I wish I could capture it all

My dearest Little Miss,

You discovered rainbow chard when it arrived in our produce box this evening, and when you saw that it came in your favorite color, pink, you decided that that’s what you wanted for dinner. So enamored you were with the pink veggie that you wanted to help cook it. And so you did by rinsing the chard. But you wanted to do more.

“Is there anything else you want me to help with?”

You have no idea how happy that made me. Cooking a meal together, you fawning over leafy greens, and going back for seconds! But this isn’t new. Your ability to eat anything and everything is just one of the reasons I’m so crazy about you. I’m just glad to finally have someone in the house who snacks on Wasabi peas and olives the way I do. (You’ve just edged past your daddy in my book of cool, but don’t tell him I said that.)

Pasta with rainbow chard, spicy chicken sausage, navy beans and cremini mushrooms

Another reason (among many) why I adore you? Ever since your sister arrived, I was worried about jealousy, but you’ve proven that it’s completely unfounded. In fact, you’re an amazing big sister, who, for a three-year-old, takes your big-sisterly duties seriously as you sing to her to quell her fussiness and make silly faces to make her laugh.

You’re also great at hairball intervention, making sure nothing gets inside Thumper’s magnet of a mouth as she explores on all fours. Watching her watching you with doe eyes, I just know that as long as she has you, she’ll be okay.

Sometimes I wish I had an instant recorder that I can activate by blinking my eyes because perhaps then others could also see just how funny you can be. It’s mostly inflection or context, which I can’t replicate, like your out-of-the-blue, matter-of-fact statement, “If a polar bear walks into my room, I’d be a little surprised.”

Or when you said “Daddy’s just choking!” when you meant joking. We were roaring, but I guess you just had to be there. Well, technically you were. But you won’t remember.

There’s just so much I wish I could capture, for your sake too, yet my hands aren’t quick enough for the camera. My fingers can’t type fast enough. And sadly, my mind not supple enough to commit every detail to memory. You make me laugh so many times a day - the things you say both amuse and amaze - but right now? This moment? I got nothin. Not a damn thing.

And that’s the biggest issue I have with this whole growing up thing. That pace. You are funnier and wiser and more articulate and responsible, yet I can barely keep up. They feel like sand in my grasp. The stronger I try to hold on, the more they spill to the sides and the faster they escape my palm.

Maybe these are just the usual antics of a three-year-old. Maybe I don’t have to remember every detail. But they’re all new to me, and I’m greedy. I want to remember them all.

Like this little gem:

After putting Thumper down for the night, I found you playing quietly by yourself as your daddy, who pulled an all-nighter because of work the previous evening, slept on the couch.

“Shhh...” you whispered. ”Daddy’s asleep; he’s really tired. I’m playing quietly so I won’t disturb him.”

He later admitted he didn’t even realize he fell asleep, yet there you were, instinctively looking out for him like he was one of your many dolls you like to mommy. Just like the way you sometimes look out for your sister. Or the way you look out for me too.

Sometimes I get so caught up with the whole “Thumper is my last baby thing” that I tend to forget that you are my first baby. The one who first caught my breath.

And you know what? I believe you still have it.

Always and forever,
Your Mommy.

 

This is a Wordful Wednesday Post hosted by Angie over at Seven Clown Circus and Amanda at Parenting by Dummies.

The easiest and hardest decision to make

My dearest Thumper,

At 9.5 months, you hit a new milestone today. You drank milk from a sippy cup all by yourself for the first time! I’m not even sure if it’s a milestone, but you know how we are about celebrations. We tend to overdo things around here. Like the not-one-but-four extravagant meals your daddy and I had this past weekend to celebrate our seven-year anniversary! (You were present for three of them.) I think it’s just an excuse to overindulge – which we did, quite a bit – and not feel guilty. But I suppose seven years is pretty cool…

But I digress. Sippy cup. Milestone. Yes! Having just started army crawling about two weeks ago, you’re about a month or six weeks behind your sister when she was your age, but don’t fret. She was at daycare since her fourth month. You started at eight. She spent the earlier part of her life honing her motor skills because she had to.

At daycare, it was easier for caregivers to get the babies independent at an earlier age, and so she was. I was so proud that Little Miss could hold her own bottle at four months(!) – a tiny consolation for not being the one to hold that bottle. Or rather, to be the one to breastfeed her myself. Refined motor skills were second prize to what I really wanted, which was to be there, doing the things I could and wanted to for her.

