From the category archives:

adventures in momland

Houston, We Have a Writer.

by Amber on February 27, 2012

About a week ago, Tori’s teacher told me that they’d started working with her on her writing. I was surprised, but when I saw her awkward scrawl tracing the letters of her name, I couldn’t help but beam with pride.

Tori traces her name for the first time.

Not exactly calligraphy, but definitely a start.

However, I assumed it would be months before she was ready to write on her own. Months.

So when she picked up her crayons and started drawing on her easel, I didn’t pay much attention when she said, “Mommy, I’m writing my name!”

In fact, I think I said something like, “that’s nice, dear,” before returning my focus to the serious reading I was doing (about witches and vampires in Washington D.C.).

But when I heard her frantic scribbling grow quiet, I looked up (mostly to make sure she wasn’t drawing on the wall or something).

There she stood, her two-year-old forehead wrinkled in concentration, slowly drawing out the letters of her name.

“T….oooooo….rrrrrr….iiii,” she murmured to herself as she worked.

“Look, mommy, Tori!”

And it was. I could actually make out the letters. Still, I thought it must be a fluke.

“I see that. Great job! Can you do it again?” I was sure that she couldn’t.

But she turned back to her easel and promptly began again.

The T looked like a capital T. The O looked like an o. The r was a little shaky, but still an r. And the i was unmistakable, complete with the finishing dot.

Sure, she wrote it vertically, not horizontally, but there it was. Her name. In print.

“Wow. You can write your name! Great job, honey,” I said, frankly astounded.

My next instinct, of course, was to grab the camera (that’s what we mom bloggers do, yes?). But before I could get my phone unlocked and ready to shoot, she was already scrawling over her masterpiece with a glittery crayon, and topping it off with a dinosaur sticker.

My proof of her budding literary genius disappeared.

But I know what I saw. My kid wrote her name.

She still wears diapers, but she can write her name.

I think Keanu Reeves summed it up best back in the day of Bill and Ted:

Exactly.

{ 3 comments }

Patience.

by Amber on January 24, 2012

During one of our first visits home, when Tori was a baby, my mom smiled at me and said, “I’ll bet you never knew you had this much patience, huh?”

At the time I looked at her and smiled, feeling proud that I had in fact matured enough to earn such praise from my mom. Because praise it was—I’m not known for my patience. Or at least I hadn’t been.

And sometimes? I think I actually have learned to be patient. I can let Tori’s shenanigans roll off my back. Stay calm in the face of a drama-filled temper tantrum. Show her how to put on a sock again and again and again.

But then there are all those other times. Times like tonight.

I’m tired. God awful tired. I’ve been up almost all night, two nights in a row.

And Tori? She’s kind of sick. Sick enough to stay home today, forcing Brian and I to juggle work schedules and re-schedule meetings—tagging each other in the childcare hand off midday. Sick as she is though, she didn’t take a nap.

So she’s tired too. And overly emotional because of it.

But as tired as she is (or was, I guess, since she’s finally asleep), the minute we finished reading her third book—her third, impossibly long book—and turned out the light, she got her second wind. Just as she always does.

A second wind that has her leaping around the room, singing and twirling and laughing like a wild woman.

It’s funny for about, oh two minutes.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t end in two minutes. It goes on for as long as I’ll let it. And now that I can’t just make her get her in her crib, my only alternative is to close the door (effectively locking her in), and refusing to come back until she says she’s ready for bed.

But it doesn’t end there either. Nope, she just continues where she left over as soon as I re-enter the room.

Tonight I had to put myself in time out.

It was either that or literally scream at her.

Where was that supposed patience of mine? She was just being a kid. Just having fun.

I sat there in the hall, letting her cry, until I could be calm again. Then I went back in, and my now red-faced child crawled meekly into bed.

Then she pulled me close and said, “I love you, mommy. You’re the best mommy in the whole world.”

Oh, the guilt. The fucking guilt.

Wanting to cry, I just kissed her and said, “I love you too, baby. You’re the best little girl in the whole world.”

What else could I do?

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to find that patience that made my mom so proud again.

I hope so.

 

 

{ 8 comments }

The End of an Era.

January 18, 2012
Tori in her big girl bed.

Until recently, Tori was happy to sleep in her crib. And we were more than happy to let her stay there. After all, a child sleeping in a crib tends to stay in her crib. She can’t get up and wander around in the middle night, sticking fingers in light sockets and waffles in DVD [...]

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Pinpricks.

December 12, 2011

After a rushed morning (the kind that always follows a night with too little sleep), we arrive at daycare. Mind already ensconced in my yellow chair at work, I pull Tori out of the car and listen with half an ear to her chatter as we get her purple polka dotted coat (suddenly looking too [...]

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Wasted Time.

October 26, 2011

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, the Woman I Was stumbles in the door after a long day at work. Ignoring the meowing cats, she plops herself down on the couch for a well-deserved nap. She’s been asleep for a half hour when her husband calls, wondering what she wants [...]

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Testing, Testing, 1,2,3.

October 23, 2011

Tori has a look. A defiant sideways glance that says, without words, “Look, mom, I’m about to do something just to piss you off.” A look that then changes into a stare/glare that says, “See? I’m totally misbehaving. What are you going to do about it, b***h?” That leaves me with only three options. I [...]

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