Tag: small moments

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 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.

Posted on June 15, 2009 in family fun, food and nutrition, go green, small moments

Last Saturday, we hopped in the big bad Subaru and headed out to the “country” for some strawberry pickin’. It started out like this: Daddy lead the way to an untouched patch of ripe, juicy strawberries. Two little feet followed close behind.

Then, we parked ourselves in a section of one aisle (notice the overalls are blue and white). We squatted down and inspected the berries, plucking the bright juicy fruits from their vines and plopping them into our basket. Well, sort of.

Note to self: Ripe strawberries are unwrapped candies to a toddler. Delayed gratification has no place in a field of fresh fruit.

The brim of her hat says, “Life is Good.” I mean, really, does it get any better than this?

Click HERE for a pick-your-own farm near you! Some even follow organic farming methods.

Posted on June 12, 2009 in life lessons, relationships, small moments

Just the other day, I opened the fridge to find an anniversary card curiously propped up against the milk.  The front of the envelope read, “My Girl.”  After eight years, my heart still flutters when I read that, especially now that I have to compete with an irresistibly cute toddler.  

When it comes to celebrating anniversaries, my husband and I don’t buy each other extravagant gifts.  Instead, we do two things: spend quality time together over a delicious meal (that someone else has prepared) and support Hallmark.  

Last Tuesday night we celebrated at an Italian restaurant. We nestled into a corner table and gorged ourselves with antipasto, spinach salad with bacon and mushrooms (and you know how I feel about bacon), homemade pasta with ricotta and bechamel, and chicken parmigiana smothered in cheese.  Italians know how to do it right!  And they always send me home with leftovers. 

The conversation during our date was light and fun, even superficial at times.  But all the while, I felt a deep sense of connectedness.  It’s easy after eight years to say, “Oh, we don’t need to go on a date.  We know that we love each other.  Been there, done that.”  But for me, it matters that we spend this quality time together, even if there are moments where we sit in silence, stuffing our faces.  

A few years ago, someone offered me this simple advice on marriage: “Nurture your love like you would a baby.”  It stuck with me.  Babies need nourishment and attention to survive and thrive.  So do our marriages.  I’m no expert on relationships, but it makes sense to me that we need to “feed” our marriages and take care of them, especially when we feel pulled in so many different directions.    

After eight years, Tim and I laugh about each other’s quirks and finish each other’s sentences. We still fail miserably when it comes to managing household tasks, but at least that means we’re lucky enough to have a roof over our heads.  Our marriage isn’t perfect, but it’s ours.  And I wouldn’t want it any other way.  

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

Every now and then my husband will say, “That smell reminds me of Grandma’s house up in the country.” It’s amazing that sometimes even mothballs elicit a nostalgia. But studies show that smell is strongly linked to memory, and thus to our emotional responses to life experiences.

Have you ever thought about the smell of FUN? Revisit your childhood for a moment. What smells, fragrant or foul, instantly take you back? Ah, those were the days:

• a charcoal grill with a splash of lighter fluid
• fresh-cut grass
• the ashes from fireworks
• a mixture of seaweed and saltwater
• Big League Chew bubble gum
• plastic inflatable inner tubes
• a middle school locker room
• cheap, movie theater popcorn
• a new can of tennis balls
• a homemade ice cream shop

Wouldn’t it be great if we could just bottle up some of these and take a whiff when we get bogged down in the trenches of parenthood? Or better yet, why not head off to the park, the movie theater, or the beach? And oh, don’t forget to stop for ice cream on the way!

Posted on June 5, 2009 in life lessons, mind and body, small moments

Here is how it all started- the story behind “turnitupmom.”