Doubt Digit Joy

Our little girl woke up this morning with a wide grin, ready to embrace her double-digit birthday with open arms. She proudly flashed the crisp $20.00 bill left under her pillow by the tooth fairy, informing me with unrestrained glee, that “she usually gets $5.00” and “she must have left me extra because she knew it was my birthday!”   She then proceeded to get dressed in her school uniform, humming loudly all the while and taking frequent breaks to gush over Lola who watched her with equally unrestrained adoration. 

Her mood might have been elated but mine felt far more subdued. This birthday feels different. I do not feel ready to embrace the double digits, the doorway to all thing’s “tween”.  I am not ready for her to begin a new journey that may have her leaving behind the childish trappings of her youth. I ache with the bittersweet notions of those coming losses, those casualties of her growing up…not far off now it seems to me as she marks this milestone.  After depositing her, and her birthday donuts, at the classroom door this morning, I found myself fighting back tears on the way back to my car. As much as I want to share in her enthusiasm, I feel so much like a mother on the brink of something I am not prepared for and it has left me feeling uncharacteristically unmoored. 

These days I am struck by all the small things that mark her changing.  While she still prefers to clamber into our bed at night, she has begun going to sleep in her own room. She has taken to wearing a sleep mask she got for Christmas. It has a wild, purple zebra pattern that looks at odds with her little girl sleep smile.  I check on her to find that, even in sleep, she has begun to straddle some invisible line between the child and the young girl.  One of her arms is wrapped tightly around her stuffed horse Roo and the other is draped loosely around her dog Lola and that flashy eye mask is firmly in place. 

This week she asked me to paint her nails. She has managed to grow them at last, in spite of barn chores and piano lessons. The nail polish I had at hand was a perhaps a shade too dark for her, but she still brandished them proudly. As far as I can tell, they are her only real vanity in the otherwise athletic and unadorned style that she’s adopted as her own.  

Last night at the barn she went about her chores as usual, taking a break when a song came on she liked to “dance with Roo”. I had to laugh at her antics, her silly made-up moves that garnered only the most casual glances from her munching horse. Roo is growing used to his child, the one who covers his soft nose with constant kisses and prattles about his stall, talking about her day even though he is far more interested in his hay. Still, I see him turn to watch her with his large brown eyes, his curiosity as clearly evident as his affection for her. At times he seems to have this expression that says, “yup, that’s my kid…that weird, wonderful, chatty little being right there”, and I find myself in a complete and kindred agreement with our gentle gelding. 

Watching her this morning, I found myself thinking, “Yup, that’s my child…that’s my silly, kind, smart, crazy, loveable, “on the verge of something wonderful” …little being right there.”

I don’t know how much longer she will believe in the tooth fairy.  I don’t know when she will retire her stuffed animals or when I will stop finding her wrapped around me like a koala in the night.  I do not know how much longer she will break into those random fits of wild dancing.  For now, I celebrate those things and I feverishly document them…leave my testimonies in electronic ink so I will have them always.  While I might not be 100% ready for double digits, I know I am more than grateful, more than blessed for the opportunity to be part of it all.

Riding with the Wind...

As a parent, there are a few of those milestone moments you know are coming down the pike. Some of them are terrifying to contemplate, like the onset of puberty and all those awkward talks you just know are waiting in the wings. Then there are those moments you look forward to with sweet contentment, like the day the training wheels come off their bike and they learn to ride.

You think you know how it will go. There will be a few bumps and bruises but they will turn their  little faces to you, ready to sop up all your sage advice and guidance.  You will encourage and empower them and they will be determined and grateful. Then comes the reward, watching them glide away from you, the wind at their backs and their gleeful voices singing your praises for delivering them to this amazing new world. You have been their guide, their teacher, their hero. It will have been an amazing parenting win.

When I pulled my daughter's bike out of the garage, I fully expected the experience to live up to my expectations. I eagerly waited for her to don her helmet and knee pads. I was so sure that this would be the Rockwell-esque version of the milestone I had dreamt about. 

