Monumental

We are still here. We took a moonlight tour in our nation's capital and explored many monuments and historical sites. But that's not the only reason why this trip is monumental.

Coming here, we were a little cautious. After all, our little girl's first flight has burned a scar in our memory, and she's also really fond of routine. But since we only had three days, we decided to push our toddler, delaying nap and bedtimes by three hours or more (which means an 11pm bedtime for our usual 7pm'er - yes, we're still OMG'ing over here!!!), eating out at every meal, and navigating the crowded museums and mass transit. To our amazement, so far nothing fazes her. She is an absolute trooper. No tantrums or meltdowns. Not even tears. Just smiles. And lots and lots of it.

We knew this would be a fun trip. We even hoped for great. But monumental? I guess, in D.C., that is the only way to go.

Anything but

We are a family of procrastinators. Well, at least My Guy and I are. But seeing as it’s almost 10pm 11pm and we haven’t even started packing for our trip to Washington, D.C. the next day, I’m going to say there’s no escaping for Little Miss either. This gene is strong.

What I’m really trying to say is, I’m going to have to scale back on the usual awesomeness long-windedness of my posts and settle for something quick. So I leave you with…what I had for dinner tonight.

Yes, it’s a cucumber sandwich. Exciting stuff I know. My rule of no cooking the night before a busy day of traveling meant I had to rummage my kitchen for something quick and easy, and this was the best I could come up with. A meal of cucumbers on buttered sourdough bread fresh from the bakery. With just a smidge of Fleur de Sel, one of my favorite kick-it-up-a-notch ingredients, and voila! Dinner is served.

Basic, uncomplicated, scrumptious. And just what I needed the night before a trip. Something really simple. Because, as you may know, traveling with a toddler is anything but.

Especially Even this toddler.

 

 

If you’re a parent, how do you feel about traveling with young children? What is it like for you? If you’re not, what do you first think of when you’re seated near a family with kids on the plane? Do you instinctively look for the emergency exit sign?

Once upon a daddy

We started a new family tradition this summer – Pool n’ Dogs. On weekends, we would spend a couple of hours at a family aquatic center with Little Miss, who loves the water, evident in her unbridled enthusiasm at the sight of the pool. And then we’d feast on hot dogs. Pool n’ Dogs!

This pool is a particular favorite because of its slides and play structure. She goes up the little slide in the toddler pool by herself and squeezes her tiny frame between the big kids distracted by friends or adults. She slips past them like an eel and though it mortifies me, I also secretly admire her audacity. She boldly slides down and emerges at the bottom triumphant, squealing as the initial blast of water hits her face. Two seconds later she’s up and back in line, jostling for a spot. My little fish in a big pond. Occasionally, her eyes would search for us but most of the time, she’s slip-sliding, weaving in and out, splashing, and delighting in her buoyancy. My eyes never leave her.





We then head to our favorite post-swim spot - the old school drive-in for some stellar Chicago hotdogs and fries where they serve us in our car. This place added a whole slew of words that otherwise would not have made it into her vernacular: Fries, ketchup, shake, hot dog. Oh, and napkin too, for the inevitable ketchupy mess. We devour our so-bad-but-so-good dinner before heading home with tired limbs and stuffed bellies.





When I look at Little Miss who is now five shades darker from the sun, finally matching my own skin tone, I see myself in her place, only I was just a little older than she is now. I was an aqua baby too, and many of my most vivid childhood memories were that of the time spent in the water. Growing up in the tropics meant it was always pool weather. But these particular memories occupy a sacred place in my heart because they are the ones of my father. The good ones, which are few and far between.

I remember him teaching me to swim in the kiddie pool, where it was shallow enough that when I dove in that one time, I hit and hurt my head. Not badly. Just something that stuck with me because I knew never to do it again. By the time I was five, I was no different than a fish, except I came up for air and snacks. My dad loved to swim, and he passed on to me the skills he had mastered on his own. I sensed his pride as I swam beside him.

Usually ravenous after a swim, we went to the nearest establishment for quick nourishment in the form of hotdogs from A&W. Fast food was not prevalent in Malaysia then so it was a special treat. Instead of a malted shake, which is Little Miss’ preference, I had a rootbeer (or two) but there were always hotdogs. I cherished those moments with my dad. He was my daddy then. And  I was his little girl. Before other priorities in his life replaced me.

