The Mommies' Diaries…Parenting, One Blog at a Time.

I picked Anders up from school the other day and while I was waiting outside before the bell rang he came skipping out of his classroom with a lanky brown-haired girl. They raced towards the office together, on a mission to bring back something or other for their teacher, and I saw him reach out and fumble to take her hand. She hesitated, but gripped him amiably for a bit before they let go to swing their arms in a fist-pumping burst of speed.

He can be a loud boy, an obnoxious boy, occasionally a rude and selfish boy—but oh, he can be as tender as freshly fallen autumn leaf.

At seven years old he doesn’t have any idea that some kids might not want to hold hands and I felt a confusing whoosh of loving him so much for that gesture and being terrified that the girl would mock him for it. This age of big-little is filled with so many new things and I have chastised him, sometimes, for his tenderness, for weeping over small wounds or being afraid of movie scenes or whatever it is. Grow up, I’ve snapped.

I finished Rick Bragg’s The Prince of Frogtown last night. It’s a memoir inspired by Bragg’s relationship with his ten-year-old stepson, and towards the end, he writes,

The little boy started to fade, just like we left him in the sun too long. (…) He had been a ragamuffin, hurled into space by the seat of his pants. Suddenly, he shopped for shirts, and worried about his hair. He got too heavy to throw. (…) He turned twelve, then thirteen, and then the little boy just disappeared.
Just when you start to get used to it, to not minding it so much, it all vanishes, and the little boy you launched in the air stands at your shoulders like a man, and when you turn to say something you find yourself looking right into his eyes.
He is not helpless, not needy.
He is everything I rushed him to be.

Do you know how sometimes you read something, and it’s like the air in the room grows heavy? Like something you can touch, like you’re held fast by the words. I felt that way, last night. My god.

He is everything I rushed him to be.

I sniff sniff sniffled as I watched my 3 year old son Gooby run down the pathway to our car last Monday morning. He was carrying his backpack on his back and it seemed as though it was enveloping his entire body. Gooby didn’t seem to notice though. He was more excited that he had his very own lunch zipped up inside the bag and, more importantly, that he was starting preschool that day. Just before I buckled him into his car seat I paused to take a picture to memorialize this momentous occasion.

We spent the last month counting down the days on Gooby’s superhero calendar in anticipation of his first day of school. To mark the big day, he picked an Ahsoka sticker from his Star Wars Clone Wars sticker collection. Every day in between was marked with various Marvel superheroes ranging from the Incredible Hulk to Wolverine. As Ahsoka day approached Gooby became increasingly excited. But just before we walked out the door last Monday morning, we had a total meltdown – “we” naturally meaning, both he and I.

I’m sure Gooby didn’t quite know why he felt such anxiety. But for me it was so many things. My baby is growing up! I am inviting more people than I have before into the shared responsibility of parenting and teaching my child. I am partial to my daycare provider with whom Gooby has been with since he was 3 months old. Over the course of the last 3 years, we have grown to love and immensely respect our daycare provider. She has played a central role in building our confidence as parents, and has allowed us to go to work each day knowing that Gooby has been cared for in the most compassionate way. She comforted Gooby when he was sick, kissed his ouchies when he fell down, and ran her fingers through his hair to help him relax before naptime. Our daycare provider changed nothing short of one million poopy diapers and was most recently the catalyst in our success in potty training Gooby this year. To put it mildly, our provider is incredible. So of course, with the start of preschool I worried that Gooby would never again experience the same love and care that he had with our daycare provider.

When we pulled up to Gooby’s preschool he launched out of the car and ran to the front door, leaving me in the dust. He made a friend (Nafan a.k.a. Nathan) instantly as I lingered around the cubbies nervously shifting my weight from one foot to another, biting the nail on my left thumb. Gooby’s teacher told him to say goodbye to me, which he did with great confidence and delight. Before I left I asked his teacher if she would help wipe his little booty if he happened to poop that day. Yah, that’s right. One of my biggest worries was whether the expectations of my baby would be, ahem, out of reach. As I went about my day I thought about Gooby a minimum of once every hour. I wondered what he was doing, if he was happy, whether he ate his lunch, if he napped, and if he had any potty accidents.

