Ana's last day at Abeona was Friday.
*sigh*
Elliot's last day will come at the end of July.
We had a ceremony where kids asked that we not take their sunshine away.
*lump in throat*
That night, we went for sushi, and Elliot discovered Shrimp Tempura, Oliver enjoyed his muse of noodles, and Ana relished her California Rolls. And Kevin and I held hands over hot tea, and came home trying to catch frogs under the crescent moon, and wondered at how quickly our little ones have grown.
Again and again, how many times will we have this feeling? This sad longing at these moments passing by?
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Second Verse, same as the first
It seems like the lesson as a parent I keep revisiting, is to JUST WAIT OUT those developmental downswings...they usually precede a growth spurt...
but whilst my love Elliot was
but whilst my love Elliot was
- running and hiding under the house every time we were in the backyard (my respite)
- staring blankly
- mouthing his fingers deeply
- pinballing from activity to activity to activity
- shrill-y screaming
- pushing me away
all I could think was "Maybe this is as far as he goes," and "What is wrong with him???" and "What did I do wrong? What more could I have done?" This has gone on for about 6 months. I've struggled to even own it in my writing, but my worries have been a dark cloud overhead for some time now.
And like Cher slapping Nick Cage in "Moonstruck"--they just seem to SNAP OUT OF IT! Suddenly, there's my sweet boy again, doing a host of new things:
- swinging (holding ropes with two hands, walking backwards on his toes, and lifting off!)
- speaking in long sentences
- discussing sequence, and understanding his place/turn/order
- saying he has to potty**
- trying to dress and undress
- exhibiting gentleness with his baby brother
- asking for time with me, snuggling
- attending for longer periods of time
- Lefty whole hand grab and release! WOW!
I try to remind myself when my children are on "the upswing," that this is their developmental path--intense regression with leaping forward...and I need to keep that in mind as we look toward kinder with Ana. That worry and doubt and fear gets in the middle of the relationship, right when they need the most unconditional love and support (and of course, the frustration I feel makes me less included to be the patient mom I know I can be). I need to work to develop this perspective on their growth and development...the experience that helps me relax with all of Ollie's baby stuff, knowing what to expect. After all, this is what sharing a life is. And they are watching me pull in and out of the fog as I grow too.
We're all in this together. And we're all we've got.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Lucky me
Mama, do you know how much I love you?
I love you wrapped around the moon, and all the way through space.
And through a door, and a hundred doors, to the edge of the world,
and to the end of the world.
I love you wrapped around the moon, and all the way through space.
And through a door, and a hundred doors, to the edge of the world,
and to the end of the world.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
My pininos
Restless- late night, early morning, 2 am
I have to look at you,
small bundle under blanket,
and watch your chest rise and fall
and follow the curve of your eyelash
and hold your small hand in mine
and imagine your midnight imaginings
and pray that you always be protected and lucky and blessed
Who would blame us
for recording your every utterance?
for granting your every indulgence?
for erecting small shrines of your likeness?
The pain and beauty of loving you is my life's greatest gift...
I have to look at you,
small bundle under blanket,
and watch your chest rise and fall
and follow the curve of your eyelash
and hold your small hand in mine
and imagine your midnight imaginings
and pray that you always be protected and lucky and blessed
Who would blame us
for recording your every utterance?
for granting your every indulgence?
for erecting small shrines of your likeness?
The pain and beauty of loving you is my life's greatest gift...
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
The Letting Go
I've been thinking for days about what I'd write on the eve of Elliot's second birthday...not about him (that comes tomorrow) but what being his mom has done for me. It's been such a journey of hope and despair, intense love, and a tremendous letting go that someone with my control issues doesn't do naturally.
Elliot came into our lives from the darkness of his wet world 3 weeks before our whole city was transformed into a dark, wet world.
His birth, and my confidence in my ability to mother were quite smooth by comparison to my first foray into mom-dom. I remember the feeling of completeness and calm looking into those light brown eyes, as they were at birth. I saw my mother in his caramel eyes. I had my boy and my girl.
We were just getting into the swing of parenting two when Kevin and I argued in the living room--a massive whirlpool swirling over where the Louisiana coastline used to be. Typical of me and typical of Kevin: he didn't think we needed to evacuate; I let him know that the children and I would be evacuating and he was welcome to join us.
