How to make a memory.

It was a real shock for me to learn that not everyone's parents believed in them the way my parents believed in me.  Whatever thing intrigued me they would make sure I got enough of a chance to experience it that I could make an informed decision about whether it was something I'd like to do with my life.

I remember a flying lesson my dad arranged for me.  They took me to Seattle for a cattle call chance at being a model, my mom even took my head shots.  They sent me to Washington DC for a week to see if journalism might interest me.  I knew that if I thought I could do something, they thought I was right.  I know how much that confidence in me inspired the confidence I have in myself.  Tonight, the eve of Thanksgiving I want everyone to know that I am thankful for parents who believed in me.  I am thankful that I had that example to learn from to be able to give my child experiences she might otherwise have missed.  Even if that experience is as simple as making a chocolate pecan pie - at the age of 2.  When other people might tell her she isn't big enough, I want her to know that I believe in her.  

That said, this is one heck of a good looking pie.  Not only was she making a pie, we were making a memory.

Somnambulation.

This is how the day usually ends.  Her refusing to go to sleep and then like a light, she's out.  As a mental note though, she may start sleep walking at some point.  It isn't outside the scope of reality.  I used to talk in my sleep all the time.  You can ask my sister, she will tell you the funniest things Crystal has said in her sleep.  I hear my girl sometimes talking in her sleep.  I'll have to keep an eye on her just to be safe.  Can't have her wander the neighborhood at night not knowing that she's out there.

Other than that, it is pretty easy to keep this kid entertained.  A $1 balloon with a dump truck on it from the dollar store, a few kitchen items to stack.  She has a whole room full of toys . . . that she rarely ever plays with.

I am pretty sure I should have been mad that she took all of the pots and pans out of this cabinet.  I should be mad that she was using my glass vegetable tray as a sled.  Coincidentally, if you are going to ask my sister about me talking in my sleep, ask about the vegetable tray.  The truth is, I needed to take the stuff out of there and wash it anyway.  A cricket died in there and I have been putting it off.  This just makes it so that I do what I am supposed to be doing.  That's all.

Like most kids, she has an active imagination.  One that leaves her using boxes as play things.  I am a sucker though whether it is hide and seek in the box from someone's microwave or playing banana phones in the middle of Walmart, I like to encourage her creativity.  I think she gets that from me, too.

She cried.

She cried so hard today.  It broke my heart.  I am assured by friends who have gone through the same thing, it's only the beginning.  Xyla is getting to an age where she knows what a birthday is.  She knows what Christmas is.  She looked around the park the other day and saw all the other kids playing with their daddies and I knew that she knew something was missing.  It's not like she hasn't seen her dad since then.  She has seen him.  She also knows inside that he is supposed to be where she needs him to be when she needs him to be there, and he's not.

I have been battling the last few months about how much and of what to write.  There are consequences when you talk about your ex online.  That is why I haven't written anything.  The idea that he could use any part of what I say in court has consumed me.  

I knew this would be coming.  I knew she would start to know.  I have to admit, I didn't prepare myself for it.  I thought I did, but I didn't.  I don't know what to tell her.  She's 2 1/2 and she is understanding concepts I didn't teach her about.  Maybe it's my fault.  I have done everything I could to make sure she knew who he was.  Now, she is finding out who he is.  I don't want him to break her heart.  

I really don't think he understood that this is what he was choosing when he chose to leave me when I was 3 months pregnant.  How do I protect her?  How do I tell her he made a different choice?  How do I tell her the truth without hurting her?  This is the hard part about being a single mom.  That is why I am sharing it now.  I know how she feels.  I know how she is going to feel.  I knew it would happen, how do I explain that?  

I have met my biological father, but I have never known him.  Instead I got a wonderful step -father.  It feels weird to write it that way.  I haven't known any other father.  I didn't have to bear what my daughter is going through because I had a choice, the same way my biological father had a choice.  When the time came for me to decide if I wanted my father in my life, I chose not to contact him.  There was nothing positive he could add to my life.  Only pain.  I didn't want the pain.  I don't want if for her.  

Similarly, her dad has only met his father once.  He had an idea in his mind about what his life would have been like if his father had been around.  When his father came he told him all the ways he could have been different but he just couldn't.  Even though he knew his son was out there he couldn't change his life to be there for him.  

