Passed down from Mom

Today is my mother's birthday. And tomorrow, of course, is Mother's Day. (Every so often, her birthday and Mother's Day are on the same day.)



She and my sister are here from out of state for a visit, so I get to treat them both a little bit. I have a little surprise planned for her tonight, actually!

I have briefly blogged here before about the ups and downs in my relationship with my mother, Cammy. When I was young, she wasn't especially interested in active parenting. My grandmother took care of me until she died. As soon as I was old enough by state law, I went to live with my dad.

For about 12 years, Cammy and I didn't communicate. Then after the Sept. 11 attacks, I got a letter from my sister. She broke the ice for Cammy and me. We slowly started get to know each other again. I learned about the healing power of forgiveness. My mother and I will probably never have a super close mother/daughter relationship, but we enjoy getting together a few times a year (despite the distance). We can laugh and have a good time together. There's definitely love there.

What's remarkable to me is that despite our troubles and our long time spent apart, when my mother and I (and my sister) are together, we laugh about how similar we are to one another. Even if my mother was often short on nurture when I was growing up, the nature aspect of parenting has definitely come through.

Physically, I'm a taller, darker-colored version of my mother. (Why couldn't I have gotten her pale green eyes? "Green eyes aren't photogenic," she once told me.) I have her broad shoulders, plump toes and unruly hair. I'm just now starting to recognize something of her voice in mine -- the sound as well as the expressions. We like a lot of the same foods.

Even though our personalities are different, it's a comfort to me to know someone is a bit similar to me and understands me (which I often didn't get from my stepmother). A feeling of belonging -- no matter how faint -- is a loving thing to pass on to your child. And that's what I have with Cammy.

- - - - -

This post is part of the Parent Bloggers Network Mother's Day Blog Blast sponsored by JOHNSON'S. Their second annual Celebrity Hand Me Down charity auction runs from 7 pm PT on Thursday May 7 through 7 pm PT on Thursday May 14, featuring items donated by celebrity moms Gwyneth Paltrow and Jessica Alba. All proceeds will benefit the new global JOHNSON'S® NO MORE TEARS® Clean Water initiative via their well-known charitable giving site, Baby Cause.

Help me figure out the unsolved mystery

My mother, Cammy, thinks she is pretty clever.

She called me last week to say she sent me a package . . . and that the package has a hidden message.

How very mysterious!

The suspense nearly killed me!

One thing you can't do to me is tell me you have a surprise or some news and then leave me hanging. GAH! JP does this to me all the time! Mainly, because he knows it drives me crazy. I love surprises, but don't tell me about it beforehand.

Luckily, I survived to receive and open my mother's package. I had assumed it was a little Valentine's Day gift for Fly. But this is what she sent:





OK. Grandma's cookies. I get it -- she's a grandma. (All her grandkids call her Nan.) There are two cookies in the package, and two cookies in the card -- and I will have two children come June.

But Nan's package also contained this:



The label is "Clear Crystale."

I've never been a real detective type, so I'm hoping you, teh internets, could help me out.

Am I reading too much into it? Or am I just that dense?

Hurt and gratitude

A new life coming into the world. A beautiful baby to celebrate. (Aren't all babies beautiful, really?) You would think any time a person says, "I am having a baby!" that you would congratulate the mother or father. It's the polite and reasonable thing to do -- even if you are a stranger who doesn't know the person.

We rejoice with those who rejoice.

Except for JP's sister.

When JP told his sister the news that we are expecting another baby, she made a rude and untrue comment to him. Then she sarcastically said, "Congratulations," and cut off the conversation.

That was one of perhaps five times I've known my husband to cry.

Not every family is perfect, and relationships can be fragile. Something, somewhere, went wrong with our relationship with JP's sister. We don't know what that is. But I certainly never expected her to make her brother cry when she should have been sharing in his happiness.

As disturbing as this is, I am overwhelmed by your comments and good wishes -- overwhelmed and grateful.

Thank you.

The birthday party that wasn't

On Sunday, we were supposed to have a nice family gathering at a local park to celebrate Fly's 2nd birthday. But it was a no-go.

