Chirky

Today, Rayah is one year old. It seems unfair how fast the time has flown. It's hard to imagine that the tiny, fragile little girl (in the photo above, just a couple hours after she was born) went from total immobility and dependence on me for everything to the rambunctious, happy, curious little girl she is today. All in a year.

Undoubtedly, this has been the most challenging year of my life - personally, professionally, emotionally. Selfishly, I've felt somewhat robbed of my time with her - time that I'll never get back. How do the hours and days and weeks and months pass so quickly? I worry that Rayah will grow up watching me work on my computer, believing that I choose my career over her. I worry about about how it will impact her self-worth, or if it's only impacting my own. I worry about things that I imagine all working moms think about. I try to be purposeful with our time together, working while she sleeps or while she plays independently or while she is being taken care of by others.

I never knew how fascinated I would be by my own child. From the moment my doctor first laid her on my chest, I've not been able to take my eyes off her. I love everything about her, from her hair to her dimples to her birthmarks to her toes. I could just stare at her for hours. Often, late at night, I sneak into her room and just watch her sleep. Or if I don't turn the light on, I'll just stand there in the dark, inhaling deeply. I love how she smells. It's somehow comforting to me, just knowing she is there.

I love to watch her discover each room in our home - she can make a toy out of anything, from a canning lid to a shoelace to a hanger to a drawer knob. She loves to play peek-a-boo, which primarily involves her staying in the living room - she usually stands against the hearth, cruising back and forth - while I tip-toe in circles around our house, popping out from different directions and different doorways, enchanted by each squeal, or each belly laugh, or just by the expression of delight across her face.

I love to watch as she unearths new tastes - Rayah will try just about anything, and she usually likes it. This year I've made all her food, which I love because I know exactly what she's eating. Peas are green, instead of brownish, blueberries are purple, instead of brownish, apple sauce is the color of the white of an apple, instead of -- you guessed it! -- brownish. We've had fun auditioning more complex foods, like pearl barley and mushrooms, or Greek-style grilled eggplant, or mango rice pudding with coconut milk. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't serve Rayah anything that I wouldn't want to eat...and I've made good on that promise. I know this because I've gained four pounds since Rayah started eating solid foods. Somehow rolls don't look as cute on me as they do on her.

I love to watch as she explore outdoors. A year ago, Rayah was content to lie on my belly and stare up at the trees in our backyard. She was fascinated by the leaves blowing, so much that she would lie and stare at them for 30, sometimes 45 minutes. In the lifetime of a newborn, that might as well be a few hours! Now she wants to crawl around and put those leaves in her mouth. When I took her on walks this time last year, she would stare up at the sky, and then fall asleep within the first three minutes of our stroll. Now she looks around, talks to the ducks who gather to eat our pieces of bread, whips her head around to watch as a car approaches and passes.

She laughs when I cry, not knowing the difference between the two. She crawls to me and tugs on my pants, or steamrolls my laptop, when she wants my attention. She loves to give hugs, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck and holding -- just holding like she never wants to let go -- and I hold her closer, hug her tighter, letting her squeeze as long as she wants, because I never want her to let go.

Yes, year one passed much, much too quickly.

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Tonight Rayah woke up screaming. SCUH-REAAAMMMIINNNGGGGGGG. I went in to check on her, and realized that Daddy was weed-eating outsider her room. I guess it startled her awake, that big whirring noise. It seemed silly to ask him to stop, since I knew he wouldn't be out there for long, though she didn't realize that. So instead, I capitalized on the moment.

I picked Rayah up and settled into the glider, quietly whisper-singing one of my favorite hymns, listening to the sound of the engine outside. As I was singing she quieted down, and fell asleep again on my shoulder. Oh, the countless times I've held her exactly the same way, though back then she was so much smaller. It's been a long time since I've held Rayah when the rest of the house was quiet. Often I miss those newborn days, the late nights and early mornings of cuddling with my daughter.