Now here I am, at this cross road.  I just keep praying that God shows me the way.  That God comforts me.  That he gives me the courage to walk the path he's given me.  That he gives me to gentleness to help my daughter make sense of it all.  That she finds comfort in my arms.

She cried herself to sleep on the way home.  It didn't take long for her to be asleep.  She was already overly tired.  Friends, please pray for me.  Pray that God gives me the right words to comfort her and that he helps me keep a tight rein on the ones I want to say.

Fall photo shoot

This girl is, by far, my favorite person to take pictures of.  I decided to just walk around with her and take some pictures on campus.  Even though there was a football game being lost as we were there, she stayed really well focused.  

We ended up getting this shot at the railroad car in the McDonalds parking lot.  Yours doesn't have one?  How odd.  The leaves in the background was a bit of a fluke.  I pushed just the right combination of buttons and I was able to save it.  I tried to replicate the same move today but two things, I don't remember exactly what I did and I think they found their loop and closed it.

Oh well, I have this great frame-y thing and an amazing shot to go in it.  I will probably print this and take it to work.  I have my own little gallery going on there.

Sitting to Dinner with my Daughter

I watch her as she digs the plates out of her cabinet.  I can tell that she is proud of the fine meal that she's made, which is definitely not chicken.  She sets one plate in front of herself and one in front of me.  Her fine china is painstakingly mismatched but coordinating.  My design is a butterfly, hers is a heart.  Our guest has not yet joined us.  She had invited two kind young gentlemen but one declined, he had a previous engagement with Christopher Robin.

She decides to serve.  She waits with anticipation as I take my first bite.  "is it yummy, momma?"  I tell her yes it is very yummy, yummy, yummy.  The way she sometimes describes my cooking.  I ask her what she put in it but she won't tell.

She hears Mickey arrive so she sets about gathering another plate.  His is green with a flower.  I am not sure who designed the dishes but I want to tell him I don't think there is any such thing as a green tulip.  Something tells me he is not going to care.

I watch her as she dotes on the constant man in her life.  She feeds him a bite in between each of hers.  Of course, he lets her.  For a man of his age you'd think he would find it condescending but he just stares strongly into her eyes and lets her.

I look at her beautiful eyes.  Most everyone says she looks like her father.  Some say she looks mostly like me.  To be honest, I don't see either of us in her.  She is so beautiful.  I am not saying that just because I am her mother.

Perhaps I am teaching her bad manners when I pick up my butterfly and scoop the rest of my dinner in my mouth.  She decides it looks like fun and sets down the barrette she has been using as her fork and does the same.  Mickey just stares at us both.  Foolish, he must be thinking.

I set my plate down.  I ask her about school.  She mumbles something unintelligible then comes to my side of the table and tells me we can talk later but right now, we have to eat.  She says something about Mickey and then returns to her seat.  She is ready to bring out dessert.

Alligators served in water under a palm tree.  Usually the set-up has a few monkeys but she decided to bypass the monkeys this time.  I get the feeling Mickey may be allergic to them.

I am full so I let her know I won't be needing any dessert.  The company is nice.  Mickey can direct a decent conversation.  He always knows exactly what is on her mind.  I see the two of them and I wonder if my baby is growing up too fast.  Then I look at the gleam in her eye and realize this is her most perfect age.  I don't know how many pretend dinners I will be invited to by my 2 year-old but I intend to be present at each and every one.

See what happens is . . .

This has to be the toughest part of being a mom/student/employee and many others.  I paid my tuition Friday.  I should have waited.  I should have waited until Tuesday like I was going to.  I also had to pay my rent at the beginning of the month.  I paid that Friday too.  Usually they don't make the deposit until after the 5th.  I know with the holiday that it would be the seventh so I calculated that things would be ok since I get paid on Tuesday?  Sometimes I wish I still had that aspect of working for the state.  If the holiday is on Monday you get paid the Friday before.  Alas I don't work for them anymore.  