The rhythm we'd established was completely thrown off, and Elliot (along with a few items from his layette, previously Ana's unisex layette) was buckled into the car. He cried the whole way to Pensacola, and when I look back at it, I feel like he cried the whole time we were away (until early October). This earned him a reputation among the friends who'd taken us in: One day, that kid'll sing at the Met!
What a crazy world I felt I'd brought this baby into. What could we give him if it was all gone? How could we provide for him? Where would we live? My anxiety about providing for our family was settling into my bones as we lined up for food stamps: Even the curve of his hair on the top of his head resembled a perfectly formed hurricane.
Little time was spent getting to know our guy. We tried hard just to keep him quiet and content, to be little trouble to our hosts. He went from arm to arm, even as we'd go to free potluck dinners for evacuees. Accepting toys, clothes, diapers. Oh my pride. It burned. Those moments of complete need...I would cry from start to finish. In part from the beauty of the human heart. To give to strangers. And to a great degree, my pride at really needing and being so vulnerable with this tiny beautiful person and feeling I had nothing to give.
How much of our stress Elliot siphoned I have no idea. But when we came home (to uncertainty, fear, looters?, squatters?, but HOME), when we literally walked into the door, the content spirit that he exhibits today became so apparent, and I thought to myself, "and I thought this baby was going to be such a challenge. He's so easy!"
Months later, on our second monthly visit to the pediatrician, I still never questioned that all the testing that defined his 5th month would be unnecessary. But how I clung to that baby. I was MAMA. That was what I had to provide (my MAMAness), as I searched for a job, and searched for a way out of this place.
By January, we were being referred for a host of services, and the pain was incredible. We couldn't leave. There was too much uncertainty. We needed Tita. We needed stability. It was all too much. The doctor urged me not to google cytomegalovirus. I went numb just hearing her say it. After the neurologist pointing out his microcephaly (small head), I couldn't stop staring at baby's heads. I'd fall apart after a trip to the store. I couldn't even see Elliot during this time. I mean, really see him for himself. I saw his diagnosis, I saw my fears, I saw the images of random disabilities from my google search. I lost this time with Elliot, as I worked hard to hold it together on the outside, and mask for Mardi Gras, grin and bear it.
My friend Erin, though she might not know how much, held me together with her promises. "He will be fine, Emmy. This first year will be so hard, and then you'll see. He WILL go down the slide with Ana (one of my promises to her)." She would tell me this over and over. Or just hear me sob and say nothing. Both were equally helpful.
After we rode that wave, I got a hold of myself. I was losing Elliot in all this. We'd dutifully participate in his therapy sessions, and try our hardest to make these interventions a part of his life. But I felt like I was managing his life, and not sharing in it.
All at once, after being sick of my own self-indulgent pity process, I began to see what God had truly given us in this boy that can be described as no less than a SPARKLE: Through Elliot, we had learned what it truly meant to receive, and to let go. For every one of our worries about Elliot and his future, there was a therapist. Coming into our home. Challenging him, pushing him, and so LOVING him. For every challenge Elliot faced, there he was, pushing, smiling, and so LOVING, and so happy. I couldn't allow myself to do this any longer.
I've now learned that this feeling comes back and back and back...then it goes away again. In our life along the river, it's all cycles of water and heartbreak, and great joy.
My friend Renee said to me just yesterday (as a believer in heart chakras) that she can "feel the love emanating from Elliot when she holds him." His spirit is so powerful that it's humbling. Elliot's spirit is the great constant.
In all this, I couldn't see myself leaving Elliot to work, and so designed a path that would have his daily life intermingled with my work through Abeona House. I thought I was sent to Abeona so I could monitor his therapies and hold on so tightly to this boy who needs me so much. My MAMAness had to be the glue. But I was surely sent to Abeona House for Ms. Gwen, who would become his teacher, and care for him, teach him, and LOVE him like Kevin or I would if we were there.
Teachers, therapists, our friends and his, nameless school children who pray for Elliot each day at St. Peters...yes, it's true. And our family, his mama and papa, and Ana...