JP and I went back and forth about the party. Mean ogre of a mother that I am, I didn't want to have a party at all. I felt we had given Fly the best possible birthday he could have wished for. I felt Fly didn't know any better and certainly wasn't expecting to have a party. I felt I really didn't want to spend five hours cleaning my house.

But JP debated me on all those points, plus he threw in extra reasons Fly should have a party.

If you can call it a compromise, JP and I decided to have a low-key party at one of Fly's favorite local parks.

Funny thing is, I ended up doing almost all of the planning.

(How do moms get suckered into stuff like this?!)

JP told me he would take care of buying and mailing the invitations. Calling people on the phone to invite them over just doesn't work in his family.

Days went by. No invitations.

Then Tiny Prints came riding in on a white horse and offered to give me invitations for free!



This is the invitation I would have chosen. But by that time, it was so close to the party, the invitations probably would have arrived after the date I'd reserved the pavilion. So it wouldn't have worked out.

But then Tiny Prints said How about some thank you notes? And I wanted to give them a virtual hug. I couldn't have been happier.

Unless Tiny Prints offered to write the thank you notes for me as well. That would have made me happier. I am a super grateful person, but writing thank-yous is a chore. I guess you could say I have thank you note angst.

Tiny Prints has so many thank you notes to choose from. These are my favorites:


Well, it goes with his name, right?


Fly has now become enamored of anything on wheels.


I just thought this kid was so funny.


These are the thank you notes I decided on because JP made Fly a train table complete with elaborate train track for his 2nd birthday.

JP finally picked up some invitations and sent them out. Four family members said they could come. Then JP's grandma went into the hospital and his parents were afraid she'd need emergency surgery. So we just called the party off.

Do you know how many cupcakes are in my fridge right now? Well, admittedly not as many as there were earlier in the week.... Mmmm....

Anyway, if and when JP's family does give Fly a birthday gift, I will be ready, willing and able to graciously thank them with Fly's own personalized thank you cards.

And someday Fly will be able to write his own thank-yous:


These kids' thank you notes are just genius. Tiny Prints, can you make them for adults?

(Tiny Prints also has fun Christmas cards and photo cards for showing off cute kiddos.)

I don't think we'll have a party do-over for Fly. I'm a bit relieved not to have a party, but I have to admit, I was disappointed when we canceled it.

Next year, we'll just make it extra fun.

Seeing through Nan's eyes

When Nan is in town, you aren't hyper -- you are busy and curious.



When Nan is in town, you aren't easily distracted -- you are an outrageous flirt.



When Nan is in town, you aren't ornery -- you are confident and know just what you like.



When Nan is in town, you aren't a bad sleeper -- well, you are, but everybody gets that way from time to time.



When Nan is in town, I can see through her eyes, and you are perfect.



And, of course, she's right.

More love

The longer I am a parent, the more angry I get at my own parents.

Usually, it's different -- becoming a parent makes you appreciate your own parents even more.

I get angry at my parents because I see what has gone into the caring and rearing of Fly, and I know the lengths I would go to for him.

I don't believe they did the same for me.

- - - - -

My mother and dad were both on their second marriage when I came along. Then they divorced when I was three or four -- old enough to remember them fighting.

My mother had a string of boyfriends before marrying my stepfather, who turned out to be an alcoholic. My dad almost immediately married my stepmom, who was kind and nurturing while I was little but who became emotionally abusive when I turned into a teenager and young adult.

I remember my grandmother watching me a lot when I was young, and I remember going to babysitters' homes too.

But I don't remember any good times with my mother and father together. Not a run to the ice cream shop, not a walk around the block, not reading a book in their lap. Nothing.

My parents shared custody of me. I lived with my mother and stepfather for the most part but spent weekends, summers and holidays with my dad and stepmom until I was old enough by law to choose. Then I left my mother's partying ways and moved several states away to live with my dad and stepmom.

Today, my stepfather is dead, and my father lives I-don't-know-where in the South but hasn't tried to get in touch with me in 13 years even though he knows how to reach me. (A half-brother gave him my information.) My mother and I have reconciled, but she lives far away, and there's still a part of me that doesn't trust her completely. My stepmom insists she cares, but she puts everything else before returning my calls and e-mails, often not contacting me for months at a time.

