Oh, by the way Mom...

"I don't need you to zipper me up anymore!"

And with those eight seemingly benign words resonating in my head, instantaneous tears of  Maternal pride began streaming down my cheeks.

Then, the following display of proof unfolded right in the middle of my living room:

I did it!

Motherhood is a crazy thing. I've spent five exhausted years silently hoping for the day when I wouldn't have to tie her shoes, zipper her coat, button her pants, brush her teeth for her, cut her food at dinner, etc...

And now that she can proudly display a big, bold check mark next to all of these things (and so many more...), I'd suddenly give anything to have those days back.

I suppose it's just another reminder to savor each and every moment of these amazing & fleeting years, because before I know it she will be telling me, "I passed my driving test Mom! You don't need to drive me to school anymore!" 


So for today, I will smile, cheer for her big accomplishment, and tell her how extraordinarily proud I am of her with a massive display of hugs and relentless smooches on the cheek.

And I am proud of her. Each & every step of the way-- from moments as big as first steps, first words, and first ballet recitals, to the little ones like these.

So incredibly proud.


Zipper away, Aves.

Zipper away!

The implications of 6 inches (get your minds out of the gutter!)

Once upon a time, there was a haircut.
Six inches chopped off, just like that. Six inches of the gorgeous, long, golden brown hair that she'd spent 18 months patiently growing out--

gone in under fifteen minutes. Six inches, instantly swept up off the salon floor and sent into the mysterious graveyard of cut-off hair in a slumping black trashbag in the corner. This because I (naively) allowed my 5-year old to chop off all under the pretense that she "just wanted short hair now, Momma!" Boy, was I ever wrong *sigh!*



It all began Friday when we took a trip to the salon, a Mommy-daughter date of sorts (which is a rarity these days, since her baby brother's birth over a year ago.)  And like a very grown-up girl, she took a seat on the salon chair and politely proclaimed to the hair-dresser:

"I don't just want a trim, I want a lot of hairs cut off! Like, really short, all the way up to here! (pointing to just beneath her ears) Is that okay Momma? I just really want short hair now, okay?"

Not wanting to impose upon my tenacious Preschooler's right to freedom of expression, I agreed to her request, reminding her that it is indeed her hair and that if she would like it short, then short it is. The hairdresser performed the obligatory reminders- "Just so you know, you won't be able to put it into a pony-tail for a while. Or a long braid. Or pigtails - Is that ok?" 

Not the least bit intimidated by these scare tactics, Ava responded, "That's ok, it will grow back one day. I would please like it short!"

A little taken aback by such an unwavering response from a five-year old, the hairdresser smiled to herself, picked up the scissors, and agreed, "Ok then, Miss Ava- short it is!"

Twenty minutes later....

 (plus a little fancy-pants action with the blow dryer and some tres expensive, goopy hair "product,")  it was over. And my little girl had a whole new look.

An absolutely adorable, big girl look:

A look that left her feeling confident, pleased, and glowing all over. The rest of the afternoon (which, incidentally, we spent at the mall in true Mommy-daughter-date style,) I kept catching her secretly peering at herself in reflections and mirrors, smiling big & wide and commenting on just how much she loved her new 'do.  She was obviously very happy and there was even a notable new bounce in her step. I was thrilled that something as simple as hair had truly made her day!

The rest of the afternoon at the mall unfolded more or less predictably, with numerous pleas to "pretty pretty please??" buy her a new stuffed animal, toy, or pair of shoes. (sidenote, excellent timing that Mr. Claus himself was already perched at the mall for the season, because aforementioned pleas were met with a "Not today, but we can certainly stop by and let Santa know that it is on your list" from me.) She did ultimately find a super boring navy blue jumper (similar to the private school dress-code jumpers)  that, beyond my comprehension,  she just had to have.  And since it was already reduced and we had a coupon, we bought it. (never too young to learn smart shopping habits!)

One thing I did, however, find a bit strange during our shopping spree, was her burning desire to find a hat.

"Honey, you already have two new winter hats, we don't need any more." I told her firmly.

"But Momm-mmmma," she implored, "not a winter hat. A...different kind. Like, maybe, a pretty yellow-ish, light brown-ish hat, with a red ribbon tied around it? Can we look?"


I supposed there was no harm in humoring her with a search for such a bizarre unique request, so we ventured for an hour and forty-five minutes around the mall, in and out of every single hat/accessory store. At the end of the day, our search ended fruitlessly and my exhausted, sad little girl begged me to "please order one online later on?"


I told her that we'd ask Santa.

She yawned, and agreed.

-----FAST-FORWARD TWO DAYS-----

All day yesterday I noticed that she was speaking to her stuffed animals, her dolls, and even to her father & me, in a British accent (!?!) To boot, she spent most of the weekend referring to her baby brother as "Lord Covington."

