Finding butterflies and rainbows

You know it’s going to be one of those days when it’s barely 8am and you’re already ready for the day to be over! That was me today… I bawled after dropping my oldest off at elementary school this morning. No, not because of the separation or the fact that she is growing up Way. Too. Fast. I cried because I felt as though I pretty much failed this morning as a mom, and dropping her off after a rough start to the day just broke my heart.


Not every moment is a perfect one!

Let’s back up and start at the beginning. My husband often travels or has early morning meetings, which leaves me getting myself and three young children ready in the morning without an extra set of hands. This morning was no different (though throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a zip up sweatshirt doesn’t really count as getting myself ready). I thought I had it all together based on last night’s successes… I picked and laid out the kids’ clothes the night before. I got them into bed (and asleep) 30 minutes earlier than their regularly scheduled bedtime. I set my alarm for extra early to get up and exercise (and set a back-up alarm in case that super early one was just too ambitious). Last night’s preparation made me believe that today would be off to a good start.

Ehhhh. No. Wrong.

I slept through both alarms and their related snoozes. After sleeping through the night (hooray!), the baby  needed to nurse for extra long this morning. My oldest woke up and started getting herself ready, with some tinkering and stalling along the way. And the threenager (yes, three going on thirteen), wanted nothing to do with the morning. Even when given a warning that the lights were going on and she would need to get up in five minutes, she hid under the covers and exclaimed “it’s too bright!” as soon as I turned on the lights, and promptly refused to get up.

So, between me oversleeping and a series of “three kids, five and under” missteps, we quickly went from having it all together to definitely late and I blew my lid. All my frustration bubbled up and I lost it. Big. Yelling. Stomping. It was ugly. And it didn’t help anyone. But it happened and I felt awful. So I apologized, took some deep breaths and got the kids out the door….

And into the pouring rain. Oy. Into car seats in the rain. Soaking wet because who can hold an umbrella and harness a carseat at the same time? Super late, yet again, to get to school. Once we got there, I made a quick decision to take my eldest to the drive through drop off where parent helpers wait to take your kid out of the car and walk them to class. But the parent who greeted me scolded me for taking too long to get her out and letting her out on the wrong side of the car (which, had I obliged with the side the helper wanted, would have gotten the baby soaking wet!). I felt bad enough not walking my five year old to class, especially after our rough morning, but then being told I was doing it wrong was icing on a not-so-sweet cake.

And so, between being late, yelling at my kids, and messing up the rules of drop off, I couldn’t hold it back. As I drove away from the elementary school and toward preschool, in between rounds of playing “I spy”, I let the tears stream down my cheeks. Tears of exhaustion and stress. Of being frustrated with my kids. Of being angry at myself for how I reacted. Of being annoyed that the lady at drop off couldn’t sense my stressful morning and give me a break. Of knowing I was making a mountain out of a molehill and being too hard on myself. Of wishing I could have a do over (which I do…tomorrow).

Parenthood isn’t all butterflies and rainbows (even on this rainy day). We try so hard to be good role models, to be patient and calm, to be a pillar of good parenting. And yet, that isn’t always realistic. Because to be a parent is to be human. The good thing is that life is full of teachable moments and when we have a misstep we can role model how to get back on track. Do I want another morning like today? No, thank you. But I know that today’s series of events is an anomaly, not our norm, and showing my kids remorse and apologizing is also an integral part of role modeling. It is important for us to remember that it’s okay to be human. We are all doing our best as parents, for better and for worse, in good moments and in bad. Isn’t that a butterfly and rainbow itself?

Finding the right words, part 1

Me & KOne of my favorite sounds when I wake up (nope, strike that, when I am woken up) in the morning is hearing my nine month old baby babble in her crib, sometimes to her reflection in the mirrored closet doors facing her crib and sometimes to her sisters who run to her room to say hello as soon as they hear her little voice. Her gibberish babble fluctuates as though she is actually talking but she doesn’t yet have the words to express herself.

