she just asked me to carry her up the stairs.
Yet I must admit that I am a bit unsettled by this little episode. It might be true that the only reason behind her decision to not procreate is because she hates having sore arms. May be not having children, to her, simply means to not have a child balanced on her hip at all times. After all, she is here to witness how I have gotten creative in say picking things off the floor, make dinner, or even wash dishes when her brother won't let me put him down. But I can't help but read more into her response. What she knows about motherhood, she gets mainly from me. What is she sensing from me that makes the idea of children undesirable? Do I exude exasperation? Do I smell tired? Do I seem stressed? Does my life revolving around them seems trite? It is true that I am often short on patience, on sleep, on organized thoughts, on the freedom to act on impulse (fly to Rome on a whim or drive to NYC for a weekend for example). But I hope she also sees my joy, my contentment, my happiness that stems from them. From having children. I do not need to travel the world to find beauty and excitement. The sight of their smile, the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hands in mine make my life so much better. They fill my heart with a joy that I was never able to imagine before I became their mother. I hope she knows that. I hope she understands that even while I may look bogged down by the minutiae of daily life, I will not trade motherhood for anything.
"Oh, you don't need to decide now," I said, "you can decide way later. But why don't you?"
"Because I don't want any children."
That, was not what I was expecting.
"Oh... why?"
She answered with a shrug, eyes twinkling.
I decided not to press her for a reason. "Okay... well, you don't need to decide now. You have plenty of time to decide on that." A safe answer I can offer.
Later on, when we were alone, I brought it up again, and asked why she doesn't want children.
She gave me that impish look and that little smile that seems to hide thoughts unsaid. Finally, she came up with "because I don't want to carry them around."
Hm. When I relay this story to others, people often burst out laughing here. Especially if I told them that prior to this conversation, she just asked me to carry her up the stairs.
Yet I must admit that I am a bit unsettled by this little episode. It might be true that the only reason behind her decision to not procreate is because she hates having sore arms. May be not having children, to her, simply means to not have a child balanced on her hip at all times. After all, she is here to witness how I have gotten creative in say picking things off the floor, make dinner, or even wash dishes when her brother won't let me put him down. But I can't help but read more into her response. What she knows about motherhood, she gets mainly from me. What is she sensing from me that makes the idea of children undesirable? Do I exude exasperation? Do I smell tired? Do I seem stressed? Does my life revolving around them seems trite? It is true that I am often short on patience, on sleep, on organized thoughts, on the freedom to act on impulse (fly to Rome on a whim or drive to NYC for a weekend for example). But I hope she also sees my joy, my contentment, my happiness that stems from them. From having children. I do not need to travel the world to find beauty and excitement. The sight of their smile, the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hands in mine make my life so much better. They fill my heart with a joy that I was never able to imagine before I became their mother. I hope she knows that. I hope she understands that even while I may look bogged down by the minutiae of daily life, I will not trade motherhood for anything.
Thursday, April 04, 2013
Dear Lauren (2012)
My dear Lauren,
This is a long delayed newsletter/look back from mommy. Not because there is little for me to say. There is too many stories of you I can tell, but I fear that by putting them into words, it would not do your exuberance, sweetness, and feistiness any justice.
You have a mind of your own and quite strong willed. It's much harder to coerce you into doing something than coercing your sister. But then, you let your sister talk you into sharing a toy or playing a game. I can say you are not all that into books, often loosing interest if the book is a tad longer. But then, I'd remember that you are only three and are supposed to have the attention span of a toddler, and see you go through a book and retell the story from memory. I can say that you don't need friends as much as your sister, and are often reluctant to approach an unknown child. But then, once you make the connection with someone, you cherish it and talks about it proudly. I can say that you sometimes see your brother as a threat who will definitely come for your toy and break it. But then, you also come to him for comfort and hugs when things aren't going your way. I can say you are still a toddler not that much removed from infancy. But then, you will use big words (since, perhaps, disastrous, probably, prefer, separate...) and sound logic to show me how much closer you are to starting school than to the crib (that you seldom used anyway).
Even at three, you are still a mommy's little girl. When we are home, you will request my company by holding tightly on my arms while uttering "I want you to be with me". Bed times are always a big concern of yours. You like mommy nights, and could start asking about it as early as first thing in the morning. "Is this mommy night?" you'd ask. And if I give you a positive answer, you'd smile a reassured smile and be at ease. If not, you'd pout a bit until the next distraction. And my oh my can you pout now. Turning down the tips of your mouth, out comes your lower lip, combined with a very sincere looking frown, you look adorable. It is very hard to be stern when confronted with such a face.
You and your sister has a mostly very lovely and sometimes very combative relationship. You play fabulously well when you accommodate each other's imaginary arrangements (you are in the ocean, she is on the ship), fictional identity (you are Susanna the mermaid, she is Lily the sailor; you are Ohana's mom, she is the gymnastics teacher), and story line (you are hiding from the storm, she is putting up a performance). But when you got into an argument (you want to be a child, she wants you to be an audience), it can escalate all too quickly. The laughter and animated talks turn into shouts (mostly from your sister) and tears (mostly starting with you). You know how to annoy her (tagging along staying very, very close to her for example, or repeat her every sentence), but also how to help her. One afternoon, she dumped all the toys out from a drawer/tray so you two can play with it. Soon, you begin to fight over it. At one point, you had the basket and she was complaining to me about your hogging. You grew angry. Then, I saw you rushing over to her while swinging the tray into a hitting position. "LAUREN!" I yelled at you. You slowed down your pace, looked back in all innocence, lowered the tray in front of your sister and told me "I'm just putting it down." Moments later, the arguing commenced again. I have had enough. Instead of trying to sort things out, I told both of you to put the toys back in. Your sister got really mad and threw a toy. Not acceptable behavior. I grabbed her arm and told her "now you made me really mad. I am taking you upstairs for a time out." I swung around to march her upstairs, but was confronted by you, all 37.5 inches in your frilly pink princess night gown (it was a pajama day, your favorite). Your arms are crossed, mouth was set, not quite blocking me: "now you are making me mad!" Yes. I made you mad. By trying to remove your sister from the scene. The sister who was fighting with you. The scene in which you are both trying to dominate. I was the bad guy. It was very hard for me not to break form and burst out laughing. You saved your sister from time out that day.