- - - - -

I'm sharing this not to ask for some awful pity party, but to point out I don't really have a good role model when it comes to parenting. And I don't have a parent figure I can turn to for help or ideas when I am struggling with Fly. Reading parenting blogs really helps, because I get an idea of what it's like for other moms.

A few years ago before Fly came along, I told all this to a neighbor. I told her I really thought having a child would be wonderful, but I was afraid my experience with my parents would leave me clueless and empty of parent-love -- not something I wished on a helpless baby. My neighbor assured me that children are a blessing from God and so God would help me figure out how to care for a child and raise that child in the right way.

Her advice made sense then, and it's something I remind myself now. Some days, I even take a little pride in the idea that I am parenting in my own style and tell myself to be glad I don't have to rely on what my parents did (because they didn't do anything) or that I don't have to ask them for advice because I am relying on God.

But some nights after a trying day with my fussy Fly, I compare myself to Fly and wonder what it would have been like to grow up in the love of parents who actually cared.

Although, if they cared, then I might not have moved away, and I wouldn't have met JP, so then there would be no Fly.



And some days I look at Fly and wonder how I am going to do this parenting thing, even with God's help. During those pressed-but-not-quite-crushed days, it makes me angry because I know my parents took the easy way out.

And then, of course, I realize I need to forgive my parents and move on.

But I still miss their lack of love.

And that makes me want to stay in the game even more, for Fly, so he doesn't say the same thing about me when he grows up.

Almost every parent wants for their children more than what they had themselves -- and for Fly, oh, what I want for Fly is more love.

Sooo tired

Pbbllt. This hardly constitutes a post. But there's this little thing called NaBloPoMo, see....

I am exhausted. I have spent the past two days cooking and cleaning for Thanksgiving (hosting JP's family). The past two nights, I've gone to bed past 2 am.

I really wanted to post about our little trip. Maybe I can get to that tomorrow.

Anyway, wishing anyone and everyone in blogland a happy Thanksgiving and many blessings.

Bliss

Waking up to this....

PS: Those aren't eyelashes on JP, but eyebrows. I keep teasing him that he needs to trim them.

Something worse

It's universal that at one point, many women in their 20s or 30s fear (or at least worry) they'll turn into their mother.

{Cue scary screechy violin music}

That hit me at 16.

But now that I'm getting older and have lived with a year and a half of sleep deprivation, I have found something worse to fear: turning into my father!

Worldwide family

I have a new nephew! (A new n'ew?) Isn't he cute?

My brother and sister-in-law adopted a boy from Guatemala and brought him home just this week. They are welcoming him into their family, which includes my niece from China.

I have such an international family!

I also have a sister whose father was Mexican (from my mother's first marriage -- she was swayed by the sexy Latino accent!) and a cousin whose mother is from Vietnam.

Do you have an international family too?

Halloween is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you

I missed it. Totally.

When did Halloween become a card-giving holiday?



Our collection of Halloween cards from family -- wait, one is missing because it's a haunted house that actually lights up and Fly wanted to play with it.

Do you notice a theme in these cards? Maybe it's because we have one of these:



My first baby. I promise she's not bad luck!

In support of the Mothers Act

It was just recently that during a talk with JP's sister, Sabee, she told me she was depressed for about a year after her son was born. Our Adorable Nephew is seven years old now.

I was a little surprised to find out she was suffering from depression, but not shocked. JP and I had noticed a change in her, but I never considered depression. After all, she still smiled. She still sent cards. She took excellent care of our Adorable Nephew. That didn't spell out postpartum to us -- because we didn't really know that it can be different for each person. We just didn't know.

I'm blogging about postpartum depression today as part of BlogHer's Mother's Act Blog Day, to spread the word about postpartum depression and support the Mothers Act bill. According to BlogHer, the Mothers Act bill would "provide for education about postpartum mood disorders for new mothers and their families, require healthcare professionals to screen new moms for postpartum mood disorders during the first year postpartum, and train those professionals on how to conduct proper screenings and care for women who are diagnosed with these illnesses." This could save lives -- half a million, BlogHer says. (I don't know if this is the same as the bill, but last Friday, ABC News reported on the U.S. House of Representatives approving spending $3 million on postpartum depression.)

Mothers -- families -- deserve this.