I tried to memorize how her head felt warm against my cheek. I breathed in her sweet baby scent. I thought about how she's so much bigger now than she was nine-and-one-half months ago, but that my hand, with fingers splayed out, still covers her entire back. I held her securely against my chest, clutching her, not wanting that moment to end.

It did end, but I can still feel her against my cheek. And I'm treasuring that memory, not wanting it to fade away.

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THE GOOD
For the past several months, I’ve been eagerly anticipating The Princess and the Frog from Netflix. Last night, Roger and I watched it. At first, I loved it. I loved (most of) the characters, and that it was set in the bayou of New Orleans. I loved that it gave Disney a new princess, one who didn’t need to be rescued as much as she just need to grow and learn some. I loved that it showed how life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it might. I loved that it encouraged young girls to dream big, to reach high. I loved that it balanced dreaming and wishing with hard work to make that dream happen. Because that’s how life is: you have to sacrifice, you have to have solid work ethic, you have to be willing to work hard in order to succeed. And Disney nailed that.

THE BAD
But there was another side to The Princess and the Frog. A darker, sinister side. I hated the voodoo aspect, which was a much larger component to the cartoon than what was advertised. It was woven throughout the movie, constantly present. The way the voodoo was portrayed in the film was scary (not light-hearted and magical, how I had imagined it would be, considering it is a movie meant for children). It is frightening, and poisonous, and foreboding. Since voodoo is a part of the New Orleans culture, I wasn’t so surprised that it was included – but the way that it was done bothered me. A lot.

THE VERDICT
I was disappointed in this Disney movie, and definitely will NOT be buying it for my daughter. I genuinely believe it would give her nightmares, at least until she is much, much older. The good was really good, and the bad was really bad. There was such great opportunity to make this movie more than it was. Poorly done, Disney.

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I've been thinking a lot about what moms really want for Mother's Day (this Sunday!). And I've been wondering if working moms and stay at home moms want the same things. (Note: By "working moms," I mean mothers who are employed by a company, since I know that stay at home moms also work, just in a different way.)

Lately I've been struggling with balance. (Lately equals the last eight months.) (Coincidentally, my sweet daughter is eight months old.) (I'm pretty certain these two are related.) My life is overflowing with busyness. I'm a full-time mom, and a full-time employee. And I don't mean that I leave the house to go to a full-time job, while someone cares for my daughter. I mean that I stay home and care for her, and that I'm also a remote employee for a company I love. So I work 40+ hours a week at home, while also *attempting* to spend that time with my little girl. Hiring a nanny is out of the question right now, because of the way this economy has affected our family's finances. Which makes for early mornings, and late nights, and busy days. Add to that meals, and grocery shopping, and cleaning the house, and laundry, and I'm willing to bet you can guess which of those slide. (Answer: that entire last sentence.) But I get to spend the entire day with our daughter, and for that I am thankful. She's pretty awesome.

Roger, on the other hand, usually leaves for work before Rayah's up in the morning, and comes home after she's gone to bed. He walks into her room several times a night, just to watch her sleep. And just thinking about that makes me depressed. To love someone so much, but not be able to hold her or read her books or even to listen to her "talk" about her day. To only to get to spend two days each week with her. And even then, it's a weekend filled with busyness, trying to do all the things that the weekdays denied us.

So I've been thinking about Mother's Day. I've been thinking that, sure, perfume or flowers or spa certificates are nice. A thoughtful card is nice. But what do I really want? I want time. I want time with my husband and daughter, without the added stress of everything else that needs to be done. I want a carefree day. A family picnic at the park in our neighborhood. Reading books together in Rayah's reading corner. I want a day to re-connect as a family, a day to take pictures, a day to remember.

But I realize not everyone wants the same things that I do - so I'm curious. What do you want for Mother's Day?

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A couple weeks ago, our little family visited the Dallas Arboretum to get a few pics of Rayah. We picnicked on a grassy lawn, shared our cookies with two adorable little girls who were running around, and worked to keep Rayah from eating dirt. (Literally, I mean. It's not like she was face-planting or anything.)

