That little something special

Dear Ella,

This photograph is your most recent school picture. It will probably be that picture you put in the yearbook when you're 18, or it will be the one picture you like to show your boyfriends because it isn't embarrassing, and it shows that even at two years old, you weren't just cute, you were beautiful. I couldn't be more enamored with those sparkly eyes, that perfect smile, and those soft little cheeks, but those features are not what makes you beautiful.

There is a light in you, Ella. A light that shines so bright I am blinded, a light that sparkles and dazzles beyond what I could have ever imagined from my own child. You have this quality, the "It" factor that celebrities and politicians strive for because it makes the world fall in love with you.

I know this will sound absurd, but I feel like one of the reasons you were such a difficult baby was because you just had too much personality. You were ready to run and jump and laugh and entertain, and being a baby just didn't suit you. There has always been just too much life bursting out of you, and while this can sometimes be frustrating, I know it will serve you well in life.

I know that spark will give you the confidence to take the risks that will open up the whole world for you in a way I can only imagine. I'm so in awe of you Ella, of the fearless, confident, amazing little girl that I sometimes can't believe I created. I only hope that you never let the realities of this world take away that spark. I hope a little part of you will always remain the bright-eyed girl in this photograph, and that your light will only grow brighter.

I'll do my best to make that so.

All my hopes and fears

Normally I am the last person to write a political blog post. Truth be told, I have no idea how to lower the unemployment rate and no clue what to do about Libya. I'm a teacher, so I care about education, but Romney and Obama have pretty similar views when it comes to more accountability for teachers and higher expectations for student achievement. These are big issues: the economy, foreign affairs, education, but these are not the things that keep me up at night.

I define myself in a lot of ways: I'm a teacher, a woman, a writer, a feminist, a wife, a pretty good friend, a chocoholic, a lover of all things Princess Bride, but what I am more than anything else is a mother of a little girl. It is thoughts of her that dominate my mind on this election eve, and not in terms of whether or not she'll be able to find a job in twenty years (though of course I hope for that), or whether or not war will have obliterated the earth by the time she's fifteen (though I pray it won't have).

What I think about most is whether or not she'll be able to live her life the way she wants to, regardless of whether or not people approve of it. I want her to live in a world where she has control over two basic things: her own body and her own family.

It really doesn't feel like I'm asking for a lot here. To me, these feel like really basic rights. They feel like things I really shouldn't have to ask for. I hope that Ella will always be healthy and smart about her body, but I also hope that she will never be forced to have a child she doesn't want to have. I hope that she will grow up in a world where a difficult situation like that wouldn't be made worse by hopelessness of having no choice, and I can't understand why people want to take that right away from her.

I also hope that by the time she's all grown up she'll be incredulous over the same-sex marriage debate. I hope it will be so far in the past that she'll laugh at how old fashioned we were and say, "Really? Even in 2012 people cared about stuff like that?" I don't know whether my daughter is gay or straight, and it honestly makes no difference to me either way. My fear is that depending on this election, and the next, and the next, and the next, she might find herself in a country even more divided than this one, that we might become less accepting instead of more accepting. Is it possible that we could really move backwards instead of forwards? I don't know, but all I can think of is a thirty-year-old version of my daughter who wonders why she isn't allowed to marry the love of her life. How could I vote for someone who doesn't want that for her?

Maybe other people don't sit around thinking about these things, maybe you assume that your daughter will never make a stupid decision, or maybe you think she'll grow up to be just like you and none of these issues will matter in your life, but I don't have that kind of certainty. I have no idea whether or not Ella will share my values, share my "lifestyle," or make the same decisions I have made. What I hope is that I'm raising a daughter who will think for herself and who'll know that I support her, accept her, and love her no matter what. I can only hope that she'll grow up in a country that feels the same way.

Really, really, bigger

 Recently, Ella has joined the ranks of all the other toddlers, preschoolers, and older kids who cannot wait to "get bigger." Whenever I haven't seen her for a while- when she is at school or has been sleeping- she will look at me and stand as tall as she possibly can and say, "You want to see how really, really bigger I got?"

What's funny to me is what getting bigger means to her. The first part is that she will literally be bigger and this will allow her to reach things that are higher (that I, of course, don't want her to reach), and do things that are difficult, like reach the pedals on her bike, or throw a ball as high as Daddy. The more interesting part of this is that she understands that getting bigger also means becoming more grown-up, a status that affords you more privileges. So what kinds of privileges is she interested in? She desperately wants to use grown-up scissors instead of her frustratingly dull ones. She also wants to go to a "big kid" school like Izzy and Arlo and Robby and Joey. She wants to swing by herself and swim without floaties. While I was driving the other day she told me, "When I get too big for my car seat, then I can drive."

