Year End: Blog In Review

     When I began this blog on June 2, 2012 I didn’t know what to expect.  I wasn’t sure if anyone would be interested, if I would have enough to write about or if it would be worthwhile to anyone other than myself.  As of today I’ve had 1,332 page views, that’s an average of 47 views per post.  As I have posted religiously every week, (except for the month I took off to write my novel), I’ve clearly had enough topics to sustain a weekly blog.  From the comments I’ve received both on and off my blog, I know that I’ve struck a chord with at least a handful of people.  And so it seems my blogging has been a successful endeavor.  

When I was struggling for a purpose and looking for a way to get into writing again, Joe suggested I start a blog.  I came up with the title Bottling Time months before succumbing to the idea of actually writing a blog.  I knew posting consistently would force me to write and what I wrote would allow me to bottle moments in time with my kids and thus I began my blogging journey.  I’m not sure how long I expected to stick with it, but am grateful I have.  I’m damn proud of myself for being able to do this amidst my full time job and helping to raise two young kids.   

Each week that I’ve been etching my parenting moments in time, I’ve gotten more personal than I had intended, but in the end think this is what people have found most interesting.  I’ve been putting my words out there in the world for others to consume and at times have felt emotionally naked, baring it all or at least most of it.  Yet, this is what writers do, be it fiction or nonfiction, we put ourselves out there with the desire for our words be read and to touch those that read them.  In being honest about my faults and fears of parenting, I’m learning more about myself.  Also, I’ve come to realize how important it is for parents to share in their parenting woes.  It’s so freaking hard to raise little people and even though it’s a blessing, we don’t talk much about just how much of a burden it can be.  In reaching out with my blog, I’ve discovered that I’m not alone in my anxiety.  I’m not the only one wringing my hands with worry and wondering if I’m doing this parenting thing right.  While I have way more questions than I have answers in examining myself I’ve been able to get new perspectives on my experiences with my kids and my role in their lives.   In both small and large ways I’m strengthening my relationships with Zoey and Hunter through my blog.  Someday I hope they will read my posts and be grateful for my words and my attempts at bottling time.              

As with most people, one of my New Year's resolutions this year is to drop some pounds, but I also intend to continue my aim to remain present with my kids and not let my anxiety tarnish the precious moments.  In the new year, I will continue blogging, but going forward will post every other week instead of once a week. This will give me more time to edit and work on my novel in an attempt to make something happen with it and doing that is also a resolution of mine.  I'm hoping there's some truth to that old saying, do what you love and the rest will follow.

If you enjoy reading my blog, take a minute to feed my writer ego.  There are a few ways you can do this: by clicking “Join this site” you can follow my blog, you can share the link on Facebook or Twitter or tell your friends about it, you can leave comments on specific posts or simply like the link on my Facebook page.  Let me know which posts you’ve liked best (or not liked) and why, so I can write more (or not) like them.  I appreciate all of you that take the time to read my words, I hope I’m making it worthwhile and you’re enriched in one way or another.  Happy New Year to all!

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Here Comes Santa Claus: Evolving Traditions

    Christmas and Santa Claus now belong in large part to my kids.  As an adult, there isn’t anything that I really want that I can’t buy for myself.  Kids without means to buy whatever they want, want everything and Christmas presents are a huge deal.  It’s now about their joy and excitement over the season.  Even though, we have toys coming out of our ears, I still enjoy buying them new toys, knowing they will end up scattered about and not played with as much as I would like.   As a kid, of course, I didn’t think much about who I was with when said desired presents were opened, but the memories were etched in my mind.  The presents I received have long been loved, lost or forgotten and what I’m left with is not the memory of the gifts, but the people that gave them to me.  I hope it will be the same for Zoey and Hunter, that in time it won’t be about the presents, but about being loved.

As a kid, Christmas Eve was spent at my Grandma’s house in Whittier.  We ate dinner at a table without an inch of space left for one more platter or bowl heaped high with food.  We opened presents by a Christmas tree dashed heavily with silver tinsel.  My Grandma spoiled us and the floor beneath the tree was always covered with presents and we had to search for the ones with our names on them.  We opened presents youngest to oldest and took turns playing Santa and grabbing the present for the next person.  We waited impatiently while our Grandpa took what felt like years to open his presents, slowly removing the paper with the help of his pocket knife.  My Grandma usually skipped turns and ended up with a pile of presents by her feet.  My Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Tim walked us to the car, stood waiting as we were buckled in and waved goodbye as we drove away.  On the drive home to Redlands we listened and sang along to Christmas music while looking for Christmas lights on houses visible from the freeway.