Instructions for babysitting

So, JP's parents will be here in about an hour so we can go out with our friends (our fifth date since Flybaby was born). Last time they watched Flybaby, JP's mom told me Fly had been so good and sweet.

Good? Sweet? Is that the baby I know?

I've given Fly instructions on how he should act around his grandparents -- just like himself:

- Be sure to squeal very loudly and in the highest pitch your voice can muster.

- Be sure to flip over onto all fours when your memaw tries to change your diaper, and attempt to crawl across the top of the dresser.

- When she tries to feed you your dinner, turn your head away at the last second so there's a line of food smeared across your cheek. Then rub your hands across your face and into your hair and eyelashes.

- And after dinner, be sure to cry as though you're being branded when your grandmother tries to wash the food off your face and out of your hair.

- Knock everything off the coffee table, then walk down the hall into the next room to look for more things to knock over.

- And don't forget to cry for no apparent reason, periodically throughout the evening.

Have fun!

Up the creek

Sometimes you just have to scratch that itch even when you know scratching might not be the best thing.

I had to have me some outdoors time.

But it's One Hot Summer.

JP and Fly indulged me anyway for a short while yesterday.



That's the bow of my kayak.



That's me, trying to balance a baby on my lap while not flipping us into the creek.



The creek has some nice things going for it, like scenery...



...and wildlife (that's an osprey)...



...and more scenery.

But did I mention how hot it is?

So what did Fly think of his first paddle?



(Orange is really not his color.)

I think I'll wait to go out and paddle again when it's cooler -- much cooler!

Slo-mo poo show

For anyone who's ever been in a car crash ... made an elaborate show of spilling sangria on your new white pants ... watched as your mother's favorite vase toppled and smashed to bits after you were horsing around ... or maybe were tossed fully clothed into a swimming pool by your older brother ... you know how some unfortunate events in life seem to happen in slow motion. And all you can do is watch.

Well.

Yesterday, JP, Flybaby and I celebrated Father's Day a week early at his parents' house. JP's sister, Sabee, and her husband and boy were there too. Just a nice family gathering to bestow gifts on dear old Dad.

Just as it was time for everyone to help themselves buffet-style, JP and I smelled something.

"The deviled eggs on the table?" I asked.

"Uh-uh," JP said.

"I'll change Flybaby," I said. "It's your special day."

I took Fly to a back bedroom, laid out a blanket, and started to HOLY HECK WHAT A SMELL! started to OH MY GOSH, WHERE DID ALL THIS POO COME FROM? started to "HEY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!"

Flybaby flipped over onto all fours and started crawling across my in-laws' carpet.

Perfect, off-white carpet.

You can see where this is going.

And I saw exactly where it all went -- poo creeped up the back of Fly's diaper, onto his romper (one single piece of clothing, only one!), and was now making a horrible, smelly decoration on the wall-to-wall. In that moment, I thought for sure I was on a reality show edited and slowed down to show just what kind of slacker mom I am. (Even though I'm not the Queen of Poop.)

"JP!" I called.

JP was on the scene in a flash. He held Flybaby while I used every wipe we had to clean his bottom, his back -- oh, now it's on his arms, his legs, his ... well, his whole body, actually.

This was happening all while Fly was screaming, which brought JP's mother to the room, and I felt just like the newly soiled spot on her floor.

I think God makes people parents to keep them humble.

JP's mother, MM, cheerfully cleaned the carpet ("We're washable!"), and JP took Fly's romper and washed it in the bathroom sink so it could be tumbled dry in the dryer. I put a new diaper on Fly and tried to get him to quiet down.

MM carried nearly naked Flybaby into the dining room where the whole family was now eating ("Flybaby! What a good look for you!" Sabee said), and I gathered up the wipes, yucked-up blanket and a towel that had appeared from somewhere, stuffing it all in a bag.

I felt so bad that I couldn't eat dinner after all that. I couldn't even look at anyone. Oh, the shame! I imagined Sabee snickering to herself about how I couldn't keep my baby under control. I imagined her and MM tsk-tsking me after we would leave. How the Great Father's Day Poo Stain of 2007 story would come to be told for years to come. How MM would warn me to bring my own changing table next time we visit.