But now I get a second chance. A once-in-my-lifetime opportunity to stay home with my baby and witness firsthand the milestones I missed while I was away at work the first time around. You see, when my freelance contract ends at the end of the month, I will no longer be working full time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do after this freelance gig and instead of looking for a replacement full-time position, I’ve been entertaining the idea of a new career trajectory that allows me to work from home. Part time. Because then I am able to dedicate more of myself to my girls.

It’s exciting, but it’s also really scary. For once, I will not have the safety net of a weekly paycheck. Your dad just quit his job two months ago to pursue his dream, and while it’s going really well, I don’t know if it’s enough to carry us all through while I sorted things out on my end.

More worries. More uncertainties.

But today, when it was just you and me together, I got to see you place your knees on the ground and your bottom in the air as you pushed up with your hands from the army-crawl position. You were this close to crawling for real, and I watched it all happen! And when I introduced the sippy cup, I saw the glint in your eye when you figured out how to tip it up to get the milk to your mouth. How could I not want to be here?

Being near you is intoxicating. Not only because you’re a good, easy baby, but because you’re my baby-baby. My last! If I miss this opportunity to relish your babyhood, I will miss it forever. That’s scarier than the unknown that awaits me after this month.

For once in my life, there is a possibility of making this happen - to be at home with you while pursuing a career I love. I won’t lie; not having a stable income will be a colossal adjustment, but we’ve weathered through worse.

We can do this. We have to.

In the car last week, your daddy and I had this conversation. Well, I did most of the talking but he listened, which was important too.

Me: “It’s great that we can afford them nice things but you know what I remember most about my mom when I was growing up? The meals she and I made together - well, she did all the prep and allowed me to chef. Because of that, I made my first meal on my own at 11!

“I love food; I love cooking. And it would be wonderful to share that with our girls. Except I’m always looking for the easiest and fastest meals to make now so we can quickly eat and be done with it because we’re always scrambling or exhausted after work. And on weekends we’re constantly off doing something. There’s barely any time for us to spend in the kitchen, cooking together as a family. And I hate that.

“The things I remember fondly from my childhood is so much a part of me. Then I realize that I don’t just want to give our girls nice things. I want them to remember us because of the things we did together. I want us to leave them a legacy. My cooking. Your nerd things. [cough cough Star Trek cough cough]”

Your daddy (a.k.a. the most amazing man I know): “You’re right. We should.”

And we are.

Making plans. Crunching numbers. Trying to make it all work.

So that when the proud, I-did-it smile happens:


I can be there for it.

I hope by the time you’re old enough to read this, Thumper, you can look back and see the evidence of this decision. And that you and your sister will have plenty of memories of making homemade pizzas, fighting over who can cook a better curry, and (*sigh*) even quoting lines by Captain James T. Kirk.

Always,
Your mommy.

THE GREATEST TOOL EVER!

I’ve been blogging for over two years now, and while I’d like to say that my girls keep me going in this space, I have to secretly admit that it has a lot to do with Picnik.com. It’s an online photo-editing tool that has been this blog’s best friend for the past year and a half because it actually makes my mediocre pictures look a little more polished. Or fun. Or kooky. Or whatever. It can do just about anything. And it’s wonderfully easy to use.

For me, it’s THE GREATEST TOOL EVER! You know why? Because with it, I will never have to use Photoshop and thank God! That’s the opposite of Picnik. Unlike Photo ”gazillion-menu-options” shop, Picnik is so user-friendly that my cat could make its own LOLcat picture.

But this isn’t a product review. It’s in fact more a eulogy, so to speak, because on April 19, 2012, THE GREATEST TOOL EVER! will be no more. Gone. Kaput. Forever. Google bought it shortly after I started using it, and I (naively) thought, cool! It’s going to be even more fantastic. Well…that didn’t happen.

What happened was Google decided to use most of the Picnik magic for Google+ users so it transferred some of the functionality there, but it’s nowhere near as impressive as what it is now. Or fun. Gone is Picnik’s quirky personality and welcoming interface. It now feels like pure utility. I know Google is about minimalist interfaces but come on already – don’t be the place that fun goes to die (ahem Google+ cough cough).

This Goo-gal, the one who used to be Google this and Google that, is not happy. Yes, italics and underlined – that’s how unhappy I am! I used to think that Google could do no wrong.  Until Buzz happened. Then Wave. And as far as I’m concerned, even Plus. But the worst offense is definitely the demise of Picnik.