Often, we forget how big you are already. Three. I re-enrolled you into school a few months ago thinking that you'll still be in the 2/3 classrooms this fall. Preschool? That's ways off. Silly me. Often, we forget just how young you still are. You can recognize all numbers and most alphabets. Argue and act like a kindergartner. You look forward to the day when you can have drop-off play dates. Set behavior goals for when you are older (I'll stay in my bed when I'm four). Are you only three? Some nights, when mommy and daddy look back on our day, we'd think we did not push you as hard as we push your sister. On other nights, we'd conclude that we asked way more of you than of your sister. I suppose that is the peril of being the middle child. You have an older sibling that we can use as a benchmark. However, you never cease to remind us how distinct and unique you are. You have your humor (bottoms are still the funniest thing in the world, so is your brother), your deep belly laugh, your quirks, and a sweetness all to your own.
I woke up briefly last night as you climbed, as softly as you can, into our bed to lay between your brother and father. This morning, I watched as you slept peacefully with your hands pillowed under your cheek. One of these days, we will reclaim our bed. As for now, I'll enjoy the mornings when I wake up to you and your brother right beside me. Tranquil and beautiful.
This is a long delayed newsletter/look back from mommy. Not because there is little for me to say. There is too many stories of you I can tell, but I fear that by putting them into words, it would not do your exuberance, sweetness, and feistiness any justice.
You have a mind of your own and quite strong willed. It's much harder to coerce you into doing something than coercing your sister. But then, you let your sister talk you into sharing a toy or playing a game. I can say you are not all that into books, often loosing interest if the book is a tad longer. But then, I'd remember that you are only three and are supposed to have the attention span of a toddler, and see you go through a book and retell the story from memory. I can say that you don't need friends as much as your sister, and are often reluctant to approach an unknown child. But then, once you make the connection with someone, you cherish it and talks about it proudly. I can say that you sometimes see your brother as a threat who will definitely come for your toy and break it. But then, you also come to him for comfort and hugs when things aren't going your way. I can say you are still a toddler not that much removed from infancy. But then, you will use big words (since, perhaps, disastrous, probably, prefer, separate...) and sound logic to show me how much closer you are to starting school than to the crib (that you seldom used anyway).
Even at three, you are still a mommy's little girl. When we are home, you will request my company by holding tightly on my arms while uttering "I want you to be with me". Bed times are always a big concern of yours. You like mommy nights, and could start asking about it as early as first thing in the morning. "Is this mommy night?" you'd ask. And if I give you a positive answer, you'd smile a reassured smile and be at ease. If not, you'd pout a bit until the next distraction. And my oh my can you pout now. Turning down the tips of your mouth, out comes your lower lip, combined with a very sincere looking frown, you look adorable. It is very hard to be stern when confronted with such a face.
You and your sister has a mostly very lovely and sometimes very combative relationship. You play fabulously well when you accommodate each other's imaginary arrangements (you are in the ocean, she is on the ship), fictional identity (you are Susanna the mermaid, she is Lily the sailor; you are Ohana's mom, she is the gymnastics teacher), and story line (you are hiding from the storm, she is putting up a performance). But when you got into an argument (you want to be a child, she wants you to be an audience), it can escalate all too quickly. The laughter and animated talks turn into shouts (mostly from your sister) and tears (mostly starting with you). You know how to annoy her (tagging along staying very, very close to her for example, or repeat her every sentence), but also how to help her. One afternoon, she dumped all the toys out from a drawer/tray so you two can play with it. Soon, you begin to fight over it. At one point, you had the basket and she was complaining to me about your hogging. You grew angry. Then, I saw you rushing over to her while swinging the tray into a hitting position. "LAUREN!" I yelled at you. You slowed down your pace, looked back in all innocence, lowered the tray in front of your sister and told me "I'm just putting it down." Moments later, the arguing commenced again. I have had enough. Instead of trying to sort things out, I told both of you to put the toys back in. Your sister got really mad and threw a toy. Not acceptable behavior. I grabbed her arm and told her "now you made me really mad. I am taking you upstairs for a time out." I swung around to march her upstairs, but was confronted by you, all 37.5 inches in your frilly pink princess night gown (it was a pajama day, your favorite). Your arms are crossed, mouth was set, not quite blocking me: "now you are making me mad!" Yes. I made you mad. By trying to remove your sister from the scene. The sister who was fighting with you. The scene in which you are both trying to dominate. I was the bad guy. It was very hard for me not to break form and burst out laughing. You saved your sister from time out that day.
Often, we forget how big you are already. Three. I re-enrolled you into school a few months ago thinking that you'll still be in the 2/3 classrooms this fall. Preschool? That's ways off. Silly me. Often, we forget just how young you still are. You can recognize all numbers and most alphabets. Argue and act like a kindergartner. You look forward to the day when you can have drop-off play dates. Set behavior goals for when you are older (I'll stay in my bed when I'm four). Are you only three? Some nights, when mommy and daddy look back on our day, we'd think we did not push you as hard as we push your sister. On other nights, we'd conclude that we asked way more of you than of your sister. I suppose that is the peril of being the middle child. You have an older sibling that we can use as a benchmark. However, you never cease to remind us how distinct and unique you are. You have your humor (bottoms are still the funniest thing in the world, so is your brother), your deep belly laugh, your quirks, and a sweetness all to your own.
I woke up briefly last night as you climbed, as softly as you can, into our bed to lay between your brother and father. This morning, I watched as you slept peacefully with your hands pillowed under your cheek. One of these days, we will reclaim our bed. As for now, I'll enjoy the mornings when I wake up to you and your brother right beside me. Tranquil and beautiful.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Dear Nathaniel (2012)
My dear boy,
This was meant to be a year-end letter, looking back at the amazing 2012 since you graced our lives. But like so many of my projects these days, it was delayed. Now, it is my Valentine's love letter to you.
You are my sweet, my cuddly, my warmth. I love how you perk up at the sight of me and reach out to me. I love how you grab tightly onto my shirt or my hair (even though it hurts) as if to make sure I will never let you go (I would not). The way your whole body exude joy, your face aglow and your wobbly steps (with the help of a bigger person to balance and stay upright ) hastes when you sees me within reach. It always amazes me how my simple presence comforts you. As if by burrowing into my neck, everything will right itself. The trust you bestow me humbles and terrifies me. I am just another human being with all the standard flaws, still feeling a little wobbly on my own feet. Who am I to have such effect on another wondrous human being? What do I have to have such profound effect on you? Regardless, the sight of you staring into my face as I nurse you, or the feel of your fingers grasping mine is enough to make me want to be there. There, no matter where you'll be.
I love how you snuggle into me to hide, or to rest, and how you flash smiles at others in the safety of my arms. You never hesitate to reach out towards people you love; your daddy, your sisters, me. You love to feel our faces, grab our hair. The sight of us always elicits excited bounces and smiles, even squeals from you. You'd stretch and lean in order to get a peak at your sisters, smiling at them, anticipating to be made laugh. When I give you kisses, you'd lean into me and ask for more. When you feel like it, you'd "hold" my face, lean forward, and give me a open-mouthed kiss that is oh-so-sweet and just so wet.