To her, being bigger means freedom and broader horizons and new possibilities and I can't deny that being bigger does offer all these things. Ever since she was born, she has always been ready for the next thing: crawling, walking, talking. What's next? What's over there? What are those kids doing? Her fearless desire to know, and see, and do is what I admire most about my big/little girl and I never want to take that away from her, but there are times we all wish children could appreciate the beauty of being little, the freedom that comes from having no responsibilities in the world beyond playing, eating, snuggling, and sleeping. If only I could switch places with Ella B for one day so she could be really, really bigger and I could be really, really smaller and we could both appreciate the benefits of each existence. For now, I guess we'll just have to live our own lives, enjoying our own freedoms, while longing for those of the other.

You look awesome

Looking at this confident, spunky little girl, it is hard to imagine that she could possibly grow up to be a self-conscious teenager. This is the girl who checks herself in the mirror and literally says, "You look awesome" to her own reflection. In so many ways her disposition is nothing like mine was at her age. She will fearlessly jump from the highest point she can find, while I had to be bribed with saltwater taffy to roll forward over the uneven bars. She'd rather spend her days running as fast as she can, while I preferred to spend my days drawing at the coffee table. In my mind, these differences will serve her well in the future. I imagine her to be a physically and emotionally strong sixteen-year-old girl. The kind of girl who would never let a boy (or anyone else for that matter) treat her with disrespect. So, basically, the opposite of sixteen-year-old me.

I hope these traits are reflections of her true personality and not just her toddler personality that will one day disappear like her round belly and baby curls. But spending my days with high schoolers is a constant reminder of how adolescence can break down even the toughest girl, and deep down I know that she is just one mean comment away from second guessing herself, and I know that some of that is actually my fault.

I discovered my culpability firsthand today during a conversation I accidentally had with my two-year-old. It went something like this:

Me: (glancing at a woman on the cover of a magazine sitting on my kitchen table)

"Those shorts could not be any uglier."

Ella: (looking down at her shorts)

 "Couldn't be uglier?"

Me: (feeling awful)

"Oh buddy, not you. The magazine."

Now, I really don't know if she even knows what the word ugly means, but that isn't the point. What matters is that this one small moment had the potential to teach her something. It says to her that it's okay to ridicule the way people look, that in fact it is very easy to do, and that how other people view how she looks is important.

Do I think I did irreparable damage to my daughter today? No. She's still walking around right now thinking she's the greatest thing ever invented, but it reminded me that I don't have a baby anymore. I have a little girl, and it's my job to set a good example about how to talk about myself and how to talk about other people.

It reminded me that I need to watch what I say so that I can help that spitfire turn into a confident woman, and maybe in the process I can learn how to see myself that way, too. Because Ella B is right, you do look awesome, and so do I.

Does this tutu make my butt look big?

It's official. She's my daughter. I realized this on Sunday when my parents came over to watch the football game and Ella didn't understand why everyone was paying more attention to the silly men pummeling each other on T.V. than to her (don't worry El, I don't get it either). So, she pulled out all of her toddler tricks to get some attention. These included: wearing a tutu (not really out of the ordinary), wearing a bowl on her head (okay, definitely cute, but kind of cliche), carrying a bowl full of shredded cheese (that didn't end well), and finally just running into the room and yelling "Everybody look!" until she had all eyes on her.

It got me thinking about how I was just the same at her age, a "ham" my mother would say. At family parties, my cousin Sara and I would spend hours developing skits and dance routines to showcase after dinner. I would parade around in costume and pretend to be a rude New York waitress taking everyone's orders. If there was a camera rolling, I would instantly hold up one hand like a microphone, put the other behind my back, and find the nearest person to interview. I was full of accents, jokes, routines, and couldn't wait for the opportunity to have everyone's complete attention.

Then, of course, adolescence hits and having everyone's eyes on you seems like a fate worse than hell. But when exactly does that happen? When do we go from, "Look at me in my tutu!" to, "Does this tutu make me look fat?". I was talking with Christina the other day about raising our daughters and all the drama and heartache and sensitivity it will entail. She worries that Loreli will be picked on for being too tall as a kid. We decided that if current personality is any indication of the future then we won't have to worry about Ella B. She seems like the spunkiest most confident girl on the block right now, but will that last? Will she wake up one day wishing she were blonde? Will she try to hide her adorable round booty with strategically tied sweatshirts? I'd love to say that we have a good ten years before we have to worry about these things, but unfortunately, I think that is merely wishful thinking. I look at this little girl now who has no idea that she will one day hate her thighs or her big brown eyes or whatever. But one day it will happen. It is inevitable.