Here is how it actually went down...

As it turns out, my daughter would have been content to operate her bike with training wheels until she was ready to trade it in for a car.  Needless to say, she took to the task of learning with barely contained resentment, barking at me each time she wobbled or got banged on the knee by the pedals. If I tried holding her seat, I was doing it wrong. If I tried giving her advice or encouragement, she frowned and snapped at me.  Several times she broke into frustrated tears and more than once, I had to walk away from her as she bristled with child rage and hit me with a litany of excuses.  The seat was too high, too hard, too crooked. I was holding her wrong. The driveway was to uneven. We finally decided to take a break. She abandoned the bike and her helmet in a heap by the garage and I went inside to nurse my disappointment.

It was several weeks later before we tried again. The day was the perfect harbinger of an early Spring with a cloudless cerulean sky above our heads and a warming sun on our backs. This time I had reinforcements, my husband took a break from the yard work to lend a hand. I warned him she was liable to be difficult, even a little mean as she struggled hard to master something she believed she should just "get right out of the box". Even with my warnings, he was surprised at the level of open hostility she directed toward the lesson, and us, as her repeated attempts to gain her balance met failure again and again.  I could see the collapse of her confidence in her bowed head and welling eyes. My requests for "one more try", were met with deep frowns and groans but we knew we could not let her quit. As everything threatened to collapse, we decided to try another approach.

This time we took it to the street, at least the straight strip of pavement consisting of 100 feet between our neighbor's mailboxes. The roadway was level and the path open wide in front of her, no turns or inclines. We told her to get her feet in position and just get moving forward.  We encouraged her to keep going, even if she had to take her foot off the pedal once or twice along the way.

After a few wobbly attempts, she managed to stay upright and pedal for about seven feet. I saw the first smile break at the corners of her mouth and the glimmer in her sea change eyes that signaled the return of a little of her confidence.  She had done it, just for a few seconds, but it had been enough. I watched her rally then, engaging all her young grit and determination.  She immediately dropped the attitude and began to really listen to our advice and encouragement. After a few moments, she was managing to go almost the full span between mailboxes, pedaling and maintain her balance and at last, she was really smiling.

The last pass she made she cheekily told me to "watch out" in case she ran me down. Then, just like I told her she would, she was doing it, riding a bike on her own.  Just as suddenly, we were those celebrating parents from a Hallmark movie or sappy commercial, bouncing on our toes and clapping in the middle of our street.  Watching her riding away from me, the wind at her back, knowing she was smiling under that helmet and feeling accomplished... I had my milestone moment at last.  It might not have come to me the way I imagined but when it came it was no less sweet.

Age 9 - A Whirling Dervish Delight

This month my daughter turns nine. In keeping with tradition, and in my ongoing effort to temper the bittersweet forward march of time, I like to author at least one blog wholly devoted to marking the milestone of her birthday. If I am to leave her anything of real value when I am gone, it will be this ongoing testimony of an immensely proud mamma who was fully invested in her journey and loved her in every second and with every fiber of my being.

This past year has been filled with trials..from the sheer physicality of moving twice this summer, to our ever increasing battles over her hair and clothes, to combating her near obsession with online games and YouTube. We have started most of the mornings in this fresh New Year with an argument about one thing or another. I have lost my mind over her stomping feet, exaggerated eye rolls and disgruntled faces. It seems we endlessly debate why leggings are not appropriate winter attire. We battle. Sometimes it gets loud and the dogs, sensing an epic throw down is looming, take off to hide upstairs until the storm passes.

Still, before our turn comes up in the drop-off line, we manage to sort it out. Regardless of how angry she may be, she still shoulders her backpack and leans in for a kiss before throwing open the door. These days I find it is more about finding victories in the delightful surprises then consistently winning arguments with her. Eventually she listens to me…and besides, there are so many delightful surprises…

She is becoming her own person and that person is most definitely not a mini version of me. She is entirely something new and improved, a hybrid of both her parents with a balance of our features and various traits blending together in this beautiful new way – along with things that seem unique to her.

