Milestones and Memories (Guest-Post by Angela of Tiaras and Trucks)

I admit that I have only known Angela for a short-time.  The first time I found her blog, Tiaras and Trucks, was through one of Write on Edge's writing prompts link-up.  What I didn't know at the time was that she is also the Assistant Editor at Write on Edge, as well as a contributing writer at Just Be Enough.

Angela with her two children

One of the first posts that I read in her blog was On Your First Day of School.  If there was such a thing as love at first sight, then that was 'it' for me.  Right there and then I fell in love with Angela's writing.  She wrote that particular post to her daughter, Abbey, the night before Abbey's first day of school.  

I still remembered how I felt the first time I read that post--I have never felt more affected and more emotionally engaged by a single post before.  Perhaps it was because I, too, am a mother to a daughter only a few years older than Abbey.  But I'm quite sure it was Angela's words--every single one of them mirroring my own feelings for my daughter--written so beautifully, that drew me in.  Words I've been wishing to tell my daughter but had never been able to (and probably never could) express so eloquently.

I was nervous to ask Angela to guest-post for my blog at first.  Not only have I just 'met' her, but truth be told, Sweaty is not (yet) a household name.  But I really felt that I had to ask her.  I admired Angela's works, and sincerely thought that my readers and I would not only enjoy, but also learn a lot from her writing.  When she replied and said, "I'd love to guest post at your place," I was blown away by how nice and helpful she was!     

Abbey and Dylan

Here is the guest-post that Angela has written for me.  I can't thank her enough for this!  In it are my favorite subjects, Abbey, Angela's three-and-a-half year old daughter, and Dylan, her one-and-a-half year old son.  She wrote about a moment in her life, ordinary in so many ways, yet made extraordinary by how she brought that experience to life before your very eyes.  

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Milestones and Memories

by Angela of Tiaras and Trucks

It sits on a shelf in Abbey’s closet, its pastel graphics faded, its pages curling, small, square photographs tinged with the slight yellow signature of the early 1980s.  My fingers have slid over the pages countless times; when I recently wanted pictures of my first dance recital and my first day of preschool, I knew exactly where to look.

My baby book.

Neatly, methodically, lovingly penned by my mother, the notations are all in her even penmanship, the ink easily recognized as blue ball-point pen.

Not to be outdone, I eagerly began working in Abbey’s baby books.  That’s correct.

Books.

The first is a beautiful scrapbook, ready for photos and adorable notes about bathtimes and bedtimes and first vacations.  The second is a smaller, thinner version, meant to record dates and milestones.

Together, they sit on a shelf in her closet, close to my aging book.

In the baby basket.

A large, woven basket with a lid, it contains everything that should be in the baby books, including photos and cards and locks of hair and post-it notes hastily scribbled with milestone dates.

Dylan doesn’t have a baby basket.

He has a baby drawer, and even that is woefully unadorned, only a few errant post-its tucked between first birthday cards and hospital bracelets.

Guilt pokes at me when my eyes rest on the baby basket, or when I open the baby drawer to toss in something new.

Will Abbey wonder what gifts she received for her first birthday?

Will Dylan roll his eyes when he realizes I didn’t record when he got his first tooth?

Will I ever sit and organize the post-its and the pictures and tenderly fill the paper pages that now lay empty on her closet shelf?

For now, I can only close my eyes for a moment, and collect memories on my blog, capturing moments that aren’t so easily recorded on a list of milestones.

There’s not a line for the way Dylan carefully holds onto my hand as he walks down the stairs, pausing with both feet on each step and doing an excited little shuffle before walking down to the next.

There’s not a line for the way Abbey turns back to catch my eye and shake her head in exasperation when Ryan misses a word in any of her beloved princess stories.

Nor the way Dylan’s eyes light up when he runs past twenty similar leaves on the ground to choose one specific leaf to show me in delight.

Nor the way Abbey confidently carries my old purse through Costco, pulling out her little notepad to consult her list as we gather items into the cart.

There’s not a line for the healing power of their hugs, the way their ferocious clasps around my neck at night calm my soul better than any run or glass of wine or piece of chocolate.