On Christmas mornings, we woke up early, filled with anticipation for what we might find wrapped beneath the tree.  For years, Krista and I were the first ones up, waking up Brittany and Brooke.  As Krista and I got older, this changed and they started waking us up.  We bounced around and whined as our mom and dad, (then later just mom), slowly got out of bed.  Mom came from her room, pulled on her robe, tightened the belt at her waist, then started a pot of coffee before joining us by the tree.  We started with the stockings exclaiming at what Santa had left us.  We then took turns opening presents and watching each other unwrap them.  We saved the Santa presents, which were always the biggest and best, for last.  The presents disappeared quickly and we ended the morning with piles of wrapping paper, new toys and clothes surrounding us.    

I don’t remember exactly how old I was when I started questioning the existence of Santa Claus, but my parents were still married, so I must’ve been about ten or so.   My sisters and I were playing in the backyard near the tent trailer that was kept by the side of our house. One of us opened the trailer door and discovered my mom’s hiding place.  There in front of us was a Nintendo box, an obvious Santa present.  This only confirmed what I had already begun thinking, that my mom was Santa.  We didn’t tell her what we had found, but waited until Christmas Eve to bring it up.  Krista, and I shared a room and we had always stayed up as long as our eyes could stay open on Christmas Eve, listening for the sounds of hoofs and jingle bells on the roof.  One year, I think we really heard them, but that year we weren’t listening for Santa.  As my mom was putting us to bed, I looked over the edge of the bunk bed and asked her if Santa was real.  Krista was two and a half years younger than me and thinking back, I wish I wouldn’t asked for the truth another time, so Krista could’ve remained a believer a little longer.  My mom attempted to convince us that he was real, but after about twenty minutes of begging her to just tell us the truth, she caved and begrudgingly admitted the truth, there was no Santa.  The next morning, we opened the Nintendo box and thanked Santa for it, not letting on that we no longer believed because Brittany and Brooke were still believers.

As we grew older, our parents divorced, we got boyfriends, then got married and had babies, our traditions had to change, as traditions must sometimes do.  We weren’t all able to make it to Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve and instead made Christmas Eve plans with our new extended families.  Even though it’s been years since I was a kid, I still love the tradition of Christmas morning at my mom’s house.  We usually spend the night and my sisters and their expanding families come over in their pajamas and we all open presents together, like we had as kids.  We now do Secret Santa amongst the adults and buy presents for all the kids.  

We have developed our own family traditions.  To name just a few, ever since Zoey was born we have taken her to see Santa at the Cerritos Mall (same guy every year, so far).  She’s always too shy to talk to him and this year was no exception.  Last year Hunter was too little to be scared of Santa, but this year he wasn’t happy that I put him on a stranger’s lap.  We drive around one night close to Christmas and look at people’s Christmas lights.  We go to Joe’s parents house on Christmas Eve and my mom’s on Christmas morning.  In order to be at my mom’s on Christmas morning, Santa has been bringing presents to our house on the 23rd.  Soon, Zoey will realize that Santa Claus is coming to our house on the wrong day, that it’s not normal to open presents from Santa on Christmas Eve morning and we will have to adjust this tradition. I’m not looking forward to having a conversation with my kids about the existence of Santa and will do what I can to stave it off.  So their believe will remain in tact, likely next year, Santa will visit our house on Christmas Eve and we’ll begin a new family tradition.  But, this year, I will wake up on Christmas morning at my mom’s, like I have practically every year since I was a kid, excited for what the day will bring.

         

       

The Things We Carry

      A little over a month ago when I was giving the kids a bath, I saw a flash of my Poppa in Hunter.  Hunter was playing in the tub, moving water from one cup to another.  His thin, new hair, slightly overdue for a cut and was sticking up at the nape of his neck.  It was in that moment that I caught a glimpse of my Poppa.  Seeing Hunter’s hair that way brought a memory of him to the forefront of my mind.  I don’t remember exactly when I saw my Poppa’s hair, lifted up in this way.  It could’ve been one of the times he rode his bike to our house when I was a kid or when I was a teenager and ran into him at the gym.  His thin white hair when wet turned up at the ends the way Hunter’s did.  My loss for my grandfather hit me again, there in the bathroom, as my kids played noisily, unaware of what I had just seen.  I thought about him as a person, about our relationship and about how much he would’ve enjoyed meeting my two little rascals.

