4/19/10 - Parenting Hackles

I’ve read a couple of articles this week that have my parenting hackles way up.

One article is about raising daughters and how to handle the issues of body image. I think what has me so upset about it is the fact that the article does not even recognize that boys have extreme body image issues as well. And as a mother raising a son and a daughter I’ve got it from both sides. With both kids it’s a double whammy. Because I’ve got to figure out how to help them foster their own positive body image as well as how to support the people, regardless of gender, that they have in their lives. They both have to learn how to see people as they want to be seen – as the kind, compassionate, creative, intelligent, amazing people they are.

One article is about bullying. And this is an issue that is a tremendously loaded for me. I survived an abusive relationship while in high school and vowed to never again allow another human being treat me as anything less than what I felt I deserved. And that is also a very high priority for me to teach my children. Which is why this article pisses me off so much. Because essentially it’s saying that you should expect your child, regardless of age or gender, to be able to handle it themselves and that you should “praise them for suffering well.” If that fails to remedy the situation, then you could intercede on their behalf. I’m sorry, but are you frigging kidding me?!? There is no part of that that is acceptable to me. I will not accept my children facing bullies alone. And I sure as hell won’t accept teaching them to suffer well. I’m raising people, not martyrs here.

The root of both issues is self confidence. On every imaginable level. Honestly I don’t think I know anyone who has utter confidence on every level. So I’m setting a tall order for myself to be able to impart that to my children. But if I could just help them to see themselves as I do, I think we’ll be heading in the right direction.

3/24/10 - Growth Spurt

There must be twins in there. Good God. I’m now 10 weeks along and I am officially out of all my regular pants. Even my great big jeans that I typically cannot wear without a tightly cinched belt are too tight. I am noticeably showing which I think shocks me more than anything because I’m not a small woman. So it typically takes me a bit longer to really look pregnant instead of just “fluffy” around the middle. But there is a bump. Staring back at me in the mirror. Making my shirts poke out in strange ways and buttoning my jeans make me gasp for breath.

And I’m still feeling pretty good. Although I think I can tell when this kid is going through growth spurts because there is a marked change in my appetite and level of fatigue. I mean, I’m pretty much tired all the time, don’t get me wrong, but the last day or so I’m falling asleep if I sit still for longer than 2 minutes. And things go downhill fast if I don’t eat the minute I notice I’m hungry. Like break out in a cold sweat, come close to fainting in the middle of Target, shaking violently downhill.

It’s a strange limbo though. There is a part of me that knows that I’m pregnant, that is still doing cartwheels with excitement. And then there is the part of me that is so wrapped up here with my kids and my Dad that I keep forgetting there’s a little bean in there and that yes, it’s entirely appropriate for me to eat several times a day and that I must remember to drink more water. But ultimately it just adds a nice shining light to the overall peace I’m in right now. Which is definitely a big bonus to be sure. I know that the peace I’m so grateful for right now could shift at any moment if I let it. Could easily be eaten again by anger or impatience. So I’m hoping between the two that perhaps they can support each other, give each other strength and perseverance. To keep growing and blossoming in their own gorgeous ways.

Karmic Bone to Pick

Alright. I’ve a bone to pick with karma. Everything from the fact that we finally get a string of sunny days and I’m stuck inside with sick kids. To the fact that my dad is going downhill fast according to my mom and I’ve got sick kids so therefore cannot go to NM to be with him. Oh and there was the whole we paid off my husband’s car and then he got into a car accident less than 24 hours after we paid the sucker off. There’s the biggie of my dad dying of course. And to top it all off, my dog died. Seriously?!? What’s this all about?

I’ve been working my ass off for the past 18 months to grow as a person in pretty much every conceivable way. I’ve been doing everything I know how to do to take care of my family and make it stronger. I’ve been pushing and learning and just doing what needs to be done in order to be a better person all the way around. And instead of even just getting a breather, the universe just keeps piling more crap on my plate (and the plates of the people I love now that you mention it).