Having the words to express themselves comes in handy for kids – they are finally able to tell us their wants and needs, communicate their emotions and negotiate situations around them. But, having words isn’t always as simple as it sounds. Anytime one of my kids (okay, not the baby but definitely the other two) is having a meltdown, I tell them to take a few deep breaths and find their words to tell me what’s going on. “Use your words,” I tell them. This simple phrase – “use your words” – is a staple among parents. However, it’s also a bit of a joke. In order to have the words, they have to know the words, and therein lies a problem.

A few weeks ago, my husband suggested that we go out to dinner. “YES!” my three year old exclaimed, clearly excited to be out of the house for a meal. After a quick brainstorm, we settled on a burger joint that we hadn’t been to for a while, which is conveniently located next to a burrito place that we’d been to relatively recently. As my husband opened the door to the burger place, the three year old melted down. “NO! This is not out to dinner!” Confused, I scooped her up and asked her what she was talking about. We were at a restaurant…away from our house… out to dinner. But she remained steadfast that this actually not “out to dinner.” As she continued to meltdown, I repeatedly asked her to “use her words” to tell me what was wrong. After a few failed attempts at trying to decipher what she meant (and with patience wearing thin), I had a breakthrough. “THIS is not out to dinner,” she told me while pointing at the burger joint. “THAT is.” Her arm swung so she was pointing squarely at the burrito place. I’d finally gotten to the bottom of the meltdown, and there at the bottom was a clear communication breakdown where her lack of words and our ease of language were in direct combat with each other. She thought that the burrito place was called “Out to Dinner” and so we were simply at the wrong restaurant and thus her expectations were thrown for a loop. She was using her words, but her words just didn’t encompass what they need to in order for us to have a clear line of communication.

SistersIt’s not just about having the words, though. I’m quickly learning that while my kids may not always have the words they need to express themselves, having the communication skills to utilize them is ever harder. For example, a few nights ago, my three and five year old girls were arguing during their cool down period before bed. As is typical, the five year old came to me to tell me all the things her sister was doing that bothered her. “Sweetie, you need to work it out with your sister. Use your words and tell her how you’re feeling,” I told her. So, she went back to their room to try to talk it out. However, this devolved quickly, as I overheard (eavesdropped) through the baby monitor in their room.

Five year old: “I feel sad when you tell me that I can’t come to your birthday party. We’re sisters and that means we are best friends too.”

Three year old: “No we’re not. My best friend is at school.”

Five year old: “We both have FRIEND best friends, but we are sisters and sisters come first.”

Three year old: “Well, at school, a boy bit me.”

Five year old: “What? No. That’s not what we are talking about. You are making me feel sad.”

Three year old: “I like grapes.”

Obviously their communication abilities are on very different wave lengths, which poses a big challenge for “I statements” and honest communication. As much as my five year old had the words she needed to use to express herself and the communication skills she needed to have a conversation about them, my three year old had neither. So simply telling them to use their words isn’t enough. Communication is a fickle little beast – it’s necessary for navigating the world around us and yet without the tools to do so, things devolve quickly. Telling my kids to “use their words” isn’t enough of a solution. I need to help them find, explore and understand the words so that they can then use them effectively, both with each other and with the world around them.

Finding the art of “yes”

Sometimes, it takes the wisdom and jibber jabber of a three year old to highlight a flaw in your parenting. Take, for example, the following exchange that happened a couple days ago:

“Come here, No-no,” my middle daughter encourages to my crawling-curious-about-walking baby.

“What’d you call her?” I ask, thinking surely I had misheard her.

“‘No-no,’ because that’s what you always call her,” she explains with her usual bit of flair.

It took me about 24 hours to realize that I do (lovingly) say “no no no no” a lot, like when the baby is trying to roll over on the changing table (before I’ve completed the changing process) or when she is crawling toward an area where I don’t want her going. In fact, the more I started listening to myself, I realized that “no” is one of the more frequent words I say. Now, granted I have an inquisitive five year old, a stubborn three year old and an exploratory baby, but why is “no” at the top of my phrase list?

