Triangle Mamas

Friday Round-up

As I sit here downing Halloween candy, I can't help but wonder where the week has gone. (Likely the same place as the Whoppers. I swore I still had two left in that pack.)

It seems the weeks run together and that early start on holiday shopping I swore I was going to have has vanished with the Fall leaves.

It's Friday again and here it is -- our ninth week of rounding up the best from all the Triangle Mamas. This week was marked by a Congressional election, an additional temperature drop that sent me scurrying for my scarves, and the start to NaBloPoMo. Many of the Triangle Mamas are taking advantage of a 30 Days of Truth meme to boost their publishing rate up to the daily mark while others are feeling a slump in their bloginess since real life is keeping them busy.

That's the case with Andrea over at Lil Kid Things. She's busy trying the fit the entire contents of her house into boxes in preparation for a move to a new place at the end of the month. The transition is causing her a bit of inner turmoil.

Meanwhile, Susie, over at At Home with Me, is breaking her year long bloggy silence by jumping in the deep end. She's participating in the 30 Days of Truth and getting honest about her flaws in Something I Hate about Myself.

Ilina of Dirt & Noise, on the other hand, is not about to remain silent. She's made her opinions heard loud and clear by casting her ballot. Did you make sure to have your voice heard?

Sue from Motherhood & Me has been been quiet, but she was sure to draw a winner for her Scandanavian Child giveaway. Did you enter? Maybe you're the big winner.

Nikki from a small song may not think she's preparing for Baby #2's arrival, but it seems to me that she's doing her best to mentally be ready. She's wondering if the new baby's arrival will change her as radically as her eldest Abby's birth. No matter what, she knows something good this way comes.

Over at Adventuroo, Mel is worrying about raising gentlemen. She's worried that etiquette and role models won't be enough. What do you think it takes to turn boys into gentlemen?

Erin over at Tales from a Marketing Mama used the 30 Days of Truth to admit her own personal goofiness. She's the kind of girl who's willing to hitch her pants up to her neck if it will emit a laugh. This is, Erin admits, one of the things she loves about herself.

A little girl who's willing to hand out lots of compliments but share none of her candy? That's Pippi. Cyndi is sharing a story of her second child over at My Convertible Life.

While Marty, over at Don't Take the Repeats, is busy thinking about renewal and new life with her son's baptism approaching, she's still struggling with letting go of an old hurt. She's not yet ready to forgive in her Day 4 post from the 30 Days of Truth.

And, since I've been struggling with blog topics for My Sweet Babboo as of late, I too decided to try the 30 Days of Truth. Like Marty, I'm struggling to forgive except I'm not just holding out forgiveness from one person but a whole group of people. It's been ten years, will I ever let it go?

 

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Hey, while you're here, don't forget to read this week's Triangle Mamas posts. Both Cyndi and Andrea shared stories.

This Friday Round-up Brought to You by the Number 7

Hey, hey everybody. It's Friday and that means it's time for a round-up.

I figured since Marty was gracious enough to label me a "co-editor" on our business cards, it was about time I contributed a little something. So, here it is without further ado - Round-up #7.

 

It seems many a Triangle Mama is bearing her heart and mind this week.

Cyndi, over at My Convertible Life, is admitting that honesty is a good thing even if it hurts a little. It seems her friendship is going to be a lot stronger for it.

Ilina made me cry with her Milestones post. Her little Deal is growing up and it's hard to watch the baby-ness go. I'm tearing up just thinking about my little guy no longer being a baby.

Meanwhile, Sue is dealing with a green-eyed monster who's struggling with some new transitions in his life. Poor little guy just wants to snuggle and feel better, and it's all his mommy can do to try to find the time. My heart is breaking for them both because balancing the needs of a family is a very hard thing.

Some of Nikki's best writing over at A Small Song centers around international adoption. As a child of adoption herself, she opens my eyes to issues I've never even considered (though we all should). Issues of children who do not live or move in circles of people who look like they do. Her latest post is in regards to a pair of staring children, and why she believes they were staring at her.

And pouring out her everything at Don't Take the Repeats, Marty shares why she thinks she's broken beyond repair. She's in need of our love and understanding. If you've ever felt like running away and never coming back, please go tell Marty that she's not alone.

