Four

It is hard to believe that four years ago we were in the midst of another series of Winter Olympics.  As I labored with you I complained to H, "I've already seen this figure skating couple!" To which he replied, "Uh yeah hon, it's 3 o'clock in the morning.  They are repeating things now."  Right. We had been at the hospital since seven a.m. for your induction.  You clearly did not feel like making your entrance into this world even though you were already two weeks late.  Today you are four and you still hate getting ready in the morning, putting on anything that isn't "pajammies" and heading out the door.  You much prefer to while away the hours bare foot and comfy with copious amounts of blankets, pillows and stuffed friends surrounding you.

I know it is so cliched to say that I cannot believe you are already four.  In some ways and on some days it feels like it has taken us centuries to get here.  When I see you spell your name and your sister's on paper or watch you help her brush her teeth, feed the dog by yourself or race down a hill on your scooter I just can't believe you are already this big.  We never thought you would have much hair and now the curly mass can barely be contained on most days.  You are shy and also quite outspoken or as your teacher says you, "quietly stand your ground."  You are independent, bold, a risk taker and a lover of adventure in ways I never was as a child. I would have wanted to be your friend because you are so daring.  Now I am proud to be your mother.  In four years you have become generous, loving, kind and sweet with a busy sense of purpose and stubborness that can only be attributed to having two stubborn parents.  You are just learning to take the easy way versus the hard way.  We love you despite all the tantrums and screamfests.  We love you because of them too.

Happy Fourth Birthday TD!  We couldn't ask for a better daughter.  We love every little bit of you today and always. 

A Barbie Dream House for Me

A reprint of a post from the past- all about a Christmas past.  Enjoy!  Be sure to check out MPR's Holiday Gift Guide- new items have been added!

There it sat. Huge and under the tree. The tag insisted that I was correct, this big box from Santa/my grandparents was intended for only me. My five year-old brain was buzzing with ideas. I could barely contain my excitement. My mother kept warning me to stay away from the tree, "It's not time to open presents yet. Stop touching things and back away from the tree!" I think I might have done a little dance of protest before I backed away.


I sat on my grandmother's paisley and floral couch and wondered, what could it be? A pony? It was certainly a large enough box. Then my mind settled on it. The only thing it could be. The only thing I really wanted. A Barbie Dream House. A Barbie Dream House! That had to be it! Satisfied with this idea I got off the couch and joined the rest of my family for dinner.

All through dinner and dessert I couldn't sit still. I squirmed this way and that in my seat at the dining room table. Dinner went on forever! Turkey and all the trimmings. Fine. Shovel it in. C'mon! We've presents to unwrap! They drank wine and then coffee! Would this dinner ever end? My grandfather lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. The nerve of him! It was never ending. Didn't these people know that a BARBIE DREAM HOUSE was less than two rooms away?! What was wrong with them? How could they not feel the ants in my pants excitement that I did? Didn't they want or need to unwrap their own presents? I NEEDED to unwrap that present! My brained screamed, "Time is of the essence here people!" Finally, my grandmother rose from the table and asked us if we wanted to sit by the tree and look at the lights. Yes! At last! We're going to get to the good part.

I watched my cousins and some of the adults unwrap presents. I received a few smaller items I can no longer remember. Then, my grandparents with big smiles on their faces, pushed the big box out from under the tree. Everyone speculated on what could be in such a large box. I nearly shredded the wrapping with my tiny frenzied hands. Huh. Wait. What's this? This is not some pink full of pictures Mattel box. It's just a regular old cardboard box. Uh.. heheheh something isn't right here folks. Slowly I opened the big box hoping against all hope that inside it was another box. The right box. The Barbie Dream House box. As I lifted the lid I noticed something red and wrapped in plastic. It was a coat. A winter coat. My heart seized. The wiring in my brain misfired and I swear I saw stars. This was all devastatingly wrong. A coat?! Who gives a little kid a coat for Christmas and smiles about it? What fun is a coat? It's not a toy! I have to wear this to school too? For the love of...