I thought about a memorable email he sent me in 2001.  We both had AOL accounts and emailed each other occasionally.  He had always expressed interest in my writing and had he still been around, I know he would’ve read my blog religiously.   He felt that I was going to be a famous writer someday and I believed him.  On occasion, he talked to me about how he also liked writing, as well as reading.  His favorite writer was Sara Paratesky, a mystery author who was Swedish like him and set her books in Chicago, where he had grown up.  I was intrigued by his life.  He came to the United States when he was three from Sweden.  He grew up poor in Chicago during the depression.  He joined the Army and fought in WW II.  He ended up living in Redlands and ran his own construction business.  After he retired he joined the city council and eventually was elected Mayor.  

A young Poppa, I keep this photo on my bookcase.

This sighting of him here in the bath with my kids was the night of the 2012 Presidential election.  I thought about the night my Poppa was elected Mayor.  My family and I went to his campaign headquarters to wait for the polls to come in.  My Poppa was in his suit and tie looking dapper, as usual.  His charismatic presence filled that meeting room in the high rise bank building in downtown Redlands.  It grew late and the results still weren’t in.  It was a school night and my younger sisters were tired and ready to go home.  I didn’t want to go, I wanted to stay until the end, until I knew officially that he had won because I just knew that he would.  My mom took my sisters home and I stayed behind with my dad.  I waited amongst the adults and when it was announced he was the winner, that he would now be the mayor of Redlands, my heart burst with pride.  I was too young to grasp how really proud I should be, of how far he had come in life, but I had always been proud and awed by him.  

  

Having been reminded of the email, I went into my closet to dig it out.  It’s dated one day after my twenty-fourth birthday.  He must’ve emailed me a birthday message and I must’ve responded with something silly about getting old and questioned where my life was going.  Joe and I were in the first year of our relationship and going to San Francisco on our first trip together, in a way my life was just beginning.  I cherished my Poppa’s words then and with time they have come to mean even more.  I’m so grateful I had the foresight to print a copy of the email.  Here it is in all of his Poppa-ized glory, no editing.

“HI TRISH: Your youth is NOT slipping away.  You are a smart, lovely, very young lady with un-limited potential.  I hope your vacation trip up north is a happy one for you and Joe.  IF Joe becomes a part of your life, one day, he will become a part of ours as well.  We love you and want the best for you, you have plenty of time to make good decisions.  The great talent you have is not an “off the shelf” talent, such as an auto mechanic, or a computer technician.  You have to be discovered, and be at the right place at the right time, as I am sure you understand.  I just get nervous when I get ‘vibes’ that you are discouraged.  Soo easy for me to say, however I HAVE been there and to some extent am STILL there. Bottom line I love you and I WILL see you happy and successful.  POPPA”

These words are in a nut shell what he did for me as a grandfather.  He had belief in me and hope for my future.  I hope I can be the kind of grandparent to touch the soul of my grandchildren, the way he did mine.

   

Back to that night in the bathtub, Zoey noticed I was crying.  I told her I was thinking about her Great Poppa and was a little sad.  When Hunter heard my sobs, he looked at me with concern.  I didn’t want to scare them and told them I was okay, just remembering.  They continued to play and I thought about how pieces of our ancestors are passed on through us.  Even though, Zoey and Hunter never had a chance to know their Great Poppa, they carry pieces of him and pieces of so many other ancestors in their genes.  Back when Zoey first started walking, I noticed that she had my grandmother’s feet and ankles.  Her feet are sort of flat and her ankles turn slightly inward.  I think of my grandma and how she walked, several times a day, as I see Zoey walking with feet like hers.  My grandma died only recently, but Zoey will have no memories of her.  In ways seen and unseen, knowing or unknowing in the way our hair lifts up when wet or how our ankles turn in, we carry our ancestors with us.  I carry my grandparents that have moved on in my heart, in my memory and in traits of my own.  As my final living grandparent, my grandma, lies in a hospital bed struggling with the failings of her almost ninety year old body and mind, I think about how eventually she, like the others, will live on through my children, through their children and will always be carried on. 

