Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Chicks Hike
Before the summer really, truly, completely leaves us
Just like last year, Greta and I camped a couple of weekends ago. Just like last year, our plans to spend the whole weekend were thwarted. Just like last year, one day was enough.
We hiked, which Greta swore she hated to do, and which, one hour later, she begged to do for the rest of the day.
We found the hippest play house ever.
Greta ate six meals in one day. No, seriously. My daughter. Greta. The one who has been on a hunger strike since she was three. She ate. A lot. Not just hot dogs and Cheetos. But some of that.
We built this fire, skillfully.
And when it got rained out {a monsoon, no joke}, we cried a little. But not for so long.
Because rained out campfire dinner means Plan B: fancy steak restaurant with velvet-upholstered chairs, an endless supply of children's menus to color, and an ice cream sundae for dessert, which for the pickier eater, is really just a dish of swirled vanilla.
Plan B also means coffee house breakfast rather than wet picnic table cereal. This day, Greta discovered that she loves coffee cake.
Our gear looks so festive hanging to dry from the deck at home, we might just leave it up for the rest of the month.
I think we bonded. Even if we didn't, at least we got some s'mores and sundaes out of the weekend.
Just like last year, Greta and I camped a couple of weekends ago. Just like last year, our plans to spend the whole weekend were thwarted. Just like last year, one day was enough.
We hiked, which Greta swore she hated to do, and which, one hour later, she begged to do for the rest of the day.
We found the hippest play house ever.
Greta ate six meals in one day. No, seriously. My daughter. Greta. The one who has been on a hunger strike since she was three. She ate. A lot. Not just hot dogs and Cheetos. But some of that.
We built this fire, skillfully.
And when it got rained out {a monsoon, no joke}, we cried a little. But not for so long.
Because rained out campfire dinner means Plan B: fancy steak restaurant with velvet-upholstered chairs, an endless supply of children's menus to color, and an ice cream sundae for dessert, which for the pickier eater, is really just a dish of swirled vanilla.
Plan B also means coffee house breakfast rather than wet picnic table cereal. This day, Greta discovered that she loves coffee cake.
Our gear looks so festive hanging to dry from the deck at home, we might just leave it up for the rest of the month.
I think we bonded. Even if we didn't, at least we got some s'mores and sundaes out of the weekend.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Stronger, Smarter, More Courageous
A friend told me to remember this photo and caption from my Instagram feed yesterday. Solid advice.
Every so often, I am granted windows of time when my brain chatter quiets itself long enough for me to slow down and meditate on exactly what it is that's going on around me, and why it's important. If I could freeze these hours / days / weeks and keep myself perpetually in the present, I would seriously earn that World's Best Mom coffee mug.
As it turns out, however, I am human. Brain chatter included.
So I'll take these short moments of clarity, and try to jam as much nurturing into them as I can.
Daughters. They're tricky, aren't they?
Too much Disney Princess exposure and you risk warping her impression of beauty and femininity.
Too many youlooksolovely's and she might believe her appearance to be the only thing that matters. We do our best to use lovely interchangeably with strong and courageous and smart. But I would lie if I told anyone that I don't love fixing my girls' hair / painting their nails / buying their clothes.
Tricky.
Parenting Noah seems somehow simpler. For me. Maybe because I can already feel him leaning into Kevin to learn about life. The pressure for me is just to keep him in attendance at piano lessons once a week.
I am fortunate that my daughters have surrounded themselves with brilliant lady role models. Grandmothers, a GREAT grandmother, aunts, teachers and friends - somehow others seems to know how to fill in the gaps keeping me from being the World's Best Mom.
Daughters, even if I have cuddled you longer than I should have or told you your dress was beautiful when I should have applauded your brilliance at applying your own shoes or treated you differently from your brother when really you deserved to be treated the same - forgive me. I am still trying to grow into the best girl I can be too.
 |
| She didn't want to go down the hill because she worried she wouldn't make it back up. She did. Daughter, you are stronger than you think you are. |
Every so often, I am granted windows of time when my brain chatter quiets itself long enough for me to slow down and meditate on exactly what it is that's going on around me, and why it's important. If I could freeze these hours / days / weeks and keep myself perpetually in the present, I would seriously earn that World's Best Mom coffee mug.
As it turns out, however, I am human. Brain chatter included.
So I'll take these short moments of clarity, and try to jam as much nurturing into them as I can.
Daughters. They're tricky, aren't they?
Too much Disney Princess exposure and you risk warping her impression of beauty and femininity.
Too many youlooksolovely's and she might believe her appearance to be the only thing that matters. We do our best to use lovely interchangeably with strong and courageous and smart. But I would lie if I told anyone that I don't love fixing my girls' hair / painting their nails / buying their clothes.