Over at Lil Kid Things, Andrea is flexing her strong, independent-thinking woman muscle in support of Team Juan. She is talking openly about free speech and whether NPR had the right to fire a journalist for it.

On the lighter side of things, Mel is celebrating her 1st blogiversary. So be sure to head over there and give her a virtual high-five.

Erin is looking back 10 years ago to the good old college days and laughing at her younger self's idea of stress.

Meanwhile, I'm writing about my son's choice of Halloween costume. It's pink, fluffy, and made of tulle. Should a boy be wearing tulle?

 

There you have it. It's round-up #7. My apologies to anyone whose post I summarized in an inaccurate way. I read them all, but may be lacking in the eloquence of the real editor.

 

Halloween 2009, Triangle Mamas Style

In no particular order, here are some of the adorable children of the Triangle Mamas.

This is Abigail in her mama's German dirndl from when she was two.  NIkki says, "I like to think of this as her dramatic reenactment of Gretl's 'So Long, Farewell' exit in The Sound of Music."

Here are Juni and Pip, Cyndi's little ones. Buzz Lightyear here even had "Andy" written on the bottom of his shoe. Very authentic.

What might have been a dragon on the hanger became a dinosaur on Linus. Abby's little man was rawry scary.

From our newest Triangle Mama, Kelly, whose inaugural post will be live Wednesday, we have Mr. Wyatt.

Little Bird was a Little Bear for the day. Marty and her sewing machine pulled off a handmade Halloween again this year, but only with a couple of hours to spare.

Cindy's little dino was so excited, she had the costume on in Target the day they were picking it out.

 

Ilina had a handmade Halloween too. Here is Super Deal and Ninja Bird in all their glory.

Welcome to fall, y'all. Bring on the turkeys and the trees!

pick yourself up, dust yourself off

It’s been one of those days with my future DRAMA MAJOR that leads me to question not only my sanity, but whether or not I should have ever become a mother.

And it’s barely noon.

Any of you have mental illness in your extended family medical history? I do. Some very bad seeds? Me, too. Unhealthy patterns in parenting? How about anger management issues, depression, and passive-aggressiveness?

That’s just my adoptive family. My biological family was one big Korean soap opera. And it’s harder to detach myself from the crazy in their family, since I am actually genetically related to them. At times, when I feel particularly shitty as a mother, I imagine that all the bad parenting qualities in both my families have coalesced into one perfect storm of nature and nurture and settled in me, with my daughter as the unsuspecting victim.

I remember when I first learned the truth about my birth family – specifically, about the abuse and misery my birthmother had inflicted on my sisters, and the fact that she was a truly disturbed woman who hadn’t wanted me because I was “another girl.” Also, I was born so prematurely, the doctors were sure I’d never lead a “normal life.” As it turns out, I was the luckiest of my birthparents’ daughters, because I was the one they gave up.

The night I learned all of this, I couldn’t sleep. Of course, it might have had something to do with being eight a half months pregnant with Abigail at the time. I just lay there in bed, hour after hour, asking myself, “Am I going to be like them? Am I going to be a bad parent?”

I think that most people have the potential to be good, even great parents. The truth I had never really confronted – until that night, facing down the skeletons in my family closet for the first time – was that most people also have the potential to be extremely bad parents. I decided I had probably not inherited some “bad parenting gene” that would doom me and my children to a life of unhappiness. But I would still have to be aware of my limitations, my weaknesses, and yes, my sins. I would have to be humble.

Sometimes, when everything is going well with Abigail and we’re clipping along for weeks on end with no major disasters or meltdowns, I forget to feel thankful for the relative peace. I may even get a little cocky, and start to think that I have something to do with how smoothly things are running. But days like today keep me humble and well-acquainted with my own faults, lack of patience topping the list.

I hate feeling so aware of my own powerlessness, when I can do nothing to make my daughter feel any better; when I put her down early for a nap and then punch a pillow in sheer frustration; when I sit numbly on the couch with a cup of tea in my hands and seriously – seriously – question whether someone like me (lazy! impatient! selfish! only child! needs alone time! has latent CRAZY GENES!) should have ever had a child in the first place. Too late to spare Abigail, but maybe she doesn’t need a sibling. Maybe, I think to myself, maybe there’s somewhere I could get a tubal over my lunch break.