Crying It Out

        Hearing one of my kids cry and not doing anything about it is torturous to me.  Yet in the case of trying to get Hunter to sleep better, there didn’t seem to be any way around it.  Each night Hunter consistently woke up about the time I went to bed and being afraid he would wake up Zoey, who we always struggle to get to sleep, we rushed to take him out of their room.  To calm him down enough to go back to sleep we gave him a bottle and laid him down between us.  Then we all proceeded to not sleep through the night.  In attempts to get comfortable, Hunter kicked us, hit us in the face and at times would lay on top of us.   He woke up often throughout the night and we’d give him more bottles in the hopes this would help him back to sleep.  On the rare occasions when he slept in his crib or play pen we all slept soundly.  He couldn’t roll around too much and we didn’t have to fear him rolling off of our queen size bed.  As he was waking up so often, it became easier to put him in our bed.  Was giving him bottles in the middle of the night bad for his teeth?  Of course.  Was giving him a bottle helping us get some sleep?  Hell yeah (or so we thought).  We did what we needed to do to survive the nights and didn’t know what else to do.  All we really wanted was to get some freaking sleep.

I had to work the day of Hunter’s 15 month checkup, so I sent Joe with instructions, determined that he come back with a magical answer that would ensure a resolution to all of our sleep problems.  I suspected what the doctor would advise, but hoped for otherwise.  The doctor said it had become part of his routine to wake up, come into our bed and drink his bottles.  We had to break him of the habit and to do that we needed nerves of steel and, yes, to do this we needed to let him cry it out.  

We were familiar with the cry it out method, as we had used a version of it with Zoey, after having the same problems we were now having with Hunter.  I hated it, but it worked.  Here we were again with another baby and just so exhausted.  We had yet to really try the cry it out method with Hunter because he and Zoey share a room and it’s tough for me to do.  The doctor said after a few nights the routine would be broken.  It seemed too good to be true and it was, as it took about five days to break the pattern. Each day got easier until, miraculously, he began sleeping through the night.

The first night was the worst.  I was still torn about our choice, but not knowing what else to do, we were going ahead with it.  He cried for at least an hour and I was crawling out of my skin.  His crying woke up Zoey, as we had feared it might.  She came into our room and fell asleep in our bed.  I continued to listen to my crying Hunter with my heart pounding.  I laid there beside Zoey imagining what Hunter must’ve been thinking.  Did he feel abandoned or just ignored?  It broke my heart thinking about what he might be feeling.  At about the hour mark, I got up and stood outside his door, wanting to burst inside and take him in my arms.  I heard him coughing and sort of gagging between cries.  Joe tried to keep me from going in, but I couldn’t contain myself anymore and rushed in just as he threw up a little.  I changed his pajamas and held him close.  I was under no circumstances going to put him back into his crib that night to cry any longer and maybe never again, questioning if we were doing the right thing.  

He calmed down quickly and I attempted to get him back to sleep by laying with him on Zoey’s bed, as she was sleeping in ours.  He kept moving around and sitting up and just wanted to play.  After about an hour of this, I took him into the living room to try sleeping on the couch, as we had down with him before.  He still struggled to go to sleep, but eventually did sometime after one a.m., only to wake up several more times that night.  This just wasn’t going to work.  I resolved to try the cry it out method again the next night.

On night two he woke up around his usual time.  After he cried for a while, I went in with a sippy cup of water.  I picked him up and sat down with him on my lap.  He drank some water and calmed down.  I told him it was bedtime, showed him it was still dark outside and sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as I do every night before I put him to bed.  I gave him kisses and put him back down.  He cried for about half an hour after I left the room, then fell asleep.  He woke up about 3 a.m, but after a few minutes of whining went back to sleep.  He slept until morning and I woke up with a start amazed that I had just had several hours of uninterrupted sleep.  We continued doing this and after about five days he was sleeping through the night and so were we.

During those first few days, I worried that Hunter would wake up in the morning upset with us, but he didn’t.  He was always fine and well rested, having forgotten the night before.  He’s happier throughout the day now and eats better than he was when he was getting milk throughout the night.  Granted, we had a rough couple of days, but we stuck with it and it had paid off.  It was worth the torment of hearing him cry for a few nights for the sleep that we all get now.