OK, I’m done bitching lamenting. Deep breaths.

Now I’m going to take advantage of the last days of THE GREATEST TOOL EVER! and go to town with some of the features I’ve never even played with before. My subjects? My guinea pigs girls of course!

 

Who’s this little minx? A three-year-old’s not supposed to be posing like this!

 
That’s more like it.

 
At Thumper’s sixth-month checkup, her pediatrician was concerned that she wasn’t eating so she recommended a therapist to help her swallow her solids. We thought it was a little extreme and decided to wait. A month and a half later, she ate everything in sight. That’s her “Hah!” face (directed at the doctor).

And that’s her stuffing-my-face face.
Mmm…persimmon…

  
This is what happens after the kids go to bed. 
A few of these later, everything starts to look like that doesn’t it?

See? How cool is Picnik? *Sob sob*

Goodbye Picnik. You will be missed.

As for you, Google, for robbing me of THE GREATEST TOOL EVER!, take this:

p.s. As I’m bitching lamenting here, My Guy sends me an IM with a possible new tool I could use even though I never asked him to. God, I love that man!

* * *

Bloggers, Romans and countrymen, do you have any recommendations on what I can use to replace THE GREATEST TOOL EVER!? (No pressure) Remember, it also has to be easy enough for my attention-hungry, fame-seeking cat to use.

This is a Wordful Wednesday Post hosted by Angie over at Seven Clown Circus and Amanda at Parenting by Dummies.

My body is magnificent

Last week, Little Miss made a comment that froze me on my tracks: “My friend Lara said she won’t eat the donuts because it will make her fat.”

Lara is four. My daughter, three. Does it really begin this early?

I wasn’t prepared for this conversation. Because it’s not just about laughing at her remark, calling it silly, tousling her hair and sending her along her merry way. This is only the beginning of a lifetime’s work on body image and the emotions that it conjures. If we, as her parents, do our job well, it would be love and acceptance.

But at the other end of the spectrum is that these innocent statements may someday carry the weight of shame and loathing. And I just can’t bear the thought of my daughter mired in thoughts that make her feel any less than what she truly is. No, not perfect. But perfectly flawed. Like the rest of us.

I know, you’re thinking, sheesh, overreact much? It’s only a donut, for cryin’ out loud, and she’s only three. And maybe I am overreacting. But there’s history behind my fear. My own battle with an eating disorder. It has definitely made me a little sensitive to my daughters’ future in a society that upholds the Hollywood standard of beauty.

My story is pretty typical. It started in college. As a Malaysian student who was new to the American soil and as a lover of food, exploring the new culture through its food became my favorite past time. Cramming mid-terms and writing papers meant late nights, which also became a two-a.m. Domino pizza party between my roommate and me. And there were many nights like that. Foreign to American candy, I, of course, tried everything in the vending machine –Twix? What’s that? Mmm…Twiiiiix…

So, 20 pounds later, I went back home to Malaysia for the summer and naturally, my weight became everyone’s target. Back home, we don’t mince words. Greetings often sound like this: “Hi! Good to see you. Wow, you’ve put on weight!” I wish I was exaggerating but that is, word for word, what most people say to one another, and did say to me. After two months of constant reminders of my weight and without the proper mindset, tools and education, an eating disorder was born.

For three years, I hid that shameful part of me in the dark. On the surface I seemed happy, but I was mostly miserable. That double life was eating my insides (pun intended). It wasn’t until I met the right people who influenced me to exercise and eat right, and what it meant to be healthy that I slowly emerged out of my broken shell. I wanted desperately to be whole again, and I worked hard at it. Eventually, I got the upper hand.

However, even though the act of binging and purging disappeared, that internal struggle didn’t. For years I would continue to be hard on myself about diet and exercise. I had an unhealthy relationship with food – I looked at cupcakes with contempt and agonized over my daily caloric intake. I would also measure my worth by the size of my clothes.

But then one day, it all ended. Something magical happened.

I gave birth.

That was the day that I triumphed – the demons that plagued me all those years were vaporized by this tiny being that wailed her way onto my chest and into my life. There lay this sticky, slimy, thing. This human person against my bare skin, and I thought, I created life.

Slowly, day after day, as I nursed my newborn and healed from delivery, new powerful thoughts subverted old, debilitating ones.

I made this beautiful little creature. This girl in my arms came out of my body.

I would stand in front of the mirror, and look at my belly, not flat but deflated, still saggy and protruding from the pregnancy.