These big sisters love playing with their baby sister who they now affectionately call "Nono"

These big sisters love playing with their baby sister who they now affectionately call “No-no”

When my oldest was younger, I was very conscious of avoiding using the word “no” too often. I’d offer alternative actions and phrases that highlighted the positive, saving “no” for a serious offense or key moment. In fact, I spent the last nine years working for an organization that believes in and trains staff on “going with the yes.” Instead of saying “no, but…” staff learn the art of “yes, and…” It’s a training I’ve taught many times and a mantra I adopted and absorbed into all facets of my professional life.

Somehow, though, when it comes to reserving “no” for critical moments and “going with the yes” with my kids, I’ve fallen short. When inundated with seemingly endless questions, my default answer is just “no.” When they ask me “why” I realize that my knee jerk negativity is backed by little reason other than that was the word that came out. That’s not much of a reason at all.

Don’t get me wrong, my kids hear “yes” plenty of times, like when they want to listen to Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” for the umpteenth time, play “I spy” literally every time we get in the car, or when they want to have five more minutes before bedtime. But still, “no” has become a fast and easy default, so much so that my kids now just call their baby sister “No-no” as a nickname. Oy.

I want to raise my kids to be flexible. To be positive. To be accommodating, compromising and adaptable. To be strong and determined, but not stubborn and closed off. To be powerful women, and to assert the power for good, not as a roadblock for those in their path. And that all starts with me. They need me to role model how to do these things. That might mean taking an extra few seconds to listen to question upon question… or the same question over and over again. And it might mean that I let them do something that my first instinct was to reject. But, it also means they will hear more positivity and have more room to explore.

Yes, you can all lay in bed together! Look at the cute moment that created!

Yes, you can all lay in bed together! Look at the cute moment that created!

So, for the next few days, I am instituting my own creation that I’ve dubbed the “Just Say Yes Challenge.” I am making an active choice to be more aware of the power behind yes – to let my kids explore with fewer roadblocks. To let them hear a positive option instead of a negative response. To have a reason behind saying no, aside from it being the easier answer. I know it won’t always come naturally and will take a concerted effort to “go with the yes.” But I also know that the results could be wonderful and that makes it all worth it in the end.

Who’s with me? Do you want to try the “Just Say Yes” challenge with your kids? Comment below or on my Finding Mom-me Facebook page to pledge your participation in the “Just Say Yes Challenge!”*

*I’ll update the Finding Mom-me Facebook page with updates on how the “Just Say Yes Challenge” is going, so if you aren’t already following the page, click here to do so!

Finding five minutes

“Mommy, are we late?”

IMG_0068This is a pretty typical question my daughters ask me as they pile into the minivan and get situated in their carseats. And, unfortunately, too often the answer is “Yes.” It’s not intentional – most days we are running on time until life suddenly happens – a baby diaper blow out, an indecipherable toddler tantrum, a “big girl” meltdown over a seemingly harmless issue – and we go from mostly on time to most certainly late.

Teaching punctuality is one of those things that I think is a valuable life lesson for my kids. It teaches respect, responsibility and, most simply, time management. However, that also contradicts one of the great parenting liberties we have. Up to now, the concept of time has been entirely in our favor as parents. “Five minutes” is the most vague and open ended concept in our methods. At times, five minutes really does mean five minutes. 300 seconds. A small period of time in which to complete a task. However, more often five minutes is used as a theoretical – it can mean thirty seconds or it can mean fifteen real minutes. Since our kids have no concept of time, we can use the “five minute warning” as it benefits us.

However, that is soon changing. Our oldest is starting to understand time and the gig might be up. And, I’m realizing this might not be the worst thing. While I will miss being able to give a blanket time warning, having my kids understand the difference between 5 minutes and 35 minutes may help us contextualize our family’s schedule and what can be done in an allotted period of time.

