Dear Maya,

And though she be but little, she is fierce. - Shakespeare

Dear Maya,

Happy 5th birthday, mami.  As much as I have begged you to let me cancel this day, you insisted on having another year pass.  As usual, your determination beat mine.  Really, all it takes is a little eyelash batting and an "I love you more than anything except God" to get your way.  *sigh*  You and I are in for one looonnngg ride.

You are truly one of a kind, my love.  Dainty and sweet one minute, fierce and ferocious the next.  You live to be the center of attention... until the very second someone takes notice.  You are full of sugar and, once you get past the thick layer of grit and chile, you are one of the sweetest kids I have. 

You make me laugh harder than anyone else (except maybe myself).  With one quick roll of the eyes or the astonishment of learning I will not actually be your maid forever, you and I end up on the floor rolling in giggles.

You are as smart as you are beautiful.  And, that is really saying something!  I don't know another preschooler that could out-spell or out-smile you.

You have promised to stay my baby girl forever, and I will absolutely hold you to that.  Whether you'll still stand on my feet while we dance in the kitchen... or bury your face in my neck when you're pretending to be shy... or stand by my bed at 2 in the morning saying "Hug Mama"... or even let me squeeze you before you head into school - you will always be my baby.  And, while one day I will deeply miss our arguments over whether or not it's appropriate to wear a pettiskirt or tutu every single day, I can't imagine having these discussions with anyone else.  I cannot imagine a day when we're not having a ten minute conversation over whether the light pink flower or the dark pink flower would go better with your outfit.  Or an occasion when I won't spend twice as long on your hair as I do on my own.

Maya, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty have nothing on you.  You are, by far, the most enchanting princess the world has ever seen.  And, I am so thankful to be your mama.  Yes, you are little but there is no one more fierce than you.

Always,

Mama 

Not just a mama anymore

A while back I posted about how I wanted to be more than just my girls' mama.  I wanted to do something for me.  Well, I think I may have done it.

Coming this weekend to the Mirth Cafe in Lawrence, KS:

Little old me has been hired to bake for a real life restaurant.  I couldn't be more excited/nervous/anxious/overwhelmed.  This weekend, in addition to Maya's birthday and Eva's First Communion, I will be an officially professional baker.  I suppose I have been in a very small way already (through the sales of my cookies and cupcakes), but this feels more definite. 

I want to end with something profound, but really??!!  Words are failing me.

That girl

Be that girl, love.

The one who laughs a little too loud.

The one who worries more about comfort than the "sex" factor.

The one who would rather run with the boys than after them.

The one who knows that smart is forever while cute is fleeting.

The one who stands with her head held high not her belly sucked in.

The one who stays late to get the job done instead of rushing to get to where the fun is.

The one who isn't afraid to say no.

The one who knows that, if saying "no" bothers them, she should say it LOUD and often.

The one who can make the lonely feel part of something.

The one who doesn't care about the "popular girl" list - even if she's at the top of it.

The one who knows who she is without anyone trying to tell her.

The one who believes in herself, especially when others doubt.

The one who can make a mistake without feeling like one.

The one who chooses "right" over "easy".

The one who wears the comfortable shoes.


The one who knows there is no "secret" to anything.

 

The one that everyone secretly fears/envies/admires.

Someone has to be that girl, love.  Let it be you.

Ain't as easy as it looks

A lot is said about how easy kids have it lately.  I could go on and on about practice tests and trophies for 11th place.  I could rant and rave about getting rewarded just for doing homework and walking around with $500 gadgets that I can't afford to have myself.  I have bitten my tongue more times than I can count when hearing my child tell me about all of the television they watched at school that day.  (I mean really... tv watching was a BIG deal when I was in school.  You had to wait for the teacher to roll in the one tv assigned to your grade level.  And, it certainly wasn't an animated cartoon... it was probably an old video demonstrating the enthralling process of water turning to ice.)