That evening, I nearly got a speeding ticket as I raced to pick him up at the end of the school day. When I arrived, Gooby was happily playing with his teacher and chit chatting with the cleaning staff who told me he was beautiful. He talked to me nonstop (no kidding!) the entire way home. He spent the evening in an unusually good mood and after dinner Gooby told me to close my eyes so that he could give me a surprise. I complied and, when instructed, opened my lids to see him proudly displaying the bits of paper he cut that day when he learned to use scissors for the first time. At bedtime I snuggled close to him in his little fire truck bed and asked him again to tell me about his day. He told me all about his adventures and, unprompted, told me that one of his “really nice” teachers rubbed his back to help him relax at naptime. It was in that moment that my anxiety lessened, and I was able to breathe a little easier. Apparently there are more people in this world interested in loving my child beyond my family and my daycare provider. While I know nobody will ever replace our daycare provider, I was heartened to discover that such love is still possible as Gooby’s world expands.

Raising children is much harder than it seems.

You change their diapers and carry them around in the backpack.

And then you blink.

In her senior year alone, I have ziplined with her 300 feet

above the Northern California Redwoods.

Be a fantastic Maid of Honor to her sister Merenda

at her wedding.

Baked my birthday cake from scratch.  A beach scene.

With sand made from crushed Butterfingers, beach chairs made of sticks of gum, and lifesavers made from, well, lifesavers.

The most amazing thing was not the way it was decorated, though brilliant, but rather how it tasted.

I don’t know when it hit me.

Was it when she had her Say Anything moment with Corey Feldman at the Lost Boys anniversary movie event on the beach at Santa Cruz;

or when we were picking pumpkins at the Half Moon Bay Pumpkin Festival;

or when I saw her carve the Poltergeist tv scene with aforementioned pumpkin;

or when we picked apples in the orchards at Apple Hill;

or when she was studying at her favorite local park…
You want to stop time.  You don’t want the moments to stop.

And then you realize, that is…

“…Impossible.”

She’s almost 3 years old, this little baby of mine, but don’t call her a baby because she will tell you, “I’m a big girl. I’m not a baby anymore!”… and she’s not, she’s so not a baby anymore. Where is the time going? I want it to slow down, but in the same breath, I of course know that it won’t… and so I’m doing my best to be ever more “present” in each moment. Not just with her, but with myself, in every area of my life.

The change in Allie in just the last couple of weeks has been remarkable. She all of a sudden doesn’t just seem bigger, but she seems MUCH more mature. I know every parent must experience this around this age, just before three (and I’m sure there are many more times coming where I’ll feel it this strongly too). This stage is the final movement out of the baby / toddler stages and seriously into little girlhood, isn’t it. Just in the last two weeks, Allie has finally decided to use the potty, all on her own… just like that. We thought we’d lucked out right after she turned two, but that was a fluke. It’s not been an easy road with the potty training. So to have her announce, all of a sudden, and repeatedly, that she needs to use the potty has been amazing! On top of that, her vocabulary skills are intensifying to the point where I am shaking my head in disbelief, that some of these sentences and concepts are coming out of her mouth. Over the weekend she told me, as we were driving, “mommy, you forgot your sunglasses”, which I had! Really? Observant little one all of a sudden. She’s also begun to be much more affectionate, which is absolutely wonderful. Of course, there is the flip side, where she is also asserting her independence much more as well. I’ll take the good with the bad. I know it’s all part of it.

I guess I’m just feeling it, more than ever before, and I know it is far from the last time… that this stage that my daughter has been, this cute toddler stage, with the funny words and the cute little run and she still fits on the changing table, is going, going, ALMOST gone. I am holding on to every dear second of what’s left of it, even though I know that what is next is just as wonderful. I see her changing and growing into this beautiful little girl, and I want so much to always remember her this way, because I know I have already forgotten things about how she was as an infant that I swore I wouldn’t forget. So what can I do? Just be present… really truly take in every moment with her, as best I can. Be present, not just for myself to feel completely immersed in my life with her, but so that she knows her mommy is genuinely here for her and cares about her more than anything. It’s easier said than done, as I’ve got a million things running through my mind with my new business venture, but that absolutely needs to be secondary (as important as that is). Making the time to be in the moment with her, for her, for me, is the most important thing I can do… since I can’t stop time…

Today, my youngest daughter Megan graduates her junior year and becomes a senior in high school.  All ofyou may already know Megan.  She’s the columnist that writes Life As A Teen for Parenting on the Peninsula.  For all of you that don’t know Megan, she’s a blessing.  I don’t know how else to explain it.  I started thinking yesterday about her and wondered about all the people and things that events and places that have shaped her.

