Category: small moments

Posted on February 26, 2010 in small moments

The following guest post is written by an expectant mother, my wonderful sister Mir.

I’m 38 weeks pregnant today. Full term. My head spins to think how quickly this pregnancy has gone by. My husband has said that he “can’t wait for Hudson’s arrival.”  I have trained him to say instead, “I am looking forward to Hudson’s arrival.”  Because he’s going to come when he’s good and ready and saying “I can’t wait” makes me feel like I’m ten years old again, sneaking into my parents room to unwrap and rewrap my Christmas presents (Yup, even got the little sister in on the action. Santa never found out!). Only this time, I don’t have that option. 

When we were researching childbirth preparation classes, my OB suggested HypnoBirthing.  She knew we wanted to go natural, and she has had a lot of success with her patients using this method.  We were between the Bradley Method and HypnoBirthing and she said that the women who ended up having to scrap their plan with the Bradley Method ended up feeling a lot more guilty. That sealed the deal for me. All a new mom needs is guilt. My doctor even recommends the class to moms who are definitely going to need a c-section, with the idea that it helps prepare your mind and body for the entire experience. 

Over the course of four three-hour classes, we learned breathing techniques that are completely the opposite of what you see in the movies (no whoo-whoo-heeee breathing here, folks). The entire focus is on relaxation, with the idea that fear leads to tension, which leads to pain. Think of it like how when you are in the stirrups for your annual pap smear and you tense up, you feel more discomfort. Letting that tension go is liberating.  

I LOVED HypnoBirthing. We had a number of new moms as well as seasoned veterans in our class (including a doula who was on baby #4 herself). I credit my relaxed attitude during this pregnancy to the class, and I noticed that my sleep was remarkably improved after I started practicing regularly. My hubby and I pop in the Rainbow Relaxation exercise before bed and I’m out by the end of the first three sentences.  

Alisha, our instructor, taught us to throw out our due date, replace it with a “guess date” and to get comfortable with the idea that March 11^th meant sometime in mid to late March. That sounded fine to me at 23 weeks. 

Fast-forward to today and I’m finding myself growing a seed of impatience. I’m happy to welcome this baby boy into the world when he is fully baked, but I am also telling him that I’m ready and eager for him to be an outside baby.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m loving being pregnant. Sure, I have some lower back pain, I pee a trillion times per day and the only shoes that will accommodate my sausage-toed feet are flip flops. But, I have a great chiropractor, my dog, Pig, keeps me company on each bathroom trip and I live in sunny Southern California, where flip flops are a year-round option.  

It’s the anticipation of meeting him and holding him for the first time that is killing me. I need to retrain myself now to think that I can wait. I look forward to meeting Hudson. Can I hope that it’s sooner than later?

Posted on February 2, 2010 in family fun, small moments

Lately, naps are getting shorter. And shorter. 

This means one thing: I had better come up with some pretty cool things to do. Or else. . . 

So I dusted off the black patent leather shoes that are sadly reserved for holidays, scotch-taped quarters to the bottom of each shoe, and voila!, instant tap shoes. (I’m not brilliant; Rookie Moms came to my rescue.)

I find that most toddlers love music. They love movement. They love newness- anything that deviates from the ordinary. Ahem, anything slightly chaotic. 

Our homemade tap shoes didn’t disappoint. Stomp. Flap. Giggle. Stomp. Pitter-patter. Hoo-ray. Stomp. 

Oh, yes, I stomped too. Who knew that simple driving mocs second as tappers? What started out as a sanity-saving time-filler turned out to be a whole lot of fun! At least 20 minutes of fun, not that I was watching the clock or anything.

P.S. Please stop by to enter a handmade doll giveaway from Blabla kids. You’ll be glad that you did!

**This post is part of the Moms’ 30-Minute Blog Challenge at Steady Mom**

Posted on January 5, 2010 in small moments

Photo by andrew.petro

Dear Jet Blue Friend in Seat 22B,

Mommy says that it’s proper etiquette to apologize when you make a mistake for which you are sorry.  And I am sorry. Very sorry. I’m sorry for peeing all over our seat, not once but twice, during our long airplane ride to California. I guess you don’t have to know that I did it twice, but I’m terribly honest at two years old. 

