Whoever said birthdays were all candles and party hats never dared enter my head

Today is my birthday. I'm 38 years old.

Let me start by saying, 38 is not old. I don't feel old, though my knees might think differently, and compared to the lifespan of the average American woman, I'm in the prime of my life. But I can't help but compare myself, and where I am in my life right now, to where my mother was at this age.

My mother was a child when she got married, she was barely nineteen and less than a month after her 20th birthday she had me. Which means, when my mother was my age, she had an 18 year old daughter entering college. Therefore, adding it all up and carrying the one, I am old enough to have a child in college. But fast forward twenty years and I have a daughter entering kindergarten. My mind, it is significantly boggled.

I don't know how to process this. It has less to do with the biological possibility of having a child old enough to be considered a legal adult and more to do with grappling with my feelings about my mom and the way she and my father raised me compared to how I'm raising my children.

My parents were so young and naive and without modern conveniences like the internet to help them with their parenting choices (there is some sarcasm in that last part). For better or worse, they relied heavily on their families, specifically their parents from a far more removed generation, to lend guidance and share wisdom.

I don't agree with most of what they did, but here I am today - the first of my family to attend and graduate college. I've never been arrested and have never mixed up in drugs or criminal activity. Whether it was nature or nurture, and regardless of the negative things which I really don't feel like getting into, something went right.

My husband and I have years and experiences my parents didn't have. We have the education and the income they only dreamed of. Time will tell if the outcome is any better but I know what I'll be wishing for when I blow out the candles on my cake.

A wish is a dream your heart makes when it's busy thinking about cake

Oh, hey there, internet. What's happening?

What's happening with me? That's so nice of you to ask.

Let's see.... My kids both had birthdays in the last couple of months, but did I blog about it? Noooo. So let's make up for lost time, shall we?
Chicky turned five, FIVE, had a pirate-themed party at home where I made the cake...

Idea for the cake courtesy of Fairly Odd Mother
Made with my own two hands.

and we invited 16 of her closest friends, thereby cementing my desire to never have an at-home birthday with that many children ever again. Not that the children were not lovely and well behaved, because they were, but because my poor, weak heart can't take that kind of pressure again. And as we all know, it's all about me and my poor, weak heart. Wishes of adorable preschoolers be damned!


And speaking of preschoolers, Chicky no longer fits into that category. She, as she loves to tell everyone who will listen, graduated and is on her way to kindergarten in the fall. Or next week. She has a questionable grasp of time.

CC, on the other hand, has one more year before she can start preschool as she only just turned two, TWO, last week.

I am happy to note that after her most recent well visit she is now on the growth charts and is nice, healthy and average sized... for an 18 month old child. S'alright though, because what she doesn't have in size, she makes up for in sheer will and attitude.

She is a blur, constant motion, and I am unable to take a decent picture of her because even those super powerful, state of the art cameras that wildlife photographers use aren't fast enough to catch this child. She runs, she jumps, she climbs like a monkey. She has no fear, except of loud noises, and I can't get anything accomplished because I always have to have one eye on her, lest she find a new and interesting way to cause bodily harm to herself.

She is, in a word, awesome.

They're both awesome. And they both deserve their own post. I should get on that.

But until then, I will go remove the tiny Playmobil toy from CC's mouth. Again.

Good times never seemed so good

CC,

I blinked and then you were one.

I know it's cliche, I know every parent says it, but where did the past year go? It seems like I just had you but it also seems like you've always been with us. You just have that way about you, I suppose.

There are so many things I want to remember about your first year because you're so utterly enjoyable, but because you're the second child I've really let the ball drop on the whole documenting your first year of life thing. Sorry about that. It's not intentional. Honestly, we've been spending more time living which leaves less time for writing. And it's not like I don't try to take pictures of you, I really do. You just never sit still long enough so I've ended up with two hundred pictures of the back of your head.

But see? Here's a cute picture of you. It was taken before you could crawl away from the crazy lady and her flashy camera-thingy.

And it's not like there haven't been plenty of milestones to record - First crawled: six months. First word: HI! (capital letters, exclamation point), used often and regularly. Number of teeth: sweet Jesus, baby girl, you went into this week with an impressive seven teeth (and I do mean impressive, you could gnaw through the piano leg if I let you) but then this week you cut two molars at the same time. You can slow down because I'm still not sharing my steak with you - because there have been plenty to keep us busy.

Then there are the little things they don't leave spaces for in those books - how you love to dance and sing, how you manage to engage complete strangers in marathon games of peek-a-boo, how you're so very small but incredibly mighty for someone your size.

How you will amuse yourself for hours with nothing but a paper towel roll, a shoebox and an Advil bottle with a quarter in it stopping every once in a while for a quick cuddle or to blow kisses to me across the room.

