Treasure the doing

“The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one most of us make . . . I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages six, four, and one. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.”
Anna Quindlen

Girls in White Dresses (Two of my favorite things . . .)

Patience=Chocolate?

Yesterday while I waited to purchase a warm cinnamon bun at the IKEA cafeteria, I accidentally eavesdropped on the two ladies' conversation in front of me. One woman told the other that she and her husband had decided that they would use the word patience when they were really talking about chocolate. I might have missed a few key details from the conversation, but it seems to me, that their reason for doing this was so that their son wouldn't understand them when they were talking about eating chocolate.

I pondered on this.

And then I thought that this philosophy might work well for me as a technique for developing patience. Real patience that is. Whenever I find that my patience is being tried, I can say to myself, "I need patience." And then I can calmly walk to the privacy of my bedroom and eat a square of chocolate. I've decided that this would be a lot more fun and would probably work much better than the whole count to 10 theory. So from now on, whenever I need patience, what I really need, is chocolate. I think I'm on the road to becoming much more patient. I may also be on the road to gaining weight, but if that happens, I'll just think of a new word to substitute for patience. Like carrots, maybe, or exercise.

P.S. When writing this post, I could not for the life of me remember the word 'eavesdropping.' I first wrote 'nosedropping' but thought it sounded a little slimy. Then I thought it might be 'eardropping,' but it still didn't sound right. I finally arrived at 'eavesdropping' - phew!

Three Wishes on a Wednesday . . .

This morning when Emmy woke up, she had all kinds of great ideas. Here's a little blip of our conversation.

Emmy: If a genie gave me a wish, I would wish that everything I touched would turn into candy. Because I love candy.

Me: What about me and Daddy? Would you want us to turn into candy?

Emmy: No, I would just ask the genie if everything could turn into candy except you, and Daddy, and Sophie.

Me: Oh, good.

Emmy: I would also wish that everything I asked for, you and Daddy would always say "yes."

Me: Don't remember what I said, (I had just woken up) but something to the effect of, "dream on!"

Emmy: If the genie gave me another wish, I would wish that everything everywhere would be pink. Except our faces.

Me: That would be a lot of pink.

Emmy: I love pink. Do you think that one of my friends' daddies might be a genie?

Me: Maybe, we'll have to see . . .

Emmy: Maybe Brandon is a genie. Or Dave.

Me: That would be fun!

Meow. Hit. You.

My little Sophie, like many one-year-olds, loves animals. Imagine the thrill it would be for her, then, upon arriving at my parents' house to discover that not only does she get to spend time with Nannie and Opa, but she gets to enjoy the company of two cats to boot. And so, while we were home, Sophie enjoyed many afternoons of searching for the cats (Twinkie and Oreo), laughing at the cats, attempting to pet the cats, and talking about the cats.

On one particular afternoon, Sophie and I were alone in the house. She had just woken up from her nap with the request and demand, "Meow." Which, interpreted, means "let's find the cats." So we began our search and were soon pestering poor Twinkie who was enjoying one of her many naps in the afternoon sunlight. I must also add that of the two kitties, Twinkie is highly suspicious of children; she becomes skittish and agitated very quickly. Whenever possible, we would steer Sophie towards Oreo - ever the more tolerant and wise one. And so, I kept a close eye on Sophie and Twinkie - but apparently not close enough. In the moment that I turned my back (why must I always turn my back, will I never learn?) something happened which caused Sophie to startle Twinkie, who, in trademark feline fashion, hissed violently and batted at Sophie. My poor sweet, sensitive Sophie was even more startled and though she didn't cry, she whimpered as if she had been betrayed by her best friend. Her big blue eyes were pools of confusion, her brow was wrinkled in bewilderment, her voice wavered, and she said with great sadness and conviction, "Meow. Hit. You." (She hasn't quite mastered her pronouns yet. "You" in this case meant "me.") She repeated again, "Meow. Hit. You," and then added, "Nigh-night."

Sophie is not typically a screamer. When she is out of sorts, she asks to go to bed and she pouts. So I took her to the comforts of her bed, sat on a chair beside her per her instructions, "Mommy - SIT," and listened as she recounted her tale of woe over and over again. "Meow. Hit. You. Meow. Hit. You. Meow. Hit. You." It became her mantra - although instead of enterering into a peaceful, meditative state, she become more and more disturbed as she relived how the cat had lashed out at her.

Finally, I lured her out of her bed, with the promise that we would tell Nannie what that cat did. And so her story was repeated to Nannie. Again and again. If only you could hear the tremor of her voice and see her sad eyes.

A few weeks later, I was telling Matt the whole story, and Sophie chimed right in, "Meow. Hit. You," with the passionate addition of, "Don't. Do-dat, Meow. Don't. Do-dat, Meow."

How we love our girl, and how we love seeing how she makes sense of her world.

Favorite Pics of the Week

This afternoon we went for a stroll through Gamble Gardens. I love how children find joy in simple things. They loved seeing the flowers, finding butterflies, and exploring a new place.

Graeter's: The Best Ice Cream

If you ever go to Cincinnati - make sure to eat ice cream at Graeter's. I took it for granted when I was young, but now that I am so old and wise, I realize how truly special this ice cream is.