Walking blind

My nightstand is home to many things: books, hair ties, clips, binkies, and lately a sleep mask. I bought it when pregnant with Isabel and just recently rediscovered it while trying to nap. Because? Summer sunlight and heat made hiding under a pillow impossible.

The other day Abigail found it.

You bet she put it on.

And, naturally, took a walk.

I started saying "Abby! Abby stop!" But she just giggled. And completely ignored me.

And then? There was a loud thwack of her head against the door frame and the thud as she sat down hard. She was splayed out on the floor for a full 5 seconds completely bewildered before she started howling. I scooped her up and hugged her until the crying tapered off. Then we talked about how maybe? Walking with a blindfold on? Not such a good idea.

You might think that would make an impact on her?

Nope.

The sleep mask? Too much fun, apparently. She put it on again and took off in great big strides. I was barely able to grab it off her head before she slammed into the foot board of our bed.

Of course.

The mask? Now? In it's new home: on top of the TALL dresser.

A tub full of wishes

A tub, some water, a bottle of body wash. Normal enough parts - but add two small girls and you'll get a horse of a completely different color. Most nights Abigail begs to go "splash-splash-splash" with Izzy and most nights I agree, because after a hot day nothing feels better than a cool bath before bed.

Watching the girls interact in the tub brings a smile to my face every time. Isabel splashes with a reckless abandon unaware that she is terrifying her sister who has a near apoplectic fit every time water larger than a dew drop nears her face. Abigail manages to bear it with aplomb and even gets in the act and splashes back - much to Isabel's delight. They chase each other around the tub one squishy tushy wiggling in inch deep water around and beside the other. They overflow with giggles and tiny-person voices and generally act as though nothing in the world could top the joy of the moment.

Except mine: This is why I have two daughters. A tub full of mirth is what I wished for without knowing the name of it. Two little girls who already love each other, already chase each other across rooms and beg to sleep next to each other is it's own kind of unequaled perfection. Two is better than one, but two girls? So much better than I imagined. Ever. Even if I tried really hard. (Which I did.)

Backwater Mama:Amam Retawkcab

Here is a view: a woman elbow deep in her small garden, kneeling in shorts that have a milk stain or two on them already and hair that hasn't seen a shower since yesterday. A toddler bent and focused on the green beans being picked, her feet tucked into sandals that need a good scrubbing and are on the wrong feet to boot; her hair is in desperate need of a brush. Behind them both a baby sits in a highchair in the middle of the yard, naked but for her diaper, cooing and babbling away at her family.

But who was viewing me so? A book salesman came peddling his wares today, catching me off guard and unprepared for company of any sort - even the transient kind. I felt incredibly backwater as I held my toddler tight to my side as I explained we'd already bought those books and were full up for the time being. Half way through the youngest began to fuss, irritated at being forgotten, I picked her up switching one child for the other on my hip. Once in my arms I discovered that not only was she naked but her face was covered with remnants from her much earlier banana snack. That was the icing on the cake: I was ready for the salesman to leave so I could run back into the house to shower and clothe the youngest and generally un-hillbilly myself.

But after some thought I began to consider: Do we not always see the worst of ourselves in our own reflection? Aren't there two sides to a mirror and if so, what other way might I have been perceived today?

Another view: A woman is elbow deep in her small plot of garden, her daughters close at hand. She is teaching a valuable lesson: reap what you sow, be resourceful. If her clothes aren't perfect it is because small hands have used her as a napkin or blanket depending on the need. If her hair isn't done it is because something more pressing has pulled at her attention: there is always one more book to read, one more game to play. Her daughter's shoes are on the wrong feet because she is an independent, do-it-myself kind of 3 year old. If her youngest is naked but for her diaper it is only to allow her to stay cool, to be more comfortable than anyone else is allowed to be in humid summer heat. The remains of bananas on her cheeks make me think: shouldn't we all be so covered by fun once in a while that even a good scrub can't get it all off?

The mirror of motherhood has two sides: It can be so easy to see only the harsher version, but to be able to see beyond to the side that rejoices in the very parts that make it unseemly is the challenge. My hope is always to look into the mirror and then beyond into the world where everything that I think marks me as an unkempt mother rather exemplifies my best attempts at motherhood.

