From the category archives:

The Bella

Clichés Abound…

by Maria on August 27, 2009

I love you more than life itself. So much that it aches. You are my heart, you are the most beautiful, pure soul I’ve ever encountered. I am already proud of the person that you are, I can only imagine how proud of the person you will become I’ll be.

This is the end of an era now – you are truly a big girl. Although you sleep in your toddler bed right now, sprawled out in your underwear, Bolt beside you and Dora patterned all over everything around you, tomorrow you will strap up those mary janes and slip on that Ninja Turtles backpack and strut down the hallway to the first of many, many classrooms you will enter. You will start the next chapter in your life, you will begin the journey from my baby to my little girl. Kindergartner.

You will wake up extra early to the alarm tone we picked out together and your father will be here and he and I and your baby sister will all walk you to your Kindergarten class. It’s the least we can do – that as a family. You deserve to have us all there, cheering you on and encouraging you, being proud of and happy for you. Letting you know that we love you and will miss you and no matter what we will come together to be there for you when you absolutely need us.

You’ve never really been to school before but you aren’t the slightest bit nervous. I know you’ll be the apple of your teacher’s eye – you thrive so much on praise. I have steered clear of those teachers that I had when I was in Kindergarten at your school. for good reason, cutting down the hall so that Mrs. Crutchfield wouldn’t see me holding your hand at open house was completely for your benefit. Believe me, you don’t want them to know that I’m your mother. I want you to grow and learn clear and free of the stigma that would come from being the spawn of the devil child that was me.

I know you: you are one of the most manipulative people in existence. Oh my, can you work your magic to get what you want on almost anyone. I unknowingly taught you quite well in that regard. I wonder how much you’ll get away with, or how much trouble you’ll get in for it. I worry about you, whether you’ll remain the polite child that I’ve assisted you in becoming, or whether the other little devils in your class will influence you more than I do.

I wonder about what words and habits you’ll bring home and I’ll have to ‘uh-uh’ out of you. I wonder whether you’ll come home with ‘needs improvement’ on your report cards or ‘outstandings’. I’m sure your grades will be fine but you may surprise me with your behavior since you have more mood swings that me PMSing. I worry about how angry you get when you fail or have to try harder than you feel you should and how you’ll learn to overcome that. You’ll have to – reading and all that jazz isn’t just going to come to you, you’re going to have to work at it.

Your sister will miss you so. I’ve listened to you two talk, to you assure her that no matter how many friends you make at school that no one can ever take her place and you will always need her like she needs you. I’ve seen you put your arm around her shoulders and kiss her head, telling her that you’ll always come home to her.

You’re such a great big sister. I can see why she will miss you. I completely and totally credit you for how well you two have always gotten along, for the fact that I have no sibling rivalry or competition or fight horror stories. She is a terror, I know. Your infinite patience and maturity is what’s kept your sisterly bond so strong, I’m aware. You are the reason that while you two have your spats and sometimes you both want to be left alone by the other – you are perfect for one another. I believe that you are soul mates, that as long as you have each other you really will never need another person in the world to make you feel complete.

The only thing that I want from you is this: maintain yourself. Be yourself. Yes, it’s alright to be influenced by others. People change people, human interaction is how we grow and develop and discover our strengths and weaknesses. But the person you are – the girl that I see, that innate personality that you came into this world with: don’t lose that. Continue to impress people with your solidarity, with your enthusiasm, with your intelligence, with your uniquely beautiful self. Don’t lose that eclectic sense of style, your passion for The Beatles and good food and nail polish, your beautifully graceful interpretative style of dancing, your drive to be the best and first, your tendency to laugh loud and deep when something tickles you, your voracious appetite for love and soul and experience. Actually, I don’t want that from you. I want that for you.

