tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197666667244442912024-03-14T07:30:11.629-04:00Project Little SmithMama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.comBlogger609125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-49200584052395312672022-01-06T13:17:00.002-05:002022-01-06T16:44:52.273-05:002022<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghCR_pMdlfGyIGOYKI4y3_XkQ75IOyC-x6XXD58xrhy9Z2WWirTSQU_xIXW90jFvisKCbUROZwgJ-N_QQf6SSbtnt61hq3qN5gXz9zG9FYULhHRB9XEE2p1g9V8qS5Ae6DOh_F7208THPQI66vHG3fiKiKydFPWNak4G_Txn64Zmjpxebq0YobPYs=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghCR_pMdlfGyIGOYKI4y3_XkQ75IOyC-x6XXD58xrhy9Z2WWirTSQU_xIXW90jFvisKCbUROZwgJ-N_QQf6SSbtnt61hq3qN5gXz9zG9FYULhHRB9XEE2p1g9V8qS5Ae6DOh_F7208THPQI66vHG3fiKiKydFPWNak4G_Txn64Zmjpxebq0YobPYs=s16000" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>me closing out 2021... now boasting expert status on at-home haircuts and dressing up with nowhere to go... ready for whatever 2022 has in store </i></span><span style="color: #33475b; font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">¯\_(ツ)_/¯ </span></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; text-align: start;">I don’t use this blog space anymore, yet I also choose not to wipe it out. It’s a strange thing to look back on these years of early motherhood, which were blissful years for me in so many ways… while also now having the clarity and safety to recognize that I was living in so much fear and in such violence. I was trying so hard to fix it all and make this ‘perfect family’… treading water in brutal violence that stretched from before babies, through each pregnancy, with babies in my arms… and later with our kids watching. A decade and a half covered in bruises that were so commonplace I was accustomed to casually editing them out of photos without even letting myself process what they meant, for me or our kids. I look back at all those unedited pictures… so many over the years… a young mom… holding her baby… is it still a beautiful birthday celebration if you see all those bruises? Do the good memories hold up when that beauty is inextricably tangled in knots with violence and fear? It was beautiful. I made a beautiful and happy life, all of that was real and true. It is also real and true that there was much more to our story that was very dangerous and scary and deceptive and unhappy.</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I have so much guilt about staying in violence for so long and much to say about how I wound up stuck in that place... and the role of stay-at-home parents in general. We are devalued, even by the laws, which plays deeply into keeping many women and children in abusive homes… including the ones you may least suspect. I started this blog contemplating the transition to being an at-home mom over a decade ago. I would not change any of my life’s choices, but tethering my security to a violent and deceptive man and working tirelessly to build a career that was not my own left me and our children very trapped… a lesson I now humbly realize many women learned generations before me. I am in awe of mothers who work outside the home… I am amazed and impressed by the sacrifices made and the examples they are setting for their children. I am also extremely proud of my decade plus of work as an at-home parent and the examples I have set. It’s a hard and complex job that deserves compensation and security from the partner whose professional career benefits, and I hope to work in some capacity to advocate for those laws to change, and the laws around women and children who are the victims of domestic abuse to change as well.</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: justify;">These kids and I are incredibly lucky to have an amazing family and support system that has helped us in so many ways. My heart breaks for women and children who are walking these steps without that same support, many of whom I’ve met in real life and online. I have much more to share about my own story and will find the right place to do it…</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: justify;">There are many fears that remain. The future is always uncertain and the system is poor, but I feel very hopeful about the years ahead and have learned so much from the years behind me. Knowing that I have been completely and totally honest and have nothing to hide and will never allow myself or these kids to live in violence again is a freedom greater than any money or security. I am so proud of these kids, and proud of myself… I have done my best by them, even when it was hard. I have sought advice from trusted friends and family as well as their teachers and counselors and therapists every step of the way. They are each thriving and I couldn’t be more grateful. I am happy to be a survivor of domestic violence and no longer a victim, and excited for the next chapter.</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: justify;">What a privilege it has been to share another year of safety with these three amazing people. I take such joy in being their mother… we have so much fun together, and I think that is what they’ll remember most about 2021.</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Sending each of you love and strength for a healthy and happy new year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">XOX</div></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuOduwRkzeiukVbk_2kCx_HplXVopQVtQtSvXiVwqUKocbW6Zo4sOvuYiN2-5ZwToXnrfK0EgU0dA7FchtBkCCcSqoBOGm5OKse6Fo2grtA9FC9dWoK12a0yyB6Hxjt-fnvTv2lJ_B1q8qwX0Yzu1bNFfVwvxKV4C1aT0Xt2SfYWJ2SBMaConF6V0=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuOduwRkzeiukVbk_2kCx_HplXVopQVtQtSvXiVwqUKocbW6Zo4sOvuYiN2-5ZwToXnrfK0EgU0dA7FchtBkCCcSqoBOGm5OKse6Fo2grtA9FC9dWoK12a0yyB6Hxjt-fnvTv2lJ_B1q8qwX0Yzu1bNFfVwvxKV4C1aT0Xt2SfYWJ2SBMaConF6V0=s16000" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdBU8RG26KmcsRRFwpGqy5Zkur-nW0jkzFVr6F1xzTPzTrDnHHX0BukdCqC_aCXL6ED4fI9acqq1H7Jkn1x0eKDcLLFURQKVJShucBrEC7jD2r4i0je6nq7O_tTzsQwIqc_Br82R_jy7PTkR_ykF2kMuV4ue67W6mqAR84TN_6gEIEBgDw9I8yp6s=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdBU8RG26KmcsRRFwpGqy5Zkur-nW0jkzFVr6F1xzTPzTrDnHHX0BukdCqC_aCXL6ED4fI9acqq1H7Jkn1x0eKDcLLFURQKVJShucBrEC7jD2r4i0je6nq7O_tTzsQwIqc_Br82R_jy7PTkR_ykF2kMuV4ue67W6mqAR84TN_6gEIEBgDw9I8yp6s=s16000" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiz4ufJzHfFJIFg7yKiVvxNdxndysK5VoXmVR4VbTiqPxO74Kw4WmqP_UlfCGJps6HLLi1ZsCL2NUUWtKsFJxPWm1gozXes09qjlfNJI89ae8n6gYbW8M_b_lssQC6tjQFaI0zdmtD77epUVqa0S1OyGuPn1-l0tNVuU5oA8Wo0FX_88kYchdY-WOY=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiz4ufJzHfFJIFg7yKiVvxNdxndysK5VoXmVR4VbTiqPxO74Kw4WmqP_UlfCGJps6HLLi1ZsCL2NUUWtKsFJxPWm1gozXes09qjlfNJI89ae8n6gYbW8M_b_lssQC6tjQFaI0zdmtD77epUVqa0S1OyGuPn1-l0tNVuU5oA8Wo0FX_88kYchdY-WOY=s16000" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIh-KEdVxQkmLV5DIQl-jHXhjPpexdAeimt3KfpAIdHr1lszEMqp-2HnzavqEBDzNMqtdsi32lZonglFmlDYeDTiJf035eFEMokKEeLJ70nfbxmLGx5GBXft7XpFshMpPubF6D4AtpOoqUJq0Z3naBv57swS8EoNtP_eAs6FBiLpjZbN9ESb27iDc=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIh-KEdVxQkmLV5DIQl-jHXhjPpexdAeimt3KfpAIdHr1lszEMqp-2HnzavqEBDzNMqtdsi32lZonglFmlDYeDTiJf035eFEMokKEeLJ70nfbxmLGx5GBXft7XpFshMpPubF6D4AtpOoqUJq0Z3naBv57swS8EoNtP_eAs6FBiLpjZbN9ESb27iDc=s16000" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzN8OlGjxu9TrVMOldlRx1QryFuoMiQPeuFTv4hAE0xYx1yLCE297TzjxNKgCFUBvVB5FxuwdoOccHNdfHMWR2EOr29XsRItYGgqhWw97SQ8yiH2GTqCBH8qFhXi1ysBfz6XweM8TUug0kGEx_YyT5rX_K-U2npW_-ePCR0Lr7ddcQtm6bwM-cOUI=s960" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzN8OlGjxu9TrVMOldlRx1QryFuoMiQPeuFTv4hAE0xYx1yLCE297TzjxNKgCFUBvVB5FxuwdoOccHNdfHMWR2EOr29XsRItYGgqhWw97SQ8yiH2GTqCBH8qFhXi1ysBfz6XweM8TUug0kGEx_YyT5rX_K-U2npW_-ePCR0Lr7ddcQtm6bwM-cOUI=s16000" /></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKXS_TTD59edFXwFqW0UBqEPrANMXYOJaLa8BTdRnEYT-NUInLnLnNUilXSD0KfLaBaqJLJxquaiFcZCW0AxCjYUfkhTU7AOX5DWRlxe1SENuPuRlOwtkWL0kEVUPKU4RSkBcSX_FFyXig3f7g_-YzPBa_fc6TFs0TUcQ3UxSEkbP849KOFRmmFZk=s720" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKXS_TTD59edFXwFqW0UBqEPrANMXYOJaLa8BTdRnEYT-NUInLnLnNUilXSD0KfLaBaqJLJxquaiFcZCW0AxCjYUfkhTU7AOX5DWRlxe1SENuPuRlOwtkWL0kEVUPKU4RSkBcSX_FFyXig3f7g_-YzPBa_fc6TFs0TUcQ3UxSEkbP849KOFRmmFZk=s16000" /></a></div><br />Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-84674710465983588662021-01-16T16:13:00.001-05:002021-01-16T16:22:58.145-05:002021<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhkY463R8n5oNKoF2m-1ep2D_Ak9TqWH-3FPw482Lw4ubs-zoobglX7V9Lm6EZuEAnqyebuOfL8E8H46G7WwIh_W6oinunn1NRf34tdjnQyA1xgOlXelpaIOFtfg3T8iBP4l7d63Cfg/s960/2021_w.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhkY463R8n5oNKoF2m-1ep2D_Ak9TqWH-3FPw482Lw4ubs-zoobglX7V9Lm6EZuEAnqyebuOfL8E8H46G7WwIh_W6oinunn1NRf34tdjnQyA1xgOlXelpaIOFtfg3T8iBP4l7d63Cfg/s16000/2021_w.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>the last daylight of 2020</i></div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In many ways, this historic year wasn't all that different for me. I was home taking care of my three kids. We leaned on a very small and trusted group of close friends and family (could not have done it alone!). My life was in limbo, which was stressful and scary... as it has been for a while now... but suddenly most of the world was in limbo too. There were added challenges- juggling remote schooling and missing family and friends and babysitters and just missing going out to eat or going to a movie. Overall, this year was another reminder to practice gratitude; we are healthy, we are together, and 2020 was another full year of safety for us- which is all we really need. Sending love to all who have weathered this year with more and less challenges. Happy to quietly welcome the new and to take it day by day.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-81984325047824000172020-01-02T22:36:00.000-05:002020-04-24T13:43:29.067-04:002020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7H-IFayWlUnnR2mx8zbddvUgSJ9f2uTpBBPHnuF2tSYKzDI4Ty03Avb6ir9uCHPUDDTbbUZhiNc6JBp4o6ZR0VjmjeoZ5kaEnjsyu_C4F5bSTBv39R_tTnW3SPNN0V85OU6scRUuJw/s1600/getaway_01_w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7H-IFayWlUnnR2mx8zbddvUgSJ9f2uTpBBPHnuF2tSYKzDI4Ty03Avb6ir9uCHPUDDTbbUZhiNc6JBp4o6ZR0VjmjeoZ5kaEnjsyu_C4F5bSTBv39R_tTnW3SPNN0V85OU6scRUuJw/s1600/getaway_01_w.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>New Hampshire, April 1 2019</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>2019 was a challenging year, but also a really great one. We started off in a dark, stuck place... and I really pin the turning point to this April 1st 'getaway' in the woods... Just me and my munchkins, music, campfire, safe and cozy... and we all came back stronger and clearer.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is so much that I want to write, so much to say... but for now what I will say is this: I read back the <a href="https://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2019/04/best-laid-plans.html" target="_blank">last post</a> that I wrote, 8 months ago... and while it is all absolutely true, the 'so much left out' was very specifically leaving out the abuse we were enduring, the abuse we had been enduring for a very long time. I wrote that post when I had not yet secured my own safety, or my children's safety. In fact I wrote it days before I would go to the police and do exactly that, and when I read back my words, I can see myself gathering the courage, finding the strength.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I stand behind most of what I wrote, the one part that makes me cringe is where I lay out a determination to 'make' someone else a parent. I no longer believe it is possible to make anyone else an improved version of themselves, no matter how fierce the effort. I no longer believe that if I do everything just right, if I say the right thing or I wear the right dress or I just find the right words or I get the right help that I can somehow <i>will</i> another person to be decent or safe or honest or stable. And I certainly don't believe that's possible when you are dealing with an abusive man, which is a very specific and dangerous challenge. All I can do is leave space for that transformation, leave hope... but it is neither my responsibility, nor within my power to make those changes in another person. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wish I could say that I have total confidence that 2020 will only bring more of the safety and joy that has allowed these kids and I to flourish for the last eight months, but the reality is that the laws are not adequate, and I just don't know. What I do know is that I will now set my determination towards ensuring our safety, towards staying honest, staying strong, staying open, and staying together. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">* I felt pulled to make this clarification because I know how many women are struggling in the silent torture of domestic abuse, and while I can't say as much as I'd like to... I do feel it's vital to say <i>something</i>, to have the conversation, and to stop treating domestic violence as though it's 'dirty laundry' and something shameful. </span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-73166639478701476152019-04-23T21:47:00.000-04:002020-04-24T13:43:44.896-04:00Best Laid Plans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNm3rav-F1oruMIQv7n6yw_j-dghEHZOcuZLPin4Iu6rYg-R-PPojGSC9sk700CtefH825Caij0uf9RKXMcEf2NgtrNlKZnL3rcf1YwLvlQF-yLsNXi1TLgRw0xjRbzewWzojkbzniXg/s1600/bestlaidplans_w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNm3rav-F1oruMIQv7n6yw_j-dghEHZOcuZLPin4Iu6rYg-R-PPojGSC9sk700CtefH825Caij0uf9RKXMcEf2NgtrNlKZnL3rcf1YwLvlQF-yLsNXi1TLgRw0xjRbzewWzojkbzniXg/s1600/bestlaidplans_w.