When I finally confronted about this, she responded in said accent "Oh, no worries Mu-tha. I'm just dreadfully silly and thought it funny to speak like this! Now will you please bring me some tea, Ms. Clavel?"


And that's when it hit me.


Oh.
my.
goodness.


Similar to the last 4 minutes of The Usual Suspects, the events of the past 72 hours began to flash before my eyes.

The impulsive hair cut.

The navy blue jumper.

The quest for the hat.

The British accent....

and now, calling me Miss Clavel!?!


At  that exact moment, it became abundantly clear that my sweet little preschooler was actually trying to transform herself into the newest little idol in her life:

That's right, folks. Ava Lee was trying to become... Madeline.


I immediately asked her if the reason she chopped her hair off was to look like Madeline.

"But of cou-hhse, Mutha!" she responded

"And that's why you wanted the hat too? And that's why you've been talking in this silly voice?!"


She giggled. "Well, or COU-HHSE it is, dah-ling! Didn't you know that?"


Nope, sure didn't. I had no idea! 

I was completely, utterly duped...by my very own five year old.


 Clearly, hindsight is 20/20 and it all made perfect sense in retrospect. We had picked up the original Madeline DVD from the $5.00 section at Target two weeks prior, and she'd probably watched it ten times since. It quickly became her new favorite movie, and obviously Ms. Madeline herself quickly became a beacon of coolness and fashion in Ava's eyes.

In conclusion, I think it is adorable, and simultaneously impressive, that my little girl was secretly able to devise such an elaborate plan in her mind, (and almost pull it off too!) If nothing else, it is certainly a noteworthy entry for the baby book and a story she'll be able to tell her own daughter one day, and laugh about.

And lesson learned on this end, next time she expresses a sudden urgency to "trim" six whole inches from hair on a random Friday afternoon, perhaps I should investigate the underlying reasons.  :-)

Kids are colorblind

Tonight as I tucked Ava into bed, I asked her what the best part of her day was.

She looked up at the ceiling, giggling. "It was definitely at school, when *Andrew was doing his show and tell about Buzz Lightyear and he got up and started doing a funny dance, saying 'To infinity...and beyond!' That was definitely the best part of my day, Momma! Andrew is so silly!"

Now, although Ava started at a new school just a few weeks ago, it certainly didn't take me long to put faces to the names of the other eight children in her small Pre-K classroom.  In fact, I'm sure I could name all of them with 99.9% accuracy if they lined up in a row. Ava, however, doesn't know this little fact. And so, with my own knowledge that "Andrew" is the only African-American child in her classroom, I decided to conduct a little pseudo-experiment on children & race, right there in bed.

"Hmmm, I don't think I remember who Andrew is-- can you remind me?"

"Sure Momma...ummm, he is the one with....the dinosaur shirt. Remember?"

"No honey, I don't. Tell me more about him?"

"Well...he always brings fruit roll-ups for lunch! And he likes to do the art station. Oh, and he has brown eyes, just like me!"

"What else?"

"Well...I don't know if it is nice to say this about Andrew..."

(I assume this is the part where she will awkwardly say something about his skin being a different color than her own..)

"It's okay honey, what do you want to tell me?"

"Well Momma...he sometimes has boogies in his nose!"

I smile and give her a big hug. "Ohhh, now I remember. He's the one who eats fruit roll-ups, and sometimes has boogies in his nose. So that's Andrew!"

"Yeah, Momma! Exactly!" she smiles, proud that she has conveyed to me which classmate she is referring to.

I give her a major squeeze until she tells me that my hug is squishing her, and a final smooch on the forehead.

"Night, Momma!" she says to me, snuggling up under her covers and closing her eyes.


I leave her bedroom and close the door. And immediately think to myself, if the rest of the world just start perceiving other human beings with the same innocence, acceptance, & color-blind lenses as my 5-year old, what a beautiful world it would start to become.

"A whole hand, Momma!"

When you experience that miraculous moment of bringing life into this world, time stands still. It might sound silly, or cliche, or scientifically impossible to those of you who haven't lived through it yet, but believe me when I say it. Time stands still.


"One twenty-two pm," you are told by the nurse across the room, is when she officially made her big debut into this world.   Another nurse happily calls out that she is "eight pounds, two ounces and twenty-one inches long!"  and remarks that she is "nice and pink!" You hear her first cry-- which sounds more like a little mouse squeak than anything else-- and tears of joy, and pride, and emotion fill your eyes and immediately begin flowing down your cheeks.  You ask the doctors and nurses if  she is ok. If she is perfect. And you squeeze your husband's hand realllllllly tight in that seeming eternity until they answer you.



And when this beautiful, brand-new person-- the one bearing the uncanny resemblance to your own newborn photographs-- is finally wrapped up all cozy & warm and handed to you with a "She's perfect and healthy, congratulations!" from the doctor, you breathe your first sigh of relief.