As a society I think we hope for attractive children because we know the world is kinder to the better looking, but when it comes to teenage confidence, it doesn't really matter how attractive you are. For me it was always about being thin, but if weight hadn't been an issue, I would have spent more time worrying about my crooked teeth or my beauty marks. I recently learned that my best friend, one of the most beautiful women I've ever known in real life, hates her elbow skin. Really, her elbow skin.

So what can I do? How can I as a mother shield Ella B from the self-loathing? The truth is that I can't. Somebody in third grade is going to tell her she has a funny nose or a silly name or an ugly coat and she's going to feel bad about it. What I hope I do have some control over is whether or not she lets it define her. I think I do that by encouraging her and reminding her of all the things that make her who she is that no one can take away from her. I think I do it by reminding her how beautiful she is, but also how smart, and funny, and strong, and fearless. I will tell her that it feels good to look pretty, but that there is a lot more to life than how you look in a tutu.

A Gift

It seems a bit cliche to talk about children as these magical fairy people who can turn a frown into a smile with a flick of their wands or infect you with some sort of happiness disease that they carry in their pockets, but sometimes these things are true and bare repeating. Most of you know that my grandmother Charlotte passed away last Friday. Things like this are especially difficult when they happen around the holidays. Everyone kept saying that they hoped we could still find some joy on Christmas despite the circumstances, and the truth is, we did, and it couldn't have happened without the opportunity to witness the pure excitement oozing from every tiny pore of the children in our lives.

My very best girlfriend in the whole world, Jessica, spent the holiday with us and she said that she couldn't wait to watch Ella, Mason, and Izzy open their presents on Christmas morning because it had been such a long time since she had witnessed that excitement with little kids. And it really was something to behold. Izzy, being 4, was the only one able to really verbalize her joy, "a shirt with zebra stripes!" but the looks on Ella and Mason's faces as they opened their Elmo books and tiny trucks spoke volumes without any words. And this is the greatest gift that children give us- the opportunity to remember and experience that kind of joy once again and to forget about everything else and just live in the moment of opening that gift. I cannot say we didn't feel an emptiness that day. I cannot say we didn't feel a wave of emotion every now and then, but I can honestly say that watching the glint in Ella's eyes as she ran through the house chasing her cousins helped me spend a lot more time thinking about life rather than death. That's what Ella B gave me for Christmas. And it was exactly what I wanted.

Thanks!

Dear Ella B,

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and while I meant to write this then, I was so full of turkey and love that I couldn't lift a finger to the keyboard. So today I will tell you a little story about what I am so thankful for today.

Of course I am thankful for your very existence, and I try to remind myself how lucky I am to have gotten pregnant so easily and to have had such a healthy (albeit grumpy-to-the-max) baby. You have a father who adores you, a million people who dote on you, a home, a backyard, two strong legs, and all of that. These things will be easy to remember, but I started thinking about all the little things I am thankful for that will become fuzzy in years to come and I started to write them down.

So here are a few little things I am thankful for this holiday season that are all thanks to you Miss Ella B:

1. Your dinosaur "rawr"
2. Your Happy Birthday song "Happy day daddy"
3. The way you love to talk about boys, especially Arlo and Nate
4. Weekend morning snuggles in between mommy and daddy in our bed
5. Your post-bath naked craziness on our bed when I am trying to lotion you
6. The way you always say bye to people after they've already left, but never before
7. The way you hold out each body part so I can rinse you off after your bath
8. Your belly- dear God your belly
9. How you always want me to draw cats for you
10. And once again, that dinosaur "rawr" cause it just kills me until I'm dead

Thanks for giving me so much to be thankful for Ella B. I can't believe I get to be your mom.

My Hero

Today is Veteran's Day and for those of you who don't know, my husband is a veteran. It sounds like a funny thing to call someone who is 31 (almost 32). Growing up, veterans were old men like my grandfather who wore military hats and talked about a war that happened a million years ago and didn't matter all that much anymore. Being a hippy pacifist myself, I never expected to be married to someone who was in the military or who had actually fought in war. And I never expected to have to explain to my daughter what it means to have a dad who is a war hero. Of course, she is too little to understand today, but one day, maybe on a day like today, I will ask her why she has the day off from school and if she knows what it means to be a veteran.