See, I’m not capable of sitting in one seat for six hours. I’m just a tot. A squirmy, curious, fidgety tot. And I guess that while wiggling from Mommy’s seat, to my seat, to Daddy’s seat, to my seat, to Mommy’s seat, my diaper shifted, just enough to . . . well, you know. Darn shifty diaper. Maybe Mommy and Daddy need to move me up to the next size, or maybe they should have put on a nite-nite diaper. Either way, I’m not quite at the age where I blame them for things.

To make matters worse, knowing my diaper’s saturation point is not my strong suit, although I must say that I felt a funny warm sensation between my thighs. It should have been a red flag, but I was engrossed in my ABC book at the time. To be honest, I think Mommy and Daddy were more startled and humiliated than I was. They both went into crisis mode. Mommy frantically dug into the diaper bag while Daddy lifted me from my warm puddle of pee. I’m not talking about a little trickle here. I was dangling from my armpits over Lake Erie. You probably didn’t have to know that either. 

There is good news. You’ll be happy to know that they used Wet Ones to clean up the mess. They are anti-bacterial, disinfecting wipes, so I’m confident that the seat is just like new. Maybe even better. Just to be safe, though, Mommy says that you ought to wash your clothes before wearing them again. I say do whatever makes you happy. 

Your Jet Blue Friend in Seat 22B

**This post is a part of the Moms’ 30-Minute Blog Challenge at Steady Mom**

Posted on November 17, 2009 in small moments

Photo by jekert gwapo

My daughter and I attend a Mommy and Me class once a week. I thought this would be a nice transition into preschool, since Liza is shy and cautious, rarely venturing out of my sight. Initially, she hesitated to sit at the children’s table for snack time while I chatted with other moms about hot toddler topics (well, as “hot” as they get). 

That was until she comprehended the word snack. 

More recently, I’ve caught her glancing over her shoulder for reassurance: Mommy isn’t leaving me. She’s right over there. And as soon as I’m finished with this delicious cookie, I’ll give her some love. But, really, cookie first. Love later. 

Here’s what I learned (by the way, it’s part of every grandparent’s arsenal of tricks, those sneaky folks): If you give a toddler more graham crackers, she’ll do whatever you want. Yup, that’s right. She’ll stuff her little face with sugary goodness. And she’ll keep asking for more. And it won’t matter where Mommy is, or where anyone is, in fact.

Because today, she was the last one left at the table. I laughed, slightly embarrassed (for her and me). Nobody wants to have the kid who’s always asking for more. Look where it got poor Oliver! But I have to say, she didn’t have a care in the world. She was doing her own thing, and she was perfectly okay with it. 

And when she was done, she showed me some love- bringing me the napkin to wipe up the cracker crumbles pasted to her cheeks.

**This post is a part of the Moms’ 30-Minute Blog Challenge at Steady Mom**

Posted on November 11, 2009 in family fun, small moments

Ever since the pumpkins arrived, I’d had my eye on the enormous empty cardboard boxes at our local farm. It pains me to see them piled on pallets, awaiting their fate at the recycling center. So I decided to take one home. It wasn’t hard for me to convince my husband to haul one into the back of our Subaru. I think he was secretly tickled pink that I was so excited to make a fort.  

This fort cost us nothing, but the payoff was huge. We spent quality time together as a family, laughed, played, and got some great photos before mommy got stuck in the door. 

From a parent’s perspective, the only thing that I needed to invest in this fort was my time and my presence. I think this is what our children really want- for us to be there with them, in the small moments. Not physically, but emotionally. To temporarily abandon our lists, obligations, and judgmental thoughts and to get silly and have fun, and be a kid again. 

Sometimes the best things in life are free. Cardboard included.

Posted on September 17, 2009 in small moments

Do you ever want to lock yourself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet for an extra five minutes?  I do.  I think maybe I can just sneak off and steal a moment for myself, even if it involves sitting bare-bottomed on porcelain.  I just want a moment that’s mine, that doesn’t have to be shared with anyone else. 

I wish I could say that sometimes I manage to pull it off, but that’s not the truth.