You are also a curious baby, always fighting to see, feel, try new things. You would open cabinets, pull out drawers, bang toys together, shake things, wave things, taste things, explore them in all manners a 8 month old baby is capable of. The shiny towel rod, the microwave, and the faucet are all things that make you leap out of my arms to reach for. Especially the microwave. Every time I activate it, you take a joyful gasp and puts a hand on it to watch the dish inside magically spin itself.
You love baths. Starting your sister's bath is difficult nowadays because I also have to physically prevent you from head diving into the tub. You would stand by it and excitedly pat the tub, smiling and bouncing in expectation. When you do get to take a bath, you'd happily splash the water this way and that. While Lauren freaks out when water gets into her ears or eyes, you have no problem sticking your head right under the running faucet. I've taken to sloppily pour water all over you, hoping that this indifference toward water would remain and you will continue to be a water baby (a water dragon baby?).
You started teething at 3-months old and never stopped. It started with two bottom teeth. At seven months old, you have four bottom teeth and three top teeth. At eight months old, your eighth teeth has also come through. Teething has not be easy on you nor me, especially when the teeth were just coming. You've left bite marks on my shoulder through a heavy sweatshirt. I am the only person that was ever seriously bitten by you. I am not sure whether the bite is from discomfort or your way of showing your love.
You learned to sit around 5 months old, stalled, and finally got the hang of crawling two weeks or so ago. You don't have a "standard" crawl, though. It's more of a sitting scoot with your right leg remaining an upright position. Even though crawling is the best way to move yourself around, you prefer to stand and walk. Yes siree. You start to pull yourself up even before you can crawl. With the help of a friendly upright-able person, you gladly walk (or run) around the house, checking out corners, chasing after sisters. Can't wait to catch up, huh?
Dear child, since your arrival almost 9 months ago, you have grown so very much. All I can do is hold on to you tight, take in your body warmth, feel your weight in my arms, and savor every bit of it. You are my little boy. My wonder, my tender, my joy. I love you.
This was meant to be a year-end letter, looking back at the amazing 2012 since you graced our lives. But like so many of my projects these days, it was delayed. Now, it is my Valentine's love letter to you.
You are my sweet, my cuddly, my warmth. I love how you perk up at the sight of me and reach out to me. I love how you grab tightly onto my shirt or my hair (even though it hurts) as if to make sure I will never let you go (I would not). The way your whole body exude joy, your face aglow and your wobbly steps (with the help of a bigger person to balance and stay upright ) hastes when you sees me within reach. It always amazes me how my simple presence comforts you. As if by burrowing into my neck, everything will right itself. The trust you bestow me humbles and terrifies me. I am just another human being with all the standard flaws, still feeling a little wobbly on my own feet. Who am I to have such effect on another wondrous human being? What do I have to have such profound effect on you? Regardless, the sight of you staring into my face as I nurse you, or the feel of your fingers grasping mine is enough to make me want to be there. There, no matter where you'll be.
I love how you snuggle into me to hide, or to rest, and how you flash smiles at others in the safety of my arms. You never hesitate to reach out towards people you love; your daddy, your sisters, me. You love to feel our faces, grab our hair. The sight of us always elicits excited bounces and smiles, even squeals from you. You'd stretch and lean in order to get a peak at your sisters, smiling at them, anticipating to be made laugh. When I give you kisses, you'd lean into me and ask for more. When you feel like it, you'd "hold" my face, lean forward, and give me a open-mouthed kiss that is oh-so-sweet and just so wet.
You are also a curious baby, always fighting to see, feel, try new things. You would open cabinets, pull out drawers, bang toys together, shake things, wave things, taste things, explore them in all manners a 8 month old baby is capable of. The shiny towel rod, the microwave, and the faucet are all things that make you leap out of my arms to reach for. Especially the microwave. Every time I activate it, you take a joyful gasp and puts a hand on it to watch the dish inside magically spin itself.
You love baths. Starting your sister's bath is difficult nowadays because I also have to physically prevent you from head diving into the tub. You would stand by it and excitedly pat the tub, smiling and bouncing in expectation. When you do get to take a bath, you'd happily splash the water this way and that. While Lauren freaks out when water gets into her ears or eyes, you have no problem sticking your head right under the running faucet. I've taken to sloppily pour water all over you, hoping that this indifference toward water would remain and you will continue to be a water baby (a water dragon baby?).
You started teething at 3-months old and never stopped. It started with two bottom teeth. At seven months old, you have four bottom teeth and three top teeth. At eight months old, your eighth teeth has also come through. Teething has not be easy on you nor me, especially when the teeth were just coming. You've left bite marks on my shoulder through a heavy sweatshirt. I am the only person that was ever seriously bitten by you. I am not sure whether the bite is from discomfort or your way of showing your love.
You learned to sit around 5 months old, stalled, and finally got the hang of crawling two weeks or so ago. You don't have a "standard" crawl, though. It's more of a sitting scoot with your right leg remaining an upright position. Even though crawling is the best way to move yourself around, you prefer to stand and walk. Yes siree. You start to pull yourself up even before you can crawl. With the help of a friendly upright-able person, you gladly walk (or run) around the house, checking out corners, chasing after sisters. Can't wait to catch up, huh?
Dear child, since your arrival almost 9 months ago, you have grown so very much. All I can do is hold on to you tight, take in your body warmth, feel your weight in my arms, and savor every bit of it. You are my little boy. My wonder, my tender, my joy. I love you.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Evelyn's 2012
Dear Evelyn,
And now you are six. Six! I watch your joyful stride as you walk out of school, hear your long narratives, and feel your weight as you climb into my lap, all elbows and knees, and wonder at how you grow up so quickly.
This has been such a big year for you. You graduated from preschool and started kindergarten. You love everything about school. The bus, the hot lunches, the school work, friends, classes, and teachers. Every day, you come home a cauldron of excitement, bubbling over with stories of what happened and what you learned and what you saw and heard. We would listen to your tales, and pepper you with a million extra questions so that we can learn as much as we can about your experience at school. Thing is, your stories snowball and grew with each telling, embellished with your abundant imagination until we are not sure which parts make up the true happenings. There were tales of how you all get to play a violin in music class (at kindergarten?) after the teacher closed up all windows and doors; of how each child would get a different colored bracelet for their lunch choices (pink for choice one, blue for choice two, green for choice three, and brown for undecided); or how you played with two friends, no three, no four, actually, it's five of them. The classic case was when we had that snow day in October (or was it November?). You came home and told us about a snow ball fight. How someone threw the first snow ball and how the others responded. Later that week, we received the newsletter from your teacher. In it, it read "The children were so disappointed that they didn't get to play with the snow."
