I think I need a pick-me-up

They aren't puppies and rainbows, but these two videos put a little bit of a warm glow in my heart:

Filipino prisoners recreate Thriller:


Having mum & dad over for tea:


For more foul-mouthed hilarity go to dlisted.com

Who are you?

Anonybabe has always been incredibly deliberate, slow to roll over, crawl, walk, sing. She waits until she can do things well before unveiling them. She talks with a pause between her words, thinking about and choosing each one carefully, and starting her sentences over if she can't get the words out right.

She was born looking like she was trying to solve a hostage crisis, with a furrowed brow and stricken eyes, and the look lasted for weeks. These days she laughs, sure, but she never, ever approaches anything with reckless abandon.

When we go to play group at the YMCA, and I watch other kids who run hell-for-leather with a damn-the-torpedoes guffaw, I sit and watch and soak it in. It's visual therapy to see kids being impetuous.

"Joyous." "Raucous." I don't think these are words that will ever describe Anonybabe.

She is such a beautiful puzzle to me.

YOU know

I decided to throw out a parenting book the other day. Right in the middle of reading it. Montessori, for 0-3 year olds.

Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with Montessori schooling. From the little I know about it I still think it's pretty great, with its emphasis on community and history and self-actualization. Some of this particular author's theory smacked of bs, but that's another matter, for another blog entry.

Here's what I want to say: I just...I started to feel bad as I was reading the book. Bad and scared. Scared that I'd been screwing Anonybabe out of a happy childhood because I hadn't been following the Montessori method. Bad that I'd been carrying her around so much. On the plus side, the Montessori book brought up some important questions. Didn't I want to foster Anonybabe's independence (yes!) and what was I doing towards that end? (not much!). But overall I was feeling guilty and sad.

Finally, I decided the book had to go. There's a world of hurt and a world of good out there. I choose to focus on the good. Rather, I refuse to make decisions based on guilt and fear when I could be making them based on hope and love, creativity and joy. I refuse to spend time sorting out why the Montessori book makes me feel bad - I've wasted enough time on navel-gazing in my short life. I'd rather spend my time following a thread of inspiration, to see where it leads.

I felt unsure and upended for a couple of days after tossing the book: gasp! I can't just stop a book in the middle because the ideas make me feel bad...and then I'd think...actually, yes, yes I can. Part of me thinks this is dangerous and wrong and part of me thinks I've been crazy not to do this all along.

Living by my own lights. It's kind of a switch for me, and a scary one, too.

Starry (cross) Eyed

A friend chatted with me last week while watching his toddler daughter sleep on the kitchen floor, her blanket gripped in her hands, and her hair spread on the linoleum. She'd woken up and gotten out of bed to go be where he was while he worked at his computer. He looked at her while he typed. "Sometimes I think about how arbitrary we are. One small change in the particulars of my daughter's conception and she wouldn't be here. I'd be living with a completely different person, or no person at all." I told him I'd thought the same thing and that - to my surprise - it made me think we were each supposed to be here. Like the stars aligned so Anonybabe could come into my life.

He elaughed. "Ha ha. My reaction is pessimism and yours is optimism." We had to cut our chat short soon after and I've had a protest to his label for me - "optimist" - simmering ever since.

It doesn't feel like I'm being optimistic when I choose to believe we were all meant to be. Or maybe it's just that optimism feels different than I always imagined. My "optimism" has a healthy dark streak. An acceptance of my own fear and ignorance. I don't know why we're here. I don't know that we have a purpose. For the most part I think "purpose" has such a broad meaning that it becomes meaningless when you narrow it down to individuals.

But there's a part of me that sees how it could be, and I let myself cling to the belief. Because it's better to believe than not. My optimism is strictly utilitarian. This is what my psyche needs to be content, to function. So I give it what it needs. Why not?

Let Her Be

Anonybabe and I were sitting in the front seat of our car today, goofing around after a class at the Y, waiting for our windows to defrost before heading home. We were playing a game where she would name something and I would sing about it in a goofy voice.

Anonybabe was sitting in my lap, facing me, and she said "Weh!"

"Red?" I asked, and she nodded her head.

"Weh A!"

"Red Aaaaa, Red Aaaaaaa!" I sang.

"Weh See!"

"Red Ceeee, Red Ceeeee!" I could see her looking over my shoulder at the Y building.

"Weh Em!"

"Red M, Red M!" This time I knew what was coming, but didn't quite believe it.

"Weh Why!"

No motherflippin' way. My baby can read the letters on the side of the YMCA?!? That's great, right? And a little, um, crazy.

Flip It and Reverse It

Life with Anonybabe has been challenging lately. I went home last night with my loins girded, ready to put in the hard work to enjoy her.

She was an angel last night! She happily kissed and hugged me when I got home, sat in her high chair while we ate, sat at the table and played with play dough with me, helped me load and unload laundry, and then played contentedly around the house while Anonyhub and I did chores, sang songs, and enjoyed each other's company.

It was toothbrushing time that blew my away, though. I got out a Bert finger puppet, ready to try to coerce Anonybabe to let me brush her teeth before she dissolved into her usual shouts and tears. She willingly opened her mouth to let Bert brush her molars, then stopped him and said, "Mama bus tee toooo?". So I took the toothbrush and brushed her top molars! Then she calmly took the toothbrush and scrubbed at her front teeth, handed it back to me and tried to open the bathroom door to get out. When she couldn't she turned to me. "Mama hep Anonybabe?" she asked politely, and when I opened the door for her she turned back to look at me and said "tank you, mama."

?!?!?!? You'd see tears of joy if I weren't so disoriented.

The Poop and the Fury

Sunday night I learned I'm the only person in the world Anonybabe gives a hard time to about diaper changes.

A friend and her daughter kept Anonybabe and she mentioned A had taken a dump. I took this opportunity to give my little song and dance about how Anonybabe'll be in diapers until she's six because she would happily play in one for hours. Anonyhub concurred until I went on.

"Yeah", I said, "she cries and howls every time I put her on the changing table." Surprised looks from Anonyhub and my friend.

"Really?" said my friend, "because I asked her if she had pooped in the diaper and she said 'yeah' and when I asked if we could change it she held up her arms for me to pick her up."

"Yeah, she doesn't give me a hard time," Anonyhub said, "she just doesn't mind staying dirty.

I looked, shocked, from one to the other. Anonybabe cries and whines every freaking time I take her to the changing table. Has done this consistently for months. My friend - who has a 12 year old daughter - recognized the look on my face and patted my knee.

"Oh honey," she said, "It's only for you. Get used to it. "


Last night I told Anonyhub about the recent spat of biting and fussing while he was at work. "Wow," he said. "She's just so mean to you. She doesn't do any of that with me. But she really loves you. Like, she really loves you. It's like you get the extremes - the best and the worst of her love - and I'm somewhere in the middle."

I'm flattered that I'm the object of her strongest emotions, I guess. But I don't like being the whipping boy for her frustrations. I think it means she feels safe with me, that she can vent her worst. When I step back and look at it I feel like this is supposed to happen, like this is the fire in which our relationship is going to be forged. Lordy. When I said I wanted a fireball, I guess I didn't expect to be taking the brunt of her fire. I don't know what the hell I expected, though. I'm her mother. That's my job. Not to lay down and take it, per se, but to endure it. Help her learn how to direct all her joy and fury. To be there with her and help her when I can. And apologize to her when I can't. Because there are times when I just can't. I'm human.