The more that I think about time, though, the more I realize that it’s not just about the five minute warnings and understanding of the big hand and little hand on a clock (I mean reading the numbers on the iPhone lock screen…). Time alludes us. I swear it was just yesterday that I took the pregnancy test that changed our lives forever – that turned us from newlyweds to soon to be parents. And not much longer after that our first daughter, then our second, then our third, was born. How did that happen so quickly? Where did the time go?

My kids can’t understand the true passing of time yet, and I am so thankful for that. Our oldest daughter told me yesterday “when I grow up, I’m going to be a mommy and live in your house so we can always be together.” While a cute idea she will likely not follow through on, this statement gave me pause as I imagined what that will look like. If five years have gone by this quickly, what will the next twenty five look like. Will they also be a blur of memories and moments frozen in time? Will I look back at today and think “just yesterday my kids were babies?”

Proof of time going too quickly. My oldest trick or treating for the first time, and this year.

Proof of time going too quickly. My oldest trick or treating for the first time, and this year.

Time is of the essence. Time flies when you’re having fun. Time is on your side. Time heals all. So much of what we do and say is wrapped up in the theoretical and practical application of time. And, yet, most days all I want to do is speed time up so that the meltdowns and chaotic schedules turn to quiet slumber, and simultaneously slow time down to live in the moment and not let my kids grow up too fast. The paradox of time is overwhelming.

So, for now, I think I’ll pour myself another cup of coffee while the baby naps and the older girls play cooperatively together. I think I have, oh, maybe five minutes…

Finding risk

Photographic proof of the fall.

On the day my niece was born, I was responsible for babysitting my then two year old nephew while his parents were in the hospital. He and I had a great day playing together until the moment that he tripped in his living room, bumped his face on some furniture and got a little scrape on his nose. I was only steps away from him but it happened quickly and I couldn’t catch him from falling. Though the tears that followed the bump were fleeting (and the rest of the day continued to be fun), the memory of the bump will live on forever, thanks to the nice scab easily noticeable in every photo of him meeting his sister later that afternoon (not to mention the relentless teasing from my family).

I asserted then, and continue to assert now, that kids get hurt. They get scrapes and bumps as they explore the world around them. It’s a natural part of childhood. However, no amount of defending myself from the “scrape heard round the world” prepared me for this morning, my first Monday as a stay at home mom, when my 7 month old daughter fell and, yes, bumped her nose and got a little scrape. Call it karma, call it a coincidence, call it what you will… I call it a quick way to stir up a mother’s guilt. Though I was only a couple steps away, she fell fast and missed hitting her head by only a few inches. Being a stay at home mom is off to a whopping success…

I do everything I can to protect my kids and shelter them from harm, sometimes to an anxiety-ridden fault. But the truth is, they have to fall. Because if they don’t fall, they can’t pick themselves back up and see that they’re okay. They can’t experience the pride in trying again and succeeding. They can’t feel the comfort of my hug and reassurance afterward.

Just as my kids have to go through this natural part of childhood, I have to go through the parallel part of motherhood. I have to know when to let them take a risk. When to let them push outside their (and my) comfort zone. When to rush to their aid and when to hang back to see how they’ll respond. It’s not just about letting my kids fall down and pick themselves back up; it’s also about calculating the risk and adding a buffer zone for safe exploration, even when minor risk is involved. It’s not easy, and honestly, I’m not always very good at it, but I understand the value of it, too.

Proof of today’s bump.

Luckily, so far most of my kids’ scrapes and bumps have been minor and easily treated with ice, a bandaid and a big hug. For the record, the baby was fine for the rest of today. And I managed to help my oldest with a Lego project and make a pretty nice dinner. But, if ever I need a reminder of the calculated risks kids need to have, I captured a picture as evidence of today’s bump, though something tells me I won’t forget about it anytime soon.

Finding a way to say goodbye

This  is a deeply personal post originally written for the blog maintained by my employer, Camp Tawonga.


