Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
May 09 2011
My daughter was born with the most hair of any of my children. Which really isn’t saying a lot, considering. A ribbon could be strategically tied to her newborn locks, but only with the utmost care and nary a stray breath. Those fine baby strands soon fell out, however, and the hair that grew in its place has been, well, reluctant. In fact, almost 3 years later and Abby’s mane could really use a how-to course on how to grow from within.
I’ve longed to see my daughter running around with swinging pigtails, a right for little girls. Most her young age have already had cuts and stylings. They require hourly maintenance lest their strands get tied in painful knots. Some mothers curse the morning hair wars. I can’t relate. Abby has curls. She has curls to last for days. Beautiful curls for a beautiful girl. That should go without saying. But they don’t fall anywhere. I can’t help but wonder how much longer until it grows out.
Now, it’s even longer. Because the little hair Abby had has succumbed to scissors.
The boys received haircuts this past weekend. Never one to be left out, Abby wanted her’s done as well. After delicately trimming a section, we began to really look at the unevenness of her hair, as her father was there and doing the brunt of the work.
“Let’s just do it. It’ll be a starting point”, we agreed. Or he agreed while I winced.
That’s where we’re at, her first real haircut. Another starting point. Like when she lost her newborn locks. You can’t have pigtails with a starting point, you can barely tie it with a ribbon. I’m beginning to think it’ll never grow. Though at least she still has her curls.
May 02 2011
Forgive me as I veer into one of those “back in my day” posts for a moment.
Back in my day, I was playing outdoors by myself when I was 5, in our large open yard. I’d sit in the grass, watch the clouds, or swing on my metal swingset while my parents went about their own thing. It wasn’t unusual to ride my bike around our village or walk some houses down to see my friend. Because we all knew it was safe. I’d get checked on sporadically, but they let me be for the most part, finally calling me in for dinner after a full day spent in the sun, my mother’s voice ringing for me through the neighborhood.
This was almost 30 years ago, though. Things were different. The area I grew up in was different. Country-like, woods, a lot of nature. It seemed close-knit and closed off from all the problems that come from living someplace larger and busier. Which, while it isn’t a large city we live in now, it’s still a city nonetheless with everything that comes with it.
My oldest son is 7 years old. I’m just beginning to feel comfortable letting him play by himself in the front section of our yard. Where I can award him the semblance of privacy while still keeping an ever watchful eye on him.
I do not want him out of my eyesight.
I trust him. It’s not him I don’t trust. My son knows right from wrong and what he should or should not do. He’s a good kid, a great kid, a safe kid. But there are bad people out there. This is not back in my day or the setting I grew up in. It’s a lot different when I’m on the other side.
So I’m asking you, at what age do you think it’s appropriate to allow a child outside alone? To ride his bike around the neighborhood, if my son rode a bike which is another story? Am I too restricting with my 7 year old? Or should I set him completely free and just buy him a bus pass and send him off with a good luck, kid?
April 27 2011
We have spent a lot of time with my parents this week, Abby and I. While the boys were with their dad this past weekend, my daughter and I went out to lunch with her Grandma and Grandpa then went shopping with Grandma before traveling back to their house for dinner. Where Abby was immensely excited to see their dog, Joey.
“Go see Joey?”, she asked hopefully.
“Yes, we are going to see Joey”, I affirmed.
“Joey!”, she cheered.
She was so excited. So excited that she could barely contain herself in her carseat. As we pulled into my parents’ driveway, she began the happy bounce. Nose wrinkled in jubilant anticipation of this canine that she hadn’t seen since Christmas. That she wouldn’t go anywhere near then. It would never hurt her, but this thing with the paws and the tail that keeps wagging back and forth, get it away! Which made her enthusiasm to see him now a little baffling.
“Joey!” she continued on as I unbuckled her from the carseat.
“Joey!”, she kept on as we walked up their front steps.
“Joey!”, as we opened the door.
Then, as Joey came darting out to greet us, stumpy and fat and furry, just as excited to see her as she had been for him, she curled back into my shoulder. The smile disappeared, the lip pouted.
“No Joey! Bad Joey!” And that remained her stance every time he so much as looked at her until we were safely on our way home.
2 year olds are a very confusing bunch.
April 26 2011
Dearest Buzz,
They stopped letting me go back with you.
I knew it was coming. I also know it’s best. Just one of the many parts of growing up.
They’re beginning to prepare you for this big, wide world.
It’s not like I get to go with you every day once you head to school.
The hardest part, the saddest part, was that you looked back to me as if I was sitting behind on purpose. “Mommy?”, I heard you ask, though your hands safely held by your two teachers. Therapists, really, but I prefer to call them teachers. Because whether from them or us, you have learned so much since you’ve started going. Even when it may seem like it’s all just play.
“He really likes to use his scissors now”, one of his teachers began to fill me in when you emerged 45 minutes later. You were smiling and happy, as always. A Harry Potter sticker in one hand for a job well done, immediately running to put your other hand in mine. Your mommy, no matter how big you get. Forever and ever. The one that’s just supposed to be alright with letting you go. “And puzzles. He’s very good at puzzles.”, she continued, showing me letters you tried to trace into your name.
5 years ago today, we first said hello.
5 years later, you like scissors and puzzles and you mimic the Incredible Hulk and you like running off when you’re not supposed to. We’re on to the next step now. But I hope you never stop looking for me, asking for me. And I will always be there, eager and ready for your hand. Forever and ever. No matter what. Right outside the door, or wherever you may need me. You will never have to face this big, wide world alone.
Today you’re 5, my crazy little Buzz. Happy Birthday, love.
With all my heart,
Your Mommy
April 21 2011
Jedi is growing in leaps. If his rising stature didn’t make this blatantly obvious, it’s his attitude. He has picked up all sorts of new phrases since going to school. For every question I ask him anymore, I am sure to be met with a “duh!” or “you already know the answer, so I’m not telling you!” or he just ignores me. He grumbles. He’s defiant. He’s a 7 year old. I’m not thrilled with this change, but I understand there’s a need to assert some separation and independence.
But underneath that thicker exterior still lies bursts of my little boy.
When Jedi was smaller, and still an only child, I would lay with him until he fell asleep each night. Just the two of us in quiet. I could listen as he’d babble himself to sleep and bask in the wonder of my growing son. Some nights, he couldn’t shut his eyes without my arm tightly wrapped around him. He was such a beautiful little boy, full of light and love. Time and additions eventually took over and he began to not need me in the same capacity anymore.
Then the other night, I rested next to Jedi in bed. I put my arm around him as he untucked himself just enough to place his around me. It was like old times, except heavier. He is three times longer, his limbs ganglier and stronger, his babbles now real paragraphs. There are gaps of teeth that he’s lost and fingernails that hold proof of friends at play. Like flashes of 7 years worth of stars bursting right before my eyes.
I laid there with my oldest son, arms around each other and our foreheads touching. My beautiful little boy, who’s more likely to talk back these days than to listen. But there are still those bursts, full of light and love.
“I could stay like this forever”, he whispered.
“Me, too”, I said. Me, too.