What we don't talk about often, though, is how much harder some parts of childhood are now.  I hear about things happening with kids these days, and I cannot believe it.  They worry about things (and their parents worry about things) that never occured to me at the ripe old age of 10.

I didn't give my weight a second thought until after high school.  I ate Wendy's bacon cheeseburger meals ever single day for months without ever considering the fat content.  Now, kids are calling each other fat and squeezing their rolls in elementary school.  Little girls are worrying about what they look like in their jeans long before they should think about anything other than whether their pants are comfortable enough to roll down a hill in.  Plastic surgery should still mean switching heads on Barbies until you're well past graduate school!

And, when I was in high school, I looked like I was still in high school.  Pass any set of teenage girls now and see how many of them look like they're on their way to work instead of heading to Home Ec.  Yes, there were certainly kids in my school that were well put together all of the time, but they weren't put together by Vogue magazine.  What's wrong with looking like a kid while you actually are one instead of squeezing your middle age self into Juicy sweatpants and cleavage plunging tops?

Twenty years ago, if you wanted to spread a rumor about someone, you had to say it to someone's face.  In fact, you probably had to say it to a lot of faces if you wanted to make an impact.  Then, if you were "lucky" enough to spread the rumor, you got visited by the "victim" or friends of that person.  And, you got your a$$ kicked.  Bullies weren't anonymous. Now, any punk can get online and say anything to hurt someone.  Facebook, Twitter, texting, email, and everything in between can be used to destroy someone's reputation.  And, the poor soul who's been targeted is helpless to stop it.  Fair is fair and right is right... unless you have internet access.

And, our stupidity wasn't chronicled for everyone to see.  No photos exist of the complete nonsense I did as a teenager - nothing to save for posterity.  (Unless you count the yearbooks or old Glamour Shots.)  Yes, children do some remarkably foolish things now; but, so did we.  There just weren't cell phones and digital cameras around when we were doing them.  If there had been someone with an I-phone around when I was speeding around curves with my friends sitting outside the window of the car or singing out loud way off key to R. Kelly or Boyz II Men, it probably would have been on YouTube.  And, I probably would've wanted to die.  And, I would probably have become a lawyer just so I could sue to have them all taken off of the internet before my children learned to Google me.  But these kids will snap a picture of themselves doing the dumbest thing they can think of and make it their profile pic in a heartbeat.  They pose naked in front of a mirror so that they can send it to a boy they like.  And, once they hit "send", it's out there.  For everyone to see.  It's there for that boy to forward to everyone they know, to be forwarded to everyone they know, and on and on.  Until some creep in Romania has it as their screensaver in their basement apartment of their mother's home.

Sure, kids have a lot of things handed to them on silver platters.  They are coddled and babied more than I was as an infant.  However, they are also navigating roads we never set foot on.  So, maybe we should offer advice more than complain.  And, maybe we should spend more time trying to help them through these times before we point out how much harder it was when we were kids.

Then we can get back to talking about why in the world fifth graders are allowed to re-do assignments when they don't get a perfect score.  I could go on and on and on...

Dear Sofia,

Dear Sofia,

If I had known eleven years ago...

Before you were born, I worried that I wouldn't know how to love you.  I wasn't sure that I could care for you in exactly the way you would need me to.  I had no idea how a mother completely devoted herself to a child.  Then, 38 hours of active labor (most of which was done with an improperly executed epidural) had me really questioning what the heck I was doing.  An emergency c-section (through which I was put to sleep because they again couldn't get the numbing done properly) didn't help to steady my mind.  The last thought I remember having before I was unconscious was:  Wait... what?  The next thing I knew (two hours later), your papi was holding a rolled up blanket to my blurry eyes.  Wait... the blanket had black hair...wait... yes...that blanket is my child.

I remember every moment of your life.  Every one.  Your sisters lives have definitely gone by in a blur, but yours are crystal clear.

You were a sweet baby with a quick giggle and hair that stood out as though you'd been electrocuted.