Don’t be a crybaby, but cry when you need to. Don’t pout and whine, it’s not just me that hates that. If you need to go to the bathroom tell your teacher immediately and if she doesn’t move fast enough tell her again. Tell her quite plainly that you will piss your pants if she doesn’t take you right then. But don’t say piss. Speak your mind but watch your attitude: I know I am your greatest influence but you can’t talk to people the way that mommy would talk to them – that isn’t very nice for anyone to do, let alone a little girl. Don’t be a bully and ease up on the bossiness: the children you’re dealing with now are your age, not Goobie’s – they aren’t going to like you telling them what to do all the time. If you have an issue with another child, tell your teacher. If you have an issue with an adult, tell me.

Tell me everything. Never stop. Don’t lie to me, don’t hide things from me. Every single day I want you to fill up my ears with your exploits and feelings and wishes and wants and even if I tell you hush or if I have a headache or if I’m busy you make sure you tell me everything that happened during your day at school that you want to because no matter what I say, I want to hear it. I want to always be your rock, your confidant, the person that you know will be there to catch you when you’ve been thrown into the air, over and over.

You give me bragging rights. You are so close to the perfect child that it feels unreal. I have done well, but I know that it’s not really me – it’s just you. I hope that you remain this way but if you don’t, at least retaining some small semblance of it will be enough for me. You are infinite.

Have a wonderful first day at school love, and I will be standing right there waiting for you as soon as that bell rings, holding your sister’s hand and smiling wide and bright.

—————-
Listening to: The Beatles – Come Together

{ 32 comments }

Look: I'm not Suzy Homemaker, people.

by Maria on August 15, 2009

in Mothering,The Bella

Bella got her first shipment of jeans in last night. They’re all sizes 7 & 8′s and since she’s always worn true to size and she’ll be 6 in December I figured that was perfect, should last her the 1st 1/2 of Kindergarten at least. I tried a pair on her and while they fit at the waist (what am I feeding this kid?!) they are way too long. The sevens not that bad but they have no room to grow at the waist and the eights are waayyy long with the normal amount of growing room, how they usually fit.

So, I wanted to know what to do because she couldn’t walk around like that.*

I tried to solicit advice on Twitter, and Betsey, Tara and MomBabe all tried to talk to me as if I knew how to operate a sewing machine, or even thread a needle, or had walked into a home goods store since the last time I went to visit Jason at work when he was over a Linens N’ Things.

What I was more looking for was like, should I return them and get her the plus versions of the jeans in smaller sizes (which doesn’t seem like a good thing to do, I don’t even know how plus jeans fit and it’d be my luck that she’d get taller and not gain weight and end up in high waters and there’s no fixing those), or should I take the jeans to a tailor and have them like…hemmed some sort of way that they can be released when she’s taller?

And, also, those are not all the same thank you very much which was what my mom said. As I explained here – my girls and I do not do frilly hems and butterflies and shit on our pockets. We like average, normal jeans that an adult would wear, only child sized and that’s why all of them are from Gap. Shirts and dresses and shoes are for crazy designs and frills not jeans! And as anyone with a pair of eyes can see, those jeans are all totally different! Different fits, washes, colors, etc.

Totally different. Here’s hoping her teacher has a pair of eyes and doesn’t think she’s wearing the same pants almost every day.

Alright, so what do I do?

*I would have shown you a photo of her wearing the jeans, but she’s sick and said “no pictures for the internet!”

{ 33 comments }

Not everyone will like you.

by Maria on July 31, 2009

in Mothering,The Bella

It started with the Yo Gabba Gabba! song “Be Nice to Everyone“.

“Is that true, mommy?” asked The Bella, “If you’re nice to everyone, they’ll be nice to you too?”

“No.” I answered succinctly.

“So they’re telling a story?”

“Not really, I mean you should always be nice to people but just because you are doesn’t mean some people won’t be assholes anyway.”

“Well, I will be nice.”

“Good. And those that aren’t nice back, fuck ‘em, it’s their problem.”

“Ok!”

***

The Bella starts Kindergarten in 3 weeks (OHMYGOD!) and for the first time really, she’ll come face to face with the fact that not everyone will like her or be nice to her all of the time. I’m dreading trying to help her keep a smile on her face throughout all these experiences and realizations. I don’t remember how my grandparents helped me deal with them, although I’ve never cared much about whether people like me or not.