As my mind wanders back to the present, to my own little girl with the hot dog belly and chlorine-scented skin, I realize that this isn’t a new family tradition. It’s an extension of mine from my past. She is living my childhood. I am living hers. This is all very familiar to me - the pool, the heat, the hot dog, the glow in her face, not from the sun, but from basking in the love of her adoring parents. The same way mine illuminated from being with my daddy. The one I wanted to always remember.

Back at the pool, while My Guy stayed close to Little Miss, I took some time to explore on my own. My body glided seamlessly between frolicking bodies and as my head submerged in the water, the noise turned into muffled silence. That was when I began to hear the distant voice of my daddy’s instructions to me in Cantonese and English on achieving aquatic perfection. These were the moments that secured my lifetime love for the water and unearthed the heartache of a little girl who pined for this version of her daddy not just on pool days, but every day.

He hasn’t done much else for me since but I know I owe my dad the confidence with which I treaded water when my feet began to lose the bottom of the pool. As I summoned the skills procured at the age of five, it dawned on me that I was sure of myself in the deep end of the pool long before I was sure of the depth of this memory of my father.

One measured six feet. The other, immeasurable.

This is a Wordful Wednesday post.

What I have learned so far

Yes, that’s my Little Miss in the middle of Target. You think she’s trying to tell me something? I have learned to recognize her cues – she’ll twirl her hair when she’s tired, be very still and quiet when she’s out of sorts – but when I ignore them, she definitely knows how to make me listen. Helping herself to a pillow and blanket on the bedding aisle at Target is one way. Yes, she is adamant. And resourceful.

You know what else she has taught me? In the 21 months and 10 days of being Little Miss’ mom, I have also learned that:
- our schedule with a baby may be more rigid but it doesn’t mean life is over. In fact, a bigger, more exciting journey awaits me and this is just the beginning.

- life is a box of chocolates…that we hide from our toddler or eat when she’s asleep.

- no parents and kids are alike, so unless someone is doing visible harm, I shouldn’t judge other parents based on the differences in our decisions.

- paying attention to how I look does not make me shallow. It makes me feel good about myself. And if it doesn’t affect how I parent, why not? A hot mama is still a mama.

- no one party has it better – stay at home, work full time or in-between – there are pros and cons to every situation. Even if you’re Brangelina.

- no matter how perfect a parent seems or well-behaved a baby is, teething makes everyone its bitch.
- I can be the most confident person in the world and still be unsure about every little decision I make for and about my baby.

- whoever who coined “sleeping like a baby” obviously never had one.

- reveling in a good day is OK, even encouraged, because most assuredly, there will be bad days.

- kids’ clothing sizes run the same mysterious way women’s sizes do. A Toddler Size 24 Months that fits my daughter perfectly in one store can house two of her in another.

- running into a store for five minutes is no longer a quick jaunt, it is a hassle luxury, which is why drive-thrus are god sent (see why on my favorite daddy blog).

- kids can remember more than I give them credit for but yet they still manage to forget their inside voices at restaurants. all. the. time.

- society will sometimes have different ideas for and about my daughter but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with them.

- my kid has given me a whole new definition of messy, surprise, frenzy, desperate, joy and laughter.
- my daughter's discovery of language is quite possibly the most exciting journey I have ever experienced. I think I would say the same even if I’ve been to the moon.

- there are constant surprises, but whether it’s good or bad is sometimes just a matter of perspective.

- there will be a crisis every now and then. How I handle that is not determined by my personality. It’s whether or not I’ve eaten just before that.

- patience with my daughter and myself will be called upon and tested more than any other virtue I possess.

- there will be a love affair with animal crackers one day and World War III with it the next, which means procuring toddler’s favorites in bulk may not be the best idea unless I’m planning on stocking a fallout shelter.

- my mother does know what she’s saying sometimes. But I still need to parent according to my own instincts.

- the differences between girls and boys are magnified not by their genes but by society and what we teach them, which means I have to be mindful with my words and actions if I want my daughter to know that girls can do math and boys are also expected to help out in the kitchen.

- the time I do not have an extra set of clean clothes is when the spectacular poop blowout happens.