I believe that parenting is a journey of how to let go of this person who belongs to the world, and comes through you. I always imagined that I would be learning this lesson bringing my kids to college. But through all of the people who have loved Elliot, and demanded a share in his spirit, I have learned how to hold on so tightly, but also let him go; to accept help without my pride and know that these many people have something to give him that we may not. And that our love for him includes this vast circle of people, and an intimate knowledge and appreciation of All Things Elliot. My MAMAness is NOT what's holding us together. Elliot's love is what releases us to love each other, and accept the gifts they bring in so many forms. How rich he has made our lives.
Elliot came into our lives from the darkness of his wet world 3 weeks before our whole city was transformed into a dark, wet world.
His birth, and my confidence in my ability to mother were quite smooth by comparison to my first foray into mom-dom. I remember the feeling of completeness and calm looking into those light brown eyes, as they were at birth. I saw my mother in his caramel eyes. I had my boy and my girl.
We were just getting into the swing of parenting two when Kevin and I argued in the living room--a massive whirlpool swirling over where the Louisiana coastline used to be. Typical of me and typical of Kevin: he didn't think we needed to evacuate; I let him know that the children and I would be evacuating and he was welcome to join us.
The rhythm we'd established was completely thrown off, and Elliot (along with a few items from his layette, previously Ana's unisex layette) was buckled into the car. He cried the whole way to Pensacola, and when I look back at it, I feel like he cried the whole time we were away (until early October). This earned him a reputation among the friends who'd taken us in: One day, that kid'll sing at the Met!
What a crazy world I felt I'd brought this baby into. What could we give him if it was all gone? How could we provide for him? Where would we live? My anxiety about providing for our family was settling into my bones as we lined up for food stamps: Even the curve of his hair on the top of his head resembled a perfectly formed hurricane.
Little time was spent getting to know our guy. We tried hard just to keep him quiet and content, to be little trouble to our hosts. He went from arm to arm, even as we'd go to free potluck dinners for evacuees. Accepting toys, clothes, diapers. Oh my pride. It burned. Those moments of complete need...I would cry from start to finish. In part from the beauty of the human heart. To give to strangers. And to a great degree, my pride at really needing and being so vulnerable with this tiny beautiful person and feeling I had nothing to give.
How much of our stress Elliot siphoned I have no idea. But when we came home (to uncertainty, fear, looters?, squatters?, but HOME), when we literally walked into the door, the content spirit that he exhibits today became so apparent, and I thought to myself, "and I thought this baby was going to be such a challenge. He's so easy!"
Months later, on our second monthly visit to the pediatrician, I still never questioned that all the testing that defined his 5th month would be unnecessary. But how I clung to that baby. I was MAMA. That was what I had to provide (my MAMAness), as I searched for a job, and searched for a way out of this place.
By January, we were being referred for a host of services, and the pain was incredible. We couldn't leave. There was too much uncertainty. We needed Tita. We needed stability. It was all too much. The doctor urged me not to google cytomegalovirus. I went numb just hearing her say it. After the neurologist pointing out his microcephaly (small head), I couldn't stop staring at baby's heads. I'd fall apart after a trip to the store. I couldn't even see Elliot during this time. I mean, really see him for himself. I saw his diagnosis, I saw my fears, I saw the images of random disabilities from my google search. I lost this time with Elliot, as I worked hard to hold it together on the outside, and mask for Mardi Gras, grin and bear it.
My friend Erin, though she might not know how much, held me together with her promises. "He will be fine, Emmy. This first year will be so hard, and then you'll see. He WILL go down the slide with Ana (one of my promises to her)." She would tell me this over and over. Or just hear me sob and say nothing. Both were equally helpful.
After we rode that wave, I got a hold of myself. I was losing Elliot in all this. We'd dutifully participate in his therapy sessions, and try our hardest to make these interventions a part of his life. But I felt like I was managing his life, and not sharing in it.
All at once, after being sick of my own self-indulgent pity process, I began to see what God had truly given us in this boy that can be described as no less than a SPARKLE: Through Elliot, we had learned what it truly meant to receive, and to let go. For every one of our worries about Elliot and his future, there was a therapist. Coming into our home. Challenging him, pushing him, and so LOVING him. For every challenge Elliot faced, there he was, pushing, smiling, and so LOVING, and so happy. I couldn't allow myself to do this any longer.
I've now learned that this feeling comes back and back and back...then it goes away again. In our life along the river, it's all cycles of water and heartbreak, and great joy.