I just don’t get it. Is the universe on a broadly sweeping war path these days? Between the earthquakes and tsunamis, the shootings, the financial issues, the health crises and on and on it feels like one big tragic swath is being cut through the world. Indiscriminate in its path and showing no mercy.

There’s a part of me that wants to climb atop of the tallest mountain and scream at the powers that be to knock it the hell off already. There’s another part of me that just wants to curl up in a ball and cry. Then there’s a part of me that is continually grateful for the chance to keep learning. Grateful that I’m being forced to keep expanding in my being, because at this point I would b relishing in full-on sloth-hood because I’m so bone tired. Granted I think that grateful part of me is a wee bit on the crazy side. But still.

2/3/10 - This Parenting Thing Keeps Getting More Complicated

So, in the last week and a half, The Boy has taken first prize in his science fair, gotten 35 out of 50 words right in his class spelling bee and had four notes about his behavior sent home. I’m totally the proud mama on the first two and completely bewildered by the last one. He’s never been a behavior problem in any of his classes since he was two years old and bit one of his preschool classmates so hard he drew blood. Ever since then, he’s pretty much been an easy going kid. Even if he occasionally does have trouble staying in his seat or not chattering in between lessons. But that’s totally age appropriate, expected stuff and it’s never been a problem.

Now all of a sudden, it’s a problem. So I sat down with him tonight to talk it out. Determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. Because, maddeningly, the only thing the teacher actually said was “He is having trouble making good choices in PE and my classroom.” Which doesn’t tell me a whole hell of a lot. And actually served to piss me off more than anything. But The Boy and I sat down anyway. It turns out that he’s having trouble with a boy in his class constantly pushing and hitting him and then telling the teachers that he started it. Hence The Boy getting into trouble with the “making bad choices.”

I had several emotions immediately rise to the surface upon hearing this news. The first of which was rage. Rage at this boy for bullying my son and rage at this school for allowing it to happen right under their noses. Also rage at the teachers for taking one kid’s word over another without doing any further investigation. And absolute sadness that my sweet, super sensitive boy was having to endure this at such a young age. As The Boy crumbled into tears in my arms after finally getting this out, I was overcome with wanting to protect him from every cruelty in the world.

Which I can’t do obviously. But I sure as hell will write his teacher a stern email.

Science Fair, Baby!

The Boy won first place for his age group in his school’s science fair today! I’m so proud of him I can hardly stand it! He and his class partner chose to study water, space and sound. They came up with an experiment where they studied the effect that different levels of water have on the space they are in. So they filled different receptacles with water in different levels and then blew the same speed of air across the top of the receptacles and recorded the difference in sound. Basically they took the old game of blowing across the top of a bottle and making it whistle and turned it into a science experiment. But if you break it down like that and build in the fact that they had to do the scientific method throughout their experiment, it’s fairly sophisticated for a first grader in my opinion.

I mean we weren’t even doing science fairs when I was in first grade. We didn’t start school science fairs until I was in 5^th grade and my experiment was seeing if I could train a goldfish to come to the side of the bowl by tapping on the outside of the bowl and then rewarding the fish with food. All I ended up proving is that if you tap on the side of a fish bowl enough times, the goldfish gives up and dies. Ahem.

I’m a proud mama today. My Boy just astounds me. I mean he can pull this sort of thing off on the same day his teacher sends home a note saying that he has spent the last three days being in trouble for talking and/or not being able to sit still during class. He’s like this whirling dervish of brilliance. He spins and spins and spins but when he does sit still he pulls off these amazing things.

I wonder if he’ll ever learn (or want to learn) how to temper that kinetic energy that pulses through him every minute of every day. Or if he will learn how to make it his ally and fuel all of these moments of brilliance. I don’t know, but I’m a proud mama.

