I struggle...

I think someone flipped a switch when C turned 6 and turned her into a big girl. This is not something I am ready for AT ALL.

There are moments where she is still very much a little girl with sensivities and meltdowns and attitude galore. But they are not as frequent as the big girl who was to spread her wings.

I selfishly want to clip her wings, which I imagine pretty much every parent has felt at one time or another. I don't want her to fly. I want her to stay in my lap forever. But that can't, and won't, happen.

So, we encounter new things. We navigate uncharted territory together and sometimes we don't do it very well. I am trying to let her experience some of the freedoms that come with growing up, but my anxiety level is THROUGH THE ROOF.

I struggle with letting her play outside without watching every second, because I am afraid someone in a dark van will drive up asking her if she wants a puppy or some candy and she will vanish. I attribute that entirely to growing up in a time of Ad*m W*lsh when kids faces became plastered on milk cartons. I am afraid. And my fear makes me look out the window more than I should. C doesn't know, to her she is getting her space but I am still freaking out behind the window panes.

I struggle to let her fail because I know how much failure can hurt and I don't want her to suffer. I also know that sometimes you have to fail (and will fail) in life and she is no exception. I can't wrap her in bubble wrap and shelter her from things because that's not doing her any favors, but I want to. And it weighs heavily on my mind with every new experience.

I struggle to let her be somewhere when I am not there. I attribute this to what seems like a surge in craziness in our society that puts kids in very vulnerable positions I never had to experience. What if something happens and I can't get there fast enough? Those damn What If's make me want to never let her leave the house. But I do.

I struggle with play dates and sleep overs and what she watches on TV and what she eats. The list is lengthy as it rolls through my brain. I go to great lengths to keep that list in check because she is a kid who is growing up and deserves to live her life regardless of how fearful I am.

And seriously, when did I become so fearful? Does that happen immediately at the moment of child birth?

A million times

I have sat down a million times it seems in the last week or so to write...and I write a bit and then stall. It's not for lack of things to say, that's never really been a problem for me, but more of a lack of how to say it.

Simply put, my best friend since I was in high school has Stage 2 Breast Cancer. This isn't my first encounter with this nasty disease, and I am sure it won't be my last. But it feels different.

SP asked me why it was different. Why was this time different than when my own Mom experienced BC? What about this is making it so difficult for me that I am crying or lashing out with anger or distracted and walking around in a daze or trying to be postive and hopeful but deeply saddened by the whole thing?

It's not that I love my friend more than I do my own mother or feel more devastated in this moment than I did years ago when my mom was diagnosed. It's really an apples to oranges situation with Breast Cancer at the rotten core.

Looking back I feel very sheltered from my mom's cancer journey. This was most likely her doing to help buffer us a bit, to protect us, if she could, from any more pain than we were already experiencing. It also could have been because I was so self-absorbed and immature I didn't think to ask to be more involved, but honestly I am not sure I could have at the time and she knew that. I am grateful for that buffer and for her wisdom...mom's tend to know the right things to do even when they are sick.

What I am finding now is there is a closeness, a realness, to this experience. I am not sheltered and I am not choosing to be sheltered. I cannot for one second think about backing away from this experience no matter how difficult it is for me, because it's not about me. I have not spent over half my life cultivating a friendship with J to just run. If I up and retreat when things are their most difficult what kind of friend would I be, what kind of person would I be? That's not what we do...we never have and our lives over the last 20+ years have not always been great but we fought the good fight together. We'll do that again now.

Trying to put it into words right now is really tough. I think I will just let my thoughts simmer for a bit more...

Fancy dress

When she walked through the door of the funeral home, she was glowing. I could see her eyes searching the very large crowd for me. As I moved to get her attention, I noticed that she had dressed herself and I loved it.

There stood my beautiful 6 year old girl in the fanciest, sparkliest, velvetiest dress she owns. The top was black with a little rhinestone heart in the middle. The bottom was pink lace and sequins. She had picked grey tights and a pair of hand-me-down white "high heel" dress shoes that were a size too big. Around her next was a Mardi Gras bead necklace, it was Fat Tuesday afterall.

My girl was a beacon of light in an otherwise sad event. The pride on her face having gotten herself dressed up for the funeral made my heart melt. I had  told her to dress nicely though I didn't specify how nice. She took it to the max.

That's the latest change in my little girl. Her newfound interest in dressy clothes and fancy shoes is a shock to SP and I. She's always been our tennis shoes and casual clothing girl. Now she'll have a purse, and fancy shoes and the whole enchilada just to run to the grocery store. DIVA in training.

School update...

We are moving through the last week of February and will have officialy been at R's new school 1 month. In that time it feels like a dark cloud has been lifted and we are starting to see the return of our happy, mischevious, funny and loving R.

She is calmer. We are calmer. Our lives, which felt like a never ending rollar coaster with too many drops and corkscrews, have leveled out a bit. We are all feeling the positive impact of this change.

I think we did our best to try and work things out at her old school and feel fortunate that they worked with us for as long as they did. But the reality is, a smaller classroom setting is what she needs. She is thriving.

That's not to say she isn't a three year old with her moments and tantrums, because she is and we are totally ok with that. We can handle, and have handled, three year old tantrums. Sure it sucks sometimes, but manageable.