You were a funny toddler with a sweet smile and a beauty that radiated from within.

You were a smart preschooler with a love of words...LOTS of words...all the time with the words!

You were a generous little kid with a caring heart.

And, now, you are an amazing young lady.  You are smart and thoughtful.  You are sassy and opinionated.  You are my pride and joy.

Things aren't always smooth with you, and I imagine they won't be for awhile.  You have certainly hit the "angst" stage much earlier than I anticipated.  Apparently, the line between parent and pre-teen is very blurred in your vision, though the optometrist assures me your eyesight is fine with your glasses on.  You are still, however, the first person I have ever really loved.  And, no matter how many times we butt heads, your heart is safe with me.

Yes, I worried a lot before you were born that I wouldn't be able to love you.  But that was before we met.  You are one of the three easiest people in the world to adore, and I wouldn't know how not to delight in you.

If only I had known eleven years ago how amazing you would be...

Always,

Mama

If I had seen how much pain and sadness were on this path, would I have walked it anyway?

I want to say yes, but I'm not sure.  I mean yes, I've lost a lot; but, look at what I've won.  I can look back and see that it wasn't always lonely.  There were moments of joy and laughter.  But they were only moments.  The times between were drawn out in endless emptiness.  I gave it everything I had - I truly did.  It simply wasn't enough; and, sometimes, it was nothing at all. 

If I had known when this started that it would end this way, would I have done it anyway?

I want to say no, but that may not be true.  Yes, it all feels wasted now.  Yes, I feel like my chance to choose the right path is gone.  But maybe this gravel road fit me better than one paved in gold.  Maybe the lessons I learned the hard way will make it easier for the girls when they set off on their own journeys.  And, maybe the means justify the end.

Right or wrong.  Running in blind or walking out wide-eyed. There is no simple answer when the questions cut so deep.

Old school

Maybe I'm just old school, but...

Kids are not little adults, they're a small step above babies.

They stand when an adult needs a chair.  Every single week at dance class, Maya and I are first into the building.  She and I sit in two of the three chairs available.  However, as soon as someone else enters the room, Maya gets up.  Because she's a kid.  Because that's an adult. And, because she knows her little self doesn't get the comfy spot.  Every single week, other people's children take those same chairs while the adults have to stand.

They don't control the remote or radio.  Mama doesn't have to sit through a cartoon or a Katy Perry song unless it's their birthday.  Each Saturday is movie night - this is their chance to pick whatever movie they want, and I get to sit there counting the minutes until the princess stops singing or the animated animal stops screeching.  Every other day and night, the girls are out of luck.  I have earned the right to watch the news and listen to Adele any darn time I wish.

They do not interrupt or join in on an adult conversation.  You know the phrase "don't speak unless spoken to"?  My children do.  And, on the occasion where they forget, they are reminded with a swift raise of the eyebrow.  I talk to my girls all the time, and they talk to me even more frequently.  They're not hurting for conversation, trust me.  But, as a rare treat, I sometimes get to talk to other grown folk.  The girls are not invited to these powwows.

They say please and thank you, regardless of what's being offered to them.  I don't care if someone asks them "Hey! Would you like some pterodactyl droppings for breakfast?"  My girls better say "No, thank you." with a smile.  I have been told "that doesn't look good" and "yuck" by other people's children enough times to know that not everyone has taught their children to be gentle with the feelings of others.

They eat what is put in front of them or they are hungry until the next meal.  At each meal, you have two choices - 1.  Eat.  2.  Don't. 

I was raised by a woman who put me in my place... deep in her heart and at the bottom of the food chain.  I sat at the kid's table.  I listened without talking.  I smiled politely when someone spoke to me.  And, I waited to grow up.  Apparently, a lot of parents no longer subscribe to these ideas.  My children are amazing, smart, capable kids.  But they're still kids.  And, kids are not little adults.  My girls are being raised to know the difference.  I guess I'm just old school that way.