You did it.

You created life, and she is perfect.

In this blissful instant, when time is still frozen, and life is pure and perfect, you no longer hold a memory of the 37 hours of labor, or the 4 painstaking hours of  pushing, or the blur of the emergency C-section that it took to get her here. Your sore, stitched up belly is the least of your concerns. You just stare down into her big, beautiful, inquisitive gray-blue eyes, and you introduce yourself to her:

"Hi baby, I'm you're Momma. And I've waited a long time for you!"

You smother her forehead with kisses, and watch her tiny body rise and fall atop your chest as she sleeps there, hiccup-ing occasionally. Life, in this frozen moment, is heaven. And you enjoy and absorb every single, miraculous bit of it.

Sadly, the inevitable soon occurs; and like the world's fastest freight train, life starts to move ahead, full-throttle. The clock resumes ticking, but this time, in fast-forward, at 250 miles an hour.  You are baffled by this-- why so much faster than anything you ever remember before it? You beg it to slow down. To wait. To spoil you once again with the luxury of timeless moments and everything standing still. But it can't.

That first quiet memory in the hospital, of that teeny pink baby laying on your chest, is way-too-soon replaced with new ones: babbling. snuggling.



first smiles.



sitting.



crawling. coo-ing. rolling. giggling. standing.



walking...RUNNING!!! clapping. skipping. chasing butterflies on summer afternoons. first swim-lessons. first hair-cuts.



loving. hugging.



laughing.



afternoons on sandy Maine beaches.



potty-training. trike-riding. singing.



first playdates. first ballet classes.



time-outs. boo-boos. favorite stories.bedtime snuggles.apple-picking.



birthday parties.



sleepovers. holidays. goofy living room performances.




first-day-of-schools.



tears.



giggles. recitals.



 dress-up. cookie-baking. movie nights. becoming a big sister.



....and so, so much more.

And before you know it, this amazing little girl has painted your life with so many colorful memories that you can't even fathom that time existed before her.
This (not-so-tiny anymore) little person-- the one whole gray-blue eyes once gazed eagerly into yours--



has somehow, in the half-blink of an eye, become a little girl.

And today, a FIVE year old one at that:

Or, in her own terms, "A whole hand old, Momma!" (This is what she proudly announced to you this morning- her birthday morning-  when you woke her up with the ceremonious exhibition of balloons & singing at six AM.) She held out her hand-- her WHOLE hand, with all five fingers proudly outstretched from her palm, and pointed with her other index finger: "See Momma? One, two, three, four...FIVE. A whole hand old today, woo-hoo!!!  Can we have cinnamon buns now?"

And so my baby girl, my first-born, turned five.years.old today. (And if I do say so myself, she's as awesome as five-year-olds come these days.) And no, I'm not just saying this because I'm her Momma, or because I've raised her, or for any other completely biased reasoning.

I say it because, truth be told, as she enters her fifth year of life-- it's evident that she's a pretty remarkable kiddo, & I am completely amazed at how far she's come in five short years.

For example, she now expresses her emotions tremendously well and can easily voice when she is feeling "frustrated" or "sad" or "jealous." She has an unbelievable imagination and is able to tell "spooooo--oooooky stories" to try and scare us around Halloween. (sidenote, said stories almost always involve Randall from Monsters Inc., and a werewolf with "sharp, yellow thangs.") She maintains her own little relationships with friends, and teachers, and cousins and aunts and Nanas and neighbors. She is a social butterfly and makes friends everywhere she goes. She asks to call her Daddy at work when she misses him, and has (just about) memorized his office phone number. She knows her address, her phone number, and that she is "forty-six inches tall." She is able to write her full name, and Mommy and Daddy and Gavin...and most of her numbers (except 5 which is a "tricky one, Momma.") She knows exactly how to place her feet for first position...(and second, third, fourth, and fifth!) and her shuffle ball-changes are getting better by the day. She shines onstage and dances everywhere she goes, be it the grocery store or school or  the dentist. (speaking of the dentist-- she lost her two bottom teeth this year, and even had her first official tooth fairy visit, which was pretty exciting!) She's known her alphabet for 3 years now and is on to bigger and better things, like words and sounds and reading and math. She is inquisitive about everything these days: "Daddy, why do the leaves change colors like that in the fall?", and "Momma, what's underneath my belly button?" She just adores animals and is kind to all of them. She has an affinity for gardening & even planted her own little garden this spring, watering it and caring for the flowers without prompting from us. She loves her baby brother to pieces, and instead of becoming annoyed with him for constantly toddling into her bedroom, she seizes this opportunity to dress him in princess jewels and crowns and pink headbands, giggling ferociously at the (hilarious) end result. But ultimately she is kind & gentle & loving to him, and that's all we ever could have asked for. She would do art all day long if she could, with particular interest in painting. She is a definite girly-girl and enjoys all things pink, purple, sparkly, glittery, and/or involving fairies-- all this while kicking serious butt on the soccer field each week, and having a tendency to out-score (and out-run) all of the boys on her team with ease. She loves the Tinkerbell movies and sometimes pretends that she is Wendy from Peter Pan, right down to the British accent (which, I might add, she has nailed pretty perfectly.) She loves singing and performing, and has recently begun voice lessons-- already, she can't wait for her 'big singing show on stage!" (unlike her Momma, she is fearless and uninhibited when it comes to performing, and I am so proud of her for this.) She brushes her own teeth (with inspection of course), her own hair (except for the tangles,) and makes her bed every morning-- lumpy and crooked, but made  :-)  She would eat "PB and jam" for breakfast, lunch & dinner if we'd let her and has recently begun to question why we make her eat the "dark" bread with her sandwiches, because she "really, really likes the white bread in the polka-dot package better" that she apparently had at a playdate once. (and when we respond to her that the dark bread is healthier, she crosses her arms, wrinkles her brow, and says "dark bread stinks!") She holds her own in arguments and will probably make a great attorney in the not-so-distant future. (Notable argument of the past year, "Momma, you say that I'm still your little girl, however if I eat all my vegetables, I will grow up soon. So, if you want me to stay your little girl, I think I should probably not eat the vegetables anymore, okay?") After just a year of training wheels, she's already asking about taking them off (yikes!) and wanting to ride "like the big kids." She sneaks sprays of my perfume while I'm getting dressed in the morning and enjoys click-clacking around the hardwood floors of our house in my fancy heels.