Before this school move it felt like we were in a neverending three year old tantrum. From the moment we woke up until the time we went to bed we were on edge. We could not figure out where R's sensory issues stopped and behavioral things began. They were all tangled together.

Now, it's like the sensory cloud has been lifted and all we see are behavior things. Behavior things that all kids go through.

I am not saying those sensory things are completely gone, because they aren't. We still do our "exercises" in the morning for heavy work. I still do a lot of bear hugs and massage. We still go to OT. The difference is we have addressed something that was a major part of her every day life, and it's working.

Cross your fingers it keeps working.

6 years

Last week my little girl turned 6 and I am not sure how time flies so quickly, but it does. I also found out on the same day that someone very, very close to me has Breast Cancer. Those two events will forever be intertwined in my brain. In my struggle to celebrate my daughter's birthday, while crying on the inside, I failed to write her birthday post. Not the first or last time I will screw up I am sure. I hope she can forgive me.

Dear C,
You are by far one of the sweetest, gentlest, kindest little girls I know. Your sensitivity to the world around you and awareness of those hurting, and in need, is far greater than most adults. You are a feeler. A giver. Someone who loves to your core and looks at life with such sweet innocence.

When you were a baby, I would nuzzle your little head and wish I could bottle up all the baby goodness that was you. As you grow older I have wanted to do that at pretty much every single point in your life. I know I can't. I can't stop you from growing. I can't shelter you from a life that I fear will change you...but I want to. So I am capturing it here. This will be my bottle.

As a six year old you fluxuate between super confident and insecure. Thankfully the confidence usually wins, but there are moments of doubt. I try to navigator through those times of doubt as best as I can and hope I am showing you through my example of how to navigator through this world.

I love that a pair of hand me down boots make you feel like you are a rockstar. If you throw in a purse and a hairstyle you think is cute, and well, watch out world! You get a little swagger and pep in your step. I find that to be the case about great shoes for me as well. :)

You are on that edge where you want to be a big girl, while still crawling up in my lap like a little girl. I am thinking I will let you crawl into my lap until you are 80 if that's what you wish. There's no such thing as spoiling you with cuddle time.

Book reading, writing, drawing, crafting, dancing, singing, etc. are all things you love to do. Our house is filled with your art projects and books. We do tumbling every week for 1.5 hours and it's awesome to see your determination when you want to master something. It's equally as awesome to see your face when you know you nailed it.

We just went through our first round of selling G*rl Sc*ut Cookies and I think the overall experience as a GS has been in a good one for you. It's great to see you interacting with the other girls and the lessons they teach are really valuable ones that will benefit you long term.

At home we still hang out every night and chat before bed. We talk about your day, what you find interesting, and sometimes nothing at all...we just cuddle. (Again, no such thing as too much cuddling.) I love those moments with you. I hope it's something that we can do together forever.

I told you on your birthday Thank You For Making Me a Mom. And I meant it. You changed my life in so may positive ways and cause me to grow and become a better person daily. I can't wait to see what this next year brings you.

I Love You.
Mommy

Owl

In a few short days this sweet girl turns 6. I look at her and no longer see a little baby, or toddler, or preschooler. She's growing up which I both love and hate. I love who she is becoming but hate knowing that one day she won't want me to cuddle in bed with her at night like we do now.

On Saturday we did a painting party and it was a hit. C was so freaked out the day of. She is so like her mom when it comes to new things. Amid the tears (twice that morning) she said, "I am NERVOUS." We had never been to this paint place. She had never been to a painting party. But I knew she would love it so we gently guided her outside of her comfort zone.

And guess what? She loved it.

She was SO excited she could hardly contain herself. Between her new outfit, her friends being there and doing something she really enjoys it was almost too much for her. I loved watching her as she listened to the teacher instruct her and then do the steps to complete her painting.

I am confident this is something we will do again. Love my girl and her owl.

Drip

Have you ever heard the drip of a leaking faucet? A DRIP, DRIP, DRIP that starts out to be something you barely notice on the edge of your awareness. It's there, but distance or distraction mute the drip, drip, drip and sometimes you forget the drip is there at all.

Then there are times with the DRIP is louder. Night time maybe, when the house is settled and you are quiet. It starts out feeling meditative, almost calming in its repetition. DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.

Overtime, as the drip continues, it begins to seem more present, louder even though nothing about the drip has really changed.

You try to fix it. You try to block it out. You muffle it. You accept it. You fight it. But the drip continues. DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.

Then the dread comes in. When you are awake, you hear it. When you are trying to sleep, you hear it.

DRIP.DRIP.DRIP.

The drip consumes you. It's all you talk about. It overshadows everything you do because it's made you tired and cranky and irritable. People dismiss it because, well, they can't hear it or don't hear it as often as you do, so it's not their problem.

DRIP.DRIP.DRIP.

You turn the faucet tighter. Looser. You read books on plumbing and call in various experts to stop the drip. You talk to the drip, asking it to stop. You try to plug it up, but the water finds it's way out and continues to drip, drip, drip into the sink. You avoid the room with the leaky faucet. You turn the music up louder to drown out the sound. You wear ear plugs and put a pillow over your head at night.

One day, out of nowhere, the drip stops. You are shocked by the silence and skeptical at first. Then you allow yourself to relax. You feel proud of your efforts to fix the leak and relieved that it's stopped. You are hopeful and rested and calm.

DRIP.