Here’s where I should stop feeling sorry for myself and say something uplifting, something positive about motherhood. If I wanted to, I could say what a lot of parents say – that I’m aware of my faults, but that having a child has given me the perfect opportunity to work hard to correct those faults for the sake of another person. And that’s true, except you don’t have a child as a means to self-improvement. Abby deserves a good mom now, not a good mom-in-training.

If I were grading myself as a mother today, it would be pretty grim. Not even a gentleman’s C. But she’s napping, praise God and all the saints, and I have another few minutes to repair my tattered nerves. A deep breath, a sip of tea, and some lunch are in order.

Soon she’ll wake up, and I will still be here. I’m leaning towards still being here, anyway. And then we’ll start all over again.

Nikki has officially made it to bedtime and is about to start drinking heavily. This entry was written earlier today and cross-posted at A Small Song.

Say Cheese

Let me tell you about the first time we took our daughter in to have portraits taken.  Perhaps the story will sound familiar to you.  I called JC Penney and made the appointment, and on the day of the session we bathed Abigail, picked out two of her cutest outfits, and packed her off to the mall across town for her first professional portraits.  Of course I figured it would be a bit challenging, trying to take a picture of a tiny squirmy six-week-old baby, but after all, we only needed one good shot.  A single picture for posterity.  How hard could it be, I asked my husband.  

Oh, how naive I was.

Abigail had her own ideas about how the session should go. Well, to be exact, what she had were two poopy diapers in quick succession, followed by a full-scale freakout thanks to the pushy photographer, the bright lights, and the camera that was approximately the size of a compact car.  The photographer kept trying to "position" her, and really, what strong-willed baby likes being handled?  Abby made her displeasure known, of course.  There was no consoling her, and the pictures were all terrible, generic and impersonal, utterly lacking in spark or creativity.  So much for my grand portrait scheme.

One day not long after that, I came across a flyer for Nan Friedman with PS Studio.  I didn't know if Abigail would do better with another photographer, outside the dark, overheated, slightly claustrophobic JC Penney studio setting, but I figured it was worth a shot.  

Nan, who has been photographing children for over fifteen years, was great with Abby, warm and friendly and patient.  She just let her be herself, and as a result, the pictures actually looked like our three-month-old daughter, not some vague expressionless cyborg baby.  After just half an hour or so, we ended up with literally dozens of wonderful shots to choose from, Abby's personality shining through in every picture.  

We've been back to see Nan for Abby's six-month, nine-month, and one-year portraits, and have been absolutely thrilled every time.  As your typical photo-happy mom, it's so nice to know that when I make an appointment with Nan, dress Abigail up, and drive all the way there for the appointment, it's pretty much a sure thing.  I can't recommend her highly enough - and it's safe to say that we will never go back to JC Penney again.  

Nan's prices are very reasonable, and she works out of a brand-new, beautiful studio in Chapel Hill (on Stancell Drive, parallel to Highway 54 - also very convenient for Durham dwellers).  Next time portrait time rolls around, give her a call and tell her Abigail sent you.

P.S.  Expecting mamas, her maternity portraits are stunning, too!

Nikki is a crappy photographer and slightly better writer who also blogs at A Small Song.

one year.

Written on the evening of Feb. 22, 2009.

Dear Abigail,

Tomorrow is your first birthday. 

Your birthday may be Feb. 23, but it's the entirety of the 22nd I spent in labor. This is the day and night we spent trying to bring you into the world, before you were finally born, an hour and four minutes into the new day. 

A year ago yesterday, I was 38 weeks pregnant, still two weeks from my due date but technically full term. Our new glider rocker had just been delivered, and your dad announced, “Okay, NOW the baby can come.” He brought home Chinese food for dinner that night. The little scrap of paper in my fortune cookie promised All your hard work is about to pay off. When I read those words, of course I had to laugh and joke, “I guess that means I’m going into labor soon.” 

Around one in the morning, I woke with my first tiny labor pain.

Exactly a day later, a few minutes after one on the morning of February 23 - I held you for the first time. 

Your birth was hard on both of us. But while you slept peacefully, I just couldn’t. All I wanted to do was look at you, so tiny and real and finally in my arms, in your cute little hat with the pink ribbon.