Right now, I don’t have the luxury of peeing in peace. That’s just the way it is. And while it’s sometimes frustrating, it also tugs at my heartstrings.  There are ten little toes waiting for me beyond that door, depending on me for everything- safety, nourishment, play, structure, unconditional love and affection. She’s waiting for me. In her eyes, I’m it.  I’m her #1.  That’s all there is to it.  It’s terribly clingy and terribly sweet.  

Fifteen years from now I’ll be the one waiting outside her door, knocking, hoping that she’ll let me in to her world. Fifteen years from now I’ll be the one waiting (on the couch at midnight) for my little girl to return home.  For now, I guess I can forgo peeing in peace.

Posted on August 10, 2009 in small moments

Today, I wanted to report back on my daughter’s participation in The Great Kindness Challenge.  Since she’s only 21 months old, I had to exercise my creative muscles for this one.  I wanted it to be a challenge.  Well, sort of. I mean, I didn’t want to choose something ordinary; taking our pup to the park was too vanilla. I wanted to think outside the box and, at the same time, make a memory.  That, right there, may sound overzealous to you.  Go ahead, snicker.  I deserve it.  

I have always wanted to share the abundant beauty of our garden. So, on Saturday morning, my husband was “on duty,” while I cut my best-looking mums, black-eyed susans, and daisies and arranged sweet little bouquets held together by cloth ribbons from recycled gift wrappings.  I figured that my daughter would love carting these around our neighborhood via her little red wagon.  

With the video and still camera ready, we loaded up the wagon with fresh cuttings and  . . .she was off.  My daughter scampered down the driveway, her chin bent towards her chest and her eyes focused straight ahead.  She was in the zone, on a mission, not to be interrupted.  

After passing a few homes, we made our first stop. “Do you want to bring these to Tony?  Look, he’s outside!”  I pointed, excitedly.  

She waved her arms at me and shook her head no, no, no, no.  She had no intention to stop.  The occasional delivery was not a part of her game plan.  Perhaps I should have explained our purpose.  

“Come with Mommy,” I urged, reaching out my hand.  She pushed it away and dropped towards the ground, irritated by my ridiculous ways.  When I picked her up, she fought hard to break free, kicking her long limbs and turning on the water works.  I was ruining the mission, which I now understand was all about how far we could push the wagon.  Silly me.  

After a skinned knee and lots of tears, we returned home with an empty wagon.  I delivered our small bouquets as my little peanut and her daddy watched from the sidelines.  Hopefully, in the end, we made a few people smile.  It really was never about us.  

My 21 month old doesn’t quite get the concept of giving yet, at least not with flowers (Though, I must say she generously blows kisses to even the oddest of characters.)  So the final word is that The Great Kindness Challenge was just that- a challenge.  Oh well, there’s always next year.   That, and golden retriever who loves a leisurely stroll through the park.

Posted on July 23, 2009 in family fun, small moments

by D’Arcy Norman

I’m worn out today, threadbare.  And so my hope was to share a recent blog post that moved me (Thanks, Simple Kids, for sending me there!).  A few night’s ago, I sat in front of the computer, my mouth gaping at one family’s decision to be a part of the hope revolution.  After soaking up the words and marveling at the photos, I called for my husband: “This is amazing.  You have to read this.” 

My original intention was simply to send you to someone who did it and said it better than me today, but I digress.  You see, I had a number of errands to run this morning, and I was dreading them. I found myself falling into that downward spiral of negative thinking.  I needed to get out of my head and put the kibosh on my pity party.  Inspired by the hope revolution, I decided to pay it forward.  

At the post office, I left a note on the back of a stop-the-mail authorization form that read, “You are important to many people.” 

At the library, I left a note inside the children’s book, The Rain Came Down.  It said, ”Have a sunny day!”

And at the grocery store, I left a note between two cans of black beans: “Share your talents with the world.” 

While I didn’t stick around to see anyone’s reaction, it feels good knowing that I might have impacted someone’s day today. Maybe I made someone smile. Maybe a mom (who hasn’t showered either) is going to buy those black beans.  I’ll never know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter.  The intention to do good is what matters.  When it comes down to it, kindness counts.  Let’s spread hope together . . .