My friend Renee said to me just yesterday (as a believer in heart chakras) that she can "feel the love emanating from Elliot when she holds him." His spirit is so powerful that it's humbling. Elliot's spirit is the great constant.
In all this, I couldn't see myself leaving Elliot to work, and so designed a path that would have his daily life intermingled with my work through Abeona House. I thought I was sent to Abeona so I could monitor his therapies and hold on so tightly to this boy who needs me so much. My MAMAness had to be the glue. But I was surely sent to Abeona House for Ms. Gwen, who would become his teacher, and care for him, teach him, and LOVE him like Kevin or I would if we were there.
Teachers, therapists, our friends and his, nameless school children who pray for Elliot each day at St. Peters...yes, it's true. And our family, his mama and papa, and Ana...
I believe that parenting is a journey of how to let go of this person who belongs to the world, and comes through you. I always imagined that I would be learning this lesson bringing my kids to college. But through all of the people who have loved Elliot, and demanded a share in his spirit, I have learned how to hold on so tightly, but also let him go; to accept help without my pride and know that these many people have something to give him that we may not. And that our love for him includes this vast circle of people, and an intimate knowledge and appreciation of All Things Elliot. My MAMAness is NOT what's holding us together. Elliot's love is what releases us to love each other, and accept the gifts they bring in so many forms. How rich he has made our lives.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
What I know about parenting
What I know about parenting (maybe the only thing I know) is that it's hard--that children go through these phases that make me question their whole development and character--and then it gets easier--and it's all rosy and lovely. And that I'd better appreciate the lovely because the pain of growth is coming right behind it.
Ana is simply lovely. Erin and Chuck had a crawfish boil today, and I was so proud to be her mom. She looked the role tonight. Cherry dress, red hair ribbon, electric blue satin chinese shoes...Ana is developing social skills. In the past, coming into a party in progress always spelled trouble. She would hide in the layers of my skirt, especially if anyone got to gooey, or close, and wanted to talk. Even family members who she sees often. Now she is making eye contact (we work on that all the time) and saying hello, and learning about good manners and how to respond to people.
-Hello there. I love your barrette.
-Thank you.
For example.
Tonight she got the hiccups in front of Erin's newlywed friends. My darling said "Excuse me" after each of a series of 5 hiccups. At that point, I took her outside for some fresh air. It seemed exhausting, always either hiccupping or saying something. I didn't want her to pass out.
But truly. Her lovely manners and emerging social skills showed how much she's grown. And we all noticed. Looking good, Ana. I know the rough patch will be coming soon, but I see who you are through it all. Smart, loving, and kind. Keep up the good work!
Ana is simply lovely. Erin and Chuck had a crawfish boil today, and I was so proud to be her mom. She looked the role tonight. Cherry dress, red hair ribbon, electric blue satin chinese shoes...Ana is developing social skills. In the past, coming into a party in progress always spelled trouble. She would hide in the layers of my skirt, especially if anyone got to gooey, or close, and wanted to talk. Even family members who she sees often. Now she is making eye contact (we work on that all the time) and saying hello, and learning about good manners and how to respond to people.
-Hello there. I love your barrette.
-Thank you.
For example.
Tonight she got the hiccups in front of Erin's newlywed friends. My darling said "Excuse me" after each of a series of 5 hiccups. At that point, I took her outside for some fresh air. It seemed exhausting, always either hiccupping or saying something. I didn't want her to pass out.
But truly. Her lovely manners and emerging social skills showed how much she's grown. And we all noticed. Looking good, Ana. I know the rough patch will be coming soon, but I see who you are through it all. Smart, loving, and kind. Keep up the good work!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Vacation
On Monday, we leave for a family trip to Memphis and Chicago via train. For months, I've been secretly excited, imagining walking the full length of the train holding Elliot's hand as he eagerly explores the inside of the choo choo. As the trip has neared, I've become so overwhelmed with all that's required to actually leave town. Just preparing to go on vacation is wearing me out completely. Between staffing and interviews, payroll, paying taxes, and readying a grant due the day we leave, I am completely pooped. And that is without having packed!