Strangely, there was a downfall to Hunter sleeping through the night, as I now spend less time with him.  I get home from work about an hour and a half before his bedtime.  When we slept with us, I was with him all night and in a way it was a comfort to be so close to him, even when I was annoyed with him for kicking me. The time spent with him in the middle of the night wasn’t quality time but it was time.  Also, often he woke up before I left for work and followed me around as I got ready.  Now, he’s sleeping soundly, usually snoring when I leave in the mornings.  While this makes me sad, I know it’s for the best.  I have started keeping him up a little longer at night, so I have a little more time with him.

Instinctually, it’s difficult for a mother (and some fathers, though Joe admits he wasn’t too upset by it) to hear her child crying, it goes back to the cave man period when a baby’s cry meant they were in danger.  I always knew Hunter was safe in his crib and if I was uncertain, I peeked in to make sure.  If I do happen to wake up at night, though often I don’t wake up until my alarm goes off (which is amazing!), I still go into the kids room to listen to them breathe.  Usually they’re both snoring loudly (I think they inherited Joe’s sinuses) in their beds.  It just took a few nights of me fighting my instincts to get all of us on a sleep routine.                

I’m not a parenting expert and will never claim to be.  I just know what it’s like to be a mom to Zoey and Hunter and rarely do I feel like a parenting expert with them.  No two parents have the same parenting style and we all have different ways of showing our love.  In the end, we all just want what is best for our own kiddos.  We do what we need to do for ourselves and for our kids to survive.  I still haven’t stopped giving Hunter a bottle during the day, as the doctor suggested, or taken away his binky, as the dentist recommended.  We’re down to one bottle in the house, but I’m just not quite ready to take it away from him because he loves it so much and it comforts him.  I’m trying to give him less binky time, so he can start talking more, but right now, he’s dependent on it and in a way so are we, and for now, that’s okay.  

My Personal Legend

“[Your personal legend] is what you have always wanted to accomplish.  Everyone, when they are young, knows what their personal legend is...at that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible.  They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives.  But as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their personal legend...whoever you are or whatever you do, when you really want something, it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe.  It’s your mission on earth....and when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”  --The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

The last thirty days have led me back to my personal legend.  As I wrote in my car before work, on my lunch breaks and after the kids went to bed, I was realigning myself on the path from which I had strayed.  Those writing filled days helped build my confidence that telling this particular story and writing, was something I was supposed to be doing.  I was knocking that mysterious force to its knees.  Without my friend, AJ, who reminded me about National Novel Writing Month, I don’t doubt I would’ve arrived at this place yet.  I know I would’ve eventually, as I was already on my way, but I might’ve struggled a while longer before I got here. National Novel Writing Month was the kick start I needed.  

I began my journey back to my personal legend when I began writing this blog.  Combining the two things I felt I was put on this planet to do: write and be a mom. Writing was put on the back burner to mothering, well let me be honest, writing took the back burner to everything.  The excuse that held the most weight, of course, was being a working mommy without time to pursue anything beyond that.  I told myself there would be time later, when the kids were older, then I could get back on track and realize my dream.  Yet, there would always be something in my path, some force to hold me back, some measly excuse.  I discovered three things in the thirty days of November. One, that deadlines are highly motivating (self imposed deadlines, might be another story, though).  Two, that it’s possible to find time to pursue my mission on earth.  Three, I haven’t lost my creativity or drive to have my voice heard.  

There are other mothers out there that have been able to achieve success in the writing world.  While, I do not dare to dream of reaching the heights of J.K. Rowling of Harry Potter fame or Stephanie Meyer of Twilight fame, what they have been able to accomplish while raising kids is motivating and reassuring.  Of course, there are so many other mothers before them that were able to write and publish while raising children, but today it’s these two that are the most famous.  I see now from a personal standpoint, that If the drive to accomplish ones personal legend is strong enough, it truly is possible. I am my own proof of that.   

The real work on my young adult novel, has yet to begin.  I have several revisions ahead of me: scenes to expand, background to build upon, scenes to add and remove.  Joe is in the process of reading my precious 174 pages now.  He opted to print them out, saying he wanted to hold my book in his hands versus read it on the computer.  I watched as the pages rapidly spit themselves out of the printer.  I held the bulk of my 52,451 words in my hands and flipped through the pages, impressed with what I had achieved in just thirty days.  After Joe gives me his honest opinion (yes, he is my husband, but he will be honest) about the story, I will roll up my writing sleeves and dig into it myself.  A few drafts later, I hope to have a handful of other readers, beginning with my family then friends review it for me.  Then depending on the response, I will likely have more changes to make.  Finally, after I feel I have a solid piece of work, I will look into getting it published.  It’s so easy to self publish now, so that option is always there.  I can’t wait to get this story into the hands and minds of others to see what they think and get their opinion on how my words affected them.   