Roger is usually behind the camera, so I was excited to snap a few pics of him having deep and meaningful conversations with Rayah.

And I think this is my new favorite picture of me and my sweet little girl - we love to lie down and play SuperBaby! while I get in a little arm exercise. :)

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Family and friends regularly ask me how I'm liking cloth diapering, and this is what I have to say: I love it. I love, love, love it. What we're doing is great for our daughter, great for our budget, and great for the environment. And that's what is important to me, in that order. While we haven't always cloth diapered, we did always intend to.

As a brand new mom, I asked myself three questions anytime Rayah cried:

-is she hungry?
-is she tired?
-is she wet?

That is all my brain could muster on two hours of sleep. And really, I didn't even have to ask the third one because Pampers took care of it for me. How smart are they?! When Rayah was a newborn, the hospital gave us several packs of Pampers Swaddlers Sensitive with a WETNESS INDICATOR. Which was awesome, because anytime we wondered whether her diaper was wet or dirty, there was a little line that turned from yellow to blue. We didn't even have to take her diaper off to know its status. And anytime we saw a blue line, we were all over changing that diaper. In the first week or two of her life, Rayah went through about 20 diapers each day. (I'll admit, we might be a little OCD. Mah bebe with a wet diaper? NEVER!) Even with all the hospital gave us, we spent a lot of money on diapers those first many weeks. True story.

But we had our cloth diapers waiting in the wings. While I was still pregnant, I researched cloth diaper types, and finally settled on what I thought would be the best for our family: Bum Genius one-sizes (it turned out we were right - I love this diaper!). Basically, it's a diaper you buy once and it grows with the baby, from seven to 35 pounds. (Though see for yourself: I have photographic evidence that they threatened to swallow Rayah whole until she was about 10-12 pounds.) They have little snaps that adjust to fit (shown here on the smallest setting), and come in a variety of colors (though I do wish there were more, like red and teal and purple, or maybe fun prints).

Each week I would put one of her cloth diapers on her to see if they fit yet. By eight weeks, her thighs had finally chunked up enough for the leg casings to fit properly without worrying about any leakage. For nearly five months now, she's been wearing cloth diapers. At this point, the cloth diapers have more than paid for themselves. We're probably even making money off of them.

I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't want to wash diapers every day, or even every other day. I am a full time mom AND I work full time. I just don't have time for loads and loads of laundry. So we bought more than average and wash them every three or four days. (Uhhh, this may change as Rayah eats more solids. I am aware of that. I am also afraid of that.) Rayah and I do the laundry together, pulling the diapers apart and throwing them in the washing machine. (She LOVES watching clothes tumble around in the washer and dryer!) And now that the weather is warming up, she's helping me lay them out in the sun to dry, too. Such a good little helper!

I know it's not for everyone, but I love cloth diapering. The mom in me loves that Rayah has natural fibers against her skin. The fashionista in me loves color-coordinating her diapers with her outfits. The budgeter in me loves that I'm saving hundreds (in the long-term: thousands) of dollars by not purchasing disposables. The greenie in me is proud that I'm not dumping a ton (literally: each disposable-diapered baby contributes one ton worth of diapers) in our already maxed-out landfills. I'd say it's a win-win all around!

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Roger and I were on a walk with Rayah this evening when we came upon a father kneeled down with his child. At first it appeared as though the child was hurt, and he was consoling her. As we came closer, we heard her crying and pleading with him - whatever it was, she made sure he knew she wasn't going to do it again. Then he started yelling at her. Screaming. SCREAMING.

My neck coiled and my eyebrows shot up. As we were (slowly) walking past, I turned around to look at them. He had his daughter -- she was maybe three years old -- pinned to the ground, in a sort of headlock, while he hovered over her and screamed at her about cars driving down the road. (This was on a walking path in our neighborhood park, bordered on one side by a residential street and on the other side by a creek.) The child's mother stood there, cross-armed, observing. The little girl's face was red and marked with tears. And this father - this father was so oblivious to anything around him, and screaming at her so forcefully, that it seemed abusive to me. He was frightening. The situation was so disturbing that *I* started crying. You guys! I started crying.