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>at my mama's barn / July 18, 2018</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For those of you who have asked, directly, indirectly... for those of you who have quietly noticed but not asked... and for those of you who just like my cute kids and fun house and have no idea what I’m talking about... I have finally decided to write a little something about the million dollar question. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Um. What happened to your husband?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The most basic explanation... is that one year ago, two weeks before Lo would finally get a clean bill of health... my husband just disappeared. Not literally, but effectively. Suddenly. He stopped calling and texting during his long work days. He stopped picking up when the kids and I would text and call him. He stopped racing home to tuck the kids in for bed time. He would come home for me... late at night... without explanation... with apologies and promises... but he wouldn’t talk to me. Hang out with me. Do normal family stuff with all of us. Do normal dad stuff with the kids. Do normal couple stuff with me. Not really. He was never here, and when he was here... he wasn’t. Seemingly overnight, 15 years of friendship and love and family and partnership and trust just... slipped away.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The year was filled with hundreds of chapters and shifts and changes and ups and downs and moments of deep closeness and more moments of mystifying distance... to say my heart was broken doesn’t begin to describe it- I was in total shock, complete agony, upside down. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At first... I was beside myself. In a fog. Food tasted like wax. Surviving on chocolate chips and IPA’s and ten hour marathon phone calls with my mom in my ear buds just keeping me sane and helping me hold it together for our three little kids, who were also grieving the sudden loss of their dad. I was still nursing Lo and my milk dried up... after 8 years of consecutive breastfeeding and pregnancy... that whole chapter closed, and I barely noticed. I lost the baby weight that I’d been struggling with for years, and I barely noticed. My hair fell out, and I barely noticed.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I sifted back through all the things I could have done better, the intense stress we’d been under for a year and a half when Lo was diagnosed with a serious and life threatening lung condition midway through that pregnancy. The differences in how we handled that stress... the resentments and misunderstandings that became part of our routine... and then her major surgery to remove a lobe of her lung that would follow. And her inexplicably poor recovery... that health scare remains the single biggest trauma of my life. It was totally out of my hands. There was nothing I could do but hold my breath and pray and stay informed....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This marriage, friendship, partnership, family trauma was different though. This, I could tackle. I’m a problem solver, and so I rolled up my sleeves and I tried. I tried like hell. I tried to fix anything I’d done ‘wrong’. I tried to be open and vulnerable and honest. I tried to get him to go to counseling. I tried to get him to show up for the kids... if not for me... but it was always the other way around...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eventually, I got stronger. My mama told me to focus on myself. Something I had struggled with since becoming a mother. In truth, something I had struggled with my whole life. Now, I had no choice... I was nearly disappearing. My whole identity and family was just upside down and suddenly I found myself with no partner to help me with three kids, no real friends close by whom I felt comfortable asking for help, no babysitter (literally had never had one), and no family nearby. I was drowning. So I searched and found a babysitter and set up a routine for one day and one night a week. And my husband hated that I gained that independence. And the kids hated it too, and I felt like a monster... they were already going through so much. But I just had to, for survival.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I found myself in a kayak on the Charles river on a sunny summer day. I found myself alone in a matinee on a random Tuesday. I found myself rock climbing and being really good at it. I found myself reconnecting with old friends and having conversations with strangers and making new friends. I found myself out and laughing and happy on a Friday night. I found myself to be a smart, funny, pretty, kind, nurturing person, that was more than a mother or a wife... and deserved more than I’d ever allowed myself to demand. I found myself.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I ate big meals and grew big muscles. I stopped sleeping in full makeup and flirty nightgowns, I stopped wrapping up a plate of leftovers... I stopped letting him slip into bed late at night. Eventually, I shut down my side of the communication, just as he had done so many months before. So suddenly.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I focused on myself, but also on the kids. We became a team in a way that I believe is only possible when you’re working through a big crisis together. We ate all our meals out, because the cooking and cleaning, on top of the endless laundry and general juggling, was just too much. Because I was having my first ever rift with the domestic. Because being the only adult at every meal with three kids feels insanely isolating. Because we liked the company... liked being ‘regulars’ at all our favorite restaurants and coffee shops and diners. One woman and three wild kids... people were so kind. People are so kind. It’s an adventure. And the kids feel that, and they also know that they are safe, and it might be a wild world... but as long as we have each other, we will always pull it off.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a single mother. Suddenly. I discovered I was stronger and more independent than I had ever known... taking three little kids camping for a week. Pitching two tents and lugging food and gear up and down a hillside a dozen times a day, doing most of it with a crazy toddler tucked under one arm. Alone. Me and my kids. Having my fair share of ‘holy shit... I’m scared... why did I do this?’ moments... but mostly just having so much fun. And that’s really how the year was. Scary. Exciting. Worse and better, uglier and more beautiful than any year prior.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I discovered my kids are stronger and more brilliant and just plain amazing than I ever knew. They saw and heard things that I never would have imagined in my worst nightmares... a crazy irony for the girl that literally dreamed of this perfect and stable family for her tribe of kids since she was one herself. And while we all want nothing but the best for our children... they grew and learned and thrived in ways that I just don’t think would have come to pass without this chapter. We are all better and stronger and more interesting people for having walked this path... I wonder, would I change it if I could?... And I just don’t know. I love the shit out of myself, and my three kids, just the way we are. I’m so proud of us. Maybe this had to be?