How do I allow myself to let go of all of these stresses, to really enjoy my family and the joy of travel? This is a constant struggle for me...not just a vacation question. It's about lifestyle. Is it possible to find a balance, or is certain work by its very nature consume one's time and energy, leaving little room for all else? What do I want to teach my children about the nature of work and family? I'm sure this question plagues so many women with children who work. And is it even necessary? Having learned recently of the study showing that working mothers today spend as much time with their children as stay at home mom's in the 70s, is it just the nature of modern parenting to assume that our efforts are never enough?
I feel like I consistently choose time with my children, as evidenced by our dirty house, and the pile of dishes. If the kids want "outside" when I get home, that's the choice I make, and usually don't sweat the housework. However, I do wonder about the quality of my time with the kids...The thought of Kevin looking for other work that would have him home with us nights and weekends is SO tempting. I honestly can't imagine how this would redefine our family. Having consistently cared for both children most nights and weekends for the last year, I've felt like a single mom in many ways. This is not to say that Kevin's role and support are not critical. However, coming home to prepare dinner, ready children for bed, and prepare for the next day has been a nightly chore that I haven't enjoyed. I can see how single mom's do it, but the quality of the interaction with my children has certainly suffered. I view my nightly tasks as just that: tasks. With Elliot being the poor sleeper that he is, the bedtime ritual consistently wears me out. Kevin's weighing out his options with work right now, and it's exciting. and scary. but we'll be so happy to have him home.
Do I sound like I need a vacation? I can't wait. All this preparation will certainly be worth it!
Did I mention that instead of a nap today at school, Ana lay on her mat chanting quietly, Chicago! Chicago!Chicago! Sometimes when she says it, it comes out Dichago. I need to take a page out of her book, and let the spirit take over.
How do I allow myself to let go of all of these stresses, to really enjoy my family and the joy of travel? This is a constant struggle for me...not just a vacation question. It's about lifestyle. Is it possible to find a balance, or is certain work by its very nature consume one's time and energy, leaving little room for all else? What do I want to teach my children about the nature of work and family? I'm sure this question plagues so many women with children who work. And is it even necessary? Having learned recently of the study showing that working mothers today spend as much time with their children as stay at home mom's in the 70s, is it just the nature of modern parenting to assume that our efforts are never enough?
I feel like I consistently choose time with my children, as evidenced by our dirty house, and the pile of dishes. If the kids want "outside" when I get home, that's the choice I make, and usually don't sweat the housework. However, I do wonder about the quality of my time with the kids...The thought of Kevin looking for other work that would have him home with us nights and weekends is SO tempting. I honestly can't imagine how this would redefine our family. Having consistently cared for both children most nights and weekends for the last year, I've felt like a single mom in many ways. This is not to say that Kevin's role and support are not critical. However, coming home to prepare dinner, ready children for bed, and prepare for the next day has been a nightly chore that I haven't enjoyed. I can see how single mom's do it, but the quality of the interaction with my children has certainly suffered. I view my nightly tasks as just that: tasks. With Elliot being the poor sleeper that he is, the bedtime ritual consistently wears me out. Kevin's weighing out his options with work right now, and it's exciting. and scary. but we'll be so happy to have him home.
Do I sound like I need a vacation? I can't wait. All this preparation will certainly be worth it!
Did I mention that instead of a nap today at school, Ana lay on her mat chanting quietly, Chicago! Chicago!Chicago! Sometimes when she says it, it comes out Dichago. I need to take a page out of her book, and let the spirit take over.
Friday, April 6, 2007
The Power of Green Eggs & Ham
After her nap, I told Ana that we were going to the hair salon with Tita. She shot her eyes at me immediately. "I don't want to get my hair cut, Mama." Hmmm...that Toralora story didn't catch on like I'd hoped.
I just let it hang in the air. We climbed in the car. Talked about Easter, sang "Iko, Iko," basically pretending nothing was going on.
Picked up Tita. Lots of us speaking in Spanish. Very fishy to our Ana. "Mama, I don't want to get my hair cut." Me stopping at the service station. "Let's get something for after our haircut."
Getting out the car with me, "Mama, I don't want..." (you get the picture).
Bad parenting at it's finest: "Ana, do you want the Hello Kitty lollipop or the candy microphone for after your haircut?"
A: Mama, I want the candy without the haircut.
She decides on the candy filled water gun. An all-time low.
Back in the car, on our way...