Other than your stories, you also act out scenes in the classroom. You'd play school and assign your sister the role of line leader, leading her to gym and teach her yoga. Or, you'd have circle time. You'd sit on the chair, channel your kindergarten teacher, and begin with something like "Today, we are going to read two books, the first one is xxx, by xxx." You would read the story, and then turn the book around so your audience can see the pictures. From time to time, you would interject a question or a personal observation, such as "what do you think will happen?" or "do you have the same experience?" or "look at this locket here, isn't it beautiful? I hope I have one like it." You'd even lick your index finger to turn the page. I can imagine dear Mrs. H. reading stories, turning pages, and asking questions just the way you do. Speaking of reading, you've started to really read this year. Not by memorizing the text anymore, but sounding out new and sometimes complicated words. Just tonight, you read most of Ms. Rumphius by Barbara Cooney yourself. Sometimes you get inpatient at your slow progress though, and would tell me you are going to read the book your own way, as in making up the sentences as you see fit.
It was never difficult for you to make new friends, and that continues to be the case. Before you started kindergarten, we worried that you would cling to old friendships and have trouble bonding with new friends. Silly parents, not giving our own child enough credit. Very quickly you started adding names to your best friend list. Apparently, anyone whom you've talked to or plays with at recess qualifies as a best friend. You have regular play dates with friends who live close by, and constantly bring home requests for play dates with other classmates. Unfortunately your schedule is so packed, there's precious little time for free play and play dates. You have ballet on Monday, gymnastics on Wednesday, piano on Friday, swimming on Saturday, and a monthly Daisy troop meeting. You love all of these activities, and I dare not sign you up for more.
Of all the activities, you love swimming the most. You said the only problem with swimming lesson is that it is too short. Your least favorite is piano, which you are doing very well in the group lesson. You are doing so well, in fact, that your teacher who recommended you skip kindergarten level has asked for you to discontinue with group lesson and start private lessons instead.
During this year, we see you completely shedding any trailing bits of toddler hood. Yet from time to time, you would remind me just how heart-achingly young you still are. So curious about the world, so ready to take things on, always rushing to check things out, to start something. So anxious to be perfect. Always needing reassurance of our love to you.
Growing up can be hard sometimes, especially when you don't get cuddled as much as your younger siblings do, or when you are asked to do more. But you have to remember, we love you just the same as we always did, if not more. No matter how you try our patience or shock us with your antics (scaling the pantry to fix yourself and your sister breakfasts that start with two pieces of chocolate, for example). I may not like your behavior, but I love you always. And as you grow and grow, we need to help you become more and more independent. In time, you will need to take care of yourself, and the best thing we can do for you is to make sure you can do a good job of it.
Growing up can be hard sometimes, but don't forget the joy that comes along with it. Think of how you can ride a two wheel bike now, how you can swim by yourself, how you can read and write and play music, and how you can take care of your younger siblings.
I hear you monkeying around with your sister and laughing the big, unrestrained laugh of yours. Such happiness. So open and honest. We are so proud of you, and love you so very much.
And now you are six. Six! I watch your joyful stride as you walk out of school, hear your long narratives, and feel your weight as you climb into my lap, all elbows and knees, and wonder at how you grow up so quickly.
This has been such a big year for you. You graduated from preschool and started kindergarten. You love everything about school. The bus, the hot lunches, the school work, friends, classes, and teachers. Every day, you come home a cauldron of excitement, bubbling over with stories of what happened and what you learned and what you saw and heard. We would listen to your tales, and pepper you with a million extra questions so that we can learn as much as we can about your experience at school. Thing is, your stories snowball and grew with each telling, embellished with your abundant imagination until we are not sure which parts make up the true happenings. There were tales of how you all get to play a violin in music class (at kindergarten?) after the teacher closed up all windows and doors; of how each child would get a different colored bracelet for their lunch choices (pink for choice one, blue for choice two, green for choice three, and brown for undecided); or how you played with two friends, no three, no four, actually, it's five of them. The classic case was when we had that snow day in October (or was it November?). You came home and told us about a snow ball fight. How someone threw the first snow ball and how the others responded. Later that week, we received the newsletter from your teacher. In it, it read "The children were so disappointed that they didn't get to play with the snow."
Other than your stories, you also act out scenes in the classroom. You'd play school and assign your sister the role of line leader, leading her to gym and teach her yoga. Or, you'd have circle time. You'd sit on the chair, channel your kindergarten teacher, and begin with something like "Today, we are going to read two books, the first one is xxx, by xxx." You would read the story, and then turn the book around so your audience can see the pictures. From time to time, you would interject a question or a personal observation, such as "what do you think will happen?" or "do you have the same experience?" or "look at this locket here, isn't it beautiful? I hope I have one like it." You'd even lick your index finger to turn the page. I can imagine dear Mrs. H. reading stories, turning pages, and asking questions just the way you do. Speaking of reading, you've started to really read this year. Not by memorizing the text anymore, but sounding out new and sometimes complicated words. Just tonight, you read most of Ms. Rumphius by Barbara Cooney yourself. Sometimes you get inpatient at your slow progress though, and would tell me you are going to read the book your own way, as in making up the sentences as you see fit.
It was never difficult for you to make new friends, and that continues to be the case. Before you started kindergarten, we worried that you would cling to old friendships and have trouble bonding with new friends. Silly parents, not giving our own child enough credit. Very quickly you started adding names to your best friend list. Apparently, anyone whom you've talked to or plays with at recess qualifies as a best friend. You have regular play dates with friends who live close by, and constantly bring home requests for play dates with other classmates. Unfortunately your schedule is so packed, there's precious little time for free play and play dates. You have ballet on Monday, gymnastics on Wednesday, piano on Friday, swimming on Saturday, and a monthly Daisy troop meeting. You love all of these activities, and I dare not sign you up for more.
Of all the activities, you love swimming the most. You said the only problem with swimming lesson is that it is too short. Your least favorite is piano, which you are doing very well in the group lesson. You are doing so well, in fact, that your teacher who recommended you skip kindergarten level has asked for you to discontinue with group lesson and start private lessons instead.
During this year, we see you completely shedding any trailing bits of toddler hood. Yet from time to time, you would remind me just how heart-achingly young you still are. So curious about the world, so ready to take things on, always rushing to check things out, to start something. So anxious to be perfect. Always needing reassurance of our love to you.