As they grow older, the exact dates of their first steps may fade in importance, but I can’t imagine the day I won’t cherish the memory of their still-damp after-bath kisses.

If they don’t feel the same?

There’s always the baby basket. 

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I think you know now why I fell in love with Angela's writing, right?  She definitely has a way with words, one that allows you to fully experience a range of emotions as you are reading it.  Here are a few recent posts by Angela that are my favorites:

• Mind Games Here she described her struggle to believe in herself while training for her fourth marathon, despite physical and circumstantial limitations.
• Moving Past Regret Again, here Angela wrote about remembering the past and dealing with regrets that came with it.  I could almost 'feel' her mind churning with memories and all the 'what ifs.'
• Slow Down The post that earned her a syndication by BlogHer
• Wrapped in an Afghan  Here she wrote of a memory she would rather forget; I had goosebumps reading it.  

If you have not followed her already, I urge you to do so.  You can find Angela:

• at her lovely blog, Tiaras and Trucks, http://tiaras-and-trucks.blogspot.com/
• tweeting @tiaras_trucks
• at her Facebook Page Tiaras & Trucks on Facebook 
• running, training for marathons, in the Michigan area :) 

Barbie Is Just a Doll, Mommy.

A few days ago I was lying down on my sofa bed with my daughter.  Together, we were an idyllic picture of modern, socially-impaired family: me with my laptop reading some blog posts, my daughter with my iPad browsing through the Apps store looking for new games.

Let me redeem myself a bit by saying that no, this is not how I usually spend time with my daughter.  I'm not a parent who's too keen on her kid playing electronic games.  My 6 year-old doesn't have any of the following: Playstation, Wii, Xbox, Nintendo DS, nor any of those interactive computer games Leap Frog, Disney, and V-Tech come up with.  She is not allowed to play our iPad or iPod Touch without Mommy and Daddy's permission.  At times she was allowed to, there was a time limit of 45 minutes and mostly on weekends only.

Some moms have called me too strict or too old-fashioned.  So far, I have yet to succumb to peer pressure.  Ever since she was small, I stick to buying mostly arts and crafts supplies or activities kit for my daughter to play with.  Sure, my daughter have asked me a few times why some of her friends were allowed to have electronic games and she wasn't.  Each time, I told her what I always tell her, that she could have just as much fun using whatever she already has around her.  When she tells me she's bored, I always encourage her to draw, color, do simple origami, or write letters and decorate greeting cards for her grandparents and friends.

Umm, so obviously that bit about "my daughter with my iPad browsing through the Apps store looking for new games" wasn't really a good example of my "finer" parenting qualities, but surprise!!! I've had several "good" mommy moments :)

So what happened was, she was browsing for free games that she could download into my iPad (she's only allowed games that are free because some of those games could be dang expensive).  Let's not forget that she is a 6 years old whose writing and reading skills are limited at best.  Amazing how that didn't stop her from actually finding the games that she wanted, huh?  When she found a few that she liked, she asked me which ones she should download.  I allowed her to choose two out of the bunch, and she ended up downloading a "Despicable Me" and one other game with a name I didn't know but basically it was a giraffe who could mimic whatever it is you say to him.

As she was waiting for the games to download, she  asked me, "Mommy, you don't allow me to play any Barbie games, right?" Apparently she had seen some free Barbie games while browsing through the Apps store.

"Yes, you are absolutely correct," I told her.

"Let me get this straight, Mommy.  You don't like Barbie, right?"

"Uh huh," I answered.

"You don't like Barbie because she's too skinny and she has tiny strange-looking neck, right?"

"Yep, you got that right, sweetie.  I don't like Barbie and she IS too skinny and she DOES have tiny strange-looking neck.  THAT is SO not the look you wanna go for," I answered smugly.

My daughter then looked  at me.  Uh oh, I knew that look.  It's a look that usually preceded either a "world's worst mom" moment or "maybe-she-should-be-the mom-instead-of-me" moment.  She then said, "But it's just a doll, Mommy.  It's not a person.  It's. A. DOLL."