Or how you love your sister even though she tries her best to make your life unpleasant (And for the record, she loves you too. She just doesn't know it yet).

And how, when frightened or unsure or just in the mood for a little love, you cling to me like a capuchin monkey, fingers holding onto my shirt for dear life while you giggle while I kiss your cheeks, until you feel comfortable enough to literally throw yourself out of my arms at whatever catches your eye.

That's how your first year has been spent, throwing yourself at whatever interests you regardless of consequence. I like that about you.


But the best part about the last year can be summed up by this: When sitting in your high chair you eat your meals with your right foot propped up on the tray. Never the left, always the right. And the first time you noticed it you were all, "Hey, look at That. How did That get there? Wow, I didn't know I had That! That has got to be the coolest thing I've ever seen. Mom, did you see That? Isn't That the best?? I really like That. I think I will sit with That next to me at every meal."

And that is what you did, still do, pretty much every meal for months. Among the things I will miss as you grow older, that is one of the most important. Your ability to find pleasure in the most mundane, the most simple, and the most obvious things we usually miss. I love That about you.

All my love,

Mama

So I sing a song of love

Chicky -

Today you are four.



I want to write so much to you. I want to tell you all the ways you've grown this year right before my eyes, but it happened so fast I didn't notice you had changed from a baby into a little girl until it had happened. I want to put every important moment down here for you to read later, but I can't. It's overwhelming. Just like I can't go back and relive all those moments again. They've gone and we can't get them back but that's alright. This next year of your life should be about moving forward and embracing changes. I think we both can handle it now.

Besides, there are parts of the last year that neither one of us want to relive.

This year has been a toughie, I'm not going to pretend that it hasn't, and you've taken the brunt of it I'm afraid. Our family of three became four, we left the only home you knew and moved to another one and you started school all in the span of a few months. That's a lot for someone your age to take and the transition wasn't exactly seamless. But we're starting to settle into this new life and not a moment too soon.

You and I have been at odds with each other for the past year. We haven't seen eye to eye on pretty much anything since before you turned three and I think I know why. It can be summed up in two lines of a song, a song I used to play when you were a baby while I walked you around the kitchen trying to calm you down, trying to calm myself down, tears in my eyes and hugging you so tightly, willing peace into your body -

"And you're so much like me. I'm sorry."

I know the song is from a father to his son, but I think it captures how we are, you and me, today and for the rest of our days together. How do I know, since you're only just four? I just do. I'm your mom, I know things. You'd know that if you stopped to listen to me once and awhile, but you don't. You've got your own mind, but you've got my stubbornness and my temper. Sorry about that.

We are two peas at war with each other in the same small pod, both wanting our own space and yet pulling each other back again to snuggle together in the safety of our zippered pouch. That push and pull is what frustrates me. I'm never pulling when you're pushing. You're never pushing when I pull. I'm pretty sure it frustrates you too. From the amount of tantrums and time outs we have in this house, I'm almost certain frustration is your number one emotion these days.

For the next year you need to know one thing - I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm going to pretend that I do until I figure things out and I'm going to mess up a lot but I'll get better at this parenting gig eventually. That won't make any sense to you until you've had your own kids but I feel it's important to state it for the record. I'm doing the best I can and I apologize for all the rest.

(Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it just to reach you...)

Because you, my sweet girl, are wonderful and you deserve only the best but instead you got me.

For you I will be better. For you I will try to learn patience and understanding. I will try to push aside my insecurities so I can help become a strong and secure person. I'll try to learn to let go. I'll even try to let you decorate the cupcakes with as many sprinkles as you want but I'm not promising anything.

I'll try. I am trying. For you.




Happy Birthday to you, my big girl.

I love you,

Mama

It takes more than an extra generation to make a great grandmother

If I was 100 percent positive there was a God, today I would thank him for giving my girls a truly Great Nana.


Happy Birthday, Nana. It's a selfish birthday wish but today I wish for you the gift of time so that Chicky and C.C. would have more moments like these. Here's to many more years of big hugs, homemade cookies, hand knitted sweaters, and the type of love that only you have to give.

Where's Jake Ryan when you need him?

Yo, it's my birthday.

I'm gonna party like it's my birthday.

Which is to say, not at all. My husband is 3000 miles away so it's just me and Chicky. And the dogs. Maybe I'll throw us a bacon party. That will make everyone happy.

Bacon makes everything better.

We'll be like the pigeon in the Mo Willems books, except instead of a hot dog party we'll have a bacon party. And of course we'll invite Knuffle Bunny. Because nothing says a swinging good time more than a children's book about lost bunnies. I hear copies will be handed out at Diddy's next party.