A Mother's First Dictionary

Just a few of the many Abby-isms that pop up in conversation around here. They tend to crack me up and hope that they bring a smile to your face, too!

hoop-a-loop (hoola hoop)
Cinder-la-la (Cinderella)
ca-bees (because)
dammy (mom or dad)
Izzy-bell or Sissy-bell (Isabel)
blue blue car (Dad's car)
Mickey Mouse Clubs-clubs (Mickey Mouse Clubhouse show)
ban-ban (band-aid)
pataeboes (potato or tomato)
Sleeping Booty (Sleeping Beauty)

That Mom

I was that Mom last week. You know who I mean: the one who brings her children into a store and then fails to keep them silent and orderly. The mom who looks obviously frazzled facing down a 2 year old while trying to quite the infant. The one who regularly bribes said toddler with refined sugar and popcorn as she pleads with her to get back into the cart. I evened used the "angry while in public mom voice." (For those of you who have perfect children and therefore have never used this technique it's where you manage to speak through clenched teeth at just above a whisper as you tell your child just how much trouble they're about to be in. I distinctly remember being on the reciving end of this kind of "talk" as a child, probably in the same sitution I use it in these days.)

That was me. I freely admit it. And to the locals here: I'm sorry. I really am.

To the women in the ladies section at Target: I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have let my daughter out of the cart but I really didn't think she'd take off at top speed for the opposite side of the deptartment. I also didn't think she'd hide in the clothing racks and then pop out as you passed giving you a heart attack. (Please send medical bills to: Frazzled mom, aisle 4, Target.)

To those who had to witness the cranky toddler being forced back into the cart: I'm sorry. I was trying to keep her from taking more things off the shelves than I could resonably put back as she continued to move at top speed. I should have known as soon as her bottom touched the seat she would start her "I'm not getting my way" wail. But it still came as a shock to me - and to your ears, too, I'm sure.

To those who listened to the baby crying: Again, sorry. By the time we got to the store it was nap time. It's always nap time when you're 8 months old. My daughter is espically picky: she likes to sleep in her crib. And she cannot sleep in Target, so she cries. I'll work my my pacifier technique for the next trip, I promise.

To the other Mom's who want to offer unsolicited advice: Don't. I do not want to hear that your son will sit in the cart from parking lot to store and back again. I do not want to hear that your daughter will walk primly beside you while you browse the clearence rack endlessly. My daughter can do that too. When she wants to... Which it turns out was not today.

Topic for discussion: Poo

You know how I know I'm a mom? No, it's not the obvious: the abundance of people under 3 ft tall following me around all the time. Oh no. It's that poo is a genuine concern of mine. As in it makes apperances at the dinner table as a topic of conversation. Seriously. Who has and has not gone recently, how much, consistancy, smell and likelyhood that foods on the table will encourage or discourage another diaper deposit are all frequent subjects.

I wish this wasn't the case. Really I do. But somehow part of being a parent is being deeply, irrevicoably, interested in poo.

Other things I care about and really wish I didn't:

~Belly button gunk
~Picking mysterious subtances out of hair (not always the kid's hair, either)
~Prying half eaten stuff from a mouth, then examining it to figure out what it once was
~Throw up
~The crud found under toenails

We'll be singing and singing and singing...

Abby loves to sing and some days (thought not all) she even likes it when I sing (which is proof that she must be tone deaf!). We have a song boook in the house and she has learned that if she points at a song and looks pitiful/cute enough I can be coaxed to sing. From that she's figured out that all it takes to have a mini mama concert is to point out new songs before I finish the old one. I've sung for 45 minutes straight before, which must have been torture for Josh who was sitting next to me and is by no means tone deaf (he had wisely kept his singing abilibites to himself and is not bothered by Abby).

All this leads up to today when on a drive Abby wants to sing the wheels on the bus - not an unusual request, really. However, today she instructs me there are only 3 wheels on the bus and my song needs to reflect this. Funny how adding one small syllabul to a song can confuse you! The other perennial favorite is "she'll be coming 'round the mountian" a song Abby likes because I let her pick which animals go into the song. This is usually easy - unless she says polar bear in which case I'm hopeless as that's a syllabul and a half to much for my meger skills. Today was no different, and she pulled out all the stops on this song, we sang that she'd be ridding: horses (that was me), trucks, motorcycles, trees, pickles!, and my favorite: a pickle carseat. That's right, rather than "she'll be riding six white horses when she comes" it was "she'll be riding in pickle carseat when she comes" - tounge twister no matter what! When I gentely tell her maybe my skills aren't up to her pickle challenge she says to me: "yes you can! You can do it, Mommy!" Who can turn down such cheering? So I muddled through it laughing most the way - which could only make the song sound better.

Oh and did I mention the greatest irony of all? Abby loves the word 'pickle' but actually hates the food. Naturally.