After nearly a decade of being a part of the full-time Tawonga team, it’s time for me to say goodbye. Leaving Tawonga is bittersweet – working here is a dream come true and an amazing experience each and every day. However, as my three little girls grow up before my eyes, I feel now that I need to be with them on a more regular basis.0M3A6876

I’ll never forget the moment during my first year on Camp Tawonga’s summer staff when a member of the senior leadership team said to me, “You’re a Tawonga lifer. I see it in you.” How true that statement was. My first time setting foot on Tawonga’s property was the summer of 1993. My parents put me on the bus to camp for the first time, sight unseen. I boarded the bus without a friend and looked out the window to see my dad giving me a thumbs up and my mom fighting back tears as she gave a brave wave.

I boarded the bus to camp for the next four subsequent summers as a camper and another four throughout college as a summer staff member. Tawonga shaped me in more ways than I can count. I had many firsts there – first backpacking trip, first time I felt connected to Judaism, first kiss. I developed deep, lasting friendships while up in the Sierras. I moved to the Bay Area after college because that’s where my camp friends lived. I joined Jdate (where I met my husband 10 years ago) because of the Jewish identity I formulated at Tawonga. One choice, one decision – Tawonga – has shaped so much of who I have become.

Read the rest of this post by clicking here.

Find the symbolism in transition

FullSizeRenderFor the past week or so, my emotions have been tied in knots. I’ve watched on Facebook as many of my friend’s kids have started kindergarten and with each post, happy family picture, and report on how the first day went, I’ve become more and more overwhelmed with emotion. Their milestone moments are just days before ours, and the anticipation is staggering. Tomorrow is my daughter’s last day of preschool. At 6pm, she will “graduate” from the small center where she has been since she was four months old and transition next week to elementary school. Where did the time go?

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why the emotion has become so heightened for me, and at best, I can think of a few reasons.

  1. Aside from the transition from maternity leave to daycare, this is the first real transition my daughter will have. Her cognitive memory exists solely in our daycare – it’s all she has ever known. The loving teachers, parents, and friends are her safe haven away from home. The kids she plays with on the playground are the same kids from the baby room who popped their pacifiers in her mouth when she was sad. The environment, the rules, the classrooms – all of it is not just familiar, it’s all there is. Soon, she will be propelled into a new school, new classroom, new community, new teachers, new kids who will become her friends and she will start from scratch. She’s an adaptable, social, curious kid and I’m not worried about her, but I am certainly aware of how quickly her comfort will get thrown out of whack until she finds her way again.
  2. Even before my oldest was born, people would tell me “it goes fast.” And while I believed them, I could never have understood just how fast it goes. While putting my older two girls to bed the other night, I told each of them the story of the days they were born. As I snuggled my eldest and told her about that first moment when they put her on my chest and she looked up at me, I found myself suddenly fighting back tears. Wasn’t that just yesterday? Didn’t she just take her first steps? Say her first words? Throw her first tantrum? When did she become a kid? (As she says, “I’m not a little kid anymore, I’m a child.” Indeed you are, baby girl.) I know it’s only going to go faster and faster. I know that the symbolism of her graduating from preschool tomorrow is a precursor to her graduating from high school, and in between there will be a blur of wonderful memories of a childhood that will inevitably go by too fast…after all, everyone says it’s true.
  3. My daughter isn’t the only one going through transition tomorrow. My husband and I are too. I’ll never forget how warm and welcoming the day care director was on our tour with our oldest still in utero. She said to us, “Our goal is to provide as loving a home here as you would yourselves. If you can’t be with your baby, we want to be a partner in parenting and make sure your baby knows how loved it is.” No other daycare we toured came close to saying that. And she lived up to her word. Overall they have provided a loving place while we went to work every day. It’s not easy to leave, but it is easier when you know your family is in good hands. At our daycare, we’ve made some amazing friendships. We’ve found community and we’ve built our village. It’s not just our daughter who is flying the nest, but it’s us too. Of course, we still have two more kids at the daycare center, and we will maintain friendships long after we leave there. But still, the symbolism of our own transition cuts deep. We are starting out again in a new school, new community and new potential friends and we will forge our way as well.