Tricky.
Parenting Noah seems somehow simpler. For me. Maybe because I can already feel him leaning into Kevin to learn about life. The pressure for me is just to keep him in attendance at piano lessons once a week.
 |
| The game of LIFE, in which Noah typically chooses to be an athlete, and Greta a salesperson. Friend, Owen, was also roped into the game this day. None of us has ever made it to retirement. |
I am fortunate that my daughters have surrounded themselves with brilliant lady role models. Grandmothers, a GREAT grandmother, aunts, teachers and friends - somehow others seems to know how to fill in the gaps keeping me from being the World's Best Mom.
Daughters, even if I have cuddled you longer than I should have or told you your dress was beautiful when I should have applauded your brilliance at applying your own shoes or treated you differently from your brother when really you deserved to be treated the same - forgive me. I am still trying to grow into the best girl I can be too.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Third First
The story of our third First Day of School: it was no big deal.
For all the anxiety and emotion of First Days of School past, today was surprisingly, shoulder-shruggingly, rather comfortably, normal. It felt like picking up an old and familiar routine. One that - after a long and satisfying summer of structure-less biking and swimming and hanging with friends - we were all ready for.
Greta crawled into bed with us some time in the middle of the night, and this morning whispered to me that she wishes she were still in 4K so she could come home with me for lunch. I know you, Greta. Your first school lunch will be seated right next to Sebastian with your kitty lunch box and your heart-shaped (you're welcome) peanut butter sandwich. There will be giggles and hugs. You won't think of your momma for even a second.
And Noah, you didn't give any of us even a hint of back-to-school nerves. Last night you calmly yanked out your latest loose tooth before bed, deposited it under your pillow along with a note for the tooth fairy, and woke up this morning to report your disappointment that you received only a boring dollar bill for your efforts. No bad dreams. No moodiness. Not even an argument about what shirt to wear or whether it was okay to play video games before the bus came. You ate your breakfast, brushed your teeth, got your clothes and shoes on, reminded me to put a napkin in your lunch box, and you were out the door. Jeez, Noah, we didn't even do battle over your glasses this morning. You really were ready to get back.
Noah made up this song a couple of years ago, along with his neighborhood friends, who all go to different elementary schools in town.
It might not win a Grammy, but it is a catchy tune.
Maggie knows how to say, backpack, and I was geared up for tantrum control when the bus arrived to take away every neighborhood pal but her. There was nothing. She just waited in the driveway while the line of kindergartners, first- and second-graders filed on, then waved good-bye when they pulled away. We spent the rest of the morning drawing on the driveway without having to negotiate who gets the pink chalk, swinging at the park without having to rush home because someone forgot their water bottle / granola bar / underwear, and lounging around the house with no particular plan for the day.
Happy September, friends.
For all the anxiety and emotion of First Days of School past, today was surprisingly, shoulder-shruggingly, rather comfortably, normal. It felt like picking up an old and familiar routine. One that - after a long and satisfying summer of structure-less biking and swimming and hanging with friends - we were all ready for.
Greta crawled into bed with us some time in the middle of the night, and this morning whispered to me that she wishes she were still in 4K so she could come home with me for lunch. I know you, Greta. Your first school lunch will be seated right next to Sebastian with your kitty lunch box and your heart-shaped (you're welcome) peanut butter sandwich. There will be giggles and hugs. You won't think of your momma for even a second.
And Noah, you didn't give any of us even a hint of back-to-school nerves. Last night you calmly yanked out your latest loose tooth before bed, deposited it under your pillow along with a note for the tooth fairy, and woke up this morning to report your disappointment that you received only a boring dollar bill for your efforts. No bad dreams. No moodiness. Not even an argument about what shirt to wear or whether it was okay to play video games before the bus came. You ate your breakfast, brushed your teeth, got your clothes and shoes on, reminded me to put a napkin in your lunch box, and you were out the door. Jeez, Noah, we didn't even do battle over your glasses this morning. You really were ready to get back.
Noah made up this song a couple of years ago, along with his neighborhood friends, who all go to different elementary schools in town.
Greenwood's the Good Wood,
Westside's the Best Side,
and
MONTESSORI'S THE AWESOME STORY!
It might not win a Grammy, but it is a catchy tune.
Maggie knows how to say, backpack, and I was geared up for tantrum control when the bus arrived to take away every neighborhood pal but her. There was nothing. She just waited in the driveway while the line of kindergartners, first- and second-graders filed on, then waved good-bye when they pulled away. We spent the rest of the morning drawing on the driveway without having to negotiate who gets the pink chalk, swinging at the park without having to rush home because someone forgot their water bottle / granola bar / underwear, and lounging around the house with no particular plan for the day.
Happy September, friends.
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