Growing up can be hard sometimes, especially when you don't get cuddled as much as your younger siblings do, or when you are asked to do more. But you have to remember, we love you just the same as we always did, if not more. No matter how you try our patience or shock us with your antics (scaling the pantry to fix yourself and your sister breakfasts that start with two pieces of chocolate, for example). I may not like your behavior, but I love you always. And as you grow and grow, we need to help you become more and more independent. In time, you will need to take care of yourself, and the best thing we can do for you is to make sure you can do a good job of it.
Growing up can be hard sometimes, but don't forget the joy that comes along with it. Think of how you can ride a two wheel bike now, how you can swim by yourself, how you can read and write and play music, and how you can take care of your younger siblings.
I hear you monkeying around with your sister and laughing the big, unrestrained laugh of yours. Such happiness. So open and honest. We are so proud of you, and love you so very much.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
go back to sleep, mom.
Lauren has been sleeping through the night in her own room for a few weeks. Not necessarily in her bed, but in the room, nonetheless. Then, a few nights ago, she snuck into our bed in the middle of the night again. The next morning, we talked about why she needs to stay in her own room (I love you but I need my sleep, too).
That night, I woke to her foot steps, raised my head and saw the top of her head peaking over our tall bed. "Lauren, go back to your room" I mumbled. She shushed me as she climbed onto the bed, "go back to sleep, mommy. Stay asleep." The mommy got shushed by the three year old.
Later, she told me she wanted me to stay asleep so I would not tell her to go back to her room. Good logic? Yes. Am I just a tad bit worried about what her teenage years are to be like? Just a bit. Just a bit.
That night, I woke to her foot steps, raised my head and saw the top of her head peaking over our tall bed. "Lauren, go back to your room" I mumbled. She shushed me as she climbed onto the bed, "go back to sleep, mommy. Stay asleep." The mommy got shushed by the three year old.
Later, she told me she wanted me to stay asleep so I would not tell her to go back to her room. Good logic? Yes. Am I just a tad bit worried about what her teenage years are to be like? Just a bit. Just a bit.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Summer 2012
The starting of school usually signifies the end of summer. Tomorrow, Evelyn starts kindergarten. Tomorrow, I will be seeing her off at the end of the drive way, watching her get on a school bus to spend her whole day at school. I am trying not to be too sentimental, but the flood of emotion seems to be just barely contained behind my eyes. If I don't blink hard enough, or fast enough, the pressure will build and the dam will break. That won't happen though. My little girl is so psyched about going to school, so happy to begin this new part of her life, I will be happy for her, too. I will not stop and mourn the end of her toddler hood. Tomorrow, I will celebrate with her as she embarks on her new adventure. At least, that is what I am telling myself.
It has been such a busy summer. Nathaniel arrived at the start of it. Though having a new born does limit our travelling, it does not mean that the girls were trapped home in any way. There were plenty of trips to the lake, first encounters with a slip-and-slid, and a morning spent at the pool equipped with water slides at One Stop Fun. Evelyn finally realized that she can go without her goggles and still be equally fearless in water. Lauren is getting closer and closer to finally dip her chin in to blow bubbles.
Evelyn had her first summer camp - the little Italian chef pasta making. From a simple mixture of flour and water (and once with a little bit of tamarind for color), she made delicious tofie and bow ties, papadelles and fettuccine. She also had her first piano lessons. After three classes, she was doing well enough that the teacher suggested us enrolling her into the 1st and 2nd grader's class, skipping the kindergarten level.
Inspired by the performances of the London Olympic athletes (even Lauren knows the names of fab five) and the performers of Circus Smirkus, the girls did a lot of gymnastics at home. Cart wheels, hand stands, and backward rolls can take place anywhere. The girls are especially creative on the swing set. Evelyn's most daring move is to hang upside down on the trapeze with only one leg hooked on. After sliding off once, landing on the ground heavily with a solid "oof", she's learned to entwine her free leg over the hooked leg to make herself more secure while still freeing up her hands. She's getting so strong she is able to swing across the whole length of the monkey bar multiple times without help. Lauren is an acrobat in training, too. With a little help of mommy (who often is also wearing their baby brother in a pouch), she can swing half way through the monkey bar, or get herself onto the trapeze.
We went to Plymouth Plantation to visit the pilgrims and check out the May Flower. Visited the Franklin Park Zoo where Evelyn climbed up and down the zebra wall to get down the twisty, super fast giraffe slides, and Lauren showed us just how far those two-year-old legs can walk (far!). Had play dates (and even an early dinner) with Amelia and Kaylie (sometimes with Kasen, Hadleigh, and Wyatt) as well as Alana and Evelyn's future kindergarten griends. Picked strawberries with A-Ma and Nanny, and peaches and blueberries with Ben and Max. Went to Fifer's day fair, Acton's Town Fair, Bolton Fair, and the Middlesex County 4-H fair. Went through a beautifully laid out corn maze that hid 3 wine tasting stations in it, and visited Nashoba winery afterwards on a glorious summer day (I got to walk and nurse Nathaniel while in the maze. Would have made for a great FB status if I had a smart phone to do so on the spot).
While we weren't able to visit anyone, people came to visit us. A-Yis and A-Gu visited aplenty, making the girls very happy. Evelyn discovered her love of photo taking using A-Yi's cell phone. Sandie A-Yi gave her her phone's password in exchange for a little bit more sleep (Evelyn climbed into her bed before 6), and woke up to a good number of new photos and a couple of videos in her phone. Auntie Liz also came back and took the girls to Davis Farmland with Nanny. Ben and Max came for a weekend. Max became Evelyn's little shadow, following wherever she goes, doing whatever she does, wanting whatever she chooses.
It's a summer with a lot of growing and of learning new stuff. Evelyn started to read. Lauren started to recognize alphabets and numbers. It's a summer full of joy and fun and smiles and laughs. And now it is coming to an end. Tomorrow, Evelyn starts school. It feels like the end of an era. But I will refrain from thinking that way, and only think of it as a beginning.
It has been such a busy summer. Nathaniel arrived at the start of it. Though having a new born does limit our travelling, it does not mean that the girls were trapped home in any way. There were plenty of trips to the lake, first encounters with a slip-and-slid, and a morning spent at the pool equipped with water slides at One Stop Fun. Evelyn finally realized that she can go without her goggles and still be equally fearless in water. Lauren is getting closer and closer to finally dip her chin in to blow bubbles.
Evelyn had her first summer camp - the little Italian chef pasta making. From a simple mixture of flour and water (and once with a little bit of tamarind for color), she made delicious tofie and bow ties, papadelles and fettuccine. She also had her first piano lessons. After three classes, she was doing well enough that the teacher suggested us enrolling her into the 1st and 2nd grader's class, skipping the kindergarten level.