If there's any one trait I want to display in front of JP's family -- especially now that I'm a mother -- it's competence. I think this stems from my first day alone with Flybaby, when MM declared I couldn't possibly take care of Flybaby all by myself! Since that day, I have gone to almost super-human lengths to prove her wrong. I can take care of my baby very well, thank you, and not only that, but hey! I'll host Thanksgiving dinner too! I'll design and mail birth announcements with the 53 thank-you notes I had to write after receiving so many gifts for Fly. I'll keep going even when I get mastitis.

And then -- oh, thankfully -- something like a poosplosion happens to take me down a notch and remind me I'm just a normal parent with a normal baby who poos the way babies sometimes poo, and if that means my child sits naked at the family dinner table for Father's Day? Tough tacos.

Let she who has never lost control of her child cast the first stone.

A real crappy story

You know you're a mom when your conversations revolve around poop.

But you're an Awesome Mom when you have a poop-related contest. Awesome Mom is giving away an iTunes gift card for the best kid poop story. (Psst. There are only a few more days left until the end of the month, which is the end of my own contest over at Celebrating A Life. Go enter now.)

The best poop story? Probably not here. But it reminded me of when one of my younger brothers, Goblin, was a baby. I don't know how old he was -- a year and a half? Two? -- but he was able to walk around.

Well. Goblin was walking around in nothing but a T-shirt and his diaper. His diaper was falling off, so he pulled it the rest of the way off. Then he sat down on the living room floor with his diaper and started ... to ... eat ... his ... poop!

I was doing something important like watching TV, but when I saw Goblin eating his own doo, all I could do was laugh. It must have been quite a cackle, because our mom came into the room and saw the scene: her baby eating out of his dirty diaper, and her 6- or 7-year-old daughter giggling maniacally at him.

My mother was upset and asked me why I didn't do anything to stop him.

How could I?!

I'm not sure she has ever forgiven me.

OK, obviously I've matured since then and wouldn't let anyone eat their own (or anybody else's) poop. But every time I think about it, I still start laughing!

A little piece of my heart is in China right now...

...because one of my older brothers and his wife are there and have just met their new daughter.



Her name means graceful orchid, and she's only a couple months older than Flybaby.

Call me crazy, but I think she kind of looks like my brother.

I'm bursting!

The Anniversary Project: It's not a good party until the cops show up (Or, the worst possible wedding do-over you could imagine)

Yesterday, my Seaster renewed her vows to her husband Ron, on the beach, surrounded by their four children and their family and friends, in a touching ceremony that couldn't begin until the police arrived.

You see, JP, a sleeping Flybaby and I arrived at the beach about a half-hour before the big event was supposed to happen. JP decided to pull up to the beach pavilion and let me out so I could assemble the two-tiered cake (one tier of which I had been holding on my lap during the drive) and unhand Seaster's bouquet as well.

In my eagerness to see what impression this beautiful cake would have on everyone, I didn't even notice what was going on until a strange woman clad in a swimsuit and a beach towel snapped at me, "Don't touch my stuff!" I had just set the cake down on a picnic table, and I realized there were about a dozen people having a party there. In our pavilion. The one I rented about two months ago.

My mother, whom I'd barely said hello to in the name of trying to finish up the cake and help JP find a place to park (remember the seafood festival going on, making parking scarce?), told me the other group of people wouldn't leave.

Me: But we have a permit. The sign. You put the sign up in the morning, didn't you?
Mother: No. Mick was going to do it this morning, but when he saw a party going on here already, he decided he'd just come back later.
Me: Oh, no! I told Seaster the permit had to be up in the morning so people knew they had to leave by the time listed on the permit!
Mother: Mick didn't want to be rude.

I look over at Mick, who's Seaster's best friend (think Will & Grace), who was at that moment on the phone calling the city parks & rec to tell them about the pavilion squatters.

Even JP tried to be helpful.

JP: I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have rented this pavilion for a renewal of vows, and --
Irate Woman: This is a public beach! We don't have to leave!

Irate Woman refused to do anything unless, she said, the police came.

So Mick then called the police.

Meanwhile, none of the decorating that my mother had planned on doing two hours beforehand had been done.

I ended up moving my precious baked confection to one side seat of the picnic bench, which is all that the other partygoers would allow for the party food, decorations, etc.

