Life's Toughest Job:

Does a social hierarchy exist in preschoolers? After today, I'm thinking "yes." Annessa was in a funk tonight - mad about a girl at the sitter's who hit her with a toy school bus. "I don't like her. She's not my best friend," she explained.

"Really..." I said, curious to see what she would add.

"She really hurt my feelings. Mama, I will never hit you with my toys."

"Oh, good - and you shouldn't hit anyone else either - you might hurt their feelings too," I said, fully aware of the fact that there have been times when these roles were reversed, and it was my child committing the assault.

Anyway - the conversation went on and on. I realized that this "friendship" (I suppose that's what you call it) was really bothering her. She told me that sometimes she plays by herself and that sometimes she like to play by herself, but sometimes she feels sad when no one wants to play with her.

"Shoot" I thought, trying to search my brain for information on preschool friendships. Searching....Searching......Nada. Damn. Now what?

So, we rocked and rocked and I found myself longing for the "simpler" days when she was tiny. But then I quickly realized that toy assaults will be the least of my worries in 5 years.

I put her to bed (three times I might add...But that's another post), and did what any intelligent, 21st century mom does when they have an issue. I googled it. "What to tell your three year old about friendship problems" - I realize this is probably not the best key word search, but hey - it's been a long day....

I found out that research confirms what I have just now come to realize - the social hierarchy for girls starts at age 3 to 4! "You're not coming to my birthday party" or "Don't play with so-and-so." - stuff like that. There are Mean Girls in preschool for crying out loud! I couldn't help but wonder - is my daughter one of them? It probably depends on the day.

I realize that I can't shelter her from the Mean Girl mud-slinging. I can only teach her ways to cope, teach her to believe in herself, and let her know that she can always find rest at home.

I also realized that I can't stop her from slinging the mud either. But I can teach her compassion and respect.

Man - being a parent is a big job. It is so much more that providing food, shelter and the latest Barbie DVD. We parents are literally creating the next generation of people. Will they be better than we were? Can we help them see the good in people? Will we teach them well? I hope so.

Special Nights

It’s funny how special nights are different for everyone. The term “Special Night” in our house was coined by Rich. A special night is not a night of romance and wine – rather a night quite the opposite. It’s a night when Annessa can sleep in our bed. So every day now, we hear – “Daddy, is tonight a Special Night?” Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.

The funny thing is – every night is becoming a Special Night around 3 am when I hear little bare feet padding along on the now-familiar path from her room to ours. “Mama. Mama. Mama. MAMA.” Her whisper gets louder each time she says my name. “Mama- moooovvvve over.”

So I scoot closer to Rich, the dog moves to the other side of the bed (because he wouldn’t dare sleep next to the unpredictable, ever-moving, sleeping Annessa), and Annessa crawls in with her blankie and her trusty teddy bear Katie.

I used to be a hard-ass about co-sleeping. Never, never, never will I share my bed – in the beginning, it was, what if I roll over on her? Then, as she grew and I realized how much she “roots around” (as my dad would say), and how much I needed my sleep, I renewed my commitment to the “everyone has a bed – you belong in yours” philosophy.

But, now, when I am smack dab in the middle of the two people I love most (and the dog), I realize that I have never slept better in my life.

Body Sprays, Hospitals, and Xeroform

Have you ever noticed that smells fill so much more than our nostrils? Yesterday I was rummaging around in my bathroom drawer and I came across some leftover body spray I used last summer. I sprayed a puff into the air and took a deep breath. After coughing from the fumes, my mind drifted back to the apartment we lived in while our house was being built.

I remembered lazy days at the pool (okay – I wish they were lazy, but I quickly remembered that I was entertaining an-almost-three-year-old, so lazy isn’t exactly the word for it…).

I remembered peaceful nights sipping wine. Wait, no I don’t. We were building a house and living out of boxes in a confined space!

I remembered summer days of no worries. Wait. We were going through fertility treatments. Worry is the only thing we did.

So, I can’t help but wonder – do our minds block out the bad stuff so at first glance (or wiff), we only remember the good? Is this a personality trait some of us are blessed with or is it a subconscious choice we make? Either way, I’m glad I remember the good and the bad comes back only if I let it.

So that brings me to present day. Will the smell of a hospital bring about pictures of Rich tied down in a bed, or will it remind me of the outpouring of love I felt during my lowest time? Will the scent of Xeroform pads remind me of late night dressing changes or Dr. Annessa assisting me? I have a feeling it might be a little of both. And that’s okay.