Now, full disclosure: I didn't understand the context of the discipline. Had she gotten too near the street (about six feet away) when a car was driving by? Had she been disobedient the first couple times her father asked her to move away from the street? I don't know. But I do know that this man was scary. And angry. He was belittling and intimidating his daughter. I have no patience for that. I wanted to rescue that little girl!

Roger and I quietly discussed whether we should do anything. We stopped and (covertly) watched, waiting to see if he would harm his daughter. We wondered at what point it would be appropriate to step in. In the end, we only watched them. I dried my eyes. The father eventually stopped, they marched past us on their way home, the little girl clinging to her mother's side, as far from her father as she could get. I turned to Roger and said, "I never want to treat our children like that." He had her pinned to the ground in a headlock. She was THREE.

And now I can't get that scene out of my mind - the dad hunkered down, trumpeting his temper; the mom passively standing by; the little girl, back arched, bawling, twisting her wet face from her father's.

I get that every parent has different discipline styles. I understand that I don't know the full story. But I also know that something isn't sitting right in my heart, and even though that family is long-gone, I'm curious: At what point do you step in? Or do you? How do you know when? And what should that look like?

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This morning I received an email from my sister-in-law, Rosalyn, professing her love for spring: "...the daffodils are bursting open, the forsythia (one of my very favoritest signs of spring) is turning into solid rays of sunshine as the blooms appear, and all of the flowering trees are vying to get in on the act! I'm so grateful for spring!"

I couldn't have said it better. The past few days it has been 70 degrees in Dallas, and I've been chomping at the bit to get outside. Rayah and I try to take walks every day. We love watching the ducks swim in the creek by our house, watching the little baby muskrats leap into the water when we come near. The daffodils are blooming in Dallas, also, and last week Rayah and I watched a toddler squeal with delight as he ran through them toward his Daddy. The birds are chirping, and blue jays are fluttering around our neighborhood. The Bradford Pear trees are thick with white blooms - I love watching Rayah's face as she stares up at tree branches - and I'm looking forward to seeing my favorite shade of green as trees begin to bud.

I've always thought that spring is my favorite season - I love the life that begins to emerge. I love that sunlight is beginning to stretch the day. I love the bright, bold colors. I love the warm days and deep blue skies. For me, it's the promise of something more to come, the promise of life and growth and beauty. And I guess that's not surprising, coming out of a dark and cold winter.

Out on a weekend walk with my two favorite people!

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If you (a) have kiddos or are pregnant and (b) are in the Dallas/Fort Worth area this month, I have a special treat for you today! Twice each year, HUGE consignment sales crop up in the metroplex. Forget church garage sales or Craigslist - these are more like warehouse events, with every toy, activity equipment, stroller system, brand of clothing (and sizes to match!) on the market -- and more! And the prices? Well, those are generally pretty awesome.

Whether you're shopping for fill-and-spill toys, boppy pillows, summer frocks, sweet purses, cargo shorts and graphic shirts, an extra stroller, books, more crib sheets, exersaucers, kid-sized activity tables (or nearly anything else), these consignment sales are THE place to go for gently used, inexpensive items.

And I've got all the info for you...

Continue reading "Frugal Fridays: On Consignment" »

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Yesterday Rayah turned six months old.

*faints*

Six months! And as a little birthday present, Rayah taught herself how to roll from her tummy to her back.

Today we also had an appointment with her pediatrician, and it seems Rayah had a bit of a growth spurt! In the past two months, she's grown TWO inches! Here's her stats:

Weight: 16 pounds, 5 ounces (55%)
Height: 26 1/4" (75%)
Head: 16 1/2" (30%)

My little baby is growing up!

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