Monday, July 21, 2014

{Just One Thing} Week Twenty Nine


Two Hundred and Six - 15.07.14

{Big}

Your bed became a little less roomy today, as you welcomed Percy, Sophie and Michael to join what was already a sea of pillows and blankets. Your new friends take up quite a bit of room, you tell me, and I have to follow your lead... because I can't actually see them. Your three imaginary piggy friends. May their stay be a long and comfortable one. And may I refrain from sitting on their hooves for a while more. 

Two Hundred and Seven - 16.07.14

{Tiny}

You decided not to sleep today. At least not for the morning. You would not be rocked. You would not be cuddled. You would not be carried. But the thing is, you weren't happy to be awake either. We even took to the fresh wintry air for a walk... to no avail. Instead, you alternated between whacking my face, scratching my neck, removing your dummy, and half-hearted wailing. It was a delight to be apart of. Except not

But then you look at me with those eyes and you smile at me with that smile and you sing "Mum-ma-ma" with that sweet little voice. You? A delight? Oh my word.

Two Hundred and Eight - 17.07.14

{Big}

Big: "I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm SCARED! Dere's monsters and dey growl at me. Can you teach me how to be brave, Mumma?"

My darling girl. We've not has this before. Your imagination has always been wonderfully active, but not of the terrible, horrible kind. And although logic tells us that your mind is playing tricks on you, to you, the tricks are not tricks at all. The monsters are real. The feelings are real. Scary real. 

Now we're reading stories and telling tales of not-so scary monsters and ways for things that go bump in the night to be okay. You're learning about being scared as well as being brave, because both are important and valid and normal. But more than that, where monsters live, so does imagination. And I'd love to nuture that gift for as long as I possibly can.

Two Hundred and Nine - 18.07.14

{Tiny}

You're now at an age where sitting back and watching the goings-on is no longer enough. You want in. I've noticed this particularly during your big sisters' craft sessions. And fair enough too. We're having a pretty darn good time, I must say. Alas, the majority of her activities are not suited to the teeniest of hands, like yours. Simply put, the contents are not edible. But we worked towards a compromise. And while stackable crayons in a baking tray were enough for today, soon I'll be modifying the big girl tasks for you to try your hand at a masterpiece of your very own.

Two Hundred and Ten - 19.07.14

{Big}

Dance class. Today. You. You're very first. And wow

Big: "I dreamed about dancing class last night, Mumma. I am so berry excited to have a try."

Leotard and tutu clad we went, hand-in-hand. Although the hand was only needed for a fleeting moment. As the doors flung open, in you raced. And you danced. Mostly to the beat of your own drum and a-hop-skip-twirling to your own choreography. But who'd have known? Certainly not I, who only had eyes on you. That smile. The look in your eye. It is here that your heart lies. At least for the time being.

Two Hundred and Eleven - 20.07.14

{Tiny}

Today, you spied a problem. It was small and round and brown. Spot like. And stuck. Well stuck. Try as you might - and oh, how you did - no mastered pincer grip pinch, or forefinger scratch would be enough to remove it. A furrowed brow and puckered lips screamed concentration, determined as you were to not have it defeat you.

The end result? A red raw chest for me. And the freckle? It remains. Stubborn thing, those freckles.

Two Hundred and Thirteen - 21.07.14

{Big}

For two minutes my eyes left the room. Just two. But it was two too many to avoid the freestyled masterpiece that ensued. I returned to a daughter marked with blue spots and stripes and swirls. Oh, and zigzags too. Fingers. Hands. Arms. Neck. Cheeks.

Big: "Wook at all dese spots, Mumma. I might meed a doctor 'cause I be berry sick wif spots on my face. It might be da flu."

I suppose I should be grateful for washable markers... although the term washable is used rather loosely when applied to skin methinks. Then again, your clothes, the walls and your sister are free from your creative expression, so perhaps I should be thanking my lucky {blue} stars.

**




Sunday, July 20, 2014

29/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2014."
 
Big: "Dere's a train, Mumma. A weal train at da station. Wook!" And we caught that train, my darling. We rode in the carriage on the way to a big adventure... although, in actual fact, I think the journey was as thrilling as the destination. Maybe even more.
 
Tiny: There's love in those eyes, baby girl. And they're full to the brim for your Mumma. Luckily we're swathed together in your favourite wrap so not a single ounce of that affection can be spilled.
 
**

Monday, July 14, 2014

{Just One Thing} Week Twenty Eight


One Hundred and Ninety Nine - 08.07.14

{Big}

Long gone are the days where you wait patiently in your bed for us to greet you upon waking. The moment your eyelids reach their opened position, you bound out of bed and race to your door with the elegance and grace of a baby elephant. But the toddler gate foils your plans. Every.darn.time. So wait you must.