And cupcakes! We can make cupcakes and gorge ourselves on frosting.

Bacon and cupcakes. Two great tastes that don't really go well together. But we're going to try it just to make sure.

Yeah, so, 35. I'm 35 years old. I wanted to write some grandiose post looking back on the last five years since I entered my thirties but it's really kind of a downer. Lots of death, lost jobs, a bit of depression, a butt load of uncertainty and self doubt. In other words things I'd rather not think about today.

I met my girlfriends and their kids at the park this morning and they brought me a coffee cake with "Happy 35th" and my name written in frosting on the top. That was nice.

My Nana left me a birthday message on my answering machine this morning, complete with music from her amazing singing birthday candle. That was nice.

Mr. C just called and sang the first two words of "Happy Birthday" to me. That was really nice. For about two seconds, until he told me he went to a totally nude strip club last night. In his defense I know he hates those places. It was "business". And I'm sure a lot of "business" is done in places where women flash you their coochies. I wonder if I should be worried about the flowers that were just delivered.

Where was I? Oh, my birthday. Yeah...

It's 78 degrees and sunny today. That's nice too.

Bacon and frosting and flowers and cake and musical candles... I should be happy right? Yeah, not so much.

I don't know why I always feel so blah on my birthday, it's not like traffic cops and mail carriers are going to stop what they're doing and serenade me from the street, complete with a dance routine and jazz hands. Though how cool would that be?

I think it started way back when I was 16 and nobody wished me a happy birthday until well after I had returned home from school. I shit you not, I was Molly-freaking-Ringwald for a good ten hours.

Or maybe it started on the day I turned 13 and my mom made her famous shoe leather steak and I choked on a bite, necessitating a maneuver cum Heimlich at the hands of my father. I still eat my food in really small bites.

And you'd think being that my birthday is on the thirteenth that the ones falling on Fridays would be horrible. Nope. Just the opposite. Those are always the best ones. Today is Thursday. So what does that tell you?

Screw it, I'm going to make my own party. We will have the aforementioned bacon and cupcakes party (but not together because the more I think about it it's really making me nauseous) and I'll cop a squat on the couch this evening and watch John Hughes movies. I've already been listening to albums from my youth for the past 24 hours and I will continue to do so even if my air keyboard solo during "That was Yesterday" only got me eye rolls from Chicky. She didn't even like my Lloyd Dobler impression during "In Your Eyes". I suppose something is lost when you're holding an iPod dock in two hands instead of a boom box.

But for now I'll just take a nap and hope to dream about Jake Ryan whisking me away to private birthday party for two in his little red Porsche. I won't even feel awkward about thanking him for getting my undies back.

April ROFL Awards

It's the first Friday of the month and you know what that means, right?

No, it's not trash day.

Well, it is in my neighborhood... But that's not the point.* It's time for the ROFL Awards!

(please, hold your applause until the end.)



My nomination for this month goes to a man after my own heart. A man who understands me, who gets me where I live. A man who knows that the R's at the end of some words are totally optional. I can respect that in a person, which is why I'm nominating Piglet of Fire and his post about Massachusetts slang - which was impressive in its amount of great Boston speak as well as in its length. Another trait I can admire in a man.

What?

Congratulations to Piglet of Fire and the rest of this month's nominees!



Crank Mama awarded Redneck Mommy

The Kids are Alright awarded Mama Tulip

Polliwog awarded Bobbarama

J.D.’s Daze awarded Ambulance Driver

Kyla awarded Mad Hatter

Bub and Pie awarded Write About Here

Ali Martell awarded Redneck Mommy



*I promise I will post a list of guidelines for the ROFLs and link to them from my sidebar really soon. Unfortunately, I seem to have caught the procrastination bug. I think I caught it back in 1981 but it's a pesky little bugger and I can't seem to shake it.

If you'd like to be included on the email list for the ROFLs please send an email to Chicky Chicky Baby 2 at Yahoo dot com. If you sent me an email already please resend it to the above address. I'm trying to get better organized so I'm carrying separate emails with the hope that I'll finally stop burying things. Not that you care, but I know people have sent me emails about the ROFLs and now I can't find them and it's really making me cranky. It's the ROFLs for chrissake. I should be laughing, not throwing a whiny hissy fit. I could do both but not only do I procrastinate but I also can't multi-task.

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And before I have to send out (another) belated birthday card I have to wish Mr. Big Dubya a happy, and hopefully not incontinent, 40th birthday.

I thought long and hard about what virtual present I would give to the big guy. A package of Depends? Nah, I'm sure he has plenty already. I hear he buys in bulk.

When I was watching House the other night I thought, "A walker! With painted flames!" Then I thought it might be too showy for the birthday boy. People might think he was trying to, uh, compensate for other areas. Then again, he does refer to himself as Mr. BIG Dubya.