Posted on July 16, 2009 in parenting, small moments

Remember your mother saying, “I have had it up to here with you kids”?  And you wondered: Up to here?  Where’s that?  Well, last weekend I figured out where here is.  It’s the precipice, the edge of the cliff, the point at which you’re about to crack.  On Sunday, I felt like I was mothering Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Either that, or a toddler.  Here’s what happened, in a nutshell: 

At 6:45 a.m., Dr. Jekyll woke up as happy as a lark, well-rested and babbling away.  We had breakfast, read books, played, and headed off to church.  She was an angel, granted we did have Cheerios, the miracle cure for boredom and fussiness.  It was going so well . . .too well.  

Enter Mr. Hyde.

Around 11:00, the whining commenced. I’m not good with whining. It’s so, well, whiney.  I could sense my frustration mounting: Child, what do you want?  I wish you could just tell me.  I thought maybe she was hungry, so I tried lunch.  My bad.  

She flung the peas (regularly eats them double-fisted), flailing her arms in disapproval.  Okay, maybe she doesn’t want peas today.  That’s cool (well, not really). So I went straight to black beans and cheese.  Nope, didn’t want them either.  

Then came the tears.  Then snot.  Then hysterics.  Okay, forget lunch.  

I wanted to cry.  I was tired, trying to make everything work.  And it wasn’t happening.  She had hit a wall, and I was about to join her.  It’s hard not to actually lose it when you are, in fact, losing it.  

Ironically, that very morning I had heard about the power of responding versus reacting.  How timely. Scary timely.  I decided not to force anything. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and acknowledged my feelings: Breathe. You’re frustrated and angry. You’re a mom; you’re not perfect. Breathe. Just be with it. Don’t fight it. Ride it out. This, too, will pass.  Breathe.  

I decided to respond rather than react.  Okay, I see you’re not hungry.  Let’s go sleepy.  Missing lunch wasn’t the end of the world.  I wiped her face down with a warm cloth, changed her diaper, and headed upstairs.  

As soon as we settled into the rocking chair with Hippo, she rested her head on my shoulder and let go.  In the silent rocking, all tension melted away.  Her eyelids softened and her body fell limp in my arms. My little girl was back.  I felt forgiven.  This was what she needed.  Finally, I understood.  

I think having a toddler teaches you how to be with what is at that very moment.  You never know when Mr. Hyde might come knocking, but it helps to have some coping mechanisms at your fingertips.  The next time you’re about to crack, breathe into your feelings and acknowledge them. You are human. You are doing your best.  

Leo Tolstoy says, “All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love.”  I think it’s safe to say that, as parents, we all want to understand- to truly know- our children.  Still, there are days when we are going to teeter on the edge.  Stop.  Breathe.  Be with it.  Respond.  Love, and learn.  

Posted on July 1, 2009 in relationships, small moments

My husband is a thinker, just don’t tell him.  He shudders at the thought (pun intended) of reflecting or journaling.  Sometimes I wonder if accusing him of thinking would be an insult (Did I mention he’s a teacher?).  Just the other day, while leisurely riding bikes and chatting about the last day of school, I had an epiphany.  Our conversation went something like this: 

Tim: The last day of school is always weird.  I couldn’t believe how quickly teachers left right after checking out. 

Me: You mean, like, they turned in their keys and bolted out the front door?  

Tim: Yeah, I don’t know how they just leave their classrooms like that.  

Me: Maybe they’re just super-organized. Hint, hint.

Tim: But I like to go back, sit down, turn up some music, and pack my stuff away.  I guess I pack the memories at the same time.

Me: You mean reflect? A little smile creeps across my face.  I know how he feels about this word.

Tim: No, it’s different.  Just remembering each class, good lessons, bad lessons, laughs we had.  I don’t know, it wraps up the year.  

Me: You were so reflecting!  Did you meditate too?

Tim: Ommmmmm . . . (both of us laughing)

Tim always jokes that the right and left sides of his brain are connected by a little dirt path, and mine, a superhighway.  However, this couldn’t be farther from the truth.  He’s a thinker, a contemplator, and he has an entire committee up there solving the world’s problems.  The idea of reflecting, per se, may be a matter of semantics.  He definitely won’t choose to write his thoughts, and he may not verbalize them either.  But if you look closely, you’ll find them safely embedded in a song on his ipod playlist.  I’m willing to bet that in the moments he spent sifting through papers and signing yearbooks, that little committee was also orchestrating next year’s first day performance.