My heart just sunk. I lifted the red coat out of the box as my grandmother, all smiles, removed the plastic wrap. Oh look! It has a giant fur trimmed hood. Great. A belt too? Wonderful. I don't even think I tried to smile at my mother's prodding. I just remember the room feeling darker. I was so disappointed. How could they not remember to buy me the one thing I really wanted? Surely this coat costs as much as the dream house. It had fur for goodness sake! I hated that coat instantly. I wanted to throw it in the back of my closet banishing it to the dust bunnies forever. Scowling and refusing to mask my extreme disappointment and at the insistence of my mother, I thanked my grandparents. This was the worst present ever! The worst Christmas ever!

Weeks later and still playing with my cardboard box Barbie dream house. At least with the addition of the brand new giant box that the coat came in I had added an addition onto her house turning it into an apartment complex that her other friends could live in. To me that was the only consolation. No dream house. Just a giant red coat with fur on the hood that got in my mouth all the time. Awesome. I vowed never to forget this error in judgement by the adults in my life. I knew for sure that my parents were involved and had ok'd this gift. What was wrong with them?

Then one day as I stood in line waiting for my school bus a boy in my class began to make fun of my red coat. Being only five about all he could make fun of was the fact that it was big and red. Big Red he called me. Ha Ha. This kid was destined to be class president. He started pulling on the fur and telling the other kids it was a dead animal. Slowly, I turned around to face him and said in the most haughty voice I could muster, "If you must know that is REAL fox fur your hands are pawing. It was a gift from my grandparents and it is VERY expensive. It came in a GIANT box." Oddly, that shut him up. Then little girls began to crowd around me and they wanted to come and touch the soft fox fur. They admired the cute little belt and the fashionable buttons on my new coat. They wanted one just like it! It was a rather beautiful shade of red. Very complimentary to my hair color. Suddenly, I felt like a princess in my new red coat.

From that day on I loved that little red coat with the "fur" trim. I was sad when I outgrew it. I kept it for longer than necessary in the back of my closet. We had some good times me and that red coat. I believe it was the first lesson I consciously remember about finding the best in something and looking at the brighter side of things. A Barbie Dream House I came to realize was just a bunch of plastic. My coat kept me warm and regal. I could take it everywhere, something I couldn't do with the Dream House. Besides, I had a whole apartment complex to manage now with my imagination and that was better than just a single Barbie Dream House.

Traveling my Childhood Fantasties

Oh, if only I could uncover the photograph taken of me from Christmas 1985. You would see a pink-sponge curler topped Vicky in a lilac bathrobe clutching a giant tome of a book about the size of my torso while a face-cracking smile threatens to bust through the photograph.

For weeks I would drag my mother to the book store so I could gaze longingly at Robert Ballard's book, The Discovery of the Titanic, in all it's full color glory. Filled with beautiful illustrations, actual photographs from the deep sea wreck as well as those from it's maiden voyage, this book was all I wanted for Christmas. I memorized it before I even owned it.

Before it was in print I had watched television specials, read articles and checked out every book about the Titanic from my local library. I was a kid obsessed. The story of its passengers, crew and creation riveted me and it still does today.

Then thanks to Twitter and Meagan Francis I learned about THIS!

Is it too morbid?

Would you do it?

I'm deathly afraid of cruise ships (gee, I wonder why.) but I think I might hyperventilate, in a good way, just from reading the website. The whole excursion** sounds like a major historical geek-fest that might actual border on art. Unless of course somehow a bit DiCaprio is thrown in, which would force me to abandon ship. No pun intended.

I think I might start swooning at any moment. Quick! Get me the Draper's fainting couch!



*Don't get your panties in a wad H. The trip isn't until 2012. I'm not leaving you again. Heh.
**Will book now for review or if a generous company wants to let me live out a childhood dream. Yes, I'm serious. I never kid about the Titanic.

On Life, Death and Our Children

I have never felt so inadequate or so much like an adult as when I attended my friend's mothers funeral a few weeks ago. I was alone in attending and unlike other funerals I didn't have my grandmother, or my father or my husband to lean on. As I sat there listening to my friend and her sister eulogize their mother with such tremendous poise and grace I felt that we were passing into a new phase of our lives. Our parents are dying now. We have officially grown up.

Then I thought back to my childhood and remembered a few of my school friends whose parents passed away due to long illnesses while we were still in grade school. In first grade I celebrated my birthday with cupcakes at 8 a.m. so that the whole class could attend a fellow classmates fathers funeral. I do not remember seeing the little girl much throughout the day but I often wonder if she derived any comfort at all from seeing her entire class sitting in the pews and being there for her.