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the end, as we got stronger...it became more clear just how lost he really was. His false confidence waned. He got weaker. Which I don’t relish... I have so much love for him, love for the endless memories and passion and friendship we shared, love for the family that we built together, gratitude that even in all of this... he did steadily keep those lights on (a security, at least so far, that I don’t take for granted). I have endless empathy for the man that I thought I knew as well as my own self, but have come to understand as a very undeveloped human being. As his control faded, he wanted more of us... but we all wanted less of him and the chaos and constant ups and downs. By the time he realized that he really wanted us all back, and how beautiful the life truly was that he’d lost... it was just lost. He didn’t fit. Not in the same way. Everything had changed.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So now... my focus is on finding a healthy path back to coparenting. On counseling. On building a bridge to mutual respect and stability and trust for our kids.... and I suspect he is just now facing the heartbreak that has begun to scab over for the rest of us. Just now trying to turn back the year and somehow bring back a life that I no longer believe is possible. I honestly don’t know. There is so much love... but also so much damage. We’ll see what the future holds. One thing is certain, we will always be a family in some way as we parent these amazing kids together. I’m determined to come to a better, clearer, and more stable place on that this year. I’m determined for them to have a real father.... and I know we can make that happen.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There you have it. So much left out, but deliberately not as vague as I had considered. Because... the kids really always do know it all anyway, for better and for worse. Because, I believe remaining vague and side stepping the basic facts of what we were going through kept me and these kids in a very unhealthy place longer than was necessary. And because this community has been important to me. The support, the inspiration, the outlet... there’s so much debate about social media and kids and why we do it and if we should do it... but I love you guys. You’ve all helped me in more ways than I can explain.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I treasure my wonderful real life friends- who have given me so much support, my phenomenal family, and of course... my mom. She literally saved my life. The hundreds of hours of talks and tears and tough love. I am so lucky...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I also do cherish this strange world where you can spill your guts in a way that you just can’t always do with a pal over coffee. Distant, but intimate. Say what you will... I love the blogging, instagramming, mama-ing world. And I thank you guys... for posting pictures of your kids that I’ve watched grow, your house renovations and hair cuts and your art and job opportunities and recipes for laundry detergent. I thank you for the honesty in the tough times, and for making it all look so good and distracting me in the tougher times... I thank you for following along with me here and caring. So thank you.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>*as a follow up, please read the<a href="https://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2020/01/2020.html" target="_blank"> post </a>after this one, particularly if you are the victim of domestic abuse</i></span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-59550170043443066622018-03-07T23:35:00.001-05:002018-03-07T23:35:08.065-05:00Christmas Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>December 24, 2017</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know I just haven't posted enough pictures of my kids loafing around in pajamas... so you're in for a treat ;) The truth is that when I look back on all our photos, both on Instagram and for this space, I do lament that it appears that we spend the vast majority of our time alone and at home. That is a very small snapshot of our life, which is filled with outings and school and friends and extended family... BUT, it happens to be a pretty accurate depiction of the first half of our winter this year. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were in a weird limbo with Lola's health, (a limbo that we haven't entirely exited and I'm hesitant to write about until we are on solid ground, but things are looking better now than they did in December), we all traded coughs and colds for the entire Christmas break, we didn't visit family or do much of anything... for weeks. It was actually kind of a beautiful and peaceful time, and while we've been back to a more normal routine for over a month, I think I will always fondly remember this winter as a housebound one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christmas time with young kids is nothing short of magic. Yes of course there are the stresses and the debates over how much 'stuff' we should be giving them and are we instilling the proper values, not to mention the crisis over where we're going to put all that stuff anyway. We did try to get into the holiday spirit and not center everything around gifts; drying oranges, making gingerbread houses, lots and lots of art projects. Maybe it's because I'm writing about Christmas in March, but most of what I remember is that this year we did go overboard in the gift department, we even got some plastic stuff that I would never have signed off on in the past, and the kids went absolutely bonkers and were all thrilled beyond belief. It was really just so much fun to watch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember that we all came down the stairs together to see if Santa had visited, and when they saw the loot under the tree in that predawn light, they just gasped and shrieked. Smith thoughtfully worked through each of his packages with care, taking most of the day to actually get through them all, Roo tore into everything with her name on it as fast as she could and then wondered why she was the only one with nothing left to open, and Lo was just absolutely thrilled and fascinated by the entire spectacle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We watched movies, listened to music and audio books, ate lots of clementines and cookies, played with new toys, made many fires, played board games, cooked many meals, and never got out of our pajamas... for weeks. James actually was out of his pajamas before 9am every morning and always the first to volunteer for errands. He also ventured into work most days... the rest of us are built for a good house-arrest, but he goes stir crazy after about a day and a half. We had to bribe him to be lazy with us by offering jurisdiction over the movie selection and a good supply of beer :) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I write this we are getting hit with another snow storm, and I'll confess that at this point I'm eager for spring and ready to move on from hot cocoa, wool socks, and fires. Still, those slow winter months were absolutely restorative for us, a much needed pause in a stressful year. Fingers crossed for a snow day tomorrow and a little more chill time at home to wrap up this season.