         The stories and the characters in my head have been quieted these past few years.  I didn’t stop listening to them, but sort of pushed them aside as I made, had and began raising two beautiful children.  My ideas and desires remained somewhat dormant, but did not disappear, as they shouldn’t.  Motherhood shouldn’t be a barricade to pursuing ones passions, but just a mere speed bump.  My creative juices are flowing again and in the midst of writing my young adult novel, Somewhere in Between an idea for an adult novel began taking shape in my imagination.  I will wait to tackle that idea in November 2013.  My goal has always been to be an author and I have taken longer to get there than I wanted, but I’m here now, willing to work on my craft.  This past November, I put in the hard work, made time and have emerged, as I had hoped, with a working novel in hand.  Now, come on Universe, conspire to help me make something happen with it!   

     

National Novel Writing Month and Me

The rules: 

    *    Write a 50,000-word (or longer!) novel, between November 1 and November 30.

• Start from scratch. None of your own previously written prose can be included in your NaNoWriMo draft (though outlines, character sketches, and research are all fine, as are citations from other people’s works).
• Write a novel. We define a novel as a lengthy work of fiction. If you consider the book you’re writing a novel, we consider it a novel too!
• Be the sole author of your novel. Apart from those citations mentioned two bullet-points up.
• Write more than one word repeated 50,000 times.
• Upload your novel for word-count validation to our site between November 25 and November 30.

Write a novel in 30 days, really?  It’s never been a goal of mine, but each year when I hear someone mention this novel writing month of November I think about doing it.  This year, I felt a stronger itch to try it, so I signed up on the website to take on the task.  Where will I find time to do said novel writing?  My only pockets of uninterrupted time will be before work, at lunch and after the kids are asleep.  I will need to write 1,667 words a day to stay on track.  In theory this sounds manageable, let’s see what happens when life gets in the way.  To make this happen though, I will have to take a brief hiatus from my weekly blog postings for November.  There’s no possible way I’ll have enough time in my day to write my blog and a novel.  

While this doesn’t totally follow the rules, I already have a very rough draft of a teen novel that I will be expanding upon during these 30 days.  One day, shortly after I gave my two weeks notice at Barnes & Noble, I woke up with an idea for a book.  I bought two journals that inspired me and seemed to fit the theme of the story.  I hand wrote this rough draft in my car before work at my new job.  I was thrilled when I finished it and it felt more like a beginning than an ending.  Then I got busy being pregnant with Hunter, having Hunter, having two kids to take care of and I never got around to doing anything with the draft.  This book and it’s characters have been living in my head for almost two years now.  The story has been expanding in my head over time.  My draft is just a skeleton of the story, essentially it’s an extended outline, at least that is how I’m thinking about it in relation to this contest.  If I planned to just type up my draft this would be cheating, but that’s not what I’m going to do.  I might occasionally glance at the draft to keep myself on track, but I will be writing in anew and adding onto the story already in my head.   This month will be my motivation to bring these characters to life.

I touched on my dream of becoming a published author in my post, Eighty Years Old: Death Bed.  I want to be an example for my kids and have them see me passionate about something other than them and see me work to follow my dreams.  At this point, they are far too young to be aware of what their parents do, but eventually I’d like them to feel proud and impressed with my accomplishments or at least at my attempts!  

Here’s to hoping I can be disciplined enough to write at least 50,000 words in November and that my creative juices will flow abundantly.  See you in a month, when I emerge from my writing cave, with novel in hand.     

Zoey and the Princess Phase

My Snow White

Aurora from Sleeping Beauty is Zoey’s favorite Disney Princess. I asked her what she likes about this Princess that she so adores.  She said she likes her hair, her pink dress and her face.  She wants to have long hair like Aurora and Rapunzel and while she covets their long blonde locks, she has yet to say she wants to be beautiful like them.  I hope this is because we’ve done our job and she already knows she is.

