Baby D

Happy happy birthday Baby D,

You are 2, but you’re still a baby to me. I think I can still call you my baby because there is still that “scent” about you – your neck smells so good, your breath is always sweet, and your feet are never stinky (ok sometimes they are stinky but they are yummy-stinky). When I ask if you are a baby or a big boy, you choose the answer which serves you best in that moment. Kudos to you, kiddo, for being your own top advocate.

You are a sweet sweet boy, talking more and more.  One of your favourite words is “Look!”, pronounced “Wook!”. When your siblings or Papi are not home, you sometimes miss them so much that you pace around the apartment with your arms in the air asking, “Guys??” (what you call your sisters) or “Papis??” (what you call Papi). Then you pick up the phone and have a mysterious conversation in baby language with some imaginary detective to find out their whereabouts. When your sisters laugh hysterically at something, you do the same even when you have no idea what they’re laughing at. You are lovely, you are beautiful, you are 2.

no idea why - but this is your favourite pose. you break into it often, out of nowhere, natural baby yoga

we are defenseless at the sight of your kissy-face

Thanks for reminding me….

“Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”

Black Bird

I used to sing this song as a lullabye when my girls were wee little yellow chirping birds who hopped along behind their Mama Black Bird, waiting for the essentials of life (food, fun, and lullabyes)….

To my kids on bitterness,

I’m writing to you because sometimes it’s easier for me to think of positive things when I’m thinking of you guys. Thinking back to before I had you, I was atrophying away – mentally, emotionally, physically – but then you all came along and I learned to take care of myself through taking care of you. I learned to love myself from loving you. From wanting the best for you, I needed to learn to love myself. Somehow all the good things come to me so much faster when I think of you. So here we are….

The thing is – I was feeling quite bitter this weekend.

What is bitterness really?

I think it has to do with feeling like you are getting less than you give or maybe your expectations are not being met…. It makes me think again of those human rights debates in Poli Sci seminars. Who really has the right to a human right? What makes a person think that he/she is owed anything? Pretty silly arguments. After a while, one gets tired of the triviality of these debates – why can’t we just be kind and respectful to each other because it makes life so much more beautiful and warm and vibrant or simply because, in the gut of our stomachs, it feels “right”? Maybe that’s the “right” in “human right” – not something debatable but, rather, a hunch or an instinct.

Anyways. At this point, you kids are tuning out and thinking, “Why is my mom such a weirdo?”, so I’ll get back to my point. Sometimes when you feel bitter, what can I say to make it better? Right now, all I can think of is this: to reach out for those pockets of kindness in your life. The sibling who so thoughtfully drops by with a chai latte, or the old dear friend who emails to tell you she loves you and thinks of you, the people who say, “of course!” when you very painfully ask for a favour, and all of those other people in your lives who are like a small shelter when you are walking in downtown Vancouver and suddenly find yourself in the middle of a rainstorm with neither hat nor umbrella. Those pockets of kindness will always draw you away from anger and bitterness and back into humility and gratitude and grace. They trigger memories of sharing and comfort, spontaneous friendship and adventure, the pounding of the heart at the realization that the world is so BIG and horrifying beautiful. And then maybe you will begin to remember that this world is so much more than this one muddy moment in time that you have stuck your feet into. Perhaps you will see even beyond, beyond until you remember how you have received so much, so very much hospitality and kindness from stranger-friends when you were just a crazy young thing, and, yes, then, you will begin to feel better again.

Well, that’s all for now. Thanks for listening, kids.

Chapter 7: Maya Lucia

I will always remember this year, when you were six. You learned to read and write. It was HARD. Blowing bubbles came easily at age 3, snapping fingers and jumping rope at age 5, but reading and writing were a struggle for you. I love when you say, “I’m a good reader now!”. One night when I was feeling overwhelmed, you used your newly hard-earned skill to write me a card and you left it under my pillow. “We love you Mami”. Thank you for that. Sometimes mothers are daughters and daughters are mothers. Past and present intertwine, and fill in those dark crevasses of my heart with sunlight. That’s what you are – Sunlight.

Baby D has grown so fond of you, following you around and mimicking your actions. You are the big sister everyone would love to have – slow to anger, quick to share, always ready with a goofy face and silly song when there are tears. You love to play with him in the tub, and he runs after you when he knows you’re getting in because bath time with Maya always means fun fun fun. After the bath, you so kindly scoop him up, wrap him in your blue flowery robe, and release him running down the hall into my arms, blissfully happy and clean.

I often wonder these days, how you will be as a teenager. You love skulls and spiders, pink hair and black clothes. For your birthday you wanted a remote control tarantula that is now seriously creeping out everyone in your family. This makes you very gleeful and giggly. Happy 7th Birthday, my silly love.