Inspired by the performances of the London Olympic athletes (even Lauren knows the names of fab five) and the performers of Circus Smirkus, the girls did a lot of gymnastics at home. Cart wheels, hand stands, and backward rolls can take place anywhere. The girls are especially creative on the swing set. Evelyn's most daring move is to hang upside down on the trapeze with only one leg hooked on. After sliding off once, landing on the ground heavily with a solid "oof", she's learned to entwine her free leg over the hooked leg to make herself more secure while still freeing up her hands. She's getting so strong she is able to swing across the whole length of the monkey bar multiple times without help. Lauren is an acrobat in training, too. With a little help of mommy (who often is also wearing their baby brother in a pouch), she can swing half way through the monkey bar, or get herself onto the trapeze.
We went to Plymouth Plantation to visit the pilgrims and check out the May Flower. Visited the Franklin Park Zoo where Evelyn climbed up and down the zebra wall to get down the twisty, super fast giraffe slides, and Lauren showed us just how far those two-year-old legs can walk (far!). Had play dates (and even an early dinner) with Amelia and Kaylie (sometimes with Kasen, Hadleigh, and Wyatt) as well as Alana and Evelyn's future kindergarten griends. Picked strawberries with A-Ma and Nanny, and peaches and blueberries with Ben and Max. Went to Fifer's day fair, Acton's Town Fair, Bolton Fair, and the Middlesex County 4-H fair. Went through a beautifully laid out corn maze that hid 3 wine tasting stations in it, and visited Nashoba winery afterwards on a glorious summer day (I got to walk and nurse Nathaniel while in the maze. Would have made for a great FB status if I had a smart phone to do so on the spot).
While we weren't able to visit anyone, people came to visit us. A-Yis and A-Gu visited aplenty, making the girls very happy. Evelyn discovered her love of photo taking using A-Yi's cell phone. Sandie A-Yi gave her her phone's password in exchange for a little bit more sleep (Evelyn climbed into her bed before 6), and woke up to a good number of new photos and a couple of videos in her phone. Auntie Liz also came back and took the girls to Davis Farmland with Nanny. Ben and Max came for a weekend. Max became Evelyn's little shadow, following wherever she goes, doing whatever she does, wanting whatever she chooses.
It's a summer with a lot of growing and of learning new stuff. Evelyn started to read. Lauren started to recognize alphabets and numbers. It's a summer full of joy and fun and smiles and laughs. And now it is coming to an end. Tomorrow, Evelyn starts school. It feels like the end of an era. But I will refrain from thinking that way, and only think of it as a beginning.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Roar
When at play, if someone chases Lauren hard and long enough, and mommy is not there to provide her legs to hide behind, Lauren would turn around, curl her fingers into claws, scrunch up her nose, roar like a monster, and give chase of her chaser, reversing their original roles. That is how my two year old takes control of the situation.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Pop quiz
1. Which of the following names do you think the baby most associate himself with?
a. Nathan
b. Nathaniel
c. Nat
d. Baby brother
2. Waking up at a reasonable hour (7am) means you might find the 2 and 5 year olds:
a. Wearing nail polish not only on nails, but also on fingers and toes, elbows and noses
b. With a temporary (thank goodness) tattoo on cheek
c. Sitting at their little table, spoons in hand, sharing a jar of peanut butter which they obtained by scaling the cupboards with the help of a kitchen stool
d. All of the above
3. What does the girls get yelled at most with?
a. SPACE! (as in give the baby some space!)
b. SHARE!
c. What did I just say? (Is your ears stuffed with cotton?)
d. Keep the crumbs on your plate!
4. What should a mother do when her baby is asleep? (Please pick a most reasonable option.)
a. Go use the bathroom without having to hold a child in your lap.
b. Eat your breakfast/lunch/dinner without fear of dripping on your baby who is only happy in your arms
c. Do some work (house work or otherwise)
e. Prep lunch/dinner
f. Take a nap
f. All of the above, preferably simultaneously
Answer keys:
1. d. 2.d. 3.a. 4.Hm... the most reasonable option... I think this is a trick question...
a. Nathan
b. Nathaniel
c. Nat
d. Baby brother
2. Waking up at a reasonable hour (7am) means you might find the 2 and 5 year olds:
a. Wearing nail polish not only on nails, but also on fingers and toes, elbows and noses
b. With a temporary (thank goodness) tattoo on cheek
c. Sitting at their little table, spoons in hand, sharing a jar of peanut butter which they obtained by scaling the cupboards with the help of a kitchen stool
d. All of the above
3. What does the girls get yelled at most with?
a. SPACE! (as in give the baby some space!)
b. SHARE!
c. What did I just say? (Is your ears stuffed with cotton?)
d. Keep the crumbs on your plate!
4. What should a mother do when her baby is asleep? (Please pick a most reasonable option.)
a. Go use the bathroom without having to hold a child in your lap.
b. Eat your breakfast/lunch/dinner without fear of dripping on your baby who is only happy in your arms
c. Do some work (house work or otherwise)
e. Prep lunch/dinner
f. Take a nap
f. All of the above, preferably simultaneously
Answer keys:
1. d. 2.d. 3.a. 4.Hm... the most reasonable option... I think this is a trick question...
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
As a mother of three
As a mother of more than one, you learn to cook dinner with one arm, nurse the baby that is cradled in the other arm at the same time, and shield him from any potential hot oil splashes with your exposed belly.
You learn to hold the baby in one arm, shower one child with the other arm, while encouraging (through clenched teeth, but calmly, if barely) the one on the potty to hurry up.
You learn to maneuver those bulky shopping carts that has a toy car attached up front making it impossible for you to see what is in front of you. You have to, once you've run over your own child who was dragging her feet right at your blind spot, or knock over a display or two (or three or four).
You learn that a child can fit herself into a shopping cart in thirty seven different ways, thirty two of which are one way only. You also learn to ignore the onlookers curious glances while extracting the child.
You learn that no matter how you cook it, a broccoli is a broccoli is a broccoli. And it is not finding its way into your children's mouth.
You learn the many shades of whine of a child, none of which are pleasant.
You also learn the various brightness of laughter, all of which make life so much better.
You learn to hold the baby in one arm, shower one child with the other arm, while encouraging (through clenched teeth, but calmly, if barely) the one on the potty to hurry up.
You learn to maneuver those bulky shopping carts that has a toy car attached up front making it impossible for you to see what is in front of you. You have to, once you've run over your own child who was dragging her feet right at your blind spot, or knock over a display or two (or three or four).
You learn that a child can fit herself into a shopping cart in thirty seven different ways, thirty two of which are one way only. You also learn to ignore the onlookers curious glances while extracting the child.