When you think about raising children, you think about how honest you want to be with them. You want them to trust you and to make them feel connected to you, but you also don't want to tell them every last detail about high school, either. You want them to hold on to their innocence for as long as possible, but to also educate them about the reality of life outside of their safe little bubbles. So, the discussion of war is a tricky one then. What does it means to be a veteran? It means that you have fought in a war. And what does that mean, to fight? There is the Hollywood version of war we're all use to, of course, but what does it really look like? It means things like- sleeping in the dirt, carrying an enormous pack for hours on end, writing letters to loved ones, sitting around doing nothing sometimes, being afraid, being tired, and it also means a lot of other ugly things that we don't like to think about.

So what do I want Ella to know about her daddy, the veteran? I want her to know that he did something harder than I could ever imagine. I want her to know that he is brave and strong (though she already knows this). I want her to know that the experience of war changed him, as it changes ever single person who experiences it, and that it isn't something to be taken lightly as I took my own grandfather's service for so many years. I want her to know that being a veteran will always be a part of who he is, but that it is only one part of the man who is her father. And I want her to know that I'm proud of him.

1 and a half

Dear Ella B,

The other day you turned one and a half. To people without little kids, this probably doesn't seem like a big deal, but to us it is. Every day you are shedding a little more of your baby skin and becoming a person, a real person with thoughts, ideas, opinions, and dreams. You know exactly what you want. Today you got upset because I wouldn't keep my raincoat on in the house. Last week we had an argument about which dress you would wear for the school pictures you refused to take anyway. You won't wear the bunny shoes even though they fit you the best and are also super cute. You tell me "no" when I try to sing in the car, and you have to stand in the fridge to decide what you will eat for dinner.

You love your "nanights" or blankets and like to carry around several of them at a time. You like to put your princess chair on the couch and bounce in it, or use daddy as a slide. You have 13 teeth and your bark is just as big as your bite. You are starting to get the hang of the toothbrush. You have a butt that can already be called a booty. You hold your bangs up in the morning until someone does your hair Pebbles Flinstone style. You love to talk about our neighbor, Arlo, and even lie in bed singing his name until you fall asleep.

Sleep. You do that now. All on your own. It is hard to believe that just a year ago (less!) you were the baby I used to nurse all night on the couch because you just screamed if I tried to put you down. You are a bully at school, but they adore you. You are one of the favorites. You love it so much there that when I picked you up today you cried the whole way to the car saying "gool! gool! gool!" You love your Nene and your Pop Pop more than anything on Earth. You are fearless, and bratty, and terrible, and wonderful and you are mine.

It pains me to know that you won't remember this. It will be the stuff of legends to you, bedtime stories where you'll ask, "Tell me about the day I was born. Tell me about my tiny fingers and toes" as I did (do) to my mother. It is strange to be the memory keeper of someone else's life. It is a lot of responsibility to hold the sound of your tiny voice saying "Aya", the clomp of your quick, barbaric steps against the wood, the shrill laugh that comes when your father barely touches your neck, and to hold those images safe until you ask and I can say, "I remember, I remember, I remember..."

17 Months

Dear Ella B,

Two days ago you turned 17 months old. That means that next month you will be a year and a half. To most people that doesn't seem like a long time, but for us it is hard to believe. Pretty soon you will be closer to two than one, and every day you seem to grow up faster and faster like a baby snowball rolling down a hill- big, bigger, biggest. It is so fun to see the little wheels in your head turning as you discover, explore, and make sense of this big bad world, and I'm so glad you've let me be a part of it.

You are quite a devil, but you are also the most awesome kid I know. For serious.

Here is what you've got goin' on at 17 months:

New words: "gide" (outside or inside), "dow" (door), "lo?" (hello? with phone pressed against ear), "nanight" (blanket), keys (but very guttural), "sssss" (please), and "tata" (thank you).

New feats: makes a really good kissing sound now (I know, this is very important)

Favorite things to do: put keys in key holes, sit in the driver's seat of the car and press buttons, play with any piece of technology you don't want her to play with, lay on the floor and have you put the blanket on her just right (over and over again), sit in a box in the living room and have daddy read her stories, do a downward dog

Bye from Ella B land!

Bubbles and Rain

There are many challenges that come with having a child, especially a "spirited one" like mine, but also many gifts. One gift is that you get to enjoy the whimsy and pleasure of childhood all over again.