You see, another thing I don't allow my daughter to play with is Barbie dolls.  I never ever bought her a single Barbie.  Whenever I found some among her birthday presents (yes, I admit I'm a parent who just HAVE to monitor my daughter's birthday presents among other things.  I'm a control freak, what can I say) I would always remove them.  Starting from her first birthday, long before she could even speak, I have started  my attempts to brainwash my daughter into hating Barbie dolls.  Yes, thanks to those parents who thought that giving my one year-old Barbie dolls for birthday presents--I repeat, one year old--was a great idea.   I would sit across from my daughter, held the said Barbie doll in all its glamorous packaging in front of her, and said: "Lookie here, sweetie (pointing to Barbie).  Mommy don't like this doll (shaking my head several times to make sure she gets the point).  Look how skinny she is! (Making a disgusted face)  And it is not nice to be that skinny!  Right baby, right???"  A message that was going to be repeated for many years to come as it turned out.

My daughter is used to this.  She's been through 6 birthdays with me, so by now she knows the drill.  Bless her heart, I knew there were times when she really wanted at least one Barbie doll, but she has never asked for one.  She knows: Mommy hates Barbie.  

My daughter's response immediately reminded me of a post I recently read on a mommy blog called Mommies being Mommies.  The post was written by Mommy J and was titled, "Losing the Princess Battle."  She wrote about not wanting her 2 year-old daughter to submit to the world of Disney Princesses, because she feared that not only would she be subjecting her daughter to a particular gender role, but also that her daughter would end up with what she thought of as "Princess" behavior: selfish, spoiled, tantrum-throwing little girls who walk around wearing an invisible tiara and princess dress.

At the end of her post, Mommy J concluded that, whether or not her daughter develop a negative attitude later in life, has less to do with her attempts at keeping her daughter away from Disney Princesses, and more to do with her making sure that her daughter doesn't grow up to become a spoiled brat.  I told her I couldn't have agreed more.  I posted a comment on her post, telling her that I was also a parent who is guilty of "battling the Princess" (or in my case, Barbie).

Thanks to the Psych classes I took during my college days, I was afraid that by playing with Barbie dolls, my daughter would come to idolize them and as the result, develop unhealthy body image, suffer from eating disorders, and fall victim into believing that Barbie is the standard of beauty.  Lost somewhere among my many worries, was my role as a mother.  I've failed to recognize, how as her parent, I can actually do something.   

Mommy J's post, and what my daughter said several nights ago, made me realize that, yes, whether or not my daughter ultimately becomes an adult who is capable of loving herself--confident in who she is, how she looks, and what she can do--has in fact more to do with how I raise her now than all of my combined efforts trying to keep Barbie away from her.  Rather than merely assuming a passive role in my active battle against all the Barbies in the world, I actually have the power to actively do something!  I can raise my daughter to have a healthy body image, not suffer from eating disorders, and believe herself as beautiful even if she doesn't conform with whatever it is the magazines deemed to be the standard of beauty at the time. 

While this realization isn't going to make me run to the nearest toy store and finally buy that one Barbie for my daughter, it really made me re-think a lot of things about my role as a parent.  It makes me happy to know that as a mother, I can contribute in "creating" an individual who is not going to be just another statistics in this world.  At the same time, it has also opened a whole new Pandora's box for me.  Have I, as a mother, been the right role model to my child?  Have I, through my examples, inspired her to not become what I'm afraid she would be if she were to play with Barbie? (a topic worth a whole other post, I'm sure). 

My daughter then went on to say: "I don't really like Barbie anymore anyways.  She has blond hair, I have brown hair.  And I think I prefer brunettes, like me."* 
*Note: The above comment is not to be misconstrued in any way.  Let me make it clear that both me and my daughter don't have anything against blond hair.  In fact, in my younger days, I used to change hair color as often as I changed the color of my nail polish.  I've been a blond, a brunette, an auburn, a red (and I mean red in the very literal sense), a copper, a black (yes, the gothic kind), and just about any colors in between kinda girl.  I even had mixed colored hair due to over bleaching once.  

