What a Bad Guy Really Is

Connor and I are watching the end of the Jungle Book before he goes to bed. Shere Khan is on screen slinking through the jungle. “That tiger is a bad guy “, I whisper to Connor. A few minutes later, Connor replies, his eyes glued to the tiger on screen, “Mommy, does he not share?”

 

Dear Connor - 3 Years, 5 Months

Dear Connor,

I’m late in writing your entry this month because we’ve had a lot going on. You wouldn’t think that writing a blog entry has any bearing at all in the realm of parenting guilt, but a Mother’s guilt runs almost as deep as her love. You’ve been pretty grumpy the last month, a fault of mine because I’ve been tending to other things, like working and recovering from each and every virus that you bring to me from preschool.
You’ve decided that you don’t want to go to school, each time arguing with me that you won’t put your shoes on and that you won’t eat your breakfast because you do not under any circumstances want to go to school. I make you go anyway, because we all have to do things in life that we don’t want to do and the sooner you learn that the easier your life will be. There’s something that I want you to know and it’s this… life isn’t fair. In fact, it’s far from fair but facing it head on and making the best of it makes things a whole lot easier.
Part of the reason that you are so grumpy is because you’ve decided that you absolutely will not nap and although the books all say you should have grown out of naps a year ago, you are a kid that still needs mid-day sleep. I’ve succumbed to allowing you to hang in your room for quiet time, which usually isn’t as quiet as it should be, but gives you us some much needed time to rest. Today I went in to check on you, because your brother’s marathon screaming fit involving his refusal to nap was surely making you a little restless and found you laying on your back next to your bed on the floor. You were wearing 7 shirts and two pair of pants and lay with your arms thrown up over your head, sound asleep. At first my heart stopped because you so hate the nap that I thought some tragedy had befallen you, but then you snorted and started snoring softly and I knew it was safe to move you to the bed. I think probably because you had on 7 shirts that it made moving a little more awkward, thus proving my theory that if you’d just freaking be still, you’d pass out and get some rest. I know that you don’t want to miss any of the excitement that happens when you are in your room for quiet time, thus your constant insistence that you have quiet time downstairs, but personally if I had the choice between watching someone mop the kitchen floor and reorganize the pantry or napping, well I’d take the nap every time. Of course, given the choice between a whole lot of things and a nap, I’d probably take the nap, but that’s just me.
You’ll notice that there aren’t any pictures in this entry, but like your brother’s entry there are things that we will never see in a picture.
A picture will never be able to remind me how soft your baby skin or how you can still fit neatly in my lap when you curl up with your head on my shoulder. It won’t remind me of the little boy smell that you are starting to develop. When I walk into your room, it smells like you... a combination of baby lotion, baby skin and old socks. I’ll never hear from a picture how you say softly to me, “I love you, Mommy” and while that’s something that I could record and listen to over and over again, the recording wouldn’t capture the look in your eyes. The one that says you really mean it. That I am of the suns that you revolve around and that you don’t love me less because I haven’t showered in two days or worn make up in five.
A camera could never capture the wide fascination your eyes hold when you see something exciting and new for the first time. How you look at me with amazement and without speaking say, “Are YOU seeing this too Mommy?” And I am, but only because I’m looking through you. Thank you for making sure I remember that everything is amazing, even when it’s something as simple as a bar of glycerin soap with a plastic goldfish embedded inside. My love for you runs deep.
Love,
Mommy

Dear Tristan - 18 Months

Dear Tristan,

There would be pictures of you in this entry, except you climbed up onto the desk, got the digital camera and took it into the kitchen where a few slams against the ceramic tile rendered it useless. But there are things that we can’t see from pictures.
A camera would never be able to capture the way you give kisses, coming in at full speed, pecking with your mouth at whatever is closest saying, “MUH!” each time. It wouldn’t capture that you can’t just give one kiss. Once you are in full motion there are several kisses all in a row. If you decide to climb down from my lap, you are giving kisses the whole way, gracing my wrist, knee and foot as you go.
A camera could never fully show how your baby hair glows golden when the sun streams through the windows of the living room and you sit quietly on the sofa watching Blue’s Clues. You have no idea how beautiful you are.
No one would ever see from a picture, how you run like there is a string pulling you forward by your belly, your arms flapping, a smile on your face, because it feels so good to move. I’ll never see from a picture how when someone else is holding you, you point to me and say, “MaMa!” in a definitive tone, like you are so proud of me.
A picture would never capture your vigorous knee-hugs. The ones where you come barreling across the kitchen throwing yourself onto my legs and if I’m not prepared for you, almost knocking me down. You are little, but getting hit in the back of the knees with 26lbs of hurling toddler is enough to make anyone wobble. Especially one, who is focused with intense concentration, on the pantry trying to determine what can be made for dinner that involves a can of Cream of Mushroom Soup, raisins and bottom of a bag of tortilla chips.
In the mornings you wake up precisely at 7:15. I pick you up, blankie and all and take you back to our bed, curling up around and pretending that you might actually go back to sleep if you see me close my eyes. You try to go back to sleep, because you know that’s what’s intended, but you got your Dad’s wake up gene instead of mine and once you are up, there’s no going back to sleep. I’ll crack one eye, because I have that unmistakable feeling that I’m being watched and find you gazing adoringly at me. It’s usually then that you decide to start unleashing kisses on my face, or exploring my nostrils with your index finger. What? Mommy doesn’t like that? How about the ear? No? Maybe the nostril again.
And that’s how I fully come awake each morning.
On rare occasions you do fall back asleep, snuggling into me with your sweet baby snore. These are the days that your brother wakes up ten minutes later yelling, “MOMMY! I NEED TO GO POTTY! RIGHT NOW!” Because why should he bother getting out of bed when he has a personal chauffer to carry him? I get up and take him to the potty and then pull him into bed with us. Sometimes you and he snuggle up together, tangled in a mess of blankets and the four hundred pillows we keep on the bed. It’s on these days that we lay there like a pile of puppies and I hope that warmth stays with me through the rest of my winters.

I love you,

MaMa!

Just Another Day in Paradise

I’d be posting some really funny pictures. Like the one of Connor today with 11 shirts on at once. He had so much bulk that he couldn’t take any of the shirts off without assistance. I’m not sure how he managed to get them all on. Or lovely pictures, like Tristan today, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight, while he explored the backyard. But last week Tristan got our camera and banged it into the ceramic tile. He managed to give it a few good whacks before I could get to him and now… it’s broken.
This is the point where usually, I would be like, DAMMIT! Now I HAVE to buy a Digital SLR! But since we are still recovering from the past year and I feel like we HAVE to have some sort of something to take pictures of the kids with, or before we know it we’ll have a year with no footage at all. So I guess, although it pains me, we might have to suck it up and have our camera repaired, which bums me out, because it’s a piece of crap anyway and definitely isn’t worth the $200.00 that it will take to fix it. And well, just buying a new one, isn’t much of an option.