- my body can do amazing things, like create a life, so it deserves more respect than I often show.

- teaching by example not only means modeling good behavior; it also means my daughter will just as likely mimic my bad habits (boy have I learned this lesson!).

- it’s definitely harder to be more spontaneous with intimacy during the day. But that’s what nap times are for. Oh, and an episode of Barney if we’re really desperate.

- I was strong before my baby, but it’s uncanny that with her, I feel both powerful and powerless at the same time.

- every commercial and news about kids in unfortunate situations will make me cry and hold on to my girl a little tighter.

- to sleep is perchance to dream but I’m usually so exhausted that I don’t even have the energy for that.

- my partner is not my punching bag. He is an equal parent to my child, and he too deserves a say in how we raise our kid(s).

- there is often joy in the little things; waiting for a special occasion to lift my spirits (vacations, anniversaries, dessert at the end of dinner) only means I’ll be missing out on the biggest thing: my own life.

Well, this is by no means an exhaustive list because at the time you’re reading this, I would’ve learned something else. And since no two experiences are alike, tell me, what have you learned from your parenting journey?

We are one and the same

We went to see one of my new favorite bands, Tokyo Police Club, at a late-night concert last weekend. Before that, we stopped in at a bar on a whim and had a martini each - Belvedere vodka with blue-cheese-stuffed olives. Then we made our way to the concert hall and walked in to the middle of the opening act. As soon as we planted our feet at a spot, we were rapt. They were really good. Don’t you love that? A surprisingly great opening band? At one point, I closed my eyes; my heart reverberated synchronously with the music that filled my ears. It suddenly hit me: this is good. Life is good.

Our daughter’s asleep at home and our dear friend is babysitting for the night. He also happens to be her favorite “uncle” who she absolutely adores. Leaving our daughter with someone like that meant a worry-free night. She would be fine. He would be fine. And I would be fine.

That night, in that music-filled hall, singing along with one of my favorite bands, I recognized that old weightless feeling of being carefree and unencumbered. A night on the town with My Guy and not once did I check my phone for messages or calls. That was WILD.

We have hit a really good groove with this parenting thing. Our daughter’s sleeping well. Her patterns are more predictable, and we’ve been feeling pretty sure of ourselves. It’s a major parenting milestone that affords us much needed peace of mind when we go out, and we’ve been doing a lot more of that lately.

I used to feel guilty leaving Little Miss behind because I was unsure of how she’d react should she awaken to someone other than her parents, or if anything should happen, I wanted to be there. Somehow, I managed to convince myself that the imminent threat of “if anything should happen” was always going to be there and if I were to use that excuse every time, I was never going to leave my baby’s side, and possibly my house. And I couldn’t have that.

Admittedly, I’m a social creature. I enjoy interacting with my peers and just being out there, living. And My Guy’s the same way. I also love our date nights, crying at the movies, stage performances that warrant a standing ovation and feeling breathless but alive at concerts. These were an integral part of my life before my daughter was born. But once she was here, they became dormant as I traveled with unsure footing on my new journey as a parent. 

It was a foggy first few months with a newborn. The long nights. The wild eyes. The tears – hers and mine. I sometimes did what I knew. Sometimes I did what I could. For awhile there, motherhood was all-consuming because I felt as clueless and helpless as the little creature who lay in my arms, constantly needing and wanting and waiting and demanding. But I am surer now. Not 100 percent, because I don’t think I could ever get there, but enough to recognize the me that I had left behind.

And I want her back in my life. Those dancing shoes in the closet don’t just belong to her. They are mine too. I was that singing-bouncing-two-stepping-arm-flailing-fist-pumping girl at the concert hall long before I became a mother. It took me awhile to realize that she is still very much a part of me. The same way motherhood will now forever be entwined with that girl. One does not defy, nor does it define, the other. They – no, we – are one and the same. It is time I honored them both. Because the woman who sings nursery rhymes with her little girl is the same one who bellows this refrain with the rest of the crowd until her voice becomes raspy at the concert:

“...But it's good to be back
Good to be back
Good to be back...”

Yes. Yes, it is.

 

This post is part of Bigger Picture Moments.

 

Music lyrics from the song, Breakneck Speed, by Tokyo Police Club.

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