To Chabela on her 8th birthday

Today was Chabela’s 8th birthday party which was, apparently, “the best party EVER!!!”. It makes me warm and glow-y inside to hear my daughter so happy on her birthday. I just want her to feel celebrated. Yes, I want to celebrate that you were born, that you are here, that we are always trying to learn how to love each other. As she gets older, I am beginning to see strands of friendship developing. I am becoming friends with my daughter, that colicky creature who kept me up for three very long months of both our lives. Who would’ve thought it? As we become friends and mothers and daughters…

Today I had a quick conversation with my mother where we shared a joke. Who would’ve thought it? We are all sometimes parents, sometimes children and, hopefully, sometimes we are even friends to our parents and our children. At least that seems to be the way for me. Old notions of roles become shaded, crossed over, redefined, and filled with some sort of grace, honesty and humour that heals my heart. Salves. Because I remember a time when my kids seemed like cute little aliens, and I spent my days wringing my hands, torturing myself with thoughts of winning the “worst mother of the year” award. And, well, my mother… those were dark days…

Today I took the baby for a walk in Granville Island. Chucho, Chabela and Maya were waiting for the party to start, and I was strolling Baby D along so he could take a little nap. I have to say that it was a warm day for me. I have been reading so many sad things lately about lost children and abandoned children, but today, as I was walking, I saw so many people gazing down at their kids with so much love in their eyes and tenderness in their voices. Just one of those warm days. Enveloped in warmth, and glowing inside.

Just a little note to my son

Oh D. I know I left the fridge door open. I know I let you play with the stuff inside, because you love to rearrange the yoghurt cups and bottles. I admit, yes, I just wanted 5 minutes to eat my bagel in peace so I sat down at the table. But why oh why did you decide today was the day to try to lift the juice jug? Why? Why?? Because then you spilled juice all over the floor and under the fridge, and then I had to move the fridge, and then a bottle of pungent balsamic vinegar crashed behind the fridge, and it took me a good 20 minutes to move the fridge and clean up all the juice, glass and vinegar. I’m guessing all that destruction made you very very sleepy as you then proceeded to whine while I cleaned.

(Yes I am aware it was my fault for leaving you to play with the fridge)

Enough dipping. Taking the dive.

Well, it’s the beginning of a new year…. again! I thought I’d write a little note to the kids and take a stroll down memory lane (cue sappy music… oh perhaps, “It’s a wonderful world” or Celine Dion’s “Because you loved me”).

Dear Kids,

It has been great to relax with you guys over the holidays. I have thoroughly enjoyed NOT having to rush out the door into the cold and rain for the last week. Joy of joys! To be honest, I have also been feeling a little drained and… bumpy. So much bickering leaves a mother exhausted, fizzled (??) and oh so confused. Who knows where you all get this melodrama from? Yup. Your father. Sometimes I think I must be more optimistic, more hopeful. It’s not that I need hope about you guys. It’s more hope for myself. Because when I see you crying, when I see you upset, I see my own shortcomings as a parent. And I know I need to let that go. I worried so much when you girls were toddlers, and I worry now. But sometimes in between all those layers of worrying, I KNOW. I know that I will love you, and I will laugh with you, and I will probably make a helluvalot of mistakes along with you, but we are going to be better than fine. So if you look back and remember that sometimes mom seemed a little grumpy or stressed.. well… I was! ha. I’m sorry I am a big worrywart, but, hey, I imperfectly love you A LOT! Now that the year has come to an end, I want take a moment to remember some of the great memories we’ve made this year (yes, cue more sappy music please):

Chabela: You fell in love with school! (Hurray!!!) You started to run ahead to school when we were a block away. A little show of independence from a shy girl (my heart swells with pride and a little nostalgia). You became graceful. Your art and writing amaze me. You are whimsical, so cute, beautiful, touching. Tonight you told me you wanted to become a writer. I am excited by the thought of what you will create as you grow and learn. I love when you open yourself up, and, perhaps feeling a little vulnerable, you break out into a big grin. Don’t be embarrassed, Boo, hold your head up high and open your heart.

Maya: You are so lovely, lovely girl. Thank you for teaching me about being kind and tender, and showing me how a person can actually have a hard time NOT sharing something. You have tried so hard this year to learn to read and write. I am proud of you, and you are proud of yourself. I love that. I love when I see confidence in your face, in your composure. I am proud of what you do when you set your mind to something. I am amazed by your heart. I see you trying to be tougher because the world isn’t always so gentle… It’s going to be okay…

Baby D: Thank you, D, for coming into our world. Ever since you arrived, our home has doubled in joy. All four of us run to see you in the morning; to see you smile makes us smile. Thank you for calling everything Apple and Baba. It is funny and sweet, and so simple as (we wish) life should be. I can’t wait to see what you will become, and I am a little sad to think that you will become a big boy and not our little Baby D anymore (a happy kind of sad). The bittersweetness of watching you grow, my little man.