I know every young girl isn’t drawn to Princesses, I wasn’t.  They also weren’t as prevalent when I was growing up.  I remember liking Strawberry Shortcake, Care Bears and Cabbage Patch dolls.  I vaguely remember my sisters Brittany and Brooke having a thing for Ariel from Little Mermaid, but I would’ve been beyond the Princess loving age at that point.  In the stores now, it’s a Princess explosion, you can’t walk down a toy aisle at Target or Toys R Us without being bombarded by Disney Princesses.

I can’t recall the exact point that Zoey’s love of Princesses began, it was sort of a slow progression.  She was two almost three years old, when Joe wanted to start showing her Disney movies.  We started with the classic Mickey Mouse cartoons, which she loved.  Then we moved on to Snow White (it was Joe’s DVD), she was scared and didn’t like it at first as it contains some dark scenes that I had forgotten about.  It’s both strange and enlightening to watch these movies through a child’s eyes.  We have Netflix and Joe began adding Disney movies to our queue.  She was so excited to see the red envelopes come in the mail.  We rented movies from Alice in Wonderland to Beauty and the Beast to Dumbo to Peter Pan and Sleeping Beauty.  She fell in love with Aurora and the fairies from Sleeping Beauty and most definitely preferred the Princess movies over the others.  When Princess and the Frog and Tangled were on Netflix streaming she became obsessed with those.  She has now seen every Disney Princess movie out there.  She knows all the Princesses by name, owns several Princess toys and dolls and when given a choice will chose the Princess theme every time.  When we let her pick out a poster to hang in her room and a bike for her birthday, of course, she went the way of the Princess.

At Disneyland Zoey meets Belle

I’m okay with this Princess phase even if the feminist inside me cringes sometimes.  The Princesses are too perfect to be true, but they aren’t real.  While I think many of us would welcome movies in which Princesses have realistic shapes and don’t get married at the end, for now this isn’t the case.  At least the Princesses don’t stand around talking about being pretty and calling attention to their looks.  It’s the jealous ones like Snow White’s stepmother and Cinderella’s stepsisters that call attention to it.  Besides, I think any ideas Zoey will get from the media about how a female “should” look will come later and not from cartoons.  My body image issues were derived more from the people around me and what they said, over what I saw in the media.  I believe it will be the same for Zoey and I try my best to be cognizant of what I say around her.  I try to avoid the word fat regarding myself or any one else.  We will teach her that we all have different hair, skin and body types and that is what makes us interesting.  We are all perfect in our own way.

This Princess phase will end in a few years and her next obsession will begin.  She’ll get into music and movies with real people in them.  She’ll get crushes on boys in bands and actors in movies and TV shows.  This will date me, but my poster walls were covered with New Kids on the Block posters.  My movie and TV crushes were Tom Cruise, Michael J. Fox and Kirk Cameron.  Yet for now, for Zoey, there’s no turning back, she’s deep into the Princess phase and no matter what we do, it’s here to stay for a while. As long as she doesn’t grow up thinking she needs a Prince to save her, this is fine with me.  Though Disney is changing things up a bit and making the Princess stories more modern, for instance the Princesses now are stronger and have thrown passivity to the wind.  They take more active roles in the outcome of their lives.  In the Princess and the Frog, Tiana is trying to raise money to start her own restaurant and isn’t interested in finding love.  Love finds her and while she does get married and become a Princess in the end, she still follows her dream and opens her restaurant.  In Tangled, the male character isn’t a Prince, but a thief.  While Eugene helps to free Rapunzel from the witch’s evil grasp at the end of the move, it’s Rapunzel that wakes Eugene from his “sleep” and brings him back to life.  In Brave, Merida is a strong-willed girl who rides horses and explores on her own.  She doesn’t want or need a Prince.  This is one of few Princess movies that doesn’t end with a wedding.  We took Zoey to see Brave in the theaters and she was scared by several of the scenes.   While it has a good message for young girls, I think it’s best to leave this movie for girls older than three. 

At Disneyland Zoey meets Tiana

Zoey doesn’t talk much about the Princes, at this point they’re more of an after thought.  I want her to grow up strong and independent and not searching for someone else to complete her.  I always thought of myself as independent, but remember feeling like I needed a Prince on a white horse to come save me.  I would joke about it, but in a way I really hoped for a savior.  I was always searching for someone to come along and complete me, make me happy.  I know now that that’s not possible.  Another human being can’t complete or make you happy if you aren’t already.  I’d love for Zoey to grasp this concept in her teens and not search for a Prince, but for herself.  When she finds someone to love she’ll know they’re on a journey together, pulling each other up when they need to, but not holding each other up.  She won’t learn this by watching Princesses in movies, she’s going to learn this from me and her dad.

