Today is a national holiday: my daughter's birthday. She is SIX! It feels like just yesterday they were telling me they could see her hair as she was crowning, that they were putting her on my chest, still covered in that white goo and looking at me with huge dark eyes like some kind of confused alien. She is my biggest challenge (or at least ties with her little brother...) and my greatest reward. I want to keep pinching myself, trying to get straight that I get to be her mother, that I get to watch the DD show every day. Even on days when I am dying to change channels, it stills ends up having been worth watching.
I still feel a strong belief in the existence of God, or at least a higher power, a unifying force or cohesive fabric. One of the things that keeps me there is her. I can't bring myself to even think that I am responsible for making her, or creating her in any way. I am good with my hands, but only a mighty force like God could have made something this beautiful.
Happy birthday, Sweet Pea! Momma loves you.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
My name is not Solomon
I remember when Thursday night = start of the weekend, at least unofficially. Not anymore. I was out after dark, sure, and I had a guy in my car. I was taking him back to my place, planning on getting his clothes off and getting him into bed.
Reality check: he's my two-year-old son. Who's crying. And his sister is also crying. They are waging WWIII over a very small but very soft and pretty white lap blanket. Each one has brought their A game. She's sobbing passionately and making dramatic pronouncements about never getting what she wants. He is very righteously playing the "I had it first card" and politely wondering what sister's problem is. Technically, he did have it first, but when she requested it and I offered a trade for a larger blanket, he pitched his own back-arching sobbing fit. I wasn't going to give in just because of that, but she ended up throwing it back at him just to shut him up. (And she wonders why he always does that. It's because it works!) I ended up giving the blanket to him, because he did have it first, and that was the closest thing I had to a legal precedent.
Sigh. I'm almost afraid to see what TGIF will bring. Stomach flu and fist fights? Stay tooned...
Reality check: he's my two-year-old son. Who's crying. And his sister is also crying. They are waging WWIII over a very small but very soft and pretty white lap blanket. Each one has brought their A game. She's sobbing passionately and making dramatic pronouncements about never getting what she wants. He is very righteously playing the "I had it first card" and politely wondering what sister's problem is. Technically, he did have it first, but when she requested it and I offered a trade for a larger blanket, he pitched his own back-arching sobbing fit. I wasn't going to give in just because of that, but she ended up throwing it back at him just to shut him up. (And she wonders why he always does that. It's because it works!) I ended up giving the blanket to him, because he did have it first, and that was the closest thing I had to a legal precedent.
Sigh. I'm almost afraid to see what TGIF will bring. Stomach flu and fist fights? Stay tooned...
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