She is athletic and competitive in a way neither one of us ever were. She is drawn to things that challenge both her body and her mind at once, like obstacle courses and horse-back riding. I can see her mind working as she puts her body through the physical paces, concentration is as evident on her face as enjoyment is. She has become more fearless in this environment, trepidation giving way to a growing confidence. I can see pride blooming there as well, in that telling Mona Lisa smile when her instructor cries out, “Yes, Good Girl!”, the moment she achieves the perfect posture or executes the perfect transition or canter.

Music continues to be something she is drawn too. She pushes back on practicing piano but once she sits down and begins to coach the notes from her instrument, I can see her lose herself. She started ukulele lessons in school recently, and she has really taken to it. She talks a blue streak about chords and likes to play me the YouTube tutorials they use in class. She has asked for her own ukulele for her birthday this year and I look forward to hearing her strumming away on those chords.

Like mine, her taste in music is highly varied. She has a wide scope of what she likes. For now, she gets by on my playlist but makes the occasional request for me supplement it with a new song she has discovered. For the most part, I enjoy her selections. They reflect someone who listens with a critical ear and harbors a true appreciation for musical composition, regardless of the genre. The other day on one of our drives, “Under Pressure” came on the radio. I immediately turned it up and began singing along, as one simply has to do in appreciation for genius collaboration of David Bowie and Freddy Mercury. I glanced at my daughter in the rear view and was simultaneously shocked and elated to find she was also singing along in the back of the car. She caught my eyes, and smiled back at me. It was a moment of kindred connection, one of those delightful surprises.

At her core, she is still that child that loves to snuggle. She still prefers to fall asleep between us. Even when she goes to bed in her own room, we find her wrapped about us come morning, one leg or arm draped over us and her hair falling in sheets across our faces. The “I love you’s” still come unsolicited, though not as frequently as they once did. She will still take my hand in a parking lot or store. Randomly, during a movie or in the throngs of deep sleep, I will sometimes suddenly feel the slip of her hand – her long fingers lacing up with mine. These are the moments I treasure most.

She is magical in so many ways these days. Even in her stubborn fury, her green eyes flash and pierce with a mysterious loveliness. Her heart-shaped face has changed so much, it is hard to find a trace of my own features there anymore. I see a version of her teenage father in her lanky silhouette but she has a grace to her movements and a flavor to her beauty that must hail from more distant ancestors.

As she turns nine, our girl is still more reserved and quiet than most girls her age. She still holds herself back, but less so. Her confidence is growing and she engages more freely with those people she feels most comfortable with. She readily chimes in on phone calls with my sister or responds with unchecked giggles at her new uncle’s antics and teasing. She tells stories and jokes. She asks for things she wants and responds to questions from adults without my prompting her to answer. She will occasionally surprise me by breaking into nutty dancing in the aisle of home depot or quoting “Napoleon Dynamite” with a deadpan accuracy. She still likes slime, unfortunately, but has showed a renewed interest in things like painting and her pottery wheel. She is creative but draws more pleasure from exploring the mediums than by finishing the final pieces. Our daughter has an explorer’s heart.

At nine, she is our whirling dervish, our musical student, our budding equestrian. She is warm and loving. She is intelligent and she is kind. She will not back down from an argument but she won’t hold a grudge. You may wait half a lifetime for an apology but when one finally comes it will arrive accompanied by a fierce hug and kiss and a throaty, heart-melting, “I’m sorry Mamma.” And it is absolutely no surprise that life with her is simply delightful.

A Bottle by the Fire and a Nod to Lessons Learned.

This week I passed the 14 year mark as a member of writing.com. The email hit my inbox along with the expected reminders to update my blog...something I have been hard pressed to do much over the last two months. I could blame it on the lack of time and discipline, the usual suspects, but the truth is my mind feels cloudy - it feels difficult for me to focus. I feel limited with being able to express myself lately, and seem to oscillate between a kind of manic contentment and a crouching darkness that makes me feel heavy and hopeless at times. I know that not writing, not attempting to write, is depriving myself of something key and I feel the absence of it acutely at times. I need to press myself into those familiar spaces again, force the words. My heart needs the outlet, my soul needs the confessional, my life needs the anchor.