I want to be liked, of course. No matter what anyone says, they do. Some people work harder for it than others, but it’s true. Even those that claim to want to be disliked revel in the few that back up their offensiveness and gall. Me? I don’t go out of my way to be liked or disliked but I personally think I’m super nice. People do like me, usually.

But, if someone doesn’t? I couldn’t give two shits. Really, is it really my problem? Nope.

I learned that from my marriage: Jason could piss me OFF and I could be angry and yelling all day long. But usually he went off to work and forgot all about it. I sat at home, stewing in my anger, rehearsing good lines to burn him with when he got home and the argument started back up. I would take notes. He’d come back, focused on something that’d happened during the day or in a good mood for whatever reason and be surprised to see I was still holding onto whatever had occurred that morning or the night before. And not at all interested in rehashing it.

It was so stupid, yes? Who’s day did I ruin by being so mad at him? MINE. Not his. Only mine. I was such a dumb ass.

That lesson was reiterated when we split for the final time – while I was still so mad, so hurt, so hateful over everything that had happened between us, it wasn’t affecting him whatsoever. I was making my own self miserable by focusing so much on our tedious past, while he was moving on with his life, not the least bit concerned with how much I loved him or hated him or why.

So I stopped. I learned that only I could control my mood and being livid with him didn’t affect him – it only brought me down.

I want to instill in Bella five main things about interacting with assholes:

1. Be nice to people, even if they aren’t nice back. If they are mean – ignore them until they give you reason not to. Basically – never start a fight, but always finish it.

2. If you’re angry at someone, handle it. If it doesn’t go the way you planned, oh well, get over it. Letting it fester won’t do anything but make you unhappy, and since that’s usually their goal, don’t give them that.

3. The old cliché, ‘misery loves company‘? It’s true. It’s resoundingly true. If someone spends a lot of time bashing, you can pretty much be sure that their life sucks. Their parents hate them or their spouse hates them or their brother hates them or they have no friends or something. I give you a guarantee that it’s accurate about 98% of the time.

4. Not everyone will like you. Everyone will have different reasons, some of them legit, some of them not. None of them matter. Focus on the people that love you, because they will always outnumber those who don’t and if it happens that more people hate you? You need to do some soul searching because you are the problem, not them.

5. The thing that bothers people that want to get to you more than you returning their anger and insults? Ignoring them. Laughing at them. Focusing on the good, rather than giving two shits about their bad. The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. Nothing will piss someone’s guts more than them ranting about/at you and you smirking/ignoring/walking away.

If it happens that the entire world ends up hating her though, for whatever reason, be it that she has a big mouth like her mom or a big head like her dad, I hope that The Bella knows that no matter what, she’ll always have a handful of folks that think she’s the best thing to ever hit Planet Earth.

—————- Listening to: Kings Of Leon – Charmer

{ 48 comments }

Eating my thoughts.

by Maria on July 16, 2009

in Mothering,The Bella

A few weeks ago at the park, the girls were playing on their favorite jungle gym when a host of other little children arrived and started to play too. Ari had been going down the slide, over and over, taking her time and enjoying herself immensely. As she made to sit down and position herself to go down the slide again, one of the new little children, a little girl around 4 or 5 ran up, leaned down and put on the ugliest face she could to intimidate Ari.

“Get out of the way.” she sneered.

Ari looked at her, got up and moved back. The little girl bounded down the slide and Ari watched her disappear into the tube before disappearing herself behind the clubhouse wall where I couldn’t see, but I noticed her bottom lip start to curl before she was completely out of view.

I stormed up the stairs, imagining I was knocking all of the little brats, even the well behaved and polite ones, over the railing as I went. She sat on a tiny bench, arms folded across her chest and head hung low, her dark hair hiding her face. I scooped her into my arms, this tiny little thing that still fits into all my motherly nooks after almost 4 years, and hugged her to my chest. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder, whimpering, and my heart hurt. It hurt especially because I thought she was so tough, that she’d never let another children run over her that way – I thought only her sister was that tender.