There are so many things that shape us, aren’t there?  We have friends of all kinds.  People.  Animals.  They come and go in life.  How we deal with them makes us who we are.

Licking the frosting with her cat Barney.

We take interests in different things.  We try things and sometimes we like them and we do them for a long time.  Sometimes we don’t and we quit them and move on.  Megan tries anything that comes her way.  At least once. She loves to live and experience life. She always has.  She was climbing those metal jungle gyms at the playgrounds when she was 2.  And I let her.  She fell through a couple of times.  And then one time she caught hold of the bars and saved herself.  This last Memorial Day we went ziplining 300 feet over the floor of the redwoods in Occidental and she loved every minute of it.

A little Tae Kwon Do never hurt anybody that didn't ask for it.

I’ve done a lot of things with Megan.  We’ve travelled a lot of places.  And we have experienced a lot of things together.  She carries on when she’s without me with her friends.  I know she will grow up and do those things with her family that she did when she was younger.  She’ll go camping.  She’ll make waffles, pancakes, and linguicia on Sunday mornings.  She’ll laugh.  A LOT.  And she’ll do things with her children that I’ve done with her.

Megan's 'Say Anything' Moment with Corey Feldman at The Lost Boys Anniversary.

Time moves by so quickly.  The good thing is we will forget the uncleaned bedrooms.  We will miss the toys left out on the floor.  We will only care that they remember the good times we all shared together.  The pants they tore, the shoes they wrote on with permanent markers.  None of it matters.

Megan and Me. A really good day.

As much as I have taught my children, they continue to teach me.  The good thing is I remember what it was like to be their age.  I still try to guide them, but I try really hard to keep letting the rope out and to let them challenge themselves.

I came home to a special dinner Megan made for us. And she wore a dress!

My kids don’t always make the good decisions.  But, neither did I.  And I still make mistakes.  We’re all human.  And the older we get, the more imperfections they see in us.  That’s okay.  I think I’m still perfect.  Just the way I am. 

Her smile just keeps getting better!

And they’re perfect just the way they are.  Megan knows this.  Around 3pm today, she will officially become a senior.  Congratulations Megan!Patience.  Acceptance.  Logical.  Emotional.  She is all these things and more.  And I wouldn’t change any of it.

DJ, at almost 21 months, has a bit more sass than most of the teeny-boppers that I see parading around the mall. This scares me. I find myself zeroing in on pre-teen and teenage girls wherever I go these days, studying their behaviors and most often thinking, “Please God, don’t let DJ turn out like that,” knowing full well that DJ is going to turn out exactly like that.  She will talk back to her mother, she will giggle obnoxiously loud to ensure those around her are fully aware that she’s having the time of her life, she will attempt to wear age-inappropriate clothing (which will not fly in this house), and she’ll think she knows everything.

DJ and I have started a little routine.  After I get out of the shower, I set her on the bathroom counter.  While her sweet little feet dance about in the sink, her curious hands are busy inside my makeup bag.  It’s the perfect set-up as I’m able to get both my hair and makeup done while she explores brushes, pencils, eye shadows, and lipstick.  Oh yeah, lipstick.

Yesterday morning, right after DJ jammed her entire index finger into my daring bright red Mac lipstick, she repeatedly BEGGED to have some put on her lips.  I cleaned up her beeswaxy hands, and totally caved to her whiney pleading.  As soon as I smeared the super thin coat on each lip, she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled a very, very coy smile – while ever-so-slightly placing her chin flirtatiously in the direction of her shoulder.  She was so pleased with her new look.  So pleased, in fact, that she began crying.  What?  Crying?  Yes, crying.

At first I wondered at what had gone wrong, but as I’m learning to do with her ever-present tantrums, I took a deep breath and stepped back for a moment.  And then it hit me….she wasn’t actually upset, she had effortlessly taken on the role of leading lady in this year’s best drama.  DJ began acting.  She was literally watching her red lips quiver as she changed the volume and tone of her cry.  I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing.  She was, inherently, letting all that “girl” seep right out of her pores and into the bathroom mirror.  She was being totally and completely d r a m a t i c.

The saga in her mind carried on for only a few moments, but they were intense moments.  She was good.  Totally nailed the part.  When she was all done performing, she quickly morphed back into my less-than-two-year-old toddler and asked for her Elmo toothbrush so she could legitimately suck on toothpaste.  I quickly obliged, and then dressed her in an “I Love My Mommy” t-shirt (while I can still control her wardrobe).  I am realizing that we’re running out of time.  Sooner than I think, DJ will be marching head first toward teeny-bopperdom.

