Birds and the Bees

My little one is three years old and, of course, overflowing with questions. 

Today's big one: "Mom, I know you had a baby in your tummy, but HOW does the baby get in your tummy?"

"Well, Daddy helped put a baby in my tummy."

"Oh. But how did he put it in there?"

I will spare you the details, but I did my best to briefly and easily explain how it works. She seemed relatively interested and processed some of it, but then returned to jumping off my bed showing me how she could "land with no hands!".

Then she stopped and said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah...but how do you find the husband?"

Super valid. Definitely the hardest part of the equation. 

Trees, thank you.

On our way to school everyday, Zoë re-enacts a handful of pretend scenarios. I’m a bear, she comes to visit my cave. I’m Teacher Samantha, she’s Teacher Samantha’s son. Or we pretend we’re flying in Dad’s plane to see Papaw and Memo. “Not tooooo high, Dad!”

Today was a little different. She was oddly quiet and then softly spoke up.

“Mom? I need to tell the trees something.”

“Okay.”

“Trees?” She paused briefly as if waiting for them to respond. “Trees, thank you for blocking the sun. When we drive past you, you keep the sun out of my eyes. Thank you.”

Her appreciation made me take a moment to thank them as well. For their beauty and for their resilience this year.

Heart. Melted.

At the end of today (living in 2020/21 as a baseline - something we can all agree is already a low bar), I struggled through witching-hour meltdowns, dinner time negotiations and never-ending dirty dishes.  

I made it to the finish line of bedtime and transitioned right into having a tame argument with my husband while I made "adult dinner".  All while listening to our youngest cry it out as she fell asleep. We've come accustomed to tuning it out.  (And, realistically, it never lasts longer than 4 minutes.)  But tonight, the four minutes felt especially long.  

As mothers do, I was watching butter melt to the perfect consistency to pan fry fish, explaining my frustration to my husband and "sink-defrosting" said fish-to-be-cooked.  All while in the background hearing my toddler start singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the screaming baby.

And that's when it broke. My heart. 

My sweet, albeit <sometimes> annoying  three-year-old was being so sweet. So genuine. So helpful.

My girl. My heart. My love.

Validation

 Picking up kids from school is the best. On a good day, they run to you with arms wide open and scream: "Mahhhm!"

Today was extra special though. I showed up as Zoë's teacher was asking her to help clean up. She started to run out of the yard to say hello and her teacher reminded her to finish helping. She agreed and started gathering all the balls to put them back in their bucket.

As she gathered, she said, "Hi Mom! I'm helping."

"Good job, Zoë. Good teamwork."

"Yeah, I know, Mom. Hey mom, did you bring my fruit snack I wanted?"

"Yep, it's in the car"

"Yay! You remembered!"

"Sure did."

There was a small pause as she reached down to grab the last ball. As she stood up...she stopped, looked right at me and in the most genuine voice I have ever heard from my child, she said, "You're a great mom."

I giggled at first; as you do at all things toddlers say. But she just stared at me.

My heart warmed and I could feel a tiny space fill with much-needed light. I had no idea I needed to hear it. 

But I did. 

What an important time to be a toddler

Since we are temporarily living in "town", we've been taking advantage and doing daily walks along West Cliff (a populated beach walk, but it has a locals vibe).

Before COVID, most people smiled as they passed or offered some sort of friendly gesture.  Now, with mostly masked faces, it feels like no one is friendly...even if they're smiling from behind their mask.

Turns out, if you have a toddler in tow, it's a game changer.

For every single person we passed today, Zoë said, "Hi, I'm Zoë, what's your name?"  Nine out of ten people nearly stopped in their tracks to say hello back and then, if they'd listen, Zoë would continue with:

"Do you know I have a birthday?  I'll be three.  This is my sister. Her name is Josephine. Do you know she has two teeth?"

I had two favorites from the day:

1. A woman named Olga who was so delighted to be stopped to say hello.  She prodded Zoë with lots of questions and we found out her middle name was Josephine.  Turns out she also has a granddaughter named Zoë and our Zoë thought that was the coolest.
2. At the end of our walk, Zoë was out of the stroller collecting rocks.  She stopped two different women who patiently waited as Zoë went through her spiel. Then she told them she had found a rock just for them. They both graciously accepted and commented on how pretty the rock was and how much they would cherish it.

The last woman we spoke to held her newly gifted rock close to her heart and said, "It seems like our only hope right now is to chat with strangers. Thank you for stopping to say hello. You truly made my day."

I'm honored we could help. 

Confidence: Rattled

For the first time in a long time, I've had my self-confidence rattled to the core.  It feels so jarring because gaining that confidence took the better part of 30 years.  So for one conversation to start to erase my work, my focus...my literal blood, sweat and tears...is: Just. Not. Okay.

So I am here. Back to this familiar place of solace and of self-acceptance. A place most people don't know exists.  And I am here because it is mine. 

And that is my sunshine.  

This little piece of white screen that I get to control.

6 months or 6 years

Here we are.  Halfway through 2020 and I feel like it's been 6 years since January. 

There are days when everything hits me at once - mom guilt, the uncertainty of everything about COVID-19, fifty heart-breaking videos of protests, spilled milk, piles of laundry, endless questions from a toddler and a work to-do list I can't seem to check off.

These are the days I almost can't breathe. They are also the days Josephine seems unconsolable.

So with a screaming child, I loaded up two kids and the dog and headed out for a walk - to find my breath.

Just as we left the driveway, I could see two people in masks waiting at the bus stop. I crossed the street in hopes to pass by quickly with a wave instead of encouraging any conversation.  As we got closer, I could tell they were deep in their own conversation and we'd likely pass without interruption.

But as we passed, one of them stopped mid-sentence, looked over and said, "Hey.  Don't worry.  It will all be okay."

He stopped for a beat and I nearly cried.  How could he know I needed to hear that?!

Then he said, "All of this.  It will pass.  I've been around longer than you and seen crazy things happen in this world. Right now, might be the craziest I've seen.  But it's okay. You...and your...is that your daughter?"

"Yes, two daughters." I said.

"Ah, yes.  I see now.  Well, you and your beautiful daughters will be fine. In fact, they'll probably grow up and change this world."

I could barely get the words "thank you" out before I started crying - but a few steps later, I could breathe ever-so-slightly easier.