We stood under an old oak tree to the side of the sandbox and I leaned back to look at her.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“No.” she cried, her dark eyes swollen and red.

“Do you want to go to the other part, and swing?”

“Yes,” she answered, wiping her round cheeks off with her dirty little hands.

So we left, The Bella remaining at the jungle gym with her father. I pushed her on the swings for 15 minutes, her big smile returning and her eyes sparkling like they had been before.

She forgot all about the previous incident. But I didn’t.

My eyes stung and I wondered where the hell that little brat’s parent was. Who the hell let her think it was ok for her to pick on other children, to be so rude without any hesitation, to a child she barely knew?

I was angry, angry that children are so mean to one another, that it comes so naturally to some. I was angry that this little girl was rude to my child. And I contemplated searching out that mother, just to glare and watch and see if she even paid attention to how her kids behaved.

As I stewed inside, Ari and I went back over to the jungle gym where The Bella was playing alone. The other children had moved on to the seesaws. Ari reclaimed her slide and I stood with my arms folded, pissed off.

Shitty parents. Rude kids. Ugh.

Another group of children ran up, climbing the stairs and making their way to where The Bella and Ari were. Bella saw them coming and stretched out her arms, grasping either side of the walkway and blocking their entrance. She furrowed her brow at them and said “You can’t play up here. Go AWAY.”

My sweet, easy going, friendly, never harsh to anyone, Bella. Being the playground asshole. Being rude.

And making me eat all the thoughts I’d had over the past 1/2 hour about the little girl that had hurt my baby’s feelings, and her parents.

{ 26 comments }

"But baby, even your imperfections are perfect."

by Maria on June 22, 2009

in The Bella

I was doing The Bella’s hair today and asked her to hold a certain piece of it so that I could pin another into place. It was on the left side of her head. She tried to reach it with her right arm but couldn’t, so she used her right hand to lift her left arm by the elbow high enough to reach it. I watched as she tried to grab ahold of it a few times before finally working it between her fingers. Her shoulders and head began to lean to the left, as she was using her hair to support her arm in the air.

“Bella, you have to hold your head up straight or your hair won’t look right.” I said. She sighed heavily and positioned her right arm beneath her left elbow once again. Tiring of that quickly she looked at me in the mirror’s reflection and moaned, exasperatedly, “I can’t with this arm! This arm doesn’t work right, it’s not perfect!” She let go of her hair and lifted her arms in the air, the right one extended straight up and the left one bent, and no higher than her chin.

“See!” she exclaimed, “this one doesn’t work right, why do I have to use it?”

My tongue tripped over my words, caught off guard by her sudden proclamations of disability. “Well, you have to, so that it gets stronger and one day it’ll be perfect like the other one.”

I frowned at myself, a bad taste in my mouth. I’d lied to her. The physical therapists, the pediatricians, the neurologists, the others – they’ve all told us the same thing: at best she’ll have 80% use of her arm. It won’t ever get much better than it is right now, the therapy won’t do anything more than prevent it from regressing or becoming so stiff and tight she loses all use of it completely. My mind raced, wondering if I should admit my lie, knowing how against being dishonest with them I am, or if I should let it stand. Maybe it could encourage her to work harder when she starts therapy again in a few weeks. But, maybe she’d come to me in a few years and remind me of what I’d said, and how it wasn’t true. How she’d been trying and it didn’t work. How she felt like a failure because she couldn’t make it better.

“Well, it may never be as strong as your right arm, but we don’t want it to get worse, do we?” I backtracked. She looked down at her toes and then back up at my face in the mirror. She looked from side to side, at each arm, holding them up slightly and then back at me.

“Well, I want it to be perfect too.” she said quietly.

“But baby, even your imperfections are perfect. You’re beautiful and you know it, so don’t worry about it.” I answered. She smiled her silly little chipmunk smile and crinkled her nose at me, flattered. Her right hand once again took it’s place under her left elbow, pushing and holding it up. She grabbed that piece of hair. I fought back the tears burning my eyes and imitated her smile, making her laugh and ending the conversation.

3648503604 0816f5d462 b "But baby, even your imperfections are perfect."