Secrets

The other day I sat on the bed sorting through a mountain of laundry, Mads jumping crazy, spinning circles around the piles. Finally she collapsed, her cheeks rosy and hair damp with sweat.

“I have a secret,” she told me, out of the blue.
“You do? What is it?” I asked, trying to sound casual, trying not to beg her to spill it, to tell me.
“I can’t tell you… it’s a secret,” she said, drawing the last word out as though I might not know what it means.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

I folded a few more tiny T-shirts, everything pink and spattered with glitter.

“Is it your secret or did somebody else tell it you?” I asked her, not quite ready to let it go.
“It’s mine.”
“Well, if it’s your secret then you can tell me if you want to,” I reasoned. “It’s up to you.”

She fixed her eyes on me for several seconds, trying to decide if I was worthy of it.

“Okay, I can tell you,” she finally announced.

She scooted over next to me, half on my lap as she leaned her head against mine, her mouth against my ear, her arm wrapped around the back of my neck. Even though we were the only ones home she whispered it, her tiny secret, to me in a quiet, hushed voice.

Honestly, I can’t really recall exactly what she said – and of course I wouldn’t tell you anyways. It went on for a while, going off track, up, down and sideways, the way tales usually do when they’re told by a preschooler. But the moment wasn’t lost on me. My little girl, with one tiny foot dipped in the big, wide world, sharing stories that are all her own.

One day I know she’ll have secrets that she won’t want to tell me. But not yet.

June 2, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

Major milestone alert!

Drumroll, please... my baby is officially 1.

Just typing those words, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.

The first birthday marks a giant step toward a place where things start to make some sense again. It means we've made it through that minefield of baby-dom, with its utter exhaustion and endless crying (hers, mostly) and rolling waves of anxiety (mine, entirely).

Wow. If the folks over at Pampers read this they're going to want me to write their next ad campaign: "Your baby. Keep her dry as she crushes your will to live."

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May 10, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

And then the universe laughed in my face

There are some days that end like this: F finally walks through the door, I hand him a baby, give him an update and tell him I'm leaving. Not forever, of course. Just for now. For twenty minutes, or an hour. However long it takes for the ringing in my ears to subside, for sanity to return.

I get in the car, turn up the radio, roll down the window and just drive. No destination, no grand plan, no screaming or chattering from the back seat. Just music and breeze and freedom. Today I ended up at the ocean, as I usually do.

I got out of the car, coffee from the drive-thru Starbucks in hand, and walked down to the beach. The air was still cold, but it carried the scent of spring. Cherry blossoms and freshly cut grass. And perspective slowly returned: A crying baby, a broken vase, a dirty house, a lunch time tantrum ("Fine. I'm never eating anything ever again!") - frustrating as hell, sure, but not worth losing it over.

And then I felt a slight thump on my shoulder. Was it a friend who happened to be out wandering the same stretch of beach? A stranger stopping to chat about the gorgeous day? The hand of God, maybe, reaching out to tell me that everything is going to be okay?

No. It was bird shit. On my shoulder, in my hair, and seeping down my back.

Some days just suck.

(ps - Project Happy is still underway... but it took a time-out today.)

April 18, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

Just another day at the zoo

Mads, as she comes bouncing into the kitchen, laughing, jumping, screaming: "Mom, guess what I'm on right now, but don't tell me, okay?"
Me, in my head: "Crack." Me, out loud: "Okay."
Mads: "Okay... Did you guess a donkey?"
Me: "Yup!"

Close enough.

Happy weekend...

April 10, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

When babies attack

I snuck into my bedroom today, sat in the dark and sent my husband the following text: "Your baby is a spazz."

I know it's not all that maternal a thing to say, but in my own defence it's the truth. Maybe it's teething or some kind of developmental spurt, or maybe a voodoo doctor crept into our house in the middle of the night and cast an 11-month hex on her, but for whatever reason A has morphed into crazy baby and I'm having a hard time adjusting.

For one thing, she yells. All day long, she yells. Not because she has a wet diaper, not because she's hungry. Because she's plain old pissed off, usually at me. She gets into these tiny baby rages because I've dared to, say, close the bathroom door or stop her from attacking the big screen TV or remove the ball of dog hair from her mouth. And it's amazing how loud she yells. If I weren't so concerned about the lasting damage being done to my eardrums I might even be impressed by it.

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April 7, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

The big 5. Oh no.

The past few days have been a hurricane of wrapping paper and party hats and pink frosting. In case you missed it: Mads is 5.

Five! How can that be? She's way too young to be 5. I'm way too young for her to be 5. Forget the midlife crisis, I'm having a kindergarten one.

I'd pull the sheets over my head and ignore it if I could, but of course she won't let me. "Remember I'm a 5-year-old now, Mom?" "I can do it by myself, I'm a 5-year-old." "That was a 5-year-old hug." "The tag on my shirt says 5, and I'm 5 now - it's perfect!"

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April 4, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

I'll never understand any of this

Mads and I have really been at odds lately, for the first time in our little life together. It's put me off-kilter.

We have a funny sort of relationship, the two of us. It's a hard thing to put into words. I very clearly remember the day she turned one month old: We sat together in utter misery together at my parents' house in the early hours of the morning. She was wailing, which wasn't uncommon, and I was settling into a sinkhole of depression. To be more specific, I was thinking about nice it must feel to drown. I looked over at her in her blue bouncy chair and she stopped crying and smiled her first ever smile. Completely out of the blue, right at me. Since then, through whatever else, we've been on the same side.

Until now.

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March 19, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

One Fish, Two Fish, Make It Stop

Happy birthday, Dr. Seuss!

I have a complicated relationship with the good Dr. Most books I just love, and around these parts childhood just would not be complete without him. There are a few, though, that make me want to stick pins in my eyeballs.

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish, for example. I cringe inside when that book gets pulled off the shelf by sticky little fingers at the end of the day.

At our house
we open cans.
We have to open
many cans.
And that is why
we have a Zans.

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March 2, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

Happiness, day... I've lost track

So a couple of weeks ago I sent out an electronic plea for happiness and then suddenly it was answered- in the form of my weekly e-newsletter from Chatelaine magazine ("Making everyday... extraordinary"... I'd settle for just okay, but extraordinary sounds good, too).

Sometimes you just gotta love the old Information Superhighway. (Oh, I can't wait until the girls are older and I can refer to the internet in terrible, outdated terms just to make them cringe. "I don't know, Mads, maybe we should Ask Jeeves.").

Anyways. Chatelaine arrived promising 6 tips to "look younger and feel happier." Hells bells, sign me up.

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February 16, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

When your baby's not a baby anymore

You don't really recognize it, that moment when your baby stops being a baby. It doesn't come with birthdays or milestones, with first steps or first words. It just seems to happen one morning, out of the blue. You sit across from her at the breakfast table, watch her flip her long bangs out of her eyes, hear her chatter on about the dream she's had, and realize that there has been some imperceptible shift and your baby is now a big girl.

And on that morning it's hard not to think about all the days gone by: The nights spent rocking, bouncing, pleading; the days spent crouched together over board books and tea parties. It's hard not to think about the times when she would sit perched on your hip, or fit perfectly on your lap, a cozy little bundle.

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February 13, 2011 | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0) | ↑ Back to Top

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deep thoughts

"One of the most obvious results of having a baby around the house is to turn two good people into complete idiots who probably wouldn't have been much worse than mere imbeciles without it."