You are the first real, true blood relation I have ever had. I remember thinking how strange that was when I was pregnant with you - my whole entire biological family was self-contained within my own body. You kept me company in a way no one else ever had before, and because of you, I knew that I would never be alone again. I felt as if a torn thread that had been left hanging inside of me was finally, finally picked up and tied to something else, the first stitch in a new tapestry.

Just as I expected, you changed my heart forever; you moved in, you knocked down walls, added extra rooms, made yourself so at home I don’t remember the place without you. I may be the one raising you, but you have raised me up every single day of your life. Sometimes it’s hard for me to recall exactly how I felt the first time I held you - those moments are often hazy, impossible to recapture. But I’m flooded with feelings of wonder and joy every time you laugh, and so my days are filled with hints and small reminders of that first meeting, the first moment we shared a year ago tonight.

Looking at you now, it’s almost impossible to connect you with the tiny being who did jumping jacks on my bladder, who was born so small and helpless, who relied on us for everything in those exhausting early days. Now, a year later, you can walk, and sign, and chatter, and feed yourself, and dance, and say a few words, and climb the stairs, and chase the kitty, and sometimes catch her. You may not be my tiny baby anymore, but my love for you feels new every day. Your smile is right there waiting, all the time, and every time I see it, it still tugs at my heartstrings, makes me smile back. 

For years I tried to picture myself as a mother, to imagine what it would be like, in a laughable attempt to prepare myself, I suppose. But nothing I ever envisioned came close to the strange, difficult, beautiful adventure of this first year with you. You have taught me so much. You taught me how to be a mother, your mother, and I will always be grateful to you for that. 

I love you so much. I thank God for you every day, and I wish for you a blessed and happy life, a life as beautiful as you are. 

love always,
Mama

Nikki, who is working on believing that she actually has a toddler now, also gets her sap on at A Small Song.

When the World Stops for a Day

If you've come here from the North, you might say that the Triangle doesn't get much snow. If you've come here from the Deep South, then you have seen the biggest snows of your life here. No matter where you were before you lived in North Carolina, one thing is always amazing about the snow.

It stops everything. School, work, errands, meetings, whatever, are all put on hold while we gather our bread, batteries, and milk and snuggle in to watch the snow fall. Then, we all bundle up the family in snow gear likely only used once or twice, and we go outside to play.

Snow days are my favorite days.

From Triangle Mamas to you, Happy Snow Day!

Marty and her family
 

Abby and her family:

Nikki and her family:

An original Triangle Mamas post.

Looking for a pet sitter, Triangle dwellers?

I owe a huge shout-out to Love'm and Leave'm Pet Sitting, for saving my butt (well, technically, our cat Eliza's butt, I suppose) when my husband and I found out we had to leave town suddenly on Christmas, of all days.  Dan's grandmother Lucy passed away two days before Christmas, and we spent about twenty-four uncertain hours trying to figure out exactly when and how we would get to Massachusetts for her funeral.  It was such a sad, stressful time, I almost forgot about Eliza, and then when I remembered I was sure that it was too late to find a pet sitter for the holidays.

Fortunately, on Christmas Eve I got ahold of our stalwart pet sitters at Love'm and Leave'm, who said of course, last-minute pet sitting at Christmastime, that's no problem.  Not only did they find a sitter for me despite a skeleton holiday staff and short (one-day!) notice, they patiently put up with my four emails and three panicked phone calls when we had to change our flight plans, then change them again.  Each time I had to apologize profusely and ask them to revise our pet sitting schedule, they assured me it was easy to do and they were happy to help.

Thanks to their flexibility, patience, and compassion we were able to take off on Christmas morning to go and see Dan's family without worrying about Eliza, who we knew would be well-cared for in our absence.  If you're ever in the market for a caring, reliable pet sitter, give Love'm and Leave'm a call!

Nikki is a mother and calico cat owner who also blogs at A Small Song.

North Carolina's family beach

I know a beach is the right sort when I walk along the sand and feel that particular sense of peace flooding through my heart. At the same time, the right sort of beach is stimulating to the senses; it sharpens your ears and your eyes and your taste buds. You may feel small next to the sea, a speck on a great shoreline, but you also feel more alive.

I grew up spending half my summers on the Oregon coast with my grandparents, which means that I have my own set of standards when it comes to beach vacations. Since moving to the east coast, I’ve visited beaches in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina. I’ve liked some. I’ve hated some. I’ve felt at home on only one so far.