This morning, as I made my way towards the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee, Ella B banged against the kitchen door, begging me to take her outside. "But it's raining," I thought, "and it's 5:30" and, "I'm wearing a nightgown." But Beezer didn't care about any of that. She only knew that she needed to go outside and pleaded with me like a puppy dog with a leash in its mouth.

So, Beezer and I sat on the porch and watched the rain, and I blew bubbles while she chased them. She squealed with delight as she popped each one with her tiny fingers or chased an errant bubble until it disappeared into the sky. And she was so happy, and I was happy because she was happy.

People who don't spend time with kids don't get to experience moments like this. We are all genuinely far too busy with life to waste time blowing bubbles and watching the rain. But part of my life, the best part, is out there on that porch, and if it weren't for Beezer, I'd be missing it.

Ella reminds me of how wide and wonderful this world is, and without even knowing it, she gives me that gift everyday.

Thanks Beeze. I love you.

14 Months

Dear Ella B,

This morning, you and I sat on the porch at 6 o'clock in the morning and it started to rain. We sat and watched the drops splatter rhythmically on the driveway and snuggled each other, silently. You sat in my lap and your little bare legs flopped against mine and your hands held my thumbs. I kissed the top of your head and breathed in your beautiful babyness, or what is left of it anyway. I was filled with more love than I can possibly express to you. I can only hope that one day you get to feel this kind of love for someone or something, because let me tell you, there is nothing like it.

Today you are 14 months old and I can't beleive what a little person you have become. You are opinionated, fearless, and full of life. You want to go, go, go all the time and never want to stop having fun for one minute. Today at Nene and Pop Pop's house, you kept tickling everyone and running away so we would chase you. You pet a horse right on his nose. We tried to sit outside and have a barbeque, but you were having none of it. You wanted to find the kitty, see the birdies, where's Nanny? I want to go inside! I want to go upstairs! I do it myself! I tried to take you for a walk and halfway through you nearly squirmed and screamed yourself out of the stroller, so I had to take you out and have you hold my hand and walk next to me while I pushed the stroller.

You are exhausting and you are amazing. There is no one quite like Ella B and though you drive us crazy, we can't imagine our lives without you.

Happy 14 month birthday Ella B!

14 month highlights:

Weight: probably like 22 lbs
Height: No idea, 30 inches?
New words: meow, tweet, cup, all done, nana (banana), baba (bottle), bubu (bubbles), ba (ball or bath), Pop Pop, Nene
New feats: animal sounds, turning her palms up to say "I don't know", lots of waving, tickling, sliding herself off the bed, going down the slide at daycare all by herself, wearing everyone else's shoes, taking off her own shoes in the car, throwing a ball, learning to sit and listen to an entire story before getting up.
Firsts: ear infection, touching a horse, solo sliding, going in the woods, sleeping in her crib during nap time

Ella B, Ella B, Ella, Ella, Ella B

In case you don't know, Kristy, Tommy, and the boys wrote a song and recorded a music video in honor of Ella's first birthday. It was definitely the most thoughtful and awesome present anyone could have given her. For those of you who haven't seen it, and those who would like to see it again, Kristy posted the "Ella B" music video performed by the Black Eyed T's to you tube. I'll warn you, it is pretty addictive. You won't be able to get the song out of your head.

A hope for the future

Today's post is a little bit more serious. Okay, it is a lot more serious, but it is something that is on my mind. Yesterday at my school someone painted the word "fag" on the rock reserved for students to paint messages in support of their teams and clubs. The rock had been painted with rainbow colors in support of The Day of Silence and someone decided to deface it out of hatred, fear, and self-loathing. Luckily, we have some very brave students at our school who were willing to stand next to that rock today holding up signs that said, "Stop the hate," and my personal favorite, "You wanted a fag on this rock, well here I am." I'm writing about this on my baby blog because this has got me thinking about Ella B's future. Is she going to grow up in a world where people throw words like that at each other, or will homophobia be as foreign to her as cellphones that aren't smart? Will bullying be worse or better? Will she feel comfortable with who she is, both at home and at school? Will she grow up to be as brave and confident as those students who stood by the rock today? And what can I do to make that happen? I'm not sure, but I'm going to start with this, a message to the future Ella B:

My beautiful little girl, please know that you are amazing and strong and that you are already everything you were ever meant to be. I will love you no matter who you love or who you grow up to be and all I want is for you to feel proud and comfortable in your own skin and to help other people feel good about themselves, too. You are perfect just the way you are because, "you were born this way."

Thanks for listening and please remember that our kids learn how to love and to hate from us first.