She is five, going on fifteen.

And I suppose that is what is so scary as a Momma. Looking back at her first five years of life, and knowing how fast the rest is going to blur by, too.  Knowing that I will soon be writing about her eighth birthday, and then her thirteenth, and sweet sixteenth, and so on.

And again, I beg life to slow down. To stay here for just a bit longer, at this (safe, secure, comfortable) place where her biggest complaint in life is our lack of Wonderbread, and where the high-heels she wears around the house are from my closet and not hers. Here, where she thinks her brother's farts are the most hilarious things ever, and where Santa and Tinkerbell and the Tooth fairy really do exist. Here, where although she no longer fits cradled in my arms, she is still a baby in the sense that she needs her "Gocks"  with her when she is scared, or nervous, or sick, or lonely. Here, in this awesome place, where she still requires bedtime stories and help with her tubbies and isn't too embarrassed to be caught watching Sesame Street with her baby brother. Here, where if I withhold her veggies, maybe she'll stay little forever...

But as previously discussed, life will not slow down again. Time will never again freeze for us like it did on September 28th, 2005 at 1:22pm.

No, time will not slow down.


But I can.


I can, and I promise to. I promise to do everything I can to savor, and enjoy, and treasure, and truly appreciate all of these amazing little moments & milestones that continue to make up the beautiful mosaic of her life. Of my little girl, my amazing Ava.



And one day all too soon, all I can hope is that when I step back to see the finished product, she is as beautiful  and remarkable a person then, as she is today.

Happy 5th birthday sweet baby girl. Love you billions and billions!

XoXo
Momma

Front steps, sunsets, & life's big questions

Aves & I sat on the front steps tonight after Gav was in bed, admiring the gorgeous sunset. You know, one of those "Crayola's got nothin' on this" sunsets, where the ambers melted into pinks which melted into golden hues, water-colored across the entire visible horizon.
Pure amazingness.

"Momma, I know what's up there. It's heaven, right?"


"Yes, heaven is up there."

"Right above those pretty clouds...right Momma?"

"Exactly."

"Momma, who's in Heaven?"

"Well, God. That is God's home. He lives there."

"And Michael Jackson, right?"

 "Yep, Michael Jackson is up there too."

"Hmmm. Well is it just them? Just God & Michael Jackson in that whole wide big Heaven?"


"Well, no honey, there are lots and lots of other people up there too."

"Like who?"


"Well, lots of people who have died...like people who were very old, or people who became sick and had to go to Heaven. Those sorts of people."  

"And how long does it take God once they get there?"

"How long does it take God to do what honey?"

"To fix them. The sick people. How long does it take him to fix them and send them back to here?"

I decide, in this moment, two things:
1). That four-and-a-half is a bit young to be informed of the harsh reality (and finality) that is death,
and
2). This night is much too beautiful to end in tears.

And so, I wrap her up in my lap and simply tell her, "It takes him a little while baby. It takes him a little while."


She smiles up at me from my lap..."Momma?"

"Yes baby?"

"I'm really glad that God has Michael Jackson up there to help him fix people...that's a really big job."

My petit chef

Dear Aves,

If there ever were a doubt in your mind about how ridiculously much your Momma loves you, allow me to share this little anecdote.

This afternoon, your eyes lit up the way they do when an exciting idea pops into that little head of yours.