You learn that no matter how you cook it, a broccoli is a broccoli is a broccoli. And it is not finding its way into your children's mouth.
You learn the many shades of whine of a child, none of which are pleasant.
You also learn the various brightness of laughter, all of which make life so much better.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Summer evenings, on the porch swing
Happiness can be found on the porch swing on a mild summer evening when the breeze blows cool and gentle and the little one nests contently on my chest while the two girls run happily around the yard collecting fallen leaves and weeds for their stove that is the front step.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Welcome, my little boy
Still an hour shy of a day old, what are you dreaming about that would make you squint up your face and cry? Was it the scary process of being born? Of getting squeezed out from the warm, dark, floating space of mommy's womb to this bright and noisy place where sometimes your limbs are exposed to the open air?
You came yesterday morning. Around 2:55am, Mommy awoke to a painful contraction. Whereas previous contractions are comforting assurances of my body getting ready for your birth, nothing more then a tightening that is slightly uncomfortable, this contraction was a jabbing pain. I lay there in the dark and waited. Sure enough a second one came, and then a third, all 8 minutes apart. After an hour of this, I went downstairs to check on my computer and decided that this might be the real deal. One week ahead of our scheduled induction, and you decided to take things into your own hand. You were coming.
I woke your daddy, and after he was ready, at around 5, we roused your sisters. Both went from being groggy from sleep to wide awake when we told them that you are likely to make your final appearance. Both got dressed and loaded into the car with a rare display of efficiency. Your Nanny and Granddad then picked them up around 5:30 at the hospital. By then, I was 4.5-5 cm dilated (was 2-3 a week ago) and my blood pressure went up. By then, the chances of us leaving with you still in my belly has shrunk to near nothing.
The doctor came around 7:30 to check on us. I've progressed another couple of centimeters. Before then, I've put off deciding whether I want pain medications or not. The problem was, I was completely comfortable during the couple of minutes between contractions. I could even fall asleep. But when the contractions came, there was no questioning that they were building in intensity and demanding more and more of my energy and efforts to ride through it. It scares me to be washed away in the pain and loose control of it all. When the doctor came back again a little after 8 to break my water, I was fighting with a contraction and noting that they are about to transition into their final phase. I told her I am going with the epidural this time, and what a difference it made. The epidural went in around 9. After that, instead of the pain, the contractions became a very manageable pressure in my lower abdominal. I not only could joke with the nurses through it, I actually had to tune into it to make sure I don't miss any time-to-push signals. An hour later, I furrowed my brows and discerned that perhaps the pressure I was feeling had changed. The nurses called back the doctor who almost went back to her office to see a couple of patients, and I started pushing. With your sisters, the pain were crushing waves that I struggle to stay afloat and breath. The pushing process was more or less a haze in which actions and happenings blend together until at last a baby was handed to me. With you, however, I was calm and clear headed and present. Fully aware of the room, the people in it, and my surrounding. The pressure when I needed to push was still hard to bear, but between pushes, man, I was even able to chat with the doctor and ask after her son. Four pushes through the contractions, and at 10:08, you were pulled out and handed to me. Gurgling and confused, you cried right away. A little bundle of life. Three times I've been handed a baby right out from my body, and each time, it is equally profound, incredulous, miraculous, and wonderful. Red faced, a full head of hair, little cries and waving limbs. You are mine and ours, living, breathing, and starting a life of your own. What awaits you, only time would tell, but you will have us by your side, always.
Welcome to the world, my son.
You came yesterday morning. Around 2:55am, Mommy awoke to a painful contraction. Whereas previous contractions are comforting assurances of my body getting ready for your birth, nothing more then a tightening that is slightly uncomfortable, this contraction was a jabbing pain. I lay there in the dark and waited. Sure enough a second one came, and then a third, all 8 minutes apart. After an hour of this, I went downstairs to check on my computer and decided that this might be the real deal. One week ahead of our scheduled induction, and you decided to take things into your own hand. You were coming.
I woke your daddy, and after he was ready, at around 5, we roused your sisters. Both went from being groggy from sleep to wide awake when we told them that you are likely to make your final appearance. Both got dressed and loaded into the car with a rare display of efficiency. Your Nanny and Granddad then picked them up around 5:30 at the hospital. By then, I was 4.5-5 cm dilated (was 2-3 a week ago) and my blood pressure went up. By then, the chances of us leaving with you still in my belly has shrunk to near nothing.
The doctor came around 7:30 to check on us. I've progressed another couple of centimeters. Before then, I've put off deciding whether I want pain medications or not. The problem was, I was completely comfortable during the couple of minutes between contractions. I could even fall asleep. But when the contractions came, there was no questioning that they were building in intensity and demanding more and more of my energy and efforts to ride through it. It scares me to be washed away in the pain and loose control of it all. When the doctor came back again a little after 8 to break my water, I was fighting with a contraction and noting that they are about to transition into their final phase. I told her I am going with the epidural this time, and what a difference it made. The epidural went in around 9. After that, instead of the pain, the contractions became a very manageable pressure in my lower abdominal. I not only could joke with the nurses through it, I actually had to tune into it to make sure I don't miss any time-to-push signals. An hour later, I furrowed my brows and discerned that perhaps the pressure I was feeling had changed. The nurses called back the doctor who almost went back to her office to see a couple of patients, and I started pushing. With your sisters, the pain were crushing waves that I struggle to stay afloat and breath. The pushing process was more or less a haze in which actions and happenings blend together until at last a baby was handed to me. With you, however, I was calm and clear headed and present. Fully aware of the room, the people in it, and my surrounding. The pressure when I needed to push was still hard to bear, but between pushes, man, I was even able to chat with the doctor and ask after her son. Four pushes through the contractions, and at 10:08, you were pulled out and handed to me. Gurgling and confused, you cried right away. A little bundle of life. Three times I've been handed a baby right out from my body, and each time, it is equally profound, incredulous, miraculous, and wonderful. Red faced, a full head of hair, little cries and waving limbs. You are mine and ours, living, breathing, and starting a life of your own. What awaits you, only time would tell, but you will have us by your side, always.
Welcome to the world, my son.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Two with an attitude
Lauren found a new game. She climbs onto the toy chest in their room, which is probably a foot and a half high, then while holding onto my hand (that's her compromise), jumps down. After a thrilling few jumps, she demonstrated her invented game to her father. Her father's response "this scares me." With a smile, Lauren calmly gave her retort, "than go away."