</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-80191401435736010662018-03-05T00:49:00.000-05:002018-03-07T23:36:37.654-05:00SEVEN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>November 25, 2017</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>True it is March and we are all eagerly searching for signs of spring, but I documented three events that I have yet to share, and each of them are days I don't want to forget; Smith's birthday, Christmas, and Lo's birthday... so buckle up because I am determined to beat those spring flowers and push all three of them out this week.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now that he is in first grade and the school birthday parties have become so commonplace, we thought Smith might just break down and want to have an actual party. Nope! He stayed true to form and we ended up having my favorite celebration for him yet, just a simple day out as a family, filled with all his favorite things: the traditional balloons, pop's pancakes, listening to the Beatles, cracking open geodes in the yard with his sister, checking out the Museum of Natural History, walking through Harvard square and collecting fall treasures, poking around the toy store and book store, dinner out, and cupcakes before bed. Your basic best-day-ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This has been such a big year for our family for a million reasons, but Smith has had a big year in his own right. I say some version of this every birthday and maybe it will keep being true as he grows and matures; he is still shy and cautious, but he also has a new found confidence and can tackle so many things independently that I never imagined he would. He asked to go to camp last summer, he asked to take guitar lessons this fall... for a kid who never wanted anything to do with classes or activities away from his family, it's fun to see him follow his interests and take some more risks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He's a complex, sensitive, soulful child... he struggled when we prepared for his baby's sister's surgery and throughout her recovery, I could see that constant worry weigh on him. He's such a dedicated brother and <i>must</i> hug and kiss each of his sisters before he heads into school each morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At seven, Smith loves nature and science and math, The Beatles and Vampire Weekend, Sourdough bread, Pokemon cards, riding his scooter (never a bike!) and skiing, climbing every door jamb, styling his hair in the mirror, wearing pajamas all day, Piggie and Elephant books, and Foxy (his beloved stuffed fox).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He can't stand wasting food (we promise to start composting buddy!), says he'll never want a room of his own, and is still afraid to be the first to go upstairs at night or downstairs in the morning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He collects things wherever he goes, his coat pockets are filled with other people's old candy wrappers, nails, ribbons, acorns, money... I'll ask him why he's holding onto a bent old juice box straw and he'll insist it's a treasure. Most mornings he resists going to school ('it's boring!'), but most afternoons he reports school was 'good' and always wants to stay at the playground with friends for a while before heading home. He can read fairly well, but is easily frustrated and resists practicing. He much prefers working on math problems, or better yet listening to music or watching a movie or going outside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He is truly just a sweet and kind boy. It's amazing how much of his personality and temperament have been with him right from the start. He is good to his core, and we all feel so lucky to share our days with him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We love you buggy and are so proud of you and all you've become in these seven years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BNO32cwgtMn/?taken-by=projectlittlesmith" target="_blank"> six</a> / <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2015/12/five.html" target="_blank">five</a> /<a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2014/12/f-o-u-r.html" target="_blank"> four</a> / <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2013/11/now-we-are-three.html" target="_blank">three</a> / <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2012/11/birthday-balloons.html" target="_blank">two</a> / <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html" target="_blank">one</a></span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-46879281709128334172017-12-05T00:32:00.002-05:002017-12-05T00:32:49.977-05:00The Week Of Pajamas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here we are, stretching into December and short dark winter days. Trying and failing to kick the chest cold that we're all sharing, not ideal timing for a baby with a lung issue. Trying and failing not to obsess on impending doctors appointments, and to just enjoy each moment. Succeeding in pulling Smith promptly from the playground each day after school, and spending more time at home, playing together, sipping cocoa, eating clementines, watching Christmas movies, making giant messes, peering at the ongoing yard construction, listening to the Beatles, and living in our jammies. All day every day. </span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-20224608034818626352017-11-29T21:05:00.000-05:002017-11-29T21:05:44.129-05:00Limbo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At some point over the summer, I had allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy of a totally healthy baby and a completed construction project, all wrapped up in time for Christmas. Our reality is a chest x-ray that still looks lousy, despite our strong little girl showing absolutely no symptoms, and a construction project that will roll right on through the new year. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It would be dishonest to say that I was anything other than heartbroken today when our follow up doctor's visit, a visit that is typically the final checkpoint in the dismal journey of this condition, revealed Lo's lung still partially collapsed, gunky, and with the causes unclear. This is something that happened after her surgery, something that should have cleared by now, and the fact that it hasn't has all the best and brightest scratching their heads, and naturally has me holding my breath all over again. For now, we wait. Two more weeks. Then we get more images and just hope for the miraculously perfect recovery that we'd assumed was guaranteed. I no longer have a clear path for the 'worst case scenario'... because no one seems to know, or no one seems to want to say. And so, we just live as normally as possible and bury our heads in the sand for another few weeks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or in our case, thankfully, I can bury my head in plaster dust and lots of banging. Our long planned little yard overhaul is underway. Smith and Roo are less than thrilled about our Christmas decor including flapping plastic, but I am grateful for the distraction. I have always loved living in construction, and while some might be daunted by the combination of a crawling baby and the various hazards that multiply daily, so far it just feels great to be making progress. On something. To be in control of the chaos, here if nowhere else.</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-55322556802548796462017-11-28T22:34:00.003-05:002017-11-29T21:09:21.023-05:00Thanks Deferred<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A year ago, Thanksgiving was the date that I had circled as my goal. I'd been told that if I reached my 28th week of pregnancy and our baby's lung mass was stable and not growing, we were in the clear, I could slow the weekly ultrasounds, and we could all breath a little easier. I practiced positive thinking and <i>knew</i> that come Thanksgiving, I would be with all my family and feeling lighter with the most critical threshold behind us... instead I found myself laying in an ultrasound room, hearing that the mass had grown, squeezing in three consecutive days of steroid shots before Thanksgiving, and booking months of twice weekly ultrasounds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year, celebrating with a slow holiday at home, our baby fresh from surgery and thriving, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with joy and gratitude and basically just a sappy mess of emotions. I never use the word 'blessed', but it does seem the most accurate description of how I'm feeling. So blessed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year Thanksgiving looked like drinks and appetizers with our neighbors, a veggie feast all to ourselves, a well behaved (if slightly dazed) baby straight from her nap, a giant jar of 'thankful notes', the children's first brush with <i>The Wizard of OZ</i>, and store bought pumpkin pie.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Roo earned her star as the official best kitchen helper, she legitimately prepared cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes and squash and stuffing... and also the official pickiest eater, as she consumed nothing but cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. Smith loved demonstrating his budding reading skills by picking through the jar of thankful notes- a new favorite tradition that I find reminiscent of fortune cookies (no one makes fortune cookies anymore, and I miss them sorely, however culturally inappropriate</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">), Lo was amazed by the candles, James refilled his plate so many times that he singlehandedly justified all our the cooking efforts, and I was just so damn happy- snapping pictures and pinching myself that these beautiful people all belong to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Thanksgiving, 2017</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It feels so good to take pictures with my 'real' camera again, and looking at them I am reminded that even the oldest and most janky camera is somehow better than an iPhone- at least I think so. It also feels good to cobble together a few thoughts, and to just be myself. Lo's follow up appointment is tomorrow, and I don't think the weight will lift until she finally has a perfectly clear sign off... but the load is certainly lighter. So much lighter. That critical threshold is finally behind us, a year late, but certainly no less appreciated.</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-31157245388496606372017-11-26T22:42:00.000-05:002020-04-24T13:48:08.559-04:00Little Lo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At nine months old, our Little Lo is determined and busy, eager for activity and action, and resistant to quiet snuggles. I watch this third child of mine, and am constantly reflecting on how different her babyhood is than either of her two siblings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Smith was obviously an only child for the first two and a half years. Those were quiet days spent building block structures, coloring, taking slow strolls. There was zero screen time, a tremendous effort around 'intentionality' with everything we ate and the life we were creating for him. I look back on my early years of motherhood with equal parts nostalgia and humor at just how much I sweated and basked in all those details.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Roo was the most easy going baby (certainly not a great indicator for the force of a girl she's grown to be!).She was along for the ride, and I spent much of her first year with her nestled in a carrier as I attended to her brother's interests and needs. I was busier, more sleep deprived, and more relaxed on screen time and store bought snacks. Roo would watch and delight in her brother as he constructed elaborate train tracks, but he was a quiet toddler with a great attention span for solo projects, and so our home was still a quiet place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And now there is Lo, born into a family with two wild, wonderful school age kids who are anything but quiet. They scream and jump and fight and play every minute of every day. She is shuffled along for the constant school drop offs and pick-ups and birthday parties and outings, and she is NOT happy to be along for the ride, this girl wants IN. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She was our earliest crawler at just over 7 months, she is fussy and grumpy when her siblings are away at school and literally lights up at the sight of them. She loves noise and shouting, Roo is one of the loudest 4 year olds I know, but Lo is never bothered by the insanity. I will catch myself yelling at the older kids with little Lo in my arms and worry about this poor baby witnessing all this craziness, only to find her beaming like it's the best show in town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have written almost as much on this blog about my own childhood as my childrens', and so it goes without saying that I cannot relate at all to this life my baby is living. I was an only child, raised mostly by my mother... Lo is the youngest of a big and busy family. I cannot wait to see who this tough little baby will turn out to be. She is so loved. Her brother and sister adore her in a way I wasn't even prepared for, and when baby Lo was in the hospital and gray from drugs and pain, seeing and hearing Smith and Roo was the only thing that calmed her. Something I will never forget.