Before DJ was born, people were constantly encouraging me to savor every moment.  “Time goes by so quickly,” they’d say with a distant gleam in their eye.  And I have to admit, when the tantrums started to kick into high gear – I kept repeating  “it goes by so fast, it goes by so fast, it goes by so fast,” with so much hope in my little, exhausted, worn out heart.  But then, time does go by, the moment passes, the tantrum ends, and my sweet baby girl does something amazing like crawl up into my lap and twirl my hair through her fingers – and my stomach sinks a little.  She won’t always think I’m this amazing.

Someday, DJ will be galloping through the mall, and some mom of a toddler will take one glance at her and think, “What kind of mom let her daughter out of the house with that bright red lipstick on?”

My baby is growing up.  Sure, she’s only 17 months old – but we’re being catapulted toward the future, and I’m not sure I’m ready for all of this.

On Saturday, we took DJ to an Open House at the pre-pre school that one of my Godsons attends.  I have long known that he loves the school, and held it in the back of my mind that DJ might follow him there (and end up in the same class as my other Godson!) when she was old enough.  I guess I just hadn’t realized how quickly the “time” would be upon us.

The pre-pre school program starts at two years old, which DJ will have turned just days before the next school year starts (seriously, my stomach just contorted into a knot as I typed the word “school year”).  We need to submit our application to hold her place in the program – and I am having a really hard time accepting that I am already filling out applications and touring schools. I guess I thought I had until her sophomore year in high school before all of that started!  I’m only half kidding.  I cannot tell you how thankful I am to have another 7 months to get used to the idea.

The school is a co-op, and meets only once a week.  That means that I will be there each time DJ has a school day, and will be able to cry over her as I watch her experience things like Play-doh, a class pet, and cubbies.  Ok, ok – so I’ll try not to be that mom, but I’m not gonna lie – it’s gonna be rough….for me.

As DJ gets older, I am able to see her budding personality more clearly.  One of the things that stands out to me the most is her strong sense of independence.  While we have practiced a “modern version” of attachment parenting (I just made that term up), DJ is really confident in who she is, and is seemingly less and less worried when I leave her in the care of others.  Quite honestly, I’m the one who still struggles with separation anxiety.  However, because of the adventurous, fearless and curious girl that DJ is – I know that I need to step out of her way and let her do the things she’s developmentally ready for….like school.

Not too many months ago, I was discussing this whole school thing with my best friend (the mother of my Godsons).  I said, “How do you know all of this?  I am super overwhelmed by the details.  Just tell me where I need to be, and when.” (Referring to the Open House, etc).  I looked at her in wonderment, as she knew so, so much about this next phase of grown-up kid life.  I was slightly insecure about it all, not convinced I would ever actually sound like an expert on this sort of topic – school, enrollment, classroom rules, parent/teacher relationships, or how to make cute bunny-shaped sandwiches for class snacks.  I guess I saw myself as that one flakey mom who was always outside the circle, showing up on school holidays because I hadn’t read the “closed” memo, or forgetting the photo of our dogs for show-and-tell day.  But, tonight, something magical happened.  The topic of pre-pre school came up with a friend of mine, and after I finished babbling some, she asked, “How do you know all of this?”

It happened.  Without even trying, I became the mom I was scared I couldn’t be.  I had retained the details, and I actually sounded like a mom in the know. Maybe we’d be OK after all.  Maybe I’d even end up hosting a favorite craft project in a corner of DJ’s big new classroom.  Maybe I’ll be a mom who guides other mothers who aren’t quite ready for this whole growing up thing, either.

Yes, DJ is still my baby – and she always will be.  But, what never ceases to amaze me about this mothering gig is how it also affords me to grow.  DJ and I are constantly growing up together – learning new things, stretching beyond our comfort zone, letting go, and maturing along each of the “next steps.”  At the end of the day, I want her to be as proud of my growth as I am of hers.  (And, I should probably warn her now – I will likely be the kind of mom who embarrasses her by chaperoning her dances.  I can’t let her get too wrapped up in this whole “independence” thing!).

During Halloween week this year, I learned something about the process of growing up.  No, I’m not talking about my children.  I’m talking about me.

Halloween was fast approaching and my youngest daughter is at the age where I knew she would want to spend the holiday with her friends.  I had gone through this with my two older children, but she is my last so I knew this would be a bit different.