Preparing to Travel Again

The Girl and I are headed back to my parents’ house tomorrow. The mountains pretty much all the way through are expecting a large snow storm tonight and tomorrow, which has me a wee bit worried. As well as the fact that the past couple of days every time I mention heading back to Nana and Papa’s, The Girl starts crying. That’s no good. I know it doesn’t really have anything to do with Nana and Papa. It has to do with her missing more school, missing her brother and dad and being away from her own space and stuff. I get it. We’re both starting to feel a little bit like refugees at this point I think. But this weekend is my parents’ wedding anniversary and I promised that we would help them celebrate since it will be their last. And several of our oldest family friends arrived to their house today as well. These are people that I grew up with, absolutely adore and am really looking forward to seeing. But I’m in no way shape or form ready to battle icy and snow packed roads.

So I’ll have to check the weather again in the morning to see what I’m up against. Right now all it says is “ice.” But overnight might change that for the better. And I think that as long as my dad is still doing ok when I get there I think The Girl and I will head home again early next week. I’m grateful for the chance we’ve had to spend so much time with my parents, but at the same time, I’ve got to work towards striking a better balance between them and my home. I don’t want anyone to feel neglected, and I’ve got a responsibility all the way around to be present and take care of the people I love.

Ever the search for balance. It follows me everywhere it seems. Always work ahead of me. Rightfully I suppose. And there is a part of me that is deeply grateful for the continued opportunity to keep learning. But mostly, right now, I’d rather have a cabana boy delivering me umbrella drinks on the beach.

My Blue-Eyed Boy

My husband told me a story about a 2^nd grade girl tackling my son so that she could kiss him goodbye as he was leaving school for the day. And I just about came unglued. I am SO not ready for those kinds of stories.

I always thought I’d be the super cool mom. The one everyone loves. The one that my kids’ friends will come to when their own uncool parents do something, well, uncool. The one who is easy to talk to, totally laid back and fun. Yeah, my hopes for being that mom are fading quickly. Because the idea of any girl (especially an older one!) kissing MY boy seriously makes me feel unstable.

Maybe because he is my first born, or maybe because I’m the mom and he’s my son. I don’t where this sudden rush of over-protective behavior is coming from, but it’s strong. Like mama bear strong. I’m sure that this same feeling will kick in eventually with The Girl, but she’s still so young that it’s not even on my radar yet. And to be honest, it wasn’t on my radar with The Boy either until my husband shared this story with me.

I mean I always knew he’d be popular with the girls eventually. He has gorgeous blue eyes, he’s outgoing, smart, creative, funny and naturally athletic. All of those elements put together make for one very popular boy receiving many “Do you like me? Check Yes, No or Maybe” notes in class. I saw it coming a long time ago. But I didn’t think I’d actually have to see or hear any of it in reality until he was at least in early middle school. I guess that was a large piece of naïveté on my part. I guess I forgot about the times when I was a second grader pegging the cute boys in class with snowballs and then running away giggling. I guess I forgot how many of those notes I wrote myself to the blue-eyed boys in my own class.

I’d like to freeze time. To put this off a bit longer. Or at least be allowed to lock him in the attic.

Christmas Madness

Let the Christmas madness begin!! Now that The Boy is here, we can start all of the Christmas crafts and cookie making. The Girl has been waiting patiently(ish) for him to arrive so that they could get their crafts for the grandparents done as well as our normal dousing of all horizontal surfaces with paint and glitter. And we are making yards and yards of paper chains in festive colors this year to hang over the windows as well as painting wooden ornaments to adorn the little fake Christmas tree we’re putting up. They had a blast today jumping head first into the creative fray and even got their dada to paint a bit before he had to leave us just after lunch. It’s always so much fun to be able to see how their artistic abilities and color preferences shift from year to year.

The Boy also decided today that he was not to be outdone by his 3 ½ year old sister and demanded to get his ears pierced. So off we went to the mall in search of a Claire’s to perforate my other child. He did great. His eyes flew wide when she shot the earrings through his ears, but other than that he sat there quietly and utterly still. I tried to talk him into a pair of cool dark blue stainless steel ball earrings, but he went for the bling and picked a pair of teeny cubic zirconia studs. To each their own I suppose. And they make him look that much more grown up. Which is not at all what I needed. He is just so dang big! He is as tall as my mom when she’s sitting in her wheelchair now and it’s almost as if I can just see him growing up right before my eyes. It is amazing and heartbreaking all at the same time.