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These pictures were taken today, and we are nearing three weeks since Lo had major surgery on her lung. A surgery I have been both waiting for and dreading for a year and a half. I can't say how much the experience of having something seriously wrong with my baby has changed me, except to say that it has been equally transformative as motherhood itself. It is why I couldn't write in this space, it is why I haven't really breathed or felt myself in all these months that now stretch towards years. There is more to say, but I'm not ready, and I also think this baby deserves an introduction not colored by my fears, which I can barely afford her, even now. There are still follow up appointments, and there is still not a single hour that passes that I don't think about my baby's lung... but I am here, writing. So I guess I am feeling good, hopeful, and grateful. Our baby is strong and joyful and determined, and this whole family loves her fiercely. </span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-57890112294731579682017-08-14T22:54:00.000-04:002017-08-14T22:54:13.174-04:00Dinner For Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been so long since I've written in this space that I sincerely forgot the logistics of how to do it, and the most obvious place to pick up is with the news that we had a baby girl... 6 months ago! She is beautiful and sweet and absolutely adored by her big brother and her big sister. There is so much more to say, but in truth the real push to resume blogging was that our Roo turned four. She wanted her birthday documented and recorded here, just as it always has been, and you just don't say no to Roo. So here we are :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was convinced that this would be the year in which our social butterfly demanded a 'real party', complete with a kid guest list. Maybe our family is big enough these days to warrant a party all its own, or maybe she just loves a good tradition, but she wanted nothing more than our family barbecue (and presents, and decorations, and rainbow cake!), and we were all thrilled to give her everything on her list. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I said it last year and it remains true, she takes such joy in everything that it really does make throwing a party in her honor a complete pleasure. She was so excited from the moment she woke up. She helped me make her 'rainbow cake', (or as rainbow as natural food coloring afforded me), she helped her pop with the barbecue, she selected outfits for Smith and her baby sister (let's call her Lo ;)... and she was basically bouncing off the walls, giddy with being the center of attention. As it turns out, she has the perfect personality for a middle child, no one will ever forget this girl- she won't let them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favorite part of the day was our afternoon walk, Roo with her new babydoll strapped on in her new sling (this<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ergobaby-Carrier-Limited-Keith-Haring/dp/B072KNM1Y7/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_2_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1502764210&sr=8-2-fkmr0&keywords=keith%2Bherring%2Bergo&th=1" target="_blank"> <span style="color: #999999;">Keith Haring Ergo</span></a>, I'm so jealous!), me with my baby strapped on... we all decided that the birthday girl would lead the way, which predictably ended in us getting lost, a storm rolling in, cutting through a few private lawns, a little bickering, and lots of laughs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This has been such a gigantic year for our family and our girl; she started preschool, became a big sister, navigated the emotional landmine that is three... it was a workhorse of a year, not always easy (for me or for her!), but full of growth and productivity and there's so much good to show for it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am so proud of my spunky firecracker of a four year old. She is 'a handful'; quick tempered, hot headed, quick to slug anyone who threatens to stand in her way (no joke), yet she is also bubbling with enthusiasm, fiercely loyal to her big 'bwotha' and baby sister (when she squeezes her too hard and is reminded to be gentle, her reply is always, 'what can I say? I just love her so much'). She exhausts me and inspires me every single day. Cheers to my big girl, we all love you so. </span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-66429777206577266592016-11-18T13:42:00.000-05:002016-11-18T13:42:46.695-05:00A Third Pregnancy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Third time's a charm was the basic philosophy with which I entered this pregnancy. Being pregnant is always a miraculous honor, and setting aside all of the obvious discomforts, I have been so grateful and happy with each one. Yet, as a person who is naturally very anxious, and an expert worrier, I have also spent the majority of my pregnancies holding my breath... just hoping that nothing would go wrong. This time, I vowed to do things differently. I knew that I would have high blood pressure, and that it would start much earlier than it had with the last two babies (since it never really returned to normal after Roo), I knew I was older, and carrying a few extra pounds... but despite those greater risks, I felt surprisingly chill as I checked off the initial visits with my midwife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I bristled when I was flipped from midwifery to the doctors, owing to my elevated blood pressure. And I was similarly frustrated and indignant when I had a false scare at my first ultrasound. Never having had a fondness for anything medical, my general feeling was that all of this testing and these extra precautions were unnecessary. Childbirth is a natural process that need not be complicated, and I resented that I had been made to worry when there was little cause.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I entered the second trimester, I finally shed the veil of nausea that had plagued me all summer, and started to find that familiar burst of pregnancy fueled energy. I began tackling household projects, ripping treads off the basement stairs and priming the cinder block walls white. I felt invincible, and made lists of projects and activities that would be checked off in the months ahead. I headed into my 'anatomy scan' ultrasound with little concern... and although I know it's irrational, I still can't help but feel that my easy breezy attitude somehow precipitated a complication. Punishment for allowing myself <i>not</i> to be worried, for once.