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
DAY 1519 Prompt: February 13, 2018
Prompt: Do you think people can change as to how they view love as years go by? And how do you think they perceive love and romance in different stages of their lives?

We have all seen them, that sweet elderly couple walking hand in hand or sitting together on a park bench. They are the standard of measurement for a lifetime of love. I marvel at couples who celebrate those milestone anniversaries; 50,60, 70 years together. Ask any one of them and I'm sure they've stories to tell, stories that might sound like fables where the messages are about patience and forgiveness. To make a life with someone that spans decades, there must be forgiveness and acceptance as much as love and devotion.

The rush of falling in love is a temporary condition. The euphoria of a budding, passionate romance always gives way to life eventually. Couples marry, have children...the pace of life changes and it gets harder to manage the expectations of another amid the beautiful mess of raising a family. The definition of romance changes over time I think. It is forced to become something else...trails of rose petals and long Sunday morning trysts yield to more practical measures like being able to take a hot bath why your spouse keeps the kids from banging on the bathroom door looking for snacks. My husband is fond of saying, "that's just life" when I complain about lack of "us time" or when we go consecutive nights with a child between us in bed and dogs layered at our feet. We are not the same individuals who once kissed in a rainstorm or spent intimate weekends in romantic inns. Sometimes though, I get our daughter to bed early and go downstairs to find the fire still roaring and the room lit by glowing candles. Love and romance move through time with us, they morph and change as we manage life the best we can I think. Sometimes sharing a waning winter evening and a bottle of Cabernet with the one we love is all the romance we need.

"Blogging Circle of Friends "
DAY 1916 February 13, 2018
Write about three people from whom you've learned the most.

I've been fortunate to have had people in my life who have taught me many things, lessons that were good and bad. It is a difficult question because overwhelmingly I have learned the most about myself from people who have hurt and disappointed me the most in life. I have learned from past lovers that some men are forever damaged in ways that can not be fixed, damage that can coat you like a toxin. No one comes to save you, you have to save yourself. You have to choose yourself. In those terrible moments, you can discover a faith you didn't know you had and a strength you did not know you possessed. I have learned the most about myself from being forced into corners, from the hollow sound of my heels in hospital corridors and the fear of knowing a man who claims to love you can still put you in the ground.

I am blessed to know a different man now, a husband that cherishes and champions me. He is a man who makes promises and keeps them, a man who magnifies all those special, little moments in life that once eluded me. He has taught me that men can be passionate without all the darkness and the violence. Through him, I have learned that men can live and love without the chains of addiction and rage binding them to their demons. Most of all, my husband has taught me that hope lives inside even the very wounded and that with consistency, with commitment and the smallest, simplest loving gestures, it can grow and become the foundation of a life worth living.

Looking Back

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
DAY 908 September 2, 2016
16 is the hot topic for WDC. Let's talk about the number...where were you, 16 minutes, 16 hours ago, 16 days ago, 16 months ago, 16 years ago? Are there any similarities?

Where was I back...16 minutes ago?

It would have been just before 8am this morning. I was standing in the first and second grade wing of my daughter's school talking with her new first grade teacher about her first day. I was feeling positive and happy, proud of my little girl and fully engaged with her new and exciting journey.


Where was I back...16 hours ago?

I was sleeping, only to have woken up just after 1am for the third or fourth night in a row. I loathe this trend. It leaves me feeling drained in the morning, robbed of something essential I really need to make the most out of my day.

Where was I back 16 days ago?