"Momma!" you gasped, "Since Gav is taking is nap now, can I bake some brownies for you & Daddy?!"

Of course I happily accommodated your excited request and retrieved the brownie mix & all necessary ingredients & tools for you.

As you tied your little pink polka-dot apron around your neck, you plainly told me,

"By the way Momma, I am four and a half now so I don't need ANY help with cracking eggs, okay?"

{you are very lucky that Daddy happened to be no the phone with me at this exact moment and went to bat for you with his very convincing argument of 'Just let her crack the eggs by herself, she's really good at it now!'   And so, I apprehensively agreed.}

And you certainly did crack those 2 necessary eggs, all by yourself, right into the bowl of brownie mix. And I watched, horrified wide-eyed, as at least 1/2 of each of the shells crumbled and slid into the bowls along with the eggs.   

Yum.

At this point, I decided to gracefully bow out of this brownie-making experience and  allow you the freedom to finish the task all by yourself...something I'd never done before.

You were so incredibly proud as I just sat & watched, allowing you to do every single part of the work on your own, and cheering you on every step of the way.  You added about 8 times as much water as was necessary, and 2/3 a cup of oil when the recipe only called for 1/4 cup. You mixed all of the batter up "really good," with no help from me.  (however, please note that a few minutes later when I helped you transfer the batter into the pan, at least 1/2 of the batter was still white, powdery, and unmixed.) You even  greased the pan by yourself-- spraying the cooking spray into one square inch of the pan and leaving the rest of the pan un-greased & naked.

I helped you pop the tray in the oven, and you set the timer. And fifty-two minutes later, when the timer buzzed, you handed me the oven mitts so that I could safely take them out. You weren't too thrilled to hear that we had to wait until after dinner to try them, but eventually you agreed.

Needless to say, after dinner tonight you were bursting at the seams to reveal and serve your brownies to Daddy and I. Your smile was huge and you were oozing with pride.

In the spirit of not crushing your culinary dreams, we each "excitedly" took a brownie square and took a bite. (crunch). And another bite. And another. (crunch, crunch, crunch-- OW!) Until we had devoured your delectable brownie creations, crunnnnnchy eggshells and all.

In conclusion, here I sit 4 hours later, STILL finding crunchy remnants of egg shell in my molars and uncooked brownie powder in my teeth. My stomach feels a little bit funky and I may be dying a slow salmonella death.

But on the upside, you successfully baked your first pan of brownies all by yourself,  and the look on your face as you watched Daddy & I excitedly devour them and tell you how fantastic they tasted, was worth every crunchy, painful, bacteria-filled bite   :-)

A whole month?? Yikes!

Well hello, blog stalkers friends. Do any of you even remember me?? First and foremost, please accept my apologies for my inexcusable 4-week hiatus from the blog world. To say that life has been "crazy" or "chaotic" or "busy" or "hectic" would all be massive understatements. To the point that trying to recount all of it artistically, in coherent paragraphs, might prove impossible.
And so, without further ado, may I present to you:

"Completely random list of events (both major and minor) that have transpired since my last entry, in no particular order."

• Had major flooding in our basement. Stripped all carpeting, bleached all floors, purchased all new Pergo flooring, laid it ourselves....only to have basement (and all of this BRAND NEW flooring) flood. Again. Spent 6 hours ripping up aforementioned brand new flooring while crying/bitching/moaning/self-loathing the entire time. Wine helped with this sad process immensely. Thank God for Jackie's help into the wee hours of the night that horrible evening. Her quick wit, plus the help of about 40 towels, 3 fans, and a Sharpie ended up saving the day. Had to let all of the pieces dry for a few weeks in a dry, warm basement.  (we just laid the floor down again last week...so far, so good.) On a positive note, this has forced a major revamping of our playroom which, once is finally finished, is going to be pretty kick-a$$.
• Threw a beautiful bridal shower for mi hermanita Meredith, who will be married in less than 2 weeks!! Lots of older, unknown mystery Spanish relatives came, which was oodles of fun, especially considering the "inappropriate lingerie" theme of the day.  Highlights of the brunch would have to include: 1). Meri sheepishly looking up at the tables of Cubanas y Espanolas to try and identify "Rosita," whose satin, crotchless leopard panties she'd just unwrapped, and 2). Jen's box-o-fun ("fun" = "inappropriate toys from one particularly Amazing store") that Meri shamefully opened in front of said Cubanas.  Of course, I wrote an obligatory speech which caught me off-guard when it invoked tears, but it was heartfelt and sentimental, and I am so glad that I had the opportunity to share it with her. The day was beautiful, my sister was beautiful, and it really was such a special time for all of us.
  