This body.

And I was overwhelmed by a rush of respect and gratitude. For this body. That made this baby.

Holy shit, this body just made a life. A life!!!

It was the breakthrough I needed to break me out of the cycle of years of self-flagellation and shame. My changed attitude also transformed my relationship with food and self-image; Ironically, when I stopped struggling with my weight was when it stopped being a problem. But it didn’t happen overnight. It took 16 years.

16 years.

Think of how many hours, days, or even weeks I had lost in that time engaging in self-destructive behavior and thoughts of self-loathing. And now, when I spy myself in the mirror, I am proud of what I see. Every flaw, every fold, every dimple, every curve. Not perfect. But perfectly me.

My body is magnificent.

Not because it is thin or Hollywood worthy. But because it is strong, it is capable, and it is healthy.
So perhaps now you understand my apprehension in my daughter’s innocent statement. It took years to undo the poison of one summer. What happens when they’re fed this rubbish at age three? I know I cannot protect my daughters from society or even from their own thoughts, but it’s so important to me to build a solid foundation for them so they know what it means to look and be healthy and that their worth is not measured in pounds and inches.

And that’s why I was at a loss at her comment. Because I just wasn’t ready yet. I felt like I needed to arm myself with the right words, so that I could say the right things and steer her towards a healthier attitude towards her own body. But now I realize I was wrong.

It’s not what I say; it’s what I do.

Eat a cupcake. Not five.
Indulge in French fries. Sometimes.
Walk. Dance. Move my feet.
Get popcorn at the movies. Order the small.
Choose whole wheat.
Cook with my kids. Do yoga with them. 
Love my fruits. And veggies.
Bake some cookies.
Dance some more. Love myself.
And maybe, just maybe, she will grow to learn that her body is magnificent too.

* * *

What are you hoping to change for your kids from your own experience? What is your biggest challenge in raising a daughter? What would you have said to my daughter’s comment?

Sappy family

Warning: This is a sappy Valentine’s Day post.

I know, you’re thinking, wait – what? Isn’t this a little late for a Valentine’s post? Yes, I’m aware of that. Sadly, my virtual self is still trying to catch up to my real life self, so please bear with me. I’m about a week behind, which means next week’s post will be about President’s Day. You can hardly wait, I know.

Anyway, we decided to ditch the lovers’ theme for Valentine’s day and focus on the family or, rather, the girls, instead.  After all, they’re the product of this “love” that we’re supposed to be celebrating, so why not include them? Besides, we’re not the Valentine type. Every year, while others cozied up to play footsies at candlelit restaurants, we were getting our cheap thrills at the Chicago Auto Show, picking our pipedream cars and salivating over fancy fenders. Who says romance is dead? We hold hands when we’re there!

This year we brought the girls and made it a family affair. As much as it hurts me to sound this cheesy in public, it’s our celebration of love. And honestly, it was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.

Because we made this about our daughters, it felt like a real holiday to me. We made cards, I surprised my chocoholic three-year-old with homemade chocolate fondue and My bacon-loving Guy with bacon-wrapped dates, put on heart-themed outfits (the girls, not us), stuffed our faces with more candy than even Willie Wonka can handle, and we even got presents. And thus a new tradition was born.

I’m sure this isn’t new in many households but it is in ours. That’s what being a family is all about isn’t it? Creating new traditions and breathing new life to celebrations from our past. Finding and giving meaning to our lives in ways that resonate with us. Why not? Isn’t life what we make of it?

Here’s that life in pictures (and some words):

On Valentine’s, I came home to an empty house while My Guy picked the girls up from preschool and daycare, and I walked in to cards, presents and surprise treats that My Guy strategically arranged right by the entrance for his girls. (Of all the sweet treats I had that day, he’s the sweetest – I know, I know, cough, cough, barf)

Auto Show: Is that romance I smell in the air? Oh no. It’s the new-car smell. Same difference, I guess.

Bacon and dates, match-made in heaven. Just like us. Ahem. (I warned you about the cheese. Oh, there’s that too. Stuffed inside the dates).

 

Little Miss Goofball in her heart-themed outfit, enjoying her heart-themed treats and heart-themed gifts. Can anyone OD on too many hearts? Although as a little girl, her threshold’s pretty high.

Our little cupid. Gratuitous baby shot. Because I can.

* * *


What new traditions have you created with your family?
What new twists have you introduced to the celebrations from your past?