the road ahead

Tomorrow’s graduation and Tuesday’s first day of school are both huge milestone moments for our family. They are symbolic and emotional, overwhelming and exciting, real and unbelievable all at the same time. I don’t know what the future holds and I don’t know what to expect as we begin our journey into the world of elementary school. All I know is that I will cheer for our daughter as she graduates tomorrow, hug her extra tight when I leave her new classroom on Tuesday, and will savor every moment with each of our girls as they grow up before our eyes…inevitably, way too fast.

Finding a thick skin

When I first started writing my blog, the only people reading it were my close friends and family. As I gained traction in writing, I also slowly gained followers – more friends, friends of friends and absolute strangers. I love writing about my adventures in parenting and sharing my insights and vulnerabilities through my posts. And I love hearing people’s reactions – positive and negative – to what I write about. My blog is a wonderful outlet, and a great way for me to capture today’s moments that will become tomorrow’s memories.
mama and girls
So, each time Kveller picks up one of my pieces and publishes it on a national platform, I feel giddy with excitement that something I wrote is getting shared with a much broader audience. They’ve published pieces I’ve written ranging from kugel to missing my oldest’s dance recital. It’s a very empowering feeling.

Then, last week Kveller published a piece I was particularly proud of – a diatribe on our family’s rules which stemmed from an argument with my 4 year old about having to wear socks. The piece is playful and ends with a lists of 16 family rules – some of which are serious and others that make me giggle from the broken record I’ve become saying them. And this piece, more than any other that I’ve written, elicited a lot of commentary from a broad audience on Kveller’s website and Facebook page.

Two rules, in particular, struck a chord with the Kveller readership – leave a house that has a gun in it and kiss your grandparents hello and goodbye. Who knew that these would cause such a stir? That by writing that my kids should leave a home with a gun in it, I wasn’t properly educating them about gun safety? And that by telling my children to kiss their elder relatives as a sign of respect, I was exposing them to a future of abuse and body confusion?

I understand the arguments the readers were making and I appreciate that people took the time to read my post and share their opinions. I welcome feedback and comments – it’s fun to see how my writing impacts and influences others. But some of the comments on my last post made broad judgements about my parenting and ventured to say that I was wrong for having some of the rules that we do. While one reader said that each family’s rules are unique to them, other readers said things like I’ll make my kids a doormat by encouraging them to be nice to everyone or that I should never ever tell my kids to kiss a relative. By making such strong statements in response to the rules in our family, I can’t help but think about the litany of arguments, judgements and lines in the sand we draw in these ever present mommy wars.

mama and babeBreastfeeding. Bottle feeding. Formula. Breast milk. Pacifier. Thumb sucking. Attachment parenting. Cry it out. Organic food. Non gmo food. Regular ol’ food. Extracurricular activities to provide structure. No extracurricular activities to provide freedom. Stay at home mom. Professional mom. The list goes on and on. We all have such strong ideas, ideals, and approaches to parenting. We can read books about it. We can quote studies. We can wing it. We can do our absolute best and still feel like it’s not enough. And, although we are our own harshest critics, the commentary on my latest post reminds me that we can be each other’s harshest critics too. Instead of drawing a line in the sand of what we believe to be the right thing, why not open a dialogue in which we each speak out own truths while accepting those may not be the same truths for somebody else? I’m not upset or offended by the comments readers made, but am more so inspired by what the readers could have said.

We all know that raising kids takes a village, and in my experience that’s absolutely true. But the definition of village is loose and long, extending from our inner circle to the adult who attempts to discipline our kids on the playground. We need to find a way to lift each other up and support each other as we forge our own path, whether or not it’s the one we would take ourselves.