Except not always.

There have been a few times where the gate has been left ajar. Jackpot! As quickly as your toddler legs will enable, you scramble down the stairs to find your people. Us. And you know where we are. In bed. Tucked up soundly. But not you. No, no. When you rise, so must the world.

Big: "I sleept wonderfully and great, Mumma, but I can not wait for you to ask me 'cause my tummy is berry rumbly dis morning and I meed to come and find you all by my own self. So how 'bout some breakie den?"
Two Hundred - 09.07.14
{Tiny}

I offer you my lips to kiss. It's the very best duck face I can muster, you know, just so you don't miss. You don't. Instead, you lunge at me with a gaping hole of a mouth. There's a fire in your eyes. It's determined and desperate and darling. You capture my lips between you gums. Clamp. 

How pleased you are with yourself. I must admit, I am too. That kiss was something, my little love. And what's more, it was slobber free. 

Two Hundred and One - 10.07.14
{Big}

The flavour of the month has changed from baths to showers. And it's a whole family washing extravaganza. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? Daddy tries to sneak in first, which is quite clever really, as attempting shave or wash or do anything, actually, is difficult without any water... which is what tends to happen once your little body enters the mix. 

He has learned that sneaking off quickly and quietly is the way to do it... because as soon as you notice his absence...

Big: "Hey Dad! I'm here to crash your party!"

Two Hundred and Two - 11.07.14

{Tiny}

Two tickly fingers tip toe up your legs. You wriggle. They reach the tops of your thighs. The edges of your mouth twitch. They crawl over your tummy. You squirm. You chuckle, but only just a little. Then they reach the spot. You know the one. It's front and centre of your chest. And you crack. Your mouth. Your eyes. Your whole face. And you roar. A laugh so deep, and so full your body struggles to stay upright. It's too much. You sigh.

More?

Two Hundred and Three - 12.07.14

{Big}

You were upstairs playing with Poppy, when you discovered one of your dummies. Despite being well aware that dummies are for naptime only, you thought you'd try your luck. Maybe Poppy wouldn't know the rules. Maybe you'd get away with a sneaky suck.

You carried on a conversation as though nothing was out of the ordinary. At least you tried to.

Poppy: "Maybe if you take that dummy out of your mouth, I will be able to understand what you're trying to tell me."

Big: "Maybe if you use your wistening ears, Poppy, den you will hear!"

You've got spunk, kiddo. Spunk and cheek. And it always manages to take centre stage when we have company. Thank you for always putting your best self on display for all to see.

Two Hundred and Four - 13.07.14

{Tiny}

Congratulations. For the first time ever, you were granted the use of your hands overnight. That's right. Both of them. All yours. Unswaddled. You were quite excited about this, actually. It took you longer than usual to settle in for the night because you were too busy. Rolling this way. Bouncing that way. Swapping dummies from mouth to hand to mouth, and back again. Thumping the mattress with open palms. Really busy. 

But when all was said and done, your fingers stopped flitting and your arms stopped twitching and you lay still. Quiet and still long enough to drift off to sleep. 

And the best bit? Waking up beside a giggling you the next morning because... well, you're hands were there. Still.

Two Hundred and Five - 14.07.14

{Big}

It was a big day today. A trying day. At least it was for Mumma. There was much energy expenditure and little respite. None, in fact. Not a wink from you, and a mere catnap from your sister. I was exhausted... and I snapped. I growled at you. I should say yelled, because I did, but I really dislike the word and the way it makes me feel. I don't want to be that parent. The yelling one. But in that moment, I was.

After things had settled, and my breathing and nerves returned to normal, I found a quiet minute, just the two of us. I apologised to you for losing my cool. You listened. You nodded. I was reluctant to believe that you understood, but I was happy to d it anyway, because it made me feel better at the very least.

But then you floored me.

Big: "I sorry, Mumma. I sorry dat I make your feelings be sad 'cause I not hab a sleep and beed noisy and wake Tiny up."

You listened. You nodded. You understood. And while it saddened me that you had an awareness of my less than perfect moment, it thrills me that you are have empathy and maturity beyond your two and a half years.
**

Sunday, July 13, 2014

28/52


"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2014."
Big: Looking forward. Looking back. The technology may have changed, but this? Without a doubt, a telling depiction of your teen years.
Tiny: You're just like your Daddy to look at, and it seems that's not all. This. One sock on. One sock off. Luckily, he's a bit of alright, your Dad. But two of him? At least I know what I'm in for...
**

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