And I am utterly exhausted this evening. I will make myself go to bed before midnight tonight, even if I do just lay there with sleep taunting me from somewhere just out of reach. Because we have another busy day in front of us. Tomorrow? Tomorrow it’s Christmas cookie time!

Happy Birthday Sweetest Boy!

Six years ago today at 8:47pm, The Boy was born. I had gone in to my OB for my weekly appointment in the morning, feeling huge, but fine. Knowing that my due date was the next day and wondering if I had made any progress at all or if all of those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions were just there to get my adrenaline pumping. I was excited and exhausted all at the same time. Mostly though, I was expecting her to check me, find everything to be as it should be and to send me home with a “see you next week!”

Instead, this is the conversation that followed:

OB: “How are you feeling?”
Me: “Very pregnant, but fine.”
OB: “That’s not what this says.” (Eyeing my chart with a wary glance.)
Me: “Oh really?”
OB: “Yeah. You’re spilling protein and your blood pressure is through the roof. You’re having a baby today.”

To say that I was shocked doesn’t even begin to cover it. I truly felt fine. Not the blurred vision, painful, totally out of it that preeclampsia and high blood pressure should have been making me feel. So she gave us instructions to go to the hospital, that they would be expecting me and that they would start induction immediately and she’d be by to see me in a couple of hours to break my water. And off we went.

I called my mom to share the news and she got in the car immediately. I called our friends and my husband’s parents and brother. We luckily already had my bag packed and in the car so off to the hospital we went. I was nervous beyond belief. I was not at all prepared for being induced. I was not at all prepared to walk into the Labor and Delivery ward not in active labor. This was entirely outside of my expectations.

But eight and half hours later, The Boy entered the world. There were moments I thought I would never make it. But I did (thanks in huge part to my amazing husband). He was big, beautiful, unbelievably strong and hungry. And he still is. Happy 6th Birthday my sweetest boy!

Unbecoming the Fixer

“If you can’t fix it, Jack, you gotta stand it….For as long as we can ride it. There ain’t no reins on this one.” – Ennis Del Mar, Brokeback Mountain

I’ve always been a fixer. I am the queen of research. Whenever I encounter a problem, big or small, I research it. I find out everything I can about it and then I put together a plan to fix it. It’s what I do. And unlike a lot of people who mostly just want people to listen while they vent, I would be more than happy if after I’m done venting someone would step in and just fix whatever it is that I’m railing about. I like quick fixes. It speaks to the instant gratification part of me. I like certain fixes; the ability to know something inside and out and then make it work for you. So much of everyday life exists in hues of gray that I deeply appreciate those times when things are black and white enough to be able to fix them.

But for the majority of life, there are no reins, no fixes. You just have to hold on and ride it out, for as long as you can stand it. And that’s the part that I’ve always had trouble with.

I think though that I’m learning how to appreciate those times where the issue at hand cannot be fixed and must only be stood. I’m learning how to use those times to my advantage. Because even if it can’t be fixed, the opportunity to thoroughly learn it still exists. The moment of being can so easily be transformed into the chance to become.

And I think that it’s taken me so long to learn this because I was so utterly attached to the action; the choice to make each moment into something other than what it already is. But this newfound faith is allowing me to see that each moment stands on its own, regardless of my action within it. It simply is, with or without my choice to act. Once I’m able to let go of the need to act, I can then know each moment in its entirety.

Fashionably Nostalgic

Do you remember powder jackets from back in the 80’s? I begged for one for about a year before my mom finally relented. It was light pink and grey. I loved it. I wouldn’t take it off for anything. I was so proud of it. I just knew simply by wearing it that my cool quotient went through the roof; making it so that I commanded all attention whenever I walked into a room at the ripe age of 9 or so. We went on a field trip one day at school and I left it on the bus. I was heartbroken.

