The Three Dreaded Words: Can I help?

It's the holiday season and we are all so busy, busy, busy.  All this activity looks so inviting to our special little "helpers" but beware of the dreaded three words.

Allow me to translate: Can I help?

Can I spill it?

Can I smear it?

Can I break it?

Can I sneeze on it?

Can I drop it?

Can I waste it?

Can I squish it?

Can I stick my finger in it, stick my finger in my mouth, and then stick my finger in it again?

Can I do half of it and then walk away?

Can I put it somewhere else?

Can I put it somewhere else and forget where I put it?

Can I just get in your way?

Can I just touch it a lot and then walk away?

I love my littles.  I love teaching them and sharing moments and all that stuff.

So why, oh why, do these three little words make me cringe?

Mamas, what have I forgot?  Please add to my list.

In honor of breastfeeding week

I'm no longer nursing, but if you'd like to know my stats they are: 3 children for a grand total of 84 months, a few of those months were tandem nursing the girls.

This morning I overheard the girls playing with their animals and I could tell by their dialogue that nursing babies was past of the game.

I snuck up on them to take this picture. I wish I would have recorded them because the animals were "saying" things like:

Can I have some milk?
Here, have some milk.
Oh, I don't have anymore milk. Try my husband's.

As you can see in the picture, there is some inter-species nursing going on. It seems that between that, and the fact that my 5-year-old thinks that animal husbands can also provide milk, I need to set them straight.

But in the meantime I'll just enjoy my daughter's innocent, yet spot on, insight that mammal mothers nurse their babies.

My 5-year-old's Thoughts on Why Women Should Be Able to Take Their Shirts Off.

The girls and I were on the way to a park and two men jogged past us, one shirtless and one not which Luna, my 5-year-old, noticed. Tulip, my 7-year-old explained that when some men get sweaty, they take off their shirts. 

I thought this would be a great opportunity to engage my girls in some gender equality discussion. 

I asked Tulip why sweaty men take off their shirts when running but sweaty women don't. She said that a woman's chest is a private part so she keeps it covered. I asked her what she thinks about how a woman's chest is private but a man's chest is not. And she said,  "I know. That's crazy. Who made that up?  The gods?!" (It's been a summer full of Greek mythology and creation myths) 

Then Luna chimed in,  in response to my question, "That's not...nice." She hesitated before saying the word "nice" because she was thinking some big thoughts and maybe meant to say, "That's not fair" but perhaps I'm projecting. What she did say was the following and it took her some effort to find the right words.

Luna said, "That's not...good (new word this time) because when a man is sweaty and can take his shirt off he can look down at his chest but a woman can't look down at her chest."

This blew my mind.  She's 5.  She thinks her body is her most amazing possession and she looks at it all the time. Of. Course.

Luna also said, "It's also not good because when a man gets sweaty he can take off his shirt and then the air can blow on his stomach and that will feel nice because he's sweaty but a woman can't take off her shirt so she won't ever have any air blow on her stomach when she's sweaty.  When I get sweaty I like to lift my shirt off my stomach so I can feel some air on it."

This also blew my mind because at her innocent age it's about two basic principals - comfort and identity.  Not shame or embarrassment or anything like that.  Everyone needs to think like a 5-year-old every now and then: This is my awesome body and I like how it looks because bodies are amazing and, oh, by the way I'm sweaty so I'm going to adjust my clothing to cool off.

Seven

Your eyes sparkle and every morning you look out the window when you wake up because you love nature. You adore your big brother and dote so patiently and lovingly on your little sister. You notice beauty everywhere. You fill our hearts with joy and laughter because you are so funny and delightful. You love to dance and color and blow bubbles. I love you, Tulip. You make me smile all day long.

When Your Son Turns 9

When your son turns 9, you savor every moment he wants to sit in your lap even though he's squishing you.  And you're so proud of his book choices and the way he plays with his sisters.  And your heart melts when you hear his unabashed giggling at silly cartoons.  And you make another mark on the wall.

And you might find this list in his room on his desk:

Evil Plan to Get to School on Time
1.  eat breakfast
2.  get lunch
3.  turn off night light
4.  get dressed
5.  comb hair
6.  brush teeth
7.  wait
8.  go to school
9.  get good grades and stuff at math
10.  become brilliant and make a super weapon

And you'll probably save this list because, you know, when he turns 10 his handwriting might look different.

Sleepover milestone. Check.

Tulip was invited to and attended her first sleepover.  She, I mean I, I mean Luna did just fine.

Actually, whatever trepidation I thought Tulip might have was nonexistent.  I, on the other hand, had great pause as to whether my daughter who only just finished Kindergarten was ready to sleep in another house...without ME.  But the real drama was not from Tulip's mama, but from her baby sister.  Oh my but was Luna sad that Tulip was leaving the house at 4:00 in the afternoon and wouldn't be coming home that night.  She started weeping on the couch as Tulip packed her backpack.

"You know, Luna is really sad that you won't be sleeping in your room tonight," I told her and okay maybe I was projecting a little bit.

"Oh..." Tulip said knowingly and finished packing her outfit for the next day.  She went to find her sister and offer her some solace.  "Luna, what if we each draw a picture for each other and we can tuck them under our pillows tonight."  Total brilliance.

Problem solved except that mama now had a fresh batch of tears welling up in the corner of her eyes.

Back to work

Returning to work after spending the whole summer with my kids is tough.  But it's not so bad when this happens:

"Good morning, Mama," Luna says.

I drop my mascara right in the sink and drop myself right onto the bathroom floor so she can crawl into my lap.

"You look like a happy girl this morning," I say.  And I smell her hair.

"That's because I had a funny dream."

"What did you dream about?"

She caresses my arm while she searches her sleepy mind.  Then she tells me about a funny clown and unicorns and hot dogs.

"That does sound like a funny dream," I tell her.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to make paper butterflies with me?"  I taught her how to do this over the summer and she has made 6,338 paper butterflies so far.

"Oh, Mama has to go to work today."

"That's okay." Her caress turns into a pat, pat on my arm and she is up out of my lap.