A: Mama, I don't want a haircut.
Me: Ana, remember Sam I am? That fellow kept saying, "I don't not like green eggs and ham. I will not eat them in a box, I will not eat them with a fox, I will not eat them here or there, I will not eat them anywhere," and then what happens?
A: He tries them.
M: He tries them, and what?
A: He likes them
M: You might like this new thing. Let's just go check it out, and be open. You know I'd never take you somewhere to get hurt. Let's just see what this place is about, OK. You should always try something new. Otherwise you might miss out on something fantastic.
We'll have to change this lesson for our drug talk in a few years.
A: Mama, I don't want a haircut.
M: Try it, and you may, I say.
Tita and I fill the air (in English) with talk about random things. We arrive.
Exiting car, fine. Get to the door: Frozen, and crying real tears.
A: Mama, I don't want to get a haircut!! Not fitfull, just kind of scared.
Opening door, revealing pink four-wheeler barber's chair...Ana's eyes widening...
M: Let's just go check it out.
Letsy, our Honduran hairstylist, told Ana to choose a chair, or she could sit on my lap. Pouting, she chose the pink four-wheeler.
Letsy: I have this magical cape for you to wear so that you won't get hair on you...
The first cut...
Ana, with the cape, sat and looked at books, played with toys, etched a sketch, as her hair was cut. Not a tear. Two ponytails of hair were cut off in big chunks. Yes, I tried hard not to cry.
Elliot was not to be left out of the toy action!
Letsy blew her hair dry, put a clip in it, and called it a day! Ana was so proud of her new do, and I think, of herself, for having the courage to try something scary, to trust her mama, and come out shining. I'm so proud of you, Ana.
Let down your hair...
I've been a nervous wreck today. This morning I decided that today would be the day Ana has her first haircut (not counting the time she got the battery-operated bubble blower that "looks like a hair dryer" caught in her hair).
How would I introduce this to her without inspiring anxiety by telling her in advance, or losing her trust by springing it on her by just showing up? I've been belaboring this since we scheduled the appointment at "Kids' Hair" this morning... a place that cuts your hair while you sit on a kids' sized motorcycle, or car...would she fall for these distractions? Ana's no fool.
And what's with my unreasonable hair attachment? All my efforts to withhold Barbie and Ariel and all this princess crap, so that my daughter will know that her merits and heart are the true measure of her worth, and here I am, obsessing over the loss of her hair, and the adulation of strangers asking if they can "have one of those curls?" What a weight will be lifted with the new coiff! I hope?
So again, how to broach the subject...at nap today, the Toralora story (she's our recurring character who deals with problems and situations) was about a hair cut.
Toralora's pride and joy had been, for many years, her long, flowing hair. She loved her locks, but in the morning, this hair resulted in many a throw-down with her mama. Toralora would resist her mother's efforts to make that hair cooperate in a variety of styles, and from time to time, the hair would hang in tangled ropes around her ears. And that was just fine with her.
Well, one day, Toralora's mother drove her into town (from the country) past the pecan groves, and pastures, past Ol' Miss Moses' house, past the Ice Man who was loading a large cube of ice into the back of Leo's pickup... until they arrived at a beautiful building where mirrors and metal shined brightly. Toralora wondered why her mother had never brought her here before, to this wonderful place. As they entered, her mama told her that this was a hair salon, and Toralora was turning for the door...until a friendly lady asked her to choose a chair. Nervous, and anxious, Toralora looked into her eyes, and her mother's and could see they meant no harm, and she took the seat closest to the door, in case she changed her mind.
The lady began touching her hair gently, then brushing it out. It actually felt kind of good. And then she took the scissors in her hand, and began cutting the hair away. (I breezed through this rather quickly)...I'll spare you the details of the large lollipop she got afterwards, and how she enjoyed touching the ends of her hair, and how light she felt. And how when she saw her best friend Maybelline on her way home, Maybelline was so excited about her hair (and the lollipop)...Ana smiled behind her nunu at this part...And how Toralora could climb her apple tree without her hair getting tangled, etc, and the next day at school Maybelline came in with the haircut too...