My cake. On the seat of a picnic bench.

I went back to our car, which wasn't supposed to be parked where it was, where Fly was still asleep, and say hello to some more of my Seaster's family who were arriving.

A police officer showed up and spoke with Irate Woman.

Irate Woman: You're going to break up the birthday party of a little 6-year-old boy!
Officer: Your party has been going on for more than six hours!

The other family begrudgingly packed up their things -- leaving lots of wet sand on the floor of the pavilion -- and my mother and Seaster's sons hurriedly tried to decorate.

I think my nephews (24, 22 and 17) must have moved the table where my cake was about five times. One of those times, the cake fell apart. Before I got a picture. Before Seaster arrived. My cake, my piece de beautiful baked goodery, was ruined!

Then my mother announced quietly she couldn't find the rings she was going to surprise the happy couple with.

The minister stood by, cautiously watching this drama unfold and perhaps noting how late we were in starting this shindig, while I tended to Flybaby. My mother complained about the volume of the music coming from the seafood festival.

After the picnic tables were finally in the right places, the ballons were up, the tulle wrapped around the columns and the rings found in my mother's rental car, the minister put on his robe and gathered everyone around.

Now nothing else mattered except Seaster and Ron. I noticed for the first time the cool breeze coming in from the ocean, the amazingly blue sky and the ability of Seaster's eyes to actually look softened and moist. Their three sons and daughter -- minus their son who died when he was around 8 -- looking on. The proud look on my mother's face as her daughter celebrated 25 years of marriage.

And I recalled when Seaster and Ron were married. I was only a tween. Seaster and Ron had been going out for a while, and she got pregnant. One afternoon, Seaster, Ron, my mother and stepfather and younger brother (no one from Ron's family) went to the courthouse. My mother insisted I "stand up with" Seaster, like her maid of honor. I thought the whole thing was ridiculous and sulked the whole time. (My teenage tomboy sister! Getting married!) Then we went out to dinner. Seaster and Ron lived with us for the next year.... It was a shaky start for a young couple.

That's why it was so important to Seaster to fulfill her dream wedding this time around. A ceremony on the beach ... something nice to wear ... a real cake (heh!) ... a bouquet ... a minister.

This was the wedding she never had.

Their ill son who died and many other trials could have pulled them apart. But Seaster and Ron have stayed strong and faithful.

And now they are wearing new silver rings as a reminder of their silver wedding anniversary.

And I got to be a part of that.

The Anniversary Project: Special powers

I have special powers. I can predict things. Like the fact you can't get a Saturday hair appointment in this town if you call on Thursday. My sister said she'd forget about getting her hair styled....

Flybaby also has special powers. He made everyone melt when we went out to lunch with my mother and sister today. My brother and his 12-year-old son came too. Flybaby grabbed the waiter's leg every time he came by. The waiter laughed every time, but I wonder if he was thinking, "Kid, I ain't your daddy!"

My Seaster has special powers for taking nine hours yesterday to find an outfit in which to renew her vows. And it wasn't even a dress, which is what she was on the hunt for.

Let's hope I have special cake powers to finish this cake and make it look pretty....

The Anniversary Project: More surprises

This morning while strapping Flybaby into his carseat for a quick trip to the supermarket, my mother called. She wanted to know how to get to a store where my sister wanted to look for a dress. They were both out and about in their rental car, dress shopping.

Seaster still doesn't have anything to wear.

As I was leaving the supermarket (carrying a baby, my purse and two bags of groceries), I got another call from my mother, who said the first store didn't have anything, and she asked how to get to the mall.

About 15 minutes later, she called back to ask where in the mall was a place called the Dress Barn. As if I'd know.

As I was feeding Fly his lunch, I fielded a call from -- yes! my mother -- on one phone and the minister for this vow renewal on the other.

After telling my mother to call the minister, she asks me,

"Did you make Seaster's hair appointment yet?"

Trying to ward off a migraine, I said, "You didn't tell me to make a hair appointment."

(Conversation ensues about where Seaster will be / should get her hair done.)

Has anyone ever tried to make a Saturday afternoon hair appointment on a Thursday afternoon?

"I'll see what I can do," I told my mother.

The way things have been going for Seaster's vows, I am going to end up styling her hair myself!