I want Zoey to know that things won’t be handed to her in life, that she can’t sit around waiting for life to happen to her.  She’s in charge of her own happiness, but you know what?  She isn’t thinking about any of this right now.  She’s just a four year old girl that enjoys playing with Princesses in fancy dresses and watching them on TV.  Zoey is still young, too young to think about her looks, falling in love and getting married.  The Disney Princesses will not determine her future, they’re just a distraction as she grows up.  It is to be hoped that Disney will keep strong female role models coming!  Hear that Disney?  Yet even if that doesn’t happen any time soon, for now, and maybe always, I see nothing wrong with letting her dream about happy endings, pretty things and dancing. She’ll have plenty of time to live in the real world, so for now, there’s no harm in letting her live in a fairy tale land for as long as she can.

            

Zoey Turns Four

Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body. --Elizabeth Stone

Dress up fun

On October 17th, 2008, Zoey Lynn, my 10 lb. 10 oz big bundle of baby was pulled from my womb C-section style and I became a mommy.  I had no idea what I was doing or what I was in for.  Motherhood is the most difficult, most amazing and most heart wrenching experience I will ever endure.  I’ve never been happier, more worried, more proud or more mad because of another human being ever before.  Zoey is inquisitive and stubborn, beautiful and wild, shy and brave, smart and sweet, good and bad, a little obsessive and mine.

She makes my heart melt and she makes my heart burn.  She manipulates situations and pushes my buttons.  Sometimes she frustrates me, makes me yell (and I’m not proud but there have been cuss words uttered in her presence), she makes me cry with exasperation and demand why she just won’t listen.  After my meltdown on top of her meltdown she makes me wish I was more patient.  Even after all the maddening torment of parenthood, she is still my heart walking outside my body and I would do anything to protect her. 

The other day she was pushing her limits, being jealous of Hunter and throwing tantrums throughout the long day.  A few minutes before bedtime she was sitting on the floor in front of the freezer crying and begging for another popsicle.  I was done with her nonsense, but then in a lighthearted voice I asked, “Zoey, can we send you back?”  I immediately felt bad for saying this, but there was no taking it back.  She stopped whining and In a sad little voice asked, “Where?  Back to the hospital?”  I had been thinking back to the womb, but I thought her response was smart.  I added, “Yeah, let’s go pack up your stuff.”  She said she didn’t want to go back, she stopped asking for another popsicle and we headed off to get ready for bed.  Even though this offhanded threat worked, I haven’t used it since.  The thought of not having this girl, my daughter, in my life every day and the possibility of her thinking that I don’t want her there is unimaginable.  

Her new big girl bike

My great uncle Al and Zoey share a birthday, they just have ninety-six years between them.  He will be 100 years old this birthday.  He still lives by himself and was still driving until a few years ago.  My mom’s side of the family has been blessed with longevity.  My great grandma lived to be 99.  My great Uncle Al made it goal to live longer than his mom had and now he’s succeeded!  I hope the longevity gene was passed down to Zoey (and Hunter).  Here’s to another ninety-six happy and healthy years for Zoey.  Happy 4th birthday my love bug!

I wrote a silly birthday poem for Zoey this year.  I had intended to write one for my kids on their birthdays each year, but haven’t quite accomplished this, maybe every other year will be my goal.  Anyway, here’s the poem:

4th Birthday Poem for Zoey

My love bug is four

shut the door!

Say it’s not true

what will I do?

I’d like to slow the years to a stop

it’s not working, on they hop.

It’s okay, this is just the beginning

so far away is the ending.

She’s shy, but brave

and sometimes won’t behave,

She hasn’t mastered the art of listening

I love to spy while she’s pretending.

She’s oh so pretty and so tall

heads above them all.

She loves to sing song after song

and wants me to sing along.

Big sister is her role

she loves Hunter, her baby bro.

He wants do everything she does

run, jump and try to fly just because.

Princesses are her fave

this will change, it’s just a phase.

She loves her pink blanket still

but with her monkey she’s had her fill.

She’s in preschool now

I can’t believe it, wow.

She loves to count, 

the ABCs, she will shout. 

Z to the O to the E to the Y

she makes my heart soar so high.

She loves to snuggle and loves to hug

I adore her more than ladybugs.