We leave in 30 minutes. Pictures will follow. Cross your fingers(-*
How would I introduce this to her without inspiring anxiety by telling her in advance, or losing her trust by springing it on her by just showing up? I've been belaboring this since we scheduled the appointment at "Kids' Hair" this morning... a place that cuts your hair while you sit on a kids' sized motorcycle, or car...would she fall for these distractions? Ana's no fool.
And what's with my unreasonable hair attachment? All my efforts to withhold Barbie and Ariel and all this princess crap, so that my daughter will know that her merits and heart are the true measure of her worth, and here I am, obsessing over the loss of her hair, and the adulation of strangers asking if they can "have one of those curls?" What a weight will be lifted with the new coiff! I hope?
So again, how to broach the subject...at nap today, the Toralora story (she's our recurring character who deals with problems and situations) was about a hair cut.
Toralora's pride and joy had been, for many years, her long, flowing hair. She loved her locks, but in the morning, this hair resulted in many a throw-down with her mama. Toralora would resist her mother's efforts to make that hair cooperate in a variety of styles, and from time to time, the hair would hang in tangled ropes around her ears. And that was just fine with her.
Well, one day, Toralora's mother drove her into town (from the country) past the pecan groves, and pastures, past Ol' Miss Moses' house, past the Ice Man who was loading a large cube of ice into the back of Leo's pickup... until they arrived at a beautiful building where mirrors and metal shined brightly. Toralora wondered why her mother had never brought her here before, to this wonderful place. As they entered, her mama told her that this was a hair salon, and Toralora was turning for the door...until a friendly lady asked her to choose a chair. Nervous, and anxious, Toralora looked into her eyes, and her mother's and could see they meant no harm, and she took the seat closest to the door, in case she changed her mind.
The lady began touching her hair gently, then brushing it out. It actually felt kind of good. And then she took the scissors in her hand, and began cutting the hair away. (I breezed through this rather quickly)...I'll spare you the details of the large lollipop she got afterwards, and how she enjoyed touching the ends of her hair, and how light she felt. And how when she saw her best friend Maybelline on her way home, Maybelline was so excited about her hair (and the lollipop)...Ana smiled behind her nunu at this part...And how Toralora could climb her apple tree without her hair getting tangled, etc, and the next day at school Maybelline came in with the haircut too...
We leave in 30 minutes. Pictures will follow. Cross your fingers(-*
Monday, April 2, 2007
Keeping vigil
Last night, Ana woke up with 103 degree fever.
Legs hot, body burning, her moaning in her sleep...
Where's the first aid book? Are we out of children's motrin? Where's the thermometer? This one doesn't work, it reads I'm 93 degrees! Did you see the other one? These ear thermometers are a piece of crap. Next time, lets get the $100 one. Well, anyone can see she's just hot. very hot. Grab a cold rag. Take off her clothes. Where's the motrin? Is that Elliot crying. What's it read now. Ana, just take a sip of this water. Yes, it's cold. You're cold? She's shaking, Kevin. It's ok baby, mama's here. Daddy's here too. We're both here, and you're going to be fine. Just close your eyes, and think of the time Toralora won the fishing contest. Do you remember that story? Just close your eyes, and think of how cool the lagoon was when she jumped in afterwards, and how she spewed water out of her mouth like a blue whale. I know you don't like this thing under your arm. Just one more second, baby. It's fine. You're fine. It's just a little fever baby. You'll feel better with some sleep. Let's try to get some rest.
Legs hot, body burning, her moaning in her sleep...
Where's the first aid book? Are we out of children's motrin? Where's the thermometer? This one doesn't work, it reads I'm 93 degrees! Did you see the other one? These ear thermometers are a piece of crap. Next time, lets get the $100 one. Well, anyone can see she's just hot. very hot. Grab a cold rag. Take off her clothes. Where's the motrin? Is that Elliot crying. What's it read now. Ana, just take a sip of this water. Yes, it's cold. You're cold? She's shaking, Kevin. It's ok baby, mama's here. Daddy's here too. We're both here, and you're going to be fine. Just close your eyes, and think of the time Toralora won the fishing contest. Do you remember that story? Just close your eyes, and think of how cool the lagoon was when she jumped in afterwards, and how she spewed water out of her mouth like a blue whale. I know you don't like this thing under your arm. Just one more second, baby. It's fine. You're fine. It's just a little fever baby. You'll feel better with some sleep. Let's try to get some rest.
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