There were several things like that growing up. I coveted Polo shirts (you could tell the real ones from the knock offs by counting the legs on the horse) and Converse shoes. Jelly bracelets and friendship pins.

The uniforms at my Catholic elementary school took the coveting out of the classroom itself, but not out of the friendships. After school and on weekends, the competition would commence. We would spend hours trading bracelets and pinning the bead-laden safety pins on the backs of our Cons. We would go to the mall with our immature selves which would do nothing but further fuel our already very mature sense of want. We’d giggle and whisper about the boys we saw in the food court while oohing and ahhing over a pair of shoes.

Of course as time went on I went from ogling the shoes at Nine West to Doc Martens. And the powder jackets retreated in the face of leather motorcycle jackets which I passed around my artist friends to paint, thus making MY jacket one of a kind. Polo shirts faded to tartan miniskirts and eventually the jelly bracelets and friendship pins merged into tongue piercings and purple hair dye.

And now I’m watching my childhood come back into fashion. With the hot pink fishnet gloves and the leg warmers, the loud patterns and colors. Jelly shoes are even back. And they weren’t even comfortable the first time. Now I shake my head and sigh at the boys we see in the food court and wonder whatever became of my old powder jacket.

Double Gemini

I’ve always tried not to put too much stock in astrology, because well, let’s face it, it’s a wee bit woo-woo for me. But there are certain aspects that just really make sense. Like what it means to be a Gemini. My mom had my astrological chart done once and I remember her saying that Gemini was also my rising sign; making me a double Gemini. And if I weren’t the stinking poster child for what it means to be a Gemini, I probably would have dismissed it.

I most certainly have this duality. Ever present, always squabbling away in the back (or front) of my mind. Which is why I can write yesterday that I have an unfailing faith that everything will work out, and today (as the creditors have started calling) I can be freaking out and not know what the hell I was talking about. Why I can be 33 years old and still love having blue hair and wanting a new tattoo. Why I can at the same time be so afraid of getting in trouble for sending in bills late.

I have this part of me that is desperate to follow all the rules while the other side is constantly giving the middle finger to every and all form of authority.

What I think I’m trying to learn this year is balance. Because I have very marked periods in my life that were ruled by one side or the other and I’ve just never managed to see any kind of real success when I make choices without balance. I’ve been working diligently on bringing more of my life into balance. Taking it easier on myself when the scales shift a bit and then gently setting them straight. And this has been one o f the hardest years of my life. So I guess there is still a large part of me far, far away from any kind of transcendence because man am I bitter that I’m working so hard and still having it be so hard.

So perhaps my goal is balance and acceptance. Being willing to accept the fruits of my labor regardless of how unpleasant they may be.

He's a First Grader Now!

“Hey mom, can you tell me about Michael Jackson?” – The Boy

Here we go. The Boy is officially school age. His exposure to all things pop culture has begun. Although I must say that I’m shocked that it’s starting with Michael Jackson of all people. I mean he hadn’t started his comeback yet and his music is not in our rotation. I grew up loving him. Standing in front of the huge mirror downstairs singing along, trying to dance just a little bit less like a white girl after catching his music videos on MTV at friends’ houses. I loved him in elementary school. But Michael Jackson has not been in my regular music listening habits for years and years.

I was expecting High School Musical perhaps. Or maybe something having to do with Pokemon or some other new fangled role playing game. I was definitely expecting something I had never heard of. Instead? He comes at me with Michael Jackson. So strange. Not that I’m unhappy with it. I would rather talk about Michael Jackson than some vapid new invention someone has come up with bleed parents dry of patience and funds. It will be interesting to see what else he brings home with him.

On another totally surprised note, I expected The Boy to be flat exhausted when I picked him up from school since this is the first time he’s gone to school all day. And his school doesn’t mess around; they start school at 8am and get out at 4pm. So I totally expected him to be asleep before I left the parking lot. But in the ultimate sign that he is indeed more than ready for full day schooling, he didn’t even doze in the car. He was awake and chatting the whole time. You know, picking my brain about Michael Jackson, telling me about his science class and the girl he made friends with but doesn’t remember her name.