Later that night, the girls' dad told me Lauren said "oh shoot!"while watching him play Diablo earlier. Yes, my ballet loving, princess dressing, dolly playing 5- and 2- year old daughters are also well versed in Star Wars - game and movie, and the newest Diablo. They each have an in-game character; scary looking witches and sorcerers with sweet names like Violet and Lilly. They know about skeleton kings and quests and raids. If they hear any dramatic conversation or musics coming from the office, they, especially the older one, would rush over to claim their stools beside their father to watch him play. Apparently, their father's character was attacked by a bunch of bad guys today. And, according to Lauren "they look tough, so I said 'oh shoot!'"
Later that night, the girls' dad told me Lauren said "oh shoot!"while watching him play Diablo earlier. Yes, my ballet loving, princess dressing, dolly playing 5- and 2- year old daughters are also well versed in Star Wars - game and movie, and the newest Diablo. They each have an in-game character; scary looking witches and sorcerers with sweet names like Violet and Lilly. They know about skeleton kings and quests and raids. If they hear any dramatic conversation or musics coming from the office, they, especially the older one, would rush over to claim their stools beside their father to watch him play. Apparently, their father's character was attacked by a bunch of bad guys today. And, according to Lauren "they look tough, so I said 'oh shoot!'"
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Dear little one
Dear little one,
Am I really too ambitious, thinking that I can teach and work on a dissertation, and handle a new born come June all at he same time? Maybe. But if I have to give any of the above up, it will not be you.
Today, I ran into the doctoral program adviser in the hall way. She asked me about my progress. Yes, yes, I am shaping up my topic. Yes, yes, I'm doing preliminary lit review. Yes, yes, I am forming a dissertation committee. "And how are other things going?" she asked, not that subtly indicating towards my growing belly, at you.
"It's going well," I said.
"Uh-huh. Is it going to cause problems?" ("It"? You know, "baby" isn't a bad word to use, even if we are standing in the hall way of an academic institution.)
"I've budgeted a couple months time for when the baby comes."
"Good. As long as you factored it into your timeline. What is this, your third?"
"Yes, my third."
"Jesus!" She reacted in a you-are-so-out-of-your-mind, this-is-too-outrageous-to-comprehend sort of way. And I wondered, is three the new twenty in academia?
I walked away after the brief exchange bitterly amused by it. School and motherhood is an uneasy mix. Balancing the two is challenging enough, it turns out that finding someone established within an academic organization who understands what parenting is about and how why a not-crazy-person might choose to become a parent is even more difficult. When you face a roomful of faculties who chose not to have children, how do you explain that you really only have two full work days a week because motherhood takes up the rest of the day AND night, physically AND mentally? How do you convey that sitting on a park bench watching children play for a couple of hours is a good use of your time? How do you help them understand a sick child or a school vacation day means no work time for you? How do you help them see that even though these are the cases, without your children, you will not be complete any more?
But never mind them. I look at your sisters, listen to their laughter, bask in the overflowing glow of love they shower each other in, and feel a joy and contentment that I cannot put into words. I feel your movements in me and cannot wait to meet you, learn more about you, and see you jump into play with your sisters. Yes, you are my third. You are not a roadblock. You are not an extra. You are not the "break" that needs to happen. You are my child, and you will be cherished just like my first and my second are. You will be (are already) loved with all of my heart.
Am I really too ambitious, thinking that I can teach and work on a dissertation, and handle a new born come June all at he same time? Maybe. But if I have to give any of the above up, it will not be you.
Today, I ran into the doctoral program adviser in the hall way. She asked me about my progress. Yes, yes, I am shaping up my topic. Yes, yes, I'm doing preliminary lit review. Yes, yes, I am forming a dissertation committee. "And how are other things going?" she asked, not that subtly indicating towards my growing belly, at you.
"It's going well," I said.
"Uh-huh. Is it going to cause problems?" ("It"? You know, "baby" isn't a bad word to use, even if we are standing in the hall way of an academic institution.)
"I've budgeted a couple months time for when the baby comes."
"Good. As long as you factored it into your timeline. What is this, your third?"
"Yes, my third."
"Jesus!" She reacted in a you-are-so-out-of-your-mind, this-is-too-outrageous-to-comprehend sort of way. And I wondered, is three the new twenty in academia?
I walked away after the brief exchange bitterly amused by it. School and motherhood is an uneasy mix. Balancing the two is challenging enough, it turns out that finding someone established within an academic organization who understands what parenting is about and how why a not-crazy-person might choose to become a parent is even more difficult. When you face a roomful of faculties who chose not to have children, how do you explain that you really only have two full work days a week because motherhood takes up the rest of the day AND night, physically AND mentally? How do you convey that sitting on a park bench watching children play for a couple of hours is a good use of your time? How do you help them understand a sick child or a school vacation day means no work time for you? How do you help them see that even though these are the cases, without your children, you will not be complete any more?
But never mind them. I look at your sisters, listen to their laughter, bask in the overflowing glow of love they shower each other in, and feel a joy and contentment that I cannot put into words. I feel your movements in me and cannot wait to meet you, learn more about you, and see you jump into play with your sisters. Yes, you are my third. You are not a roadblock. You are not an extra. You are not the "break" that needs to happen. You are my child, and you will be cherished just like my first and my second are. You will be (are already) loved with all of my heart.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Love is in the air
Monday, when I went to pick Evelyn up, a little boy whom she'd be in the same class with since summer before last came to her and gave her a prolonged, real, heart-felt hug while mumbling "see you tomorrow. See you tomorrow." I told him she won't be back the next day, but will be here again on Wednesday. He looked kind of sad. I wondered what that was all about.
Wednesday morning, as I busied myself helping Evelyn stuff her winter jacket onto her hook, I noticed that, out of all the empty mail boxes, hers were filled with drawings. I thought they may be her art work that I neglected to bring home of Monday, and I thought wrong. They were 11 stick figure drawings, all from the little boy, drawn especially for her. Eleven. Evelyn told me he would also like a play date.
Thursday morning, I got an email from the little boy's mom inviting Evelyn over for the play date.
Friday morning, I signed Evelyn in, looked up, and found the little boy, with his eyes already glued on Evelyn, asking her to go over. Behind him, their teacher looked over and mouthed the words "so in love!" After over a year of being in the same class, it seems like the boy has finally really seen Evelyn and been entranced. He gazed at her through lunch while she munched on without a clue, asking her questions like "Evelyn, do you like the color blue?" He talked and asked about her on the days when she wasn't there, and generally stayed by her when she is. It is very cute, this puppy love. But, you know, with an intensity that took me by surprise. I mean, it's been only a week and we're heading over for a play date already! Clearly not harboring just a slow burning fire, this one!
I am simultaneously amused and heart warmed and, I don't know, nervous about it. Love, could be a finicky thing. I wonder how long it will last and how it will all unfold. I hope it will remain as sweet and fun and harmless as my own first crush (at 7) was.
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