Thursday, December 11, 2014

{Just One Thing} Week Forty Seven


Three Hundred and Twenty Six - 18.11.14

{Big}

Sometimes there are mothering moments that are encouraging. Confirming ones, which demonstrate that little ears are listening and learning. Many of our conversations that I record here, despite a surface that may be mistaken for cheekiness, are, in actual fact, reaffirming. Ones that ooze goodness at the core, and shine true to your beautiful soul.

You tried today. To listen. To hear. Your tried your very best to seek guidance and boundaries through communication... but this Mumma, and her sickness, challenged you. No voice will do that, I suppose. And when feedback is sought and not delivered, toddlers who need external affirmation show signs of ware.

Big: "Use your words, Mumma. I can't know eberyfink wifout your telling me so. I meed your words 'cause den I know fings and I know when you're happy and when I do fings my berry best way. Can you please try a little bit harder to use them?"

Know your goodness, Big. Follow your heart. Inside you have the most wonderful guide. Be quiet. Be still. Listen. Trust that without my words, you know the way.

Three Hundred and Twenty Seven - 19.11.14

{Tiny}

'Tis the season to be... cray. If you are fortunate enough to stop for a moment, you can feel it. The pull towards this. The tug towards that. Be here. Do this. Buy that. Often simultaneously. As desperately as I try to shield my children from this struggle in an attempt for them to just enjoy this time free of expectation... I cannot.

Amidst the juggle of heres and theres, I pack a bag of things to keep you entertained while I attend to the this' and thats. Food stuff. Toys, wooden and softies. Sippy cups. All.the.things... but none of the things that you desire, it seems. Until you spy my wallet, that is, which is promptly emptied. Cards, notes, everything.

Age is not indicative of wisdom. You are a most wonderful reminder of that, and its pure simplicity. What a gift I have, in you.

Three Hundred and Twenty Eight - 20.11.14

{Big}

On toddler present selection and proud mothering moments:

Big: "Oh, uncle Thomas might weally, weally wike dis... Oh, no. I might weally wike dis. I'll find somefing else."

Three Hundred and Twenty Nine - 21.11.14

{Tiny}

Happy Birthday. It's the song on repeat. We sing it to you multiple times a day in preparation. You certainly have not tired of it. You lap it up with the attention and the outpouring of love. And now? You even join in.

Two roly poly arms burst into the air and you shout... "a-ray!"

The cuteness is off.the.charts.

Three Hundred and Thirty - 22.11.14

{Big}

Today was one of those days. The ones that you know exist, but you'd prefer to move beyond. To forget. Tired babes. Weary Mumma. Too much. Not enough. You know the drill.

Mumma: "I've reached the end today, Big. It might be time to sell off all the things that are weighing me down."

Big: "I weigh you down sometimes, don't I, Mumma?"

Mumma: "Sometimes, yes. But do you really think I could sell you?"

Big: "Yes! You could try da famer's market. People buy fresh fings here."

Mumma: "Oh honey, I'd never ever sell you. I love you too much."

Big: "Dat's your choice, Mumma... but you could make lots of moneys for your moneybox if you did try, you know."

Three Hundred and Thirty One - 23.11.14

{Tiny}

One. One? One!

One full spin around the sun for you, baby girl. And what a journey it has been thus far. Your day today has been filled with many magical moments. Chaotic. Cake. And quiet. The latter, my favourite. On this day especially, I reflect on how blessed I truly am to have your wee fingers entwined with mine.

Happiest of Birthdays to you.

Three Hundred and Thirty Two - 24.11.14

{Big}

Of the things I know about you, this ranked highly. The stage and you were destined to be friends. Besties, even. And how evident this was in light of your impending dance concert. The rehearsal, and the very first your tiny ballerina toes touched the stage you were at home.

Big:  "Oh, Mumma. Dere's a stage and some curtains - but you can't touch dose - and I meed to stand on my berry own cross and dance and smile with my whole heart. Maybe dis was my most fabourite day eber!"