In sixth grade it happened all over again and this time with a deeper understanding. We girls were exceptionally weepy because despite being conscious of it or not we were all yearning to pull away from our mothers while at the same time still desperately needing their guidance and wisdom. I know that having the whole class present at my friends mothers funeral was consoling to my friend and a bit of a needed distraction.

However, now I wonder if parents would be so quick to allow their children to attend the funeral of a classmates parent like we did. It was a field trip of sorts and one that was discussed in class prior to attending and afterwards. Coming from a family of many elderly relatives I had already seen my fair share of funerals but now I know there are many parents who spare their children this experience. Would they allow such a field trip in school's now? I kind of doubt it. We like to spare our children from bad or sad things these days. But isn't that part of growing up?

How do you talk to your children about death when they are six and then when they are twelve? When a friends parent dies do you make up a story or have an honest talk about your beliefs and what death really means? Would you allow your child to attend a classmates parents funeral?







On an entirely different note:
LeapFrog has launched 1 Million Reading Hours in conjunction with the NEA’s National Reading Month, to bring attention to literacy and to encourage families to make time to read together. By pledging to set aside at least 10 minutes a day, parents can contribute to the national goal of 1 million reading hours committed. Enter the giveaway by posting a comment stating how much time you plan to pledge in the LeapFrog 1 Million Reading Hours Campaign. A winner will be chosen randomly at the months end, and he or she will receive one (green) Tag reader + 5 books (chosen by LeapFrog) for personal use, as well as an expanded-memory LeapFrog School Tag reader + 10 books (chosen by LeapFrog) to donate to their local library!

Free To Just Be

Ever since we found out we were going to be parents H and I knew that we would without a doubt let our kids feel free to be themselves. Their quirks and personalities, likes and dislikes were free to gad about and we would not try to stifle them. Lefties are welcome just like kids with blue hair and opposing political views.

Then the other day I realized we actually haven't been doing that. TD has some wildly untamable hair and everyday we run the gamut of detangler, soaking every layer and then combing it out. "Combing out the weave" is what H calls it. It's definitely a process and one that goes completely AWOL about ten minutes later. Inevitably I end up combing her whole head about three more times in a day. If I don't do this it looks like a pack of rabid squirrels ran through it while trying to find a place to nest. Seriously. I would not be surprised if one day I saw a pair of beady little eyes glaring out at me from that blond halo of hair.

Why were we trying to suppress and tame TD's hair so much? The insane factor of it is the topic of conversation from our friends, family and neighbors each time she sets foot outside our home. "It's hilarious!" they say. "What are we going to do with it?" ask members of our family as if it a detriment to national security or something. Finally I decided to say "F it!" It's her hair. That is the way she is and trying to comb it down only shows her we are trying to change who she is and that's not what we want her to learn from us.

Am I reading too much into it? Maybe. But think back to how many of us have tried to change ourselves to conform to what society deems acceptable. Are we ever as happy as we think we should be when we do conform? The answer is usually no.

BEFORE

From now on TD is free to be and quite frankly I think it's pretty damn cute this way as well.

AFTER


Let's all give a nice round of congratulations to my friend Kristen over at Mommy Needs a Cocktail. She's just birthed a fine baby boy. I can't wait to meet the newest member of that clan.

And if you are feeling an itch to join in on a cause that is near and dear to my heart read this Deep South Moms post and join in to boycott Nickelodeon and Viacom for not booting Chris Brown from the Kid's Choice Awards show. Sure, let's just start giving awards to abusers and in front of children... Maybe, just maybe we could teach kids about the topic of abuse instead of awarding bad behavior.

Strawberry Shortcake - The Nudist

As a kid, I grew up in the Ocean State. Ah, lil' Rhody with it's four hundred miles of beaches. Bet you didn't know that the smallest state in the country could boast so much coastline. We certainly had our pick of the beaches and of all those sandy strips my parents often chose the one that you actually had to strip at. That's right, a nude beach. Moonstone to be exact and I'm not trying to be funny.