And Triangle-dwellers, it’s only a few hours away.

Holden Beach is a small island off the North Carolina coast, a short way past Wilmington. It calls itself “the family beach.” I’ve never been there in the hot and humid height of tourist season, but it’s been relatively quiet and charming during the times I have gone, spring and fall. My husband’s aunt and uncle and their relatives have a small, delightfully kitschy beach house on the island, and we’ve used the place a number of times, thanks to their generosity. There are numerous other houses there to rent or buy, right on the beach or within a few minutes’ walk.

The small coastal town bustle is somewhat removed from the beach, separated from the oceanside neighborhoods by a bridge that looks, when you drive up it, as though it might just disappear or drop into the sea (it doesn’t). Once you cross the bridge, you’re in what feels like a quaint little village, a peaceful communion of houses and sand and water and your friendly fellow vacationers, with a few tiny local establishments peppered across the island for convenience.

It’s not a fancy place. There’s no boardwalk with blaring music and a ferris wheel and trash cans every five feet. But if you are something of a beach minimalist - dare I say purist - like I am, then it’s got everything you need. A pretty, peaceful shore runs the full length of Holden Beach, facing the sparkling Atlantic. It’s just you and your family and the ocean, the way it’s supposed to be.

An original Triangle Mamas post. Nikki is a beachwalker and blogger who also writes at A Small Song.

In a hurry to grow up?

I’ve said before that I don’t think of Abigail as a “difficult” or “high need” baby. First of all, it is absolutely not helpful for me to think of her that way; but secondly, it’s also not exactly accurate. She is a sweet, fun girl who sleeps well and eats great and has always been very alert and chubby and healthy and fit. It’s just that, well, sometimes things upset her. And she is extremely particular.

From the very early weeks with her, I noticed how strong her preferences seemed to be - she liked to be held but was rarely an awake-cuddler; very early on she made it clear that she preferred to sleep by herself, in her own bassinet or crib. Even though her strong preference for one-on-one time with me meant that we essentially did attachment parenting her first few months of life, it was attachment parenting without my hands free, because she never wanted to be in the sling unless she was fast asleep. Awake, she wanted to be able to push away to arm’s length and stare up at me, or whip her body around and gaze outward; she never stayed in one position, looking at one thing, for very long.

Yesterday our friend Millie said that Abby seems to be "a baby who doesn’t want to be a baby." Much as it pains me to admit it, I think she’s right. Abigail does seem to be in some unholy hurry to grow up - at least, there does not seem to be much she thinks she cannot do for herself. Earlier today I had been holding her up at my shoulder level so she could look at herself in the mirror, and when I put her on the floor again with her toys she started to cry and pushed herself up as far as she could, staring up at the high mirror that she couldn’t see into anymore. I tried to distract her with toys, books, a song, but she just kept making “ah, ah” sounds and reaching for the mirror. She spent several minutes pushing herself up, losing her strength, and pushing up again, gazing at the mirror several feet above her, even though it was a hopeless cause and she’d never be able to reach it.

Some of my friends who have multiple children say their oldest daughters are a lot like Abigail. Maybe that does have something to do with it; I suspect it’s just the way some kids are. My friends with Abby-like kids empathize with me about having a baby who is not such a cuddler anymore, and predict that she may not ever be clingy physically, but will probably always love and crave one-on-one time with me - to read, sing, and especially talk. I remember that’s what I always wanted from my mother, right up until I left for college - to ask her questions and tell her what I was thinking and just know that she was listening and she cared. It was how I felt close to both my parents.

But it’s too soon, of course, to know whether Abby will end up being more of a snuggler once she’s gotten over the thrill of being mobile and, now, upright. It is strange to me that she can seem so independent at times, and yet never want me to leave the room and her sight. She still likes to know that I am close by; she looks up often to make sure I am there, and watching, especially when she is about to do something impressive.

I am constantly amazed by her these days, particularly when I think that just a few months ago she was just learning to sit up without wobbling. Now she crawls and pulls up and cruises and kneels and sits by herself and (sometimes) catches herself before she falls. Every day there is something new to see. I am so proud of her.

I do wish she would stop unfastening her diaper just because she can, however.

This post originally appeared at Nikki's personal blog, A Small Song, where she chronicles her life as mama to a picky little princess.