Now You Know Why They’re Not Models

Scene: Fall festival, trying to take a nice photo of both girls. (Click any photo to enlarge.)

OK, girls, look at mommy and smile!


C’mon, Mira, smile for mommy! You’re too young to be sullen! Oh…um, Cordy, I don’t need your help making Mira smile…


Mira, c’mon, look at the camera like Cordy did. Cordy, are you looking?


What kind of a face was that, Mira? Cordy, please focus! Just one photo of the two of you smiling! That’s all I’m asking for!


Good eye contact, Mira. If only you didn’t look so bershon. Now can we get Cordy to look at the camera and have both of you smile? Please?


OK, clearly we’re done here. Fine, I’ll leave you alone to play on the stairs and wait for the hayride.

Wait…now you’re smiling? Hold still! Let me get my camera out again! Don’t stop smiling! Argh, I don’t have enough time! *CLICK*


You two are determined to have me committed.



Make A Wish

I don’t know what she wished for, but when I asked Cordy if we could sing Happy Birthday to her on Saturday and she said yes, I got my wish.

Cordy’s Fifth Birthday from Christina M on Vimeo.

I can’t even begin to tell you how much progress is wrapped up in that one little song and her reactions to it. It was the main topic of conversation among family for the remainder of the party.

(And this year’s cake was different, too. We avoided the usual cake, filled with artificial ingredients and enough artificial dye to turn the Scioto River red, in favor of an organic cake, with real buttercream frosting, no artificial ingredients, no HFCS, and dyes make from all-natural sources. For the first time at a birthday party, Cordy didn’t get sick or have a meltdown after eating her cake.)

It was a great party.



Five

Five years ago, you were somewhat of an abstract being to me. I had no idea what was coming, and no matter how many babies I was around, it couldn’t have prepared me.

My first impression of you was the angry baby being carried past me in the operating room. Your face was screwed up in an awful expression, angry at what you considered an untimely birth, angry at the doctor who pulled you out of your warm comfortable home into the bright, cold world. You spent the next six months angry at the world, and it took every ounce of strength and patience from your father and me to calm you, comfort you, and show you that life wasn’t as bad as you thought it was.

Each subsequent birthday has presented us with a different child. Your first birthday, you were the girl who loved all the attention, but loved the cake even more as you attempted to eat the cake without hands by face-planting into it.

At two you shunned the crowd and most of the presents in favor of the safety of my lap and a few selected toys.

Three was a child who howled in pain when we sang happy birthday to you, hiding under the table to escape the auditory assault, only to later reappear and gorge yourself on the cake frosting.

Your fourth birthday was filled with balloons and friends, and this time you took notice of the friends around you, although you still didn’t want to share your balloons. We knew you didn’t like singing, so we settled for all saying “Happy birthday!” in unison, at a loud, but not-too-loud volume for you.

And now you’re five.

At this year’s birthday party, I expect to see you playing with your friends and if not enjoying the small crowd of people, at least tolerating your guests. You will tell me or your father when you feel overwhelmed, and even though it will likely come out as, “I’m scared of presents” or “I want to stay in my house forever,” we will know what you mean. You’ll eat your cake, and if all goes as planned you won’t suffer from a tummy ache or a behavior shift thirty minutes later because this year’s cake won’t have any artificial dyes or corn syrup in it. We now know what you need to be happy.

I still can’t believe you’re five. Five feels so much older, as if I somehow missed that transformation from baby to big kid. I watch your concentration on puzzles, and I swear I can see your mind working behind that furrowed brow. When did you learn to concentrate? I wonder what happened to that goofy toddler I remember, counting everything in sight.

And I’ll confess I don’t wonder much about what happened to that sensitive, hair-trigger tempered preschooler and the screaming meltdowns that occurred on a regular basis. Some things are better left in the past.

I’m pretty amazed at the awesome little girl you’ve become, Cordelia. I can’t wait to see who you’ll become in this next year. Happy birthday to my Amazon warrior princess.



Wishful Thinking

As I was kneeling down in front of Cordy yesterday, talking about some topic I can’t even remember, I noticed her eyes suddenly fixed on mine.

Eye contact is hard for her, so I was amazed at how intensely she was looking into my eyes. For at least 15 seconds she was staring directly at me while I talked to her.

OMG, she is making so much progress! I thought. I was thrilled that she was not only listening to me, but looking at me while I talked to her, a task we’ve tried to get her to do with limited success.

I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “Cordy, I’m so proud of you for looking at me while — “

“Mommy! I can see myself in your eyes! I see Cordy!”

Oh.



Still Here, Trashing [Junk In] My House

Oh hey, look at that – it’s been a week since I posted. It wasn’t an intentional lapse in blogging, at least I don’t think it was. Leaving the blog for seven days on such a down note isn’t something I like to do, but it feels good to be back.

I’ve spent the last several days in a heavy state of busy. I worked two days, one of which included taking charge of my first labor patient. She delivered six minutes after my shift ended, but I stayed until the baby was born just so I could meet the stubborn little girl who refused to hold still all day. I’ve never had to adjust an electronic fetal monitoring belt so much in a single day. I guess she knew I needed the practice.

We also ran away for two days this weekend. We packed up the kids and went to a picnic with a large group of friends, followed by an overnight with friends in Oxford, OH. Cordy got to spend time with her best friend, Mira got filthy playing in the dirt, Aaron got to geek out with fellow geeks, and I got to lose myself shopping in Ikea on Sunday while chatting with one of my best friends. It was a good time.

Other days of the past week were spent in a deep purge within my house. You see, it’s been a busy few years, and during that time we’ve accumulated a lot of junk. A LOT of junk. Mira has yet to even have her own room – we simply carved out enough space in Aaron’s “den” to shove a crib and a dresser against the wall. She was a baby – what more did she need?

Being depressed has a few benefits. It makes you hate many things about your current life and can sometimes give you the motivation to change it. I realized much of the junk, knick-knacks, boxes of clothing and old baby toys were not only cluttering up the house, they were cluttering up my psyche, too. I want open spaces and if it means shrugging off some emotional connections to inanimate objects, I’m ready to shrug myself silly.

So we’ve been carving through the sea of junk, clearing off shelves, cleaning out boxes, trashing anything that can’t go to someone else or Goodwill, and rearranging our space. The bookcases have been moved from Mira’s room to our bedroom, Aaron’s computer no longer lurks in the corner, and all that is left in Mira’s room is her furniture and toys.

Cordy’s room is next, and we’ve decided it’s time for her to have a big girl room. She’ll be five years old in a week and she needs some new furniture. The toddler bed will go to Mira in favor of a twin bed for Cordy. Her dresser – with the changing table top – goes to the yard sale pile collecting in the garage, and she’ll have a proper set of drawers.

The guest room is after that. Eventually, I’d like to give a makeover to the living room and kitchen. And maybe someday we’ll paint or go crazy and hang something on the wall.

We filled our trash bin last week, and I hope to do the same this week. I like seeing the emptiness opening up from under the clutter. And the items I’m choosing to keep have so much more meaning to me now.

Thanks for the comments last week. I realize I am overwhelmed by so many changes over the past year. I’m working full time now, the girls are in school, Aaron is still looking for a job, the bills are being held at bay by the forces of good, but always threatening to scale the walls, and I’m adjusting to the realization that this is our life. Acceptance of this reality hasn’t fully come yet.

So for now I am trying to control what little I have control over. And at this moment, my focus is on my house. Maybe next I’ll tackle all 1,385 unanswered e-mails in my Inbox. Maybe.