Finding family rules

I’m proud to share that another post has been picked up by the national site! Start reading here, and then click through to their site to see the conclusion.

sister trainWhen we remodeled our kitchen last year, I bought a prefabricated “Family Rules” canvas at Bed, Bath and Beyond for $19.99 to round out the decor. I’m sure you’ve seen a canvas just like it in a store (or home) near you. They list rules like hug often, listen intently, help others, and so on. The rules themselves are lovely and certainly speak to mantras we want our kids to live by. But, they seem to be missing some important ideas.

Take last Thursday, for example. As our girls were getting ready to head to preschool, our eldest asked which shoes she could wear without socks.

“None,” I responded. (Cue the bottom lip quiver.) I explained to her that she needed to wear socks because otherwise the sand from the sandbox and the tanbark from the play yard would get in her shoes and hurt her feet. (The first tear slid gracefully down her cheek.) My husband explained to her that wearing shoes without socks would make her feet smell. (And so began the tears rivaling Niagara Falls.)…want to read the rest? Click here!

Finding Independence

Since we’re just two days away from Independence Day, it seems only fitting to focus on independence in this post. However, I’m not talking about stars and stripes, or backyard barbeques and fireworks. No, this kind of independence lands squarely in the camp of “I can do it myself.”

biggestMy four year old has been exercising her independence for as long as I can remember. She started picking out her own clothes at age two and has developed an amazing (and unique) sense of style for herself. She is driven and confident (and at times bossy), and wants to assert her independence as often as possible. This has most recently come to fruition in public restrooms – she wants to go in the stall “by myself.” After mentally running through the list of all the things that could go wrong by letting her do this (she falls in the toilet, she doesn’t wipe well enough, poop goes where poop shouldn’t be…), we’ve come to a compromise that feels right for this blossoming little lady. She can go to the bathroom with one of us and in the stall by herself, but can’t lock the door. This gives her the sense of doing it on her own while still gives us access to her should she need help (unlike the time when I was 5 years old and locked myself in a bathroom stall at Disneyland then got stuck so I crawled out of the stall to my mom and had to face a long line of women who needed to pee with one fewer stall to choose from… alas, that’s a story for another day!). As she gets ready to go to elementary school, I am watching my eldest grow into a girl – not a baby, not a toddler, but a real kid. It’s frightening, and exciting, and happening way too quickly.

big girlThen there’s my middle daughter. She’s two and a half, and really good at it. Tantrums, silliness, strong opinions, defiance, exploration, snuggles… you name it, she’s got it. She is also exploring her independence, but from the strong-willed “I do it myself” approach. She so badly wants to be a big girl, but hasn’t totally outgrown the baby phase yet. So when she says she will do it herself, that’s usually accompanied with a whine or a tantrum or a set of incomprehensible tears. And the thing she wants to do herself usually centers around opening her own applesauce packet or putting the lid on her milk cup. These aren’t earth shattering actions, but for her they provide the smallest bit of control in an otherwise predetermined world. While I’m not ready for her to grow up so fast, it is exciting (and often aggravating… see tantrums above) to see her explore and exercise her independence.

happy babyAnd lastly, there’s the baby. The sweet little baby who can’t talk (or talk back!), who laughs at every face I make or sound I coo, and who can’t do a single thing for herself (unless you count spitting up, in which case she’s a champ!). Though she isn’t ready to exercise her independence in the same way as her sisters, she’s about to embark upon her own first step of independence. Next week marks the end of my maternity leave, and her first week at daycare. I’m beyond sad that I won’t be able to spend my days with her anymore. However, I know that this is an important moment for us. Separation from one another won’t be easy and I have no doubt that there will be plenty of tears Monday morning (mine, not hers). But, I also know that this separation can be good for both of us, and will make our reunion each night oh so sweet.

IMG_7786That’s the funny thing about independence. We long for our children to gain it – to be able to do things big and small for themselves. But once they do it’s impossible to refrain from longing for the days they needed us for every little thing. So, for every step that I set my girls free, I hug them that much tighter so they know that no matter how independent they get, they can always depend on me.