Serious Cuteness

I just have to publish this picture - her three-year-old preschool picture. She is snoring softly beside me (aside from the whole teeth-grinding-thing) and I can't help but wonder how I got so darn lucky to be this girl's mom?

Joy

Celebrating the New Year with dear friends

Joy. That is my "One Little Word" for the year. Okay, so it's been my O.L.W. for the past year, but hey - if it's not broke don't fix it, right? And besides. We could use a little joy around here anyway.

It's been awhile since I've written (on here - check out Caring Bridge and you will see a play-by-play of the last 3 months). In the book of James, God tells us to have JOY in the time of SUFFERING. Suffering develops character, perseverance and all that jazz. So, that is my motto for the year - Joy in suffering. Joy in the everyday mundane rituals. Joy in going to work. Joy in being home. Joy. After all, life is too short to wait to be joyful. Why should I only have joy on the weekends? Summer? Christmas break? No - nothing is too stressful to steal my joy.

Amen.

Dear School

Dear School,

Tomorrow I give you my daughter. For three years, she has been under my care and now she will enter your halls. Since we will share her for the next 15 years, there are some things I think you should know about her.

She is my angel. My heartbeat. My life. She is grouchy in the morning, but by 8:30, she is a ball of energy. She is talkative and social, but when she gets excited, she wraps her body around my legs and buries her face. From the time she was born she has always been happy. She loves to run and jump, yet she also loves to dress-up like a princess and copy me when I put on my make-up. She knows that Jesus is in her heart, and she will probably tell other kids that Jesus is in their hearts too.

Take care of her. In your walls, she will learn how to read and write; add and subtract. But she will also learn about gossip, about cliques, about winning and losing. Take care or her and I will too. Help me teach her to love learning. Help me teach her to stand up for what is right, even when it might cause her pain. Help me teach her that each day is full of chances to be kind and helpful. Help me teach her how to be herself.

Tomorrow, my daughter will enter your halls full of smiles and confidence. In 15 years, may she leave the way she came.

No Dice

The last time I wrote seems like a life-time ago. So much has happened yet nothing has changed. Our IUI was not successful. Rich and I made a pact that this would be our last fertility treatment for awhile. I think I have subconsciously avoided writing about it because when I see it here in black and white then it is real.

I spent a day being absolutely mad. There is no other word to describe how I felt. The worst part of it was I didn't have anyone to direct my anger at. Myself? The doctors? God? In truth, it is none of our faults. I found out I wasn't pregnant on a Wednesday morning. I pulled a 7th-grade- girl move and texted Rich. Yep - I texted him to let him no that I was not pregnant. Classy, I know. I just couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. And I didn't say those words (or any variation of those words) until around noon. I had to meet with our interior decorator (no - it's really not like that - she's our builder's wife and she is the one who helps pick out all the inside stuff).

Anyway, we were finalizing paint colors that day. In my mind, the third bedroom was always going to be a nursery. After all, we started this fertility journey almost a year before we even moved out of our old house, so it was a safe bet I'd either have a baby or be pregnant by the time we moved in. I had chosen a cheery yellow color (Despite the fact that every baby website says, "If you have a yellow nursery, your baby won't sleep. Whatever.)


"The only thing we need to change is the color of the third bedroom. It can't be yellow. I don't care what color you paint it, just not yellow." I was barely holding it in at this point.

Amy (the decorator/builder's wife who knew about our treatments since I would sometimes have to excuse myself from meetings to give myself a shot) looked at me and said, "Oh honey, I am so sorry."

Now under normal circumstances, her calling me "honey" would be weird, but that day it was just what I needed.

"It didn't work. I'm not pregnant." There I said it out loud. I'm really not pregnant. No more imagining that maybe the bloating I am feeling isn't due to the hormones I am on-it's an early pregnancy symptom. No more counting weeks to guess my due date. No more listing baby names in my head (because writing it down would surely jinx it). No more hoping. Now, we knew.

Thank God for my mom who let me break down on the phone while Rich went for a run that night. He worries so much about me that I couldn't do that to him again.

Then, I got up in the morning, sat on my daughter's bed and realized I have everything I've ever wanted in life.

"Mama, can we go fwimming (the s-blends are are little tough for her...)?"

Life goes on.

"Yep, let's go. Race ya to the pool!"