To hear my daughter said that she's happy with what she has (in this case, brown hair) instead of what Barbie or others have, means a lot more to me than any other accomplishments I've achieved so far.  It gave me hope that at least for now, she's on the right track to becoming a person who sees herself in a positive light.  That yes, provided with the right values and upbringing, what my daughter said was never more true.  Ultimately, "[Barbie's] just a doll, Mommy.  It's not a person.  It's. A. DOLL."

World's Worst Mom #100 Part 2

If you haven't, please read  Part 1 first

With gratitude to World's Worst Moms, who has given mommies with deficient parenting qualities, such as me, the chance to shine.

To my dear 6yr-old daughter,  here are 100 37* reasons why your mommy is the World's Worst Mom:

1. I secretly think that if only you look more like me instead of your daddy, you'd be a better looking kid.
2. Do you remember those times when I said I was BUSY? I was busy online shopping.
3. I keep the best chocolate cookies hidden in my closet so I don't have to share them with you (or daddy). 
4. The other day, when we were both walking and it suddenly rained, I quickly fumbled to open my umbrella, not because I was afraid you'd get wet, but because I didn't want to ruin my newly purchased handbag.
5. I want you to love me more than you love Daddy.
6. When you were 5 months old, I fed you bitter gourd to stop you from sucking your little fingers.
7. Whenever I don't want you to eat something, I lied and told you it's allergic and it will give you an itchy rash. 
8. I searched the net for pictures of the worst dental cavities ever and told you that's what's gonna happen when you don't brush your teeth at least twice a day.
9. I refused to take turns and listen to your choice of songs in the car.  I just couldn't listen to "All the Single Ladies" from the Chipmunks 2 anymore.  In fact, if the CD went missing one day in the very near future, that's probably because your mommy smashed it to pieces and hide the evidence.
10. I was so happy when you're at that age when you were so eager to help out because now I have you to fetch me stuff whenever I was too lazy to lift my butt off the couch.
11. I lied when I told you, "I'm sorry honey, but your friend from school could not have that playdate with you.  Her mom said she had something planned that weekend."  First, I never asked her mom.  Second, I simply wasn't in the mood to have to clean up after one extra child. 
12. I forgot my promises to you because when I made them, I was checking out my friends' facebook stats on my blackberry
13. When you asked me questions, and I answered them, half the time I didn't know what I'm talking about. 
14. I pretended to be deaf  whenever you ask me questions that would require long explanations.  That's because I'm just too lazy to explain, and why I'm willing to pay $$$ for your schooling.  So that somebody else can answer your questions.
15. I never volunteer to do anything in your class because I don't like your homeroom mom and I think she's annoying and I can't stand her guts.
16. I was determined to make you wear that itchy christmas dress--not once, but as many times as possible--because I thought you looked so cute in it and I wanted to make sure I've got my value for money.
17. Same reason why I made you wear that Halloween costume for at least one whole day.
18. Sometimes I make up rules for you to follow just because I can.  Hey, I'm your mother!.
19. For the last six years, I've been blaming you, not my sweet tooth, for the state of my current waistline.
20. Every night, when it's time to read you a bedtime story, I covertly glance at the book you've picked.  If it has small fonts and more than 8 pages long, it's Daddy's turn.
21. I really, really hate your super active bowel movements.  How could such a small person produce so much crap?  Believe me I tried, but the smell of your poop... it's honestly a smell not even a mother could love.
22. You're my favorite go-to excuse for canceling my appointments at the last minute: "I'm really sorry, I was just about to leave when my little girl decided to throw a fit right now.  Yes, in fact the little monster's gnawing on my left leg as we speak."
23. I made you drink that extra glass of milk because I was having too much fun at the mall and then realize it's 4pm and I've forgotten to feed you lunch.
24. I let you play with my Itouch so you would forget that mommy forgot to feed you lunch.  Right up til I can fix you that extra glass of milk.  Then it's back to "What did I say?  No electronic games."
25. That one time (fine, fine! a few times!) I really, really needed some small change. So I stole some from your piggy bank.
26. I told you that Santa and Tooth Fairy are NOT real.  You were 3 years old.
27. I always bought your birthday and christmas presents at the last minute because that's usually when I remembered them.  Which was why when mommy went to the toy store, things were out of stock and most likely you ended up with something entirely different that what you've wanted.
28. While helping you with your homework, there were times when I thought, "God, she's cute but why is she SO dense?" 
29. I stopped you in the middle of your favorite cartoon when I found out that RPattz (a.k.a. Edward Cullen) was on another channel.  Sorry baby girl, but Robert beats Phineas and Ferb anytime.
30. I almost took you to watch Twilight because nobody else wanted to watch it for the 5th time with me in the theaters.  Daddy had to remind me that the movie was PG-13, and that you were only 4 yrs old at the time.
31. I told your daddy: no dating until she's 18yrs old and forget about marriage until she's at least 30!  To which he replied, yeah, before you know it she'll be 45, still not dating, then what would you do? I told him, what's wrong with that? Sick, I know.
32. I sat you down for a serious mother-daughter talk on "why little kids cannot have boyfriends."  This time, you were 5 yrs old.
33. Then there's THAT Disneyland thingy.
34. I didn't correct you when you mispronounced frog "fug, fug!" because I thought that was hilarious.
35. Remember when I thought I could teach you how to swim, without professional help?  It began with a very positive, "You can do it, sweetie!"  and less than 15 minutes later you were bawling your eyes out, refusing to let go of the sidebar with me yelling, "If you don't get down here right now, young lady, you can kiss your dessert goodbye!!!"
36. I made you sit absolutely still for 1.5 hours, with your head fixed to one side, all because I wanted to practice my french braiding skills.  "But I don't want my hair braided, Mommy..."  Trust me, you do.
37. Because in every single time that I've listed above, not once did you ever deserve what your mommy did to you.