I don't like the feeling I have today at all.  I have a horrible pit feeling in my stomach.  I called to check on my balance to see if things would be ok and  . . . . nope.  I took a terrible chance.  I lost.  I am over drawn by $300.  What it means is they deposited my rent check before the holiday weekend.  It makes sense but I sure wish they hadn't.  Since the other was a certified check I don't have to worry about what went to the school.  Monday I have to go to my property manager and pay whatever fine I have to pay and hope I don't get kicked out.  

I have a sick feeling.  I feel wildly out of control of my life.  I hate being here.  I know come Tuesday that everything will be ok but I hate this feeling.  I want to cry today.  I want this to be done.  I want to have things be ok for once in my life.  I want a mate that understands anything I am trying to accomplish.  I want someone to rescue me.  These are the days when realizing that I am entirely alone really stand out.

For fun it's a wonderful toy. For constipation it's a wonderful tool.

I know my daughter is going to be angry one day, for my talking about her poop to . . . well, the world.  But this was too good to pass up.  Constipation.  Sometimes it happens because your kid isn't getting enough fluids.  Sometimes it happens if they get too much protein.  Sometimes it happens from not getting enough fiber (age plus 5 for a recommended amount up to 21 grams daily in case you wondered, I only know because everyone was telling me I wasn't getting her enough, I'd ask how much was 'enough' and no one seemed to know.  It took a couple of days but I found it.) Sometimes it happens because they are growing.  Sometimes it just happens.  For Xyla it usually happens right about the time she is going to hit a growth spurt.  It persists for a few days but we have always been able to resolve it naturally - that is without manual "help".

I know why she does what she does.  Mostly because I have been there myself.  You know when a poo is going to be solid.  TMI WARNING.  You know when the poo has the potential of ripping out of you quite literally.  When you feel one of those coming on, it is natural to not want to let it come out.  I get that.  That is why I will sometimes find my daughter hiding behind a door, or a towel, or a curtain, scrunching her face and crying a small desperate cry.  She is clenching her butt cheeks.  

She will walk around with her cheeks clenched.  It looks the same if you run into a coworker in hall who obviously waited too long to hit the head.  Stiff legged, waddle from side to side and sometimes stopping in her tracks because if she doesn't get it under control it will all be over but the crying.

When she was smaller I would put her on the toilet.  She was so small that her little feet would stick straight out and she wouldn't have a choice, your muscles don't have that kind of control.  She would go and I would be holding her for support both physical and emotional.  The poo would come and she would whimper.  We would flush it away and say "bye, bye, mean poo poo."  

There is no reasoning with her that everything will feel better if she'd just let it go.  I mean, when you have to go and can't you have this pressure working against you.  At best your back starts to hurt, at worst is positively aches.  When your back hurts it messes with your emotions and you just feel like a rotten mess.  At some point you hurt everywhere down to your toes.  But yet she is just sure that the pain of the poo is going to far outweigh anything she is going through.

That is what we have been experiencing since Friday.  Only, now she is too big for the potty trick so I have to let her sit there and she is really efficient at keeping it in.  So 15 minutes later we are back in the same place, doing the same thing.  We have been tied to the bathroom for about two days.  Whining, crying, whimpering.  We have gone through a few puuuwwups.

We had already been to the bathroom twice this morning in a span of 30 minutes when Xyla decided to go play in her room.  I hear a shriek.  I go in to investigate. 

Xyla was standing over her plastic rainbow colored slinky, which she obviously wanted very much to play with.   She was standing, stiff legged and trying to bend at the chest to reach the slinky.  Obviously this wasn't working.  She knows that if she bends over to reach the toy that there will be no more holding in the poo.  She also knows that she really wants that slinky.  

I told her if she wanted the slinky she would have to lean over and get it herself.  Honestly, I thought she would give it up and move on to the next toy.  I seriously underestimated how wonderful this toy really is.

I walked back into the living room.  After about 10 minutes and some barely audible whimpering my darling daughter comes running into the living room at light speed shouting, "I got it, I got it."  Consequently, I too, got it.  I peeked into her pull-up and the biggest, stiffest poo we have seen all week greeted me with a familiar smell.  

I told her, "see, now don't you feel so much better."  I changed her and we celebrated the victory with a dance to some swing music.  You can do that when you don't have to poo.

You know you are a mom when poop is like your favorite Christmas gift, ever.