My daughter and I have established a yearly tradition of taking a trip to Southwick Zoo each year. Sixteen days ago we were feeding baby pygmy goats and shy deer, smacking up ice cream and riding the zoo train through the beautiful elk forest. It is a fun day where we get to just be together, experiencing one of our favorite places. I loved watching her feeding the deer, her hand timidly outstretched toward graceful animals who were just as timid and shy around her. We rode the skyline together, watching the animals moving below our hanging toes. The ride is basically modeled on a ski lift chair ride, molded to fit the terrain of the little zoo. She liked the way it suddenly would speed up as it banked around a turn or appeared to narrowly miss the tree tops as it climbed up. For one harrowing moment, we stalled over the alligator pit and she giggled and pointed to large green beast waiting below our dangling legs. We ate our lunch all the while dogging chip-stealing sparrows and overly curious wandering peacocks. It was a nice day.

Where was I back 16 months ago?

It gets harder to recall where I was on any specific day but sixteen months ago, we would have been in the beginning of May. That would have marked the last full month of kindergarten for my daughter. It had been a remarkable year with a new school, a new uniform, a new routine. She had done very well in her subjects as well as socially. She had made wonderful new friends and she had developed a love of academics, math in particular. The year was rapidly coming to an end on us and we were all looking forward to summer.

Where was I back 16 years ago?

Sixteen years ago I would have been in my mid-20's. It is so difficult for me to think back to who and what I was then. I had moved back from from college, which had been one of the most defining times in my life to date. I had been through a personally traumatic experience that I had gone through without the knowledge of my friends or my family. I think I was still struggling with the aftermath. I was involved in an unhealthy relationship that had escalated to the level of abusive and I was dealing with the fear and shame of where my life was heading. It would be several more years before I pulled myself from that wreckage. I'm glad to look back over the time leap above and find myself a wholly different person today than I was all those years ago.


"Blogging Circle of Friends "
16 is the hot topic for WDC. Let's talk about your AHA moment when you were 16, 32, 48, or 64? Were there any parallels that come to mind? Inquiring minds want to know.

It is odd to spend so much time focused on looking back this morning, particularly when I am so preoccupied with how quickly time is moving forward as evidenced by my daughter already starting the first grade. I feel that I can't possibly have a six year old already. How could she have grown so much just this summer alone?

I'm not yet 48, and 64 seems light years away to me today. I'm certain there will be many AHA moments as I stumbled my way to and through those particular milestones. Today though, I can look back to age 16 and 32 with some clarity.

Looking back to age sixteen, I see now that I was living a bit dangerously ahead of my years. I was smart about it but I was mixing with things that I should have had no business with at that age. I can see now that I was taxing the limits of my maturity with my boyfriend but also exposing myself to emotions and experiences I would have been better holding off a year or two. The 16 year old me was so egocentric about life. I could only see the world on one level, I wasn't very good at reading the messages around me, heading the warnings. I was a little slow on the uptake. As a result, I found myself in situations that were potentially harmful. If I had to pick one AHA moment it would have to be that I often underestimated my ability to affect others by my behavior and while it could have ended badly, thankfully it did not. I told myself I was mature enough to handle things but looking back now, I see how dangerous that attitude could have been. Luckily my boyfriend was a good person, a kind person. He blew the whistle on a situation I could not clearly see for myself.

My early thirties seemed a lot like one long, dark AHA moment. At 32 I felt like I was just surfacing from a shit storm of trauma and grief. I was just starting to consider the possibilities that life could be more than loss and broken promises. I knew I was a survivor but I feared I was also a loner and I would have to make peace with that. I was trying to have faith. I was rebuilding my solitary life and finding strength in reclaiming my home and my path. I was dating, but not seriously. I was filling my needs in the ways that seemed safest for me at the time and looking for love hadn't seemed safe or realistic. Then, somewhat reluctantly, I went on a date with someone I had already deemed was "so not my type". At my grandmother's urging, I drove to the local car park to meet him, completely devoid of expectations. What followed would prove to be the best date of my life. That date would lead to our marriage two years later. My AHA moment at age 32 was realizing that sometimes you can only really be open to finding love when you stop looking for it. Most importantly, despite everything I had gone through I always kept hope alive in my heart and my life today feels very much like the reward for never having allowed myself to lose faith in that hope.