**

{Just One Thing} Week Forty Six


Three Hundred and Nineteen - 11.11.14

{Big}

Conversations with a toddler #76436:

Big: "Oh dear, Daddy. Wif a face wike dat, you wook wike a gorilla 'cause dere's hair and dirt all ober it. Do you fink you can make it go away and not make a terrible mess along da way?"

Three Hundred and Twenty - 12.11.14

{Tiny}
I've never had a feline kind in my family, so my perception of their affection may well be inaccurate. But I can't help but think how very kitty-like you are, dear Tiny.

There's the nuzzle. The now and then contact that comes with affectionate force.

Your love of petting. Stroked gently. Rhythmically. Down your body and away from your heart. Just like you would a cat's furr. Under your chin. Your cheeks. Behind your ears. The bridge of your nose.

Your the one who will make those around her work for returned affection, and only give when her heart tells her so. My snuggly kitty. My babe. You are perfection.

Three Hundred and Twenty One - 13.11.14

{Big}

Conversation with a toddler #98736:

Mumma: "Please hold hands with the car when you get down from your seat, Big. Okay?"

Big: "Oh yes, Mumma. I surely will. 'Cause if I stand on da road da cars will come and squash me down and make me really smaller. I don't fink that will be berry nice on my body."

Three Hundred and Twenty Two - 14.11.14

{Big}

Two sisters. One umbrella doll stroller. In a world of toddlers with an incapacity to share, and babies with the inability to not touch, it sounds like a recipe for disaster, no? Well, actually, no. Because little sisters are wonderful play things. When they comply, of course. And tonight, comply she did.

One Tiny not-so-tiny nappy covered behind wedge tightly between the sides of a toy pram. Sized generously for a doll, not so generously for a human. Even a tiny one. But wedged (or stuck!?!) she was, and you proceeded to wheel her this way at that, tipping only a few times.  The sound of a delicious giggling chorus of two followed. Oh my heart.

Three Hundred and Twenty Three - 15.11.14

{Tiny}

Hands. They're fascinating. At least you think so of late. Every and all that is not your own. Your little sausage fingers poke and prod and dance upon the palms. Your face alight with glee. And that is that. At least I thought it was. Until...

"'Round and 'round the garden, like a teddy bear."

... a wee finger strokes. Up and down. Back and forth.

 "One step - two step - "

... poke and prod. Poke and prod.

"and... a tickly under there!"

... skritch, scratch. Skritch, scratch. Squeal.

The song was sung. And after days upon days of hand inspections, I understood. Fine-ally.

Three Hundred and Twenty Four - 16.11.14

{Tiny}

The crawlin' thang is old news. Been there, wormed, wriggled, and now crawled, to that. Your eye is on the bigger, the better, the next big thing. The stand. The walk. To perfect, it takes time, persistence and patience.

Those two feet of yours are often firmly grounded, working their way around the coffee table, over to the couch, along the walls. Grubby finger and hand marks at my knee height are a tell-tale sign of your travels. But letting go? Hands free? Unaided? Not likely. At least, not yet anyway.

Interestingly, you seem really capable. There's few wobbles and plenty of smiles and even the odd let go when you're not actively thinking about what it is you're doing. But then the fear and the uncertainty and the lack of confidence sets in. Your knees buckle. Worry paints your face. And you, with your progress, come crashing down. With a thud.

Generally, I'm fairly good at the patience and time caper. Especially when it comes to the growing and developing of wee babes thing. But this? Like nails down a blackboard. So.very.ready.already.

Remind me that I said that, okay?

Three Hundred and Twenty Five - 17.11.14

{Big}

Conversations with a toddler #9987:

Big: "You should weally bow when you speak to me, Mumma. 'Cause my wistening ears can hear da words better when dey come from down below. I am a Princess, you know, and dat's berry important."

Who knew raising a toddler had so many rules?

**

Thursday, December 4, 2014

48/52


"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2014."
 
Big: When little girls grow...
 
Tiny: And babies too...
 
**
 


47/52

 
"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2014."
 
Big:  Party food. Party dress. Party face. 'Tis a good'un.
 
Tiny: One. One? One! Exhale.
 
**

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