As a single Dad, you split your time and you have a lot less time than a full time father to do the unique holidays for various reasons such as they don’t fall on the calendar date you spend with the children.

It’s always been difficult for me to give up time with the kids because the time I spend with them is already cut in half.  I have tried to be real about the fact that they would grow up and would need to spend more time with their friends than they would with me.  So, when they needed to attend dances, sports, choir, or an excursion with friends, I’ve said okay nearly every time.

This year, she had a field hockey tournament the day before, carved pumpkins with her siblings at her mom’s house, and had a friend she typically trick or treats with.

This year, I decided to take a proactive approach to the way I was feeling pretty terminal about the whole holiday. So, instead of focusing on the fact that I wasn’t going to spend Halloween with her, I focused on what ‘I’ was going to do to have a good time.

And so that weekend, I finished making my Halloween costume and attended not one, but two Halloween parties with someone special.  And it wasn’t just good, it turned out great!

I didn’t worry about whether my daughter was having a good time or not – she always does.  I very much enjoyed myself and really let go for the first time in years.

I realized after that weekend, that it’s not the fact that I didn’t get to share the holiday with her, but rather the fact that I was realizing she was growing up.  Things were different now and there wouldn’t be a ‘next year’.

And that’s one of life’s biggest lessons, isn’t it?  That we can never go back.  That we should always enjoy every moment right now.  That there is happiness after they grow up.  And that there is even a time that when separation becomes joy.

You really don’t know what you’re going to get.

This week, my eyes became open, again, as if I was seeing through them for the first time.  It happens, doesn’t it?  Just when you think you’ve got a grip on who you’re children are, they continuously surprise you.

You raise them as little children, teaching them about what’s dangerous, what’s right and what’s wrong, and how to share.

As they get older, you try to teach them how to shape their own moral compasses and to learn to make their own decisions.  You hope that you’ve displayed a value system that they appreciate and shape their own based on that.

Your kids grow up into teens and they achieve and they fall short.  They make you proud and they sometimes disappoint.  You still catch yourself smiling while you look at them from afar as they help somebody out or do something you wanted them to without having to ask them.

And then one day, they surprise you.

They ask you for advice, you give it to them, and they ignore everything you had to say.

They say things you never expect you’d hear come out of your mouth.

They condescend to you, as if you have no life experience.

They seem to forget everything you have sacrificed for them or have done for them.

For a split second, you want to tear them apart.  What do they know?!  Who gave them the right to speak to you like that?!  How could they forget?!

And then you remember…

Chocolate tastes good. 

You know the sound.  You know you’ve sighed.  But do you know why a sigh makes the sound that it does?  Well, just this last Sunday, I discovered a new sigh.

Over the past week, I noticed I was sighing quite a bit.  Sighs have lots of different sounds and each sound can mean something different.

There’s the ‘I’m tired’ sigh.  The ‘Oh brother’ sigh.  The ‘I’m frustrated’ sigh.  And how about the ‘I give up’ sigh?  Yes, and even the ‘I’m perfectly content’ sigh.

Well, this last week, I was watching the field hockey team my youngest daughter is a part of play a division game.  During the game, there was quite a bit of frustration and confusion on the field between the girls as they ran around trying to get the ball into the goal.

While this was going on, some of the more experienced girls were playing harder, trying to make up for bad calls by the refs and for some poor play due to miscommunication and the lack of talking going on between the team members on the field.

Some were chasing after the ball with great intensity, not giving up when the ball was taken from them.  Some were stealing the ball and focusing on getting their sticks low to stop the ball from moving down the field.  And some, like my daughter, were calling out instructions and giving guidance to the younger players during the game.

When the game was over, our team ultimately lost 2-1.  I told my daughter that she played great and I liked the way she was herding the other teammates up and down the field making sure they were getting into their positions and using what they had been taught.  She blew it off, like she always does, taking her good performance for granted.

The next day, after their practice was over, my daughter texted me that she had received two stickers to put on her field hockey stick.  They were awards – one for offense and one for heart.  I didn’t want to tell her ‘I told you so’…

But, I did!

My heart swelled.  And I sighed.  I noticed it was a different sigh.  My youngest daughter was growing up, was a leader, and others had taken notice that she had a lot of heart.  My sigh was one of a wish coming true.  If there’s one wish we all have for each other, it’s that we want the other to have a lot of heart.  Because with a lot of heart, one has compassion, determination, strong will, and integrity.

And that’s all we really want for each other, isn’t it?

Sigh.