Then I came across this. True, it's from the women's department but I hear the Big Dub has maintained his girlish figure quite well. He can bring his sexy back and show his support for the greatest team ever.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Big Dubya!

Spring fever rears its lovely head

I feel like a fair weather blogger, in reverse. When the weather is crappy and I'll I want to do is hunker down on my couch with a cup of coffee and my laptop I find safe haven in the blogosphere. But on days like today, 80 degrees and blue skies, the last thing I want to do is slave over a computer writing pithy or verbose posts about... Well, I have no idea what about. That's the point. My head is elsewhere.

The weather affects my mood like crazy and today I am happy. Sublimely happy. I'm watching chickadees building nests in my rain gutters and I'm not worried one bit about how we're going to clean those out so the spouts don't get clogged. The brats kids next door are all still at school so the neighborhood is quiet and the sounds of small motorized vehicles don't break my concentration from the book I'm reading. Chicky and I can play outside with her new toys (procured from a very successful birthday party) and when I'm done playing she continues, she making tiny mud castles and covering herself with fine beach sand and me reading the before mentioned book. We ate lunch outside! Hurrah! Munching carrot sticks and nibbling on strawberries, I can close my eyes and pretend it's late June instead of late April. Tomorrow it's back to reality, but today it's heaven.



So you can see, while I should be doing a million and one things to get ready for my trip on Thursday I'm wasting my time daydreaming in the sun. No time for blogging here. So I hope you'll forgive my being a bad blog citizen. I'll be here, there and everywhere for the next week, but I won't be winning any blogger of the year awards.

(Speaking of awards, the lovely lady that is Oh, the Joys kindly nominated me for a couple of Blogger's Choice awards. Click on over there and vote for me if you are so inclined. Or don't. How can one care about such things when the warm sun is out?)

As for that pink buttercream frosted butterfly cake that I said in a recent post that I was going to be making this weekend, I had no idea how long that could take. Wow. I'm sure making frosting and decorating a cake is a lot of fun when you're not under the wire to get it completed in time. So, here's my first effort in cake making, such as it is.

This is how things come out when I work without a net.

Now that I know what I'm doing (snicker, guffaw, snort) if I'm ever called to task to make another "Wuttahfly" cake I'm sure it'll be prettier. But I make a mean buttercream frosting, if I do say so myself.




Chicky thought so, too. Which was praise enough for me.

Two

My beautiful girl, today you are two.

Never could I have known how far someone could evolve and grow in just 365 days before you came along. Your legs have lengthened, your belly shrunk, the baby fat seems to have melted away and that infant that I knew has been replaced with this almost-child. In the past year you've learned to walk and talk, to brush your teeth and use a spoon and fork all by yourself. You show empathy for your peers and affection to friends and relatives. In this large world you've begun to carve out a place for yourself. A place that is all yours, separate from me.




I have just a few important years before you let go of my hand in earnest, but until then I'm going to hold onto it tightly. The casual observer may not notice how a two year old exerts her independence, but I see it. Today you want to get out of your stroller so you can roam unassisted, tomorrow you'll be going off to school and the day after that you'll be preparing for college. It happens that quickly. But today you still, for the most part, hold my hand. You need my help in almost all facets of your life. And I am here to help you. For as long as you need me I'll be here for you.



A terrible tragedy happened yesterday and that might be why I'm so quick to look ahead at your life instead of concentrating on your accomplishments to date. But the loss of those children, so full of promise, might be just the jolt I need to remind me to savor each and every day I have with you. One day you will leave for college and I will no longer be able to linger over your shoulder, making sure you cross the street assisted, that you're eating right, that you get your daily allotment of hugs and kisses.

You haven't made things easy for me, but every time I'm ready to throw in the towel I have to remember those students in Virginia and how they were once wonderfully frustrating toddlers. When they were young their parents picked them up when they fell and skinned their knees and kissed their boo boos. Their parents tucked them in at night and watched the rise and fall of their chest as they slept. Their parents wished and hoped and sacrificed for them so that they could get an education. That education that would take them one more step away from their childhood.

I do not want to dwell on tragedy, but instead celebrate this messy complicated life that I have been given to watch over. Yours. My daughter's. I'm sorry to say that most days I don't know what I'm doing, but I still take my job very seriously. And that job is to love you and care for you for as long as I'm given the opportunity to do so, on special days and mundane. Through tantrums and sleepless nights. Messy faces and eskimo kisses. I'll take all of it for as long as I can get it.



Today you are two. I will try to remember to take things one day at a time if you will allow me to catch up when time gets away from me. And let me hold your hand on occasion.




Happy Birthday to my ocean child with the windy smile. I love you.