We’ve entered a whole new stage of child rearing. And it’s definitely going to keep me on my toes. I can’t wait to see what the weeks to come bring with them and how this new stage changes my Boy.

Speculating

I have spent the last week or so having all sorts of daydreams about The Boy. He starts first grade tomorrow and that has me jumping forward into the next several years as he continues to grow and become more of an individual.

We spent all today watching The X Games on ESPN off and on. He usually would tune in intently during the skateboard and BMX parts. He asked for a skateboard more than once for his upcoming sixth birthday (and The Girl asked for a “cool new bike to do jumps with” as well).

It’s one of the strangest and most wonderful parts of motherhood for me. Speculating on what my children will do and become as they get older. Wondering if they will play sports of some sort or get more into academics or struggle or succeed. Whether they will have more friends than they know what to do with or whether they will feel lonely and outcast.

I’ve been trying to imagine The Boy in those awkward pre-teen years as I’ve watched him start to look so very, very grown up this summer. He’s so tall and his little kid body is starting to show its strength as he grows into it. He has his father’s innate balance and lack of rhythm. He has my power of movement and passing sense of grace. I just can’t quite see his face as anything more than my little boy however. I can see him doing all of these amazing things in soccer or skateboarding or biking, but I can only see him as he is now. Even though I already feel like I recognize him just a little bit less.

He’s started making up jokes and playing with words. He’s started imitating speech patterns and manners of talking in specific situations just to see what sorts of reactions he gets. His imaginative play has reached a whole new level. And I cannot wait to see what being in school all day does for his development and experimentation.

My sweet boy is growing up and I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I hope I remember that excitement when I’m missing his cuddles.

5/15/09 - The Girl's Moving on Up

**Sickness took over my brain last night and I flat forgot to post this. Sorry!!! **

The Girl’s last day of school is today. This was her first year of preschool (well half year I suppose since she didn’t start until January). And there is part of me that cannot believe how big she is. In two short years, she will be in Kindergarten. That is amazed to look at the growth chart in her classroom and see how much she has grown in five months. And she’s continuing to take on her father’s body type by getting so much taller but actually weighing less than she did in January. Although some of that may have to do with the whole pneumonia thing.

Her preschool is doing a big end of year celebration party tonight with dinner and an art show. The Boy went to this school for three years, so I’m pretty accustomed to the end of year routine. They’ve done an art show at year’s end ever since he started going there. So we’ll now have a piece of art from The Girl to add to the collection. And she’ll get to be called up to the front of the room and have her teacher (whom she adores and insists on giving hugs and kisses before she leaves) give her a certificate of completion for this year. And she will beam as she runs up there amid all the other parents clapping for her and me catching as many pictures as I can.

Some people think this routine is a little crazy for a two or three year old. That having a graduation or a celebration for anything but high school or college is just silly. But after seeing the smiles that light up the faces of my children and after seeing the pride they have in their accomplishment, I am no longer one of those people. I understand the danger of over-praising kids for doing things that they should be doing anyway. But moving up through the levels of education with pride and success and a growing love of learning is always something to be celebrated in my world.

I will snap entirely too many pictures. And I will clap and tear up. I am her proud mama.

Mother's Day

“When I was younger I was so full of expectations for myself, and was utterly unafraid to demand that those expectations be met. While I am still unabashed in my expectations of others and when it comes to responsibility and being a mother, myself as well, I find that I no longer expect myself to be happy, beautiful or excited about any of it. There was a time when I expected myself to not only succeed in everything I did to the highest extent, but to do it with style. Now I just try to get my teeth brushed every day.

When did the ideas of mother and beautiful become mutually exclusive in my mind? Why can’t I celebrate my happiness in being a mother on Mother’s Day instead of only that which I’ve sacrificed? Mother’s Day has almost turned into a day to glorify the martyrs of motherhood instead of a day to celebrate the being of mother.