Let me end this post by saying, that by some miracle, this World's Worst Mommy #100 is blessed with the most kind-hearted, forgiving, and amazing 6 yr-old daughter a mother could ever wish for.  I'm not joking when I say she has never ever thrown a tantrum, gotten angry, or disobeyed her mommy.  Instead, in every one of my world's worst mom moment, she has never once hold a grudge, always forgiving, and ever ready to give her mommy the biggest smile and hug a 6 year-old little girl could give.  

*Originally, my intention was to write 100, instead of the meager 37 reasons, to commemorate World's Worst Mom's "Big One Hundred."  As you could probably predict, my fixation with even numbers, my secret desire to always be remembered as THE number 100, coupled with my compulsion to sweat the small stuff, make for one heck of a recipe for disaster.

By the time I got to the 37th reason, I was tired, grumpy, and no longer enjoying writing this post.  In other word, it was quickly turning into a World's Worst Mom moment all on its own.  I found myself wishing I was the 37th follower instead of the big 100th; that way, my 37 reasons would be perfect wouldn't it?

Anyhow... boy am I glad to have finished this post!  One thing I've learned from writing about my own worst mom moments is that it honestly sucks. big time.  Which leads to my second discovery: once you've read other moms' worst moments, yours suddenly don't seem so bad anymore. Here's to World's Worst Moms hitting the big one hundred!  And for all the moms here, whose inadequacies and failures are helping others feel better about themselves!  A big LOL to all of us!

World's Worst Mom #100 Part 1

This is a post I wrote for the World's Worst Moms, who hit 100 followers last week.  For you who haven't heard or not familiar with the blog, I urge you to check it out.  It's a place where civilian mommies like us can write about our not-so-fine moments, or read about others' better-forgotten moments.  Either way, the site is guaranteed to make you feel better about yourself, be it simply from having vented out your frustrations in words, or just from realizing that yes you suck, but at least you're not the suckiest.   

The jury's still out on whether or not it's a sign of luck, or that in fact I'm running out of luck, but whatever it was, I happened to be World's Worst Mom's follower number 100.  So in the spirit of hitting the Big One Hundred, I decided to submit a post about why I'm a World's Worst Mom. Hopefully, after reading it, you'll realize that you're not so bad after all.  In other words, yes, I know I suck. Big Time.

Please continue to Part 2