• My baby boy hit so many HUGE milestones this past month: Melted my heart on Monday, 4/5/10 when, per usual, we heard him on the monitor waking up in his typical fashion: "A-Da-da-da-da-da..." Followed by silence for a few seconds...and a very obvious, very deliberate, perfect little noise from his mouth: "Ma-ma." I ran into his room faster than I ever thought my legs were capable of moving, and saw him standing there, grasping onto the crib railing, beaming ear to ear. He looked into my eyes, reached for me, and said it again: "Ma-ma!" Suddenly in that moment, every single sleepless night, breastfeeding infection, dark circle under my eyes, smell of spit-up on my shirt, and incident of being peed on were all worth it  :-)  In addition to this, he now knows so many words: Balloon, story, book, kitty, Dada, Mama, Sissy/Ava, ball, and doggy, to name a few.  Clearly he isn't saying them yet, but when I ask him "Where's ___?" about any of them, he points to them/looks at them/crawls to retrieve them instantly.  About 2 weeks ago, he also began WAVING!!!  He will immediately wave back at a person who waves to him (with no prompting!), and/or will wave to someone when we say the words "Gav, wave" or "Bye-bye."  I've started teaching him the word "kisses" this past week-- which, in his mind, means a sloppy, open-mouthed attack on his prey...but it is adorable, and clearly he gets it...so I am excited about that.  Baby genius? I'd say so  :-)  In other news, he is about 2 seconds away from walking.  Seriously.  He pulls up on everything-- couches, chairs, the refrigerator, book shelves, people's legs. He watches his big sissy run/walk all day long and you can just tell he is itching to join her.  He amazed us today, when he actually stood up ALONE for about 15 seconds outside on the grass!!! He has this amazing, proud look of accomplishment on his adorable face, as if to say "Look guys! Look! I'm doing it!!" He soon became wobbly, farted, fell on his tushy, and immediately began smiling and clapping for himself. (oh, that's right! clapping! another big milestone!) Of course we all joined in this celebratory clapping and smothered him in kisses, hugs, and more claps. It was a pretty cool moment, and made us realize just how soon our little man will be walking! He has also sprouted another 2 teeth in the past 3 weeks. So if you're keeping tabs, that's 4 teeth now-- two top, two bottom. Little buddy's ready for filet, if you ask me!  Another huge milestone for Gav was his Christening last weekend...which was a really nice day with all of our family and friends.  He did fantastic, smiled the whole time, and fell asleep right after the ceremony.  Truly, this child is one of the happiest babies I've ever known. How lucky am I to be his Momma?? If you answered "ridiculously lucky," then you'd be right  :-)
• With the help of my sister, I found my biological father. (<---Wow...it's been a few weeks now, and still it amazes me that I can type that sentence out.)  Here it is again, just in case you missed it: I FOUND MY FATHER. 29 years of wondering, of imagining, of dreaming about what he looked like...what type of person he was...his interests, his eye color, his favorite food...all culminating in one brazen, impersonal Facebook email to a man who "might" have been him...who inevitably turned out to be him. The chances of that happening-- especially considering how common a name he has-- were slim to none, so you can imagine my shock and excitement when it turned out that we'd struck gold; we had found the right guy. Amazing.  ('I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck...') I won't go into details here, in order to respect the privacy and new nature of all off this...but things seem to be evolving remarkably well, and consequently I am on my way to feeling fulfilled, and full-circle, with this part of my life  :-)
• Learned that I have another sibling in this world...wow. Again, still so raw and emotional and fresh to even be able to write that.  But as a big believer in first impressions, I can say wholeheartedly that this person seems wonderful, compassionate, warm, friendly, and--most importantly-- open to the idea of getting to know a sister who she never knew existed, 29 years too late.  I am so incredibly grateful for this opportunity, and am eager to catch up on almost 3 decades of 'stuff' with her.  And although I'm still in the very beginning phases of getting to know this person, I already feel such a wonderful connection.  (Dragonfly necklaces and Kate Spade china? Unbelievable.)  Genetics, you never cease to amaze me  :-)
• Experienced a 'Sonic' burger and fries for the first time ever. (one just opened up about 3 miles from our house, so we figured we'd give it a go.)  Let me cut to the chase: So not impressed. It took Jeff an HOUR to order our food in the drive-through(?!?)  "Fast food?" I think not! Furthermore, the sandwiches were made sloppily, the tater tots were cold, and these "legendary" slushies? Well, let's just say...not so legendary. In a nutshell: Won't be going back.
  
• Heard what sounded like a woman being axed to death in the woods behind our house, and frantically called 911.  The police arrived here in under 5 minutes and began taking a full report. The screeching noise occurred again while the officer was here. He immediately closed his little scribble pad and informed us that this noise was actually a Fisher Cat, and not our lovely Asian neighbor having a deadly domestic dispute in the woods. Oops. Live and learn, right??
• Ava has also had a pretty chock-full month: She participated in her second annual Spring dance recital and did fantastic.  She tapped to "Tutti-Frutti" and did an adorable "Spoonful of Sugar" ballet routine.  She earned a new American Girl doll for doing so great, and of course requested a post-recital celebratory dinner at-yup, you guessed it- Friendly's  ;-)  In other Ava news, she was asked by her piano teacher to perform a SOLO during their next class!!! This was clearly an uber-proud Momma moment for me, and my eyes welled up with tears as she told me the news. Her song choice is "Hot Cross Buns" and she'll be performing (and singing!) it on May 2nd.Way to go, Aves!
  