I want to celebrate my ability to grow, carry and birth a new life. I want to celebrate my ability to soothe with song and breast in the middle of the night. I want to celebrate my ability to guide with strong voice and body. I want to celebrate the gift of my children and what they’ve given me.

I want to look in the mirror on Mother’s Day and think, celebrate yourself you beautiful mama. And then I want to believe it.”

I wrote this two years ago on Mother’s Day. And I spent today mostly on the couch watching movies and playing with the kids as they ambled in and out of the family room. They spent most of the day outside with their Dad working in the yard and riding bikes. And I’ve been thinking about this piece of writing from two years ago. Wondering how and if I’m different now.

I’ve been working on re-building the bridge between my own brand of beauty and my identity as a mother. It spent about 18 months in the planning stages, but was put on an accelerated construction plan and it’s almost done. The bolts are being tightened and the belief is coming into focus.

Diva-tude

“Coyotes way freak me out.” – The Girl

She said this tonight while we were watching The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe for a bit. She said this in reference to the assassin wolves that are set out to find Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy. And I totally get that. That they’d freak her out. They freak me out. Mostly because they’re talking. And we switched the channel after that declaration.

The things that come out of that girl’s mouth will never cease to amaze me. And the attitude with which she says those things serve to amaze me further. I kind of always thought those moms of 3 to 6 or 7 year olds were sort of exaggerating when they said things like “Oh yes, she’s 5 going on 12” with a roll of the eyes and exhausted smile. But now I get it. I really, really get it.

The Girl is a full on diva in the making. She loves to have her nails painted. She has very specific treasures that she knows exactly where they are at all times. She almost always has a purse with her full of select treasures. She adorns herself with thrift store necklaces and bracelets at all times. We usually have to bribe her in some way to get them off of her when she goes to bed as I have lovely visions of her strangling herself to death by Mardi Gras beads in the middle of the night.

And the strangest thing about all of this diva-tude is that it came out of nowhere. This time last year she was running around dirty and with skinned knees. She did everything in her power to keep up with her brother and to play all of his games at his pace.

I am so NOT a day-to-day diva that I’ve little to no idea what to do with her at this point. Do I get her a princess dress for her birthday or summer soccer camp (she seems to be innately talented with soccer)? I don’t know. And maybe I never will. I just hope her girl power comes from a place of strength as well as beauty.

Nurture or Nature?

I love gardens. I love the soft petals of flowers bursting with color. I love to watch the ground push forth its bounty in tangles of leaves and stems. I love the smell of freshly tilled earth. I love to stand and pick out seeds – imagining how it might all look as it grows together. I love to stand in the sun and watch the drops of water bounce off of the rinds of melons and cucumbers. I love that you can see progress almost daily.

Gardens take a lot of work. And while I admit to not loving the weeding and the feeding and the waiting, most of the time everything I love about them outweighs the more tedious aspects of bringing a garden to life. I can be a bit lazy with the tending occasionally. Letting the weeds blur the edges of the rows or carefully plotted placement of blooms. But I always wind up out there, working one section at a time to free the plants I love from the ones I don’t.

But once in a great while it’s possible to come across a patch of earth that is barren. No matter how much you water, feed and love it, it simply cannot provide a nurturing place in which seeds can prosper. It’s been worked too much, or been taken over by some other inhospitable force that has rendered it moot when it comes to growing. It needs time to heal and figure out once more how to go about sustaining life.

So what do you do? Do you pour all the love and resources you have into it? Hoping against hope that you can save it? Bring it back from nothingness into the light place where things can grow and prosper once more? Of course you do. And sometimes it works. Sometimes you are able with the right tricks of the trade to turn that earth back into a fertile and loving cradle for life.

But there are times when nothing you do can fix it. Because you didn’t do anything wrong. There just wasn’t life there to begin with. And all the mulch in the world can’t fix that.