Now a nature reserve for the piping plover or some such bird, Moonstone was a nude beach into the early 80's. As a small kid I didn't notice much of anything in the way of awkwardness I rather liked the whole no sand in the bathing britches factor and I was literally free to run around and play all day. Minus the fact that there were often few other children to play with it wasn't a bad beach. I would take my red backpack full of sand shovels, pails and Strawberry Shortcake dolls and follow my parents along the beach to the perfect blanket location. We'd set up for the day and I would take off whisking Shortcake, Huckleberry and Apple Dumpling off to exotic ocean side locales. Barbies were not for the beach but Strawberry went everywhere with me.

One day, as I sat on my parents blanket eating a sandy sandwich I realized something. Shortcake and company was missing! Where had she gone? My father piped in that she was probably by the shoreline where I had left her. I ran down to see only to discover that while Shortcake, Apple Dumpling and Huckleberry were all still sitting in the sand and basking in the sun, there clothes were no longer there. They had been washed out to sea! Gone. Forever. Not a trace of them was left behind. Not an apron, rubber shoe or poufy hat could be found. I was devastated. It was one thing for my parents and I to be naked, but it was quite another for Strawberry Shortcake.

While my mother bought replacement clothes they were never the same original outfits and the dolls never quite seemed the same to my anal-everything-must-be-right-self. From there on out I forever thought of Strawberry and friends as nudists.

For less traumatizing beach adventures check out PBN where you can read more stories and find out how to win a "Summer Fun Essentials Package"- a beach bag filled with summertime must-haves such as beach towels, pool toys, a sand castle building kit, and more! Plus, products from the Huggies® Little Swimmers® line.

**Lookie, lookie what one reader found- Poor Vintage Shortcake and Mint Shortcake.

What is Pink and Squishy and Family-Friendly? BARBAPAPA!

Sure you have your Cabbage Patch Kids, The Golden Books, your Strawberry Shortcake, throw in some Winnie the Pooh or Where the Wild Things Are and you have yourself many childhood favorites. All things many of us look back on with happy nostalgia. However, it was while I was visiting Paris during my pregnancy that I discovered a toy in a French department store that brought back much of my childhood to me. It was Barbapapa! I knew instantly I had to have him. Excited and in utter disbelief (this toy is still popular?!) I had him rung up at the register and brought him home to await the arrival of my daughter, T.D.

As a kid Saturday morning cartoons dawned early in my house. Barbapapa (the cartoon is based on a series of book by Annette Tison and Talus Taylor) started at 6 a.m. on some public television station. It's New England we received a lot of Canadian public television in the 70's and early 80's. It was my favorite cartoon and I couldn't think of anything better than bouncing along to the theme song in the darkened living room. The glow of the screen and the Barabapapa family was all I needed for the next hour or so.

When T.D. began to teethe I handed over this precious new Barabapapa. She gummed his soft squishy pink body and I happily began reading her all the books in the collection. I had saved them through numerous room purges from elementary school, high school and beyond. As I read the books to her now I began to notice just how much this pink blob and his colorful blobby children and wife shaped me. Barbapapas are all about innovative thinking, gentle manners and protecting the earth they live on. They solve problems using the talents each family members possesses, change shapes and have the most vivid and brilliant imaginations. I love reading the whole series of Barbapapa books with T.D. just as much as I loved having my Mom read them to me.

While my collection of Barbapapa books has grown ratty over the years(I've met only one other soul who remembers Barbapapa.) I still cherish them and hold them close to my heart. The bright illustrations of the Barbafamily building a home together, helping sick animals and creating a school for their community always remind me what is truly important in life. That sense of family, community building and celebrating everyones natural talents is what makes me, well, me. I love sharing it with my daughter and hope that despite all the scotch tape on the binding and pages the colors of the characters will still be bright enough to share with her children some day.



This post was brought to you by a PBN Blog Blast and Highlights Magazine (now in its 60th year!). It's all about sharing too! Visit the site (comment here too!) about what favorite things from your childhood you like sharing with your children and you could win a free subscription to Highlights new magazine, 'High Five'.

Barbapapa Lives!

On YouTube. Anyone else watch this show as a kid? It was on a Canadian channel when I was growing up in N.E. If I didn't have the books to prove it no one would believe me when I talk about this show. It was a favorite of mine and T.D. loves the books despite them being ratty and almost thirty years old.