• Speaking of the Avanator, I experienced perhaps one of the best Avaisms to date. Allow me to set the scene: Jeff had just gotten back from rock-climbing, (one of his newly rekindled passions.) Aves hadn't been feeling good that day, and was still up at 10pm when he arrived home. He sat down next to her, gave her a big hug, and then told her the following news to try and make her feel better: "Honey, guess what?" "What, Dadda?" she asked. "Well, I asked the people at the rock gym how old you have to be to climb...and they said you just have to be five!! So that means, you can do it with me soon!" A cautiously happy, but simultaneously puzzled  look came over her face in that moment. "But Dadda...you're, like, WAY bigger than five. How come they let YOU do it??"   I freaking love four-year olds.

Okay, well that's a quick re-cap of my past month. Hopefully after reading some of this, you'll understand and forgive me for the lack of entries. It's been a pretty remarkable, life-changing month in a lot of respects, and I've just needed some time to digest it all...that's all.   But I'm back, and fully intend on charging full-speed ahead back into the wonderful world of blogging...




Just bear with me while I try and balance it all  :-)

Reason # 4,972 that she will hate me in her teenage years:

 

 

It's a good thing that she gets her adorable looks & girlish charm from me...because clearly she has inherited these bizarre sorts of behaviors from her Daddy :-)

Little Miss Independent...

So we were out to dinner tonight. And per usual, within 10 minutes of being seated and the whole lets-order-our-drinks-and-enjoy some-complimentary-bread part of the evening, Aves looks at me with those big hazel eyes, raised eyebrows and all, and points to her "nether" regions, proclaiming:
"Momma, I gotta go potty. BAD."
And so off we venture like 2 intrepid explorers, hoping to find the 'throom before it is "too late." (Side note, does anyone else with children realize that bathrooms are always located in the darkest, scariest, most non-obvious corners of restaurants when your child is doing the pee-pee dance and you need to find one immediately?)
Anyhoo, we finally stumble upon it, and as we enter, she peruses the aisle-o-stalls and quickly spots the stall which looks the most promising for her bladder-emptying experience.
"This one looks the cleanest, Momma," she states, pointing. (p.s. Looking for the cleanest, non-peed on toilet seat? That's my GIRL!)
As I go to follow into the stall behind her per our usual tradition, I sense a hesitation, and she stops dead in her tracks;
"Ummm, actually Mom?" she says, "I was thinking that since I'm four and a half now I am ready to go potty alone. You can wait out there, okay?"
Here I am, in the bathroom of Not Your Average Joe's, completely floored by the fact that my "little" girl - my baby- is expressing to me that she no longer requires my assistance with the potty.
I am hesitant at first, then sad immediately. As she closes the stall door behind her and locks it, I stammer
"Ok honey, go for it. What a big girl you are!" while choking back tears and trying desperately not to let her hear the quiver in my voice.
(I am brought back exactly 2 years ago, almost to the day. March of 2008. She was two and a half. "No more diapees," she plainly stated to us that morning in her high chair. "Big girl undies now." And that was that. Never an accident, never a wet bed. Instantly, she had made up her mind and just as instantly she was potty-trained.  No bribery, no charts, no stickers-- just a trip to Target and her choice of Dora or Tinkerbell undies in a size 2 Toddler. Seems like yesterday...)


As soon as I hear the click of the stall door lock, my sadness turns to panic-  
But how will she climb onto the potty ALONE? Without me lifting her?! And ewwwww! She's going to have to touch the yucky public POTTY to hold on now! And-- how in God's name will she reach the toilet paper roll from her perch atop the porcelain throne?! SHE'S ONLY FOUR! And...oh my goodness....will she remember to wipe front to back?? I usually wipe her!!! I'm not ready for this.....

But alas, my thoughts are interrupted by the familiar whooooshing sound of the industrial-strength toilet flush, and I peer through the crack in the door to see her working very hard to pull her leggings up from around her feet.


"Want Momma to help you with your pants?" I ask innocently.


She turns to see me peering in the stall door crack.

"Noooooooooo Mom! And stop looking at me in here, I would like privacy please!"

And with that, I wander over to the sink area to wait, almost in disbelief that (we) have both survived her first solo potty experience. Thirty seconds later, she emerges from the stall with her leggings successfully (and crookedly) pulled up, and the most prideful, victorious, beaming smile across her face that I've ever seen.


"See Momma?" she states as she retrieves her own soap to wash her hands, turns on the faucet herself, washes thoroughly, and even waves her hand in front of the automatic paper towel dispenser for a paper towel.  "I'm a big girlie now! I can do everything all by myself!"

I am so proud. So happy. So sad. So incredibly overwhelmed-- so many things all at once. But then again, I suppose these are the moments that I am to remind myself, this is what it's all about.  This is, in essence, is the whole point of parenthood. Preparing our children to survive without us. To wipe a bum alone in a sketchy public restroom unassisted. To pull their own pants up, crooked or not. To order their own "chicken fingers and green beans kids meal with a chocolate milk, please?" without the prompting or assistance of a Mom or Dad.


I guess I should hold on tight to these little moments now.  Because inevitably (and way too quickly for my liking,) she will soon be asking for much bigger scarier things:  A training wheel-less bike. Rollerblades. To sleep over a friend's house. A ride to the school dance. A cell phone. Car keys. And eventually, alone time with a cute 15-year old boy in the family room.

Yikes.

And so in conclusion, I suppose that the wiping of her bum alone, and the flushing of a toilet all by herself in a public restroom stall, are relatively benign milestones in the big scheme of things to come. So as long as she promises me that she'll slow down with the rest of this 'growing up' business...then flush away, Aves.

Flush away.

Murphy's (new-shoes) Law:

Buy your daughter a brand-spakin' new pair of (fifty dollar) sneakers for spring... (Hey, you'll pay anything as a parent to get your child the "only footwear engineered & specifically patented to address the podiatric needs of a child's rapidly growing feet")

Figures A & B:

...and she will, upon the first day of wearing them, stumble upon the only piece of stray gum in her school parking lot and step DIRECTLY ON IT.

Figures C & D:

It's a good thing my daughter is as cute as she is... Oh, and it also helps tremendously that these are from Stride Rite's new, 100% machine-washable line. Crisis averted- Whew!

My baby is an EEL!!! (And I cried about it)

Ok, let me explain. Long story short, swim lessons at the YMCA are divided into classes named after sea creatures: Shrimp, starfish, rays, dolphins, eels- you get the point.
Well Jeff & I both thought it incredibly important to start our kiddos young-- as in, the youngest possible age allowed to do swim lessons-- which happened to be 6 months old. We never wanted them to be fearful of the water and wanted them to have the skills early on to be able to swim if an emergency situation warranted it.

That said, Ava began swim lessons in March of 2006, just a week shy of 6 months old (look how teeny-tiny she was!)

 

 

From day 1, she has loved swimming. Even as an infant, I recall the instructor telling us "Wow, most babies at this age won't lay so still  & calm on their backs like that with their ears submerged underwater, because they don't like the feeling. She is doing awesome!"
And from that day on, she was a natural.  The summer before she turned three, she was (more or less) swimming comfortably by herself up at the lake in Maine. Jumping off the dock, fearless, completely submerging herself and then swimming to shore. It was music to my eyes to see that the 2.5 years of swim lessons at the Y had finally paid off!

And so we've continued to keep up with the swim lessons through the years, and this morning was the last day of this winter session.  At the end of class, her teacher handed her a highly coveted graduation slip-- that she had successfully graduated from Pike, to EEL!!! This is a tremendous step.  In order to graduate to this level, a child must be able to swim two pool-lengths without a bubble!!! (bubble = the YMCA version of a floatie thingy that they wear around their waist, in case you were curious), do a pencil dive & touch the bottom, jump off the diving board platform unassisted and swim to the side, and swim/float on her back.  During the final minutes of class, we watched as she passed (and surpassed) all of the above with flying colors.  She unhooked her bubble from her waist, tossing it to the side of the pool deck, and plummeted into the pool fearlessly.  And then, smiling at me from the water, said

"Momma look at me! I'm doing it, I'm doing it!!! I can be an EEL now!!!"

As I sat there on the pool-deck bench, tears of maternal pride streaming down my cheeks while I watched my newly coined Eel swimming freely in the water below, I glanced down at her bubble laying limp at my feet.  I thought about the first time I wrapped it around her little tiny waist (she couldn't have been more than 18 months old at the time.)  I thought about how, over the years, we have slowly removed one styrofoam layer of the bubble at a time (in order to lessen the amount of buoyancy that it offered)...and watched her flourish aquatically.  And now here it was, a useless prop strewn on the floor at my feet, while my "baby" swam confidently in the deep end of the Olympic-sized pool without it.


Ahhh well....Just another one of life's little (big!) milestones that reminds me how quickly this journey of Mommyhood is flying by... And to fully immerse myself in every proud, memorable, remarkable second of it.  :-)

Oh, and p.s. I think someone else may be following in big sissy's footsteps- Gav started swim lessons for the first time this week and LOVED them, too! :-)