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were told that there was cluster of irregular tissue in one of the baby's lungs. It would have to be monitored closely to ensure it didn't grow, and cause heart failure (which happily it has not- it's been very stable!), and she would also need surgery after birth to remove the tissue. If we are lucky, she can come home normally and have the surgery when she is a few months old, but if her breathing is at all labored at birth, it will be removed immediately. We're grateful that after she gets surgery, the condition will be completely gone, normal lung tissue will regrow, and it won't even be visible on a chest x-ray. There is so so much to be grateful for... but it has definitely been months of fear and concern, and likely the final few months of this pregnancy will be similarly filled with worry, hope, and always gratitude. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I imagine that before all of this, if you had told me that I would have a pregnancy with serious complications, weekly ultrasounds, visits at multiple hospitals, and that I would be so familiar with so many doctors... I would say that I could never handle all of that. I'm not cut out for it. I don't trust doctors. It would be too much for me. But as has been the case with so many of life's struggles, I have found that the strength to navigate new challenges just presents itself, magically. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been much quieter than in my past pregnancies, less bursting with activity and instead reserving my energy to care for this baby and myself. I do worry, but feel more calm and confident than I ever would have predicted. In all my recent introspection, I keep considering how often I have longed to move my family to the country, how much I have resisted city life and yearned to give my children the open freedom that I enjoyed as a child... And yet now we find ourselves so fortunate to be a stone's throw from the top children's hospital in the country. All of the doctors that I so feared and mistrusted are proving to be our saving grace, and I feel so lucky that I am in their hands, and our baby is in their hands. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This third pregnancy has certainly been humbling. I have learned and grown more than I ever thought possible, and we aren't done yet. I know there are a few more months of nervousness and endless doctor's visits, and I know that it will be a whole new roller coaster of emotions when the time comes for our little girl to actually have this surgery, but I am surprisingly confident that all will be well, and we'll have the best possible final chapter to this story. I feel so bonded to this baby, it's such a different experience getting to see her every week, moving and waving and curled up in my belly. The kids are collecting all the ultrasound photos like precious treasures. She is already so loved, this third baby of our's.</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-17301019880938495362016-09-07T15:36:00.000-04:002016-09-07T20:42:37.371-04:00Dinner For Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Now that there is a chill in the morning air and the back-to-school buzz is upon us, let's rewind to Roo's third birthday, way back in early August, shall we? I'm certainly not winning any awards for conscientious documentation this year, but I'll just keep on plugging along.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As has become our tradition, we celebrated our sweet and sassy girl with a simple family meal. I have a hunch that this will be the last 'low key' birthday for our social butterfly, with preschool on the horizon, she is already making out imaginary guest lists for next year (and Smith and I are anxiously scouting out hiding spots... party?! oh dear ;)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roo requested a pink strawberry princess cake, and I went as girly as I could muster. Smith thoughtfully illustrated a special birthday card, highlighting his sister's underwater adventures with a crew of animals and dinosaurs. James worked his burrito magic, which has become a true household favorite (and life saver) in this summer of morning sickness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roo could not have been more delighted by every single effort. She loved her cake, her card, her meal, and especially her tidy pile of presents. A child who is happiest when she is the center of attention, but also surprisingly full of gratitude, she really does make throwing a celebration in her honor a complete pleasure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To our big girl, our baby Roo... you are so brave, full of spirit, and have such a joy for life. You sing your way through all the mundane tasks of the day, and you make our world brighter, bolder, happier, louder, and just a whole lot more fun. Thank you for sharing another wild, willful, and wonderful year with us. We all love you so very much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>*dinners for <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2015/08/dinner-for-two.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #999999;">two</span></a> and <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2014/08/dinner-for-one.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #999999;">one</span></a></b></i></span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-58696114727765479482016-08-08T15:25:00.000-04:002016-08-08T15:25:01.622-04:00Baby #3 and Our Lost Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hello there! Is anyone still reading? It's been a long break, and the reason is... that I am pregnant! We are expecting our third child this winter, and it's a welcome and exciting surprise for our little (maybe not so little?) family. I've all but sworn off social media for the last few months, mostly because I have been very sick. It feels just like those early months of pregnancy with Roo, I am grateful and happy of course... but it's also fairly miserable. In the last week, I can finally look at screens again without losing my lunch. I still don't feel great, but it's an improvement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Owing to my constant state of illness (think of the worst hangover you've ever had, and it just never leaves, for months!), our summer has been very slow. We started off with grand ambitions and did a big road trip out to Chicago to visit my cousin/ best friend and her children on their farm. James drove out with us and we stopped a bunch along the way, had the best veggie burger ever in Cleveland (who knew?), and really loved being on the road as a family. The kids had such fun playing with their cousins and feeding the horses. The whole start to the trip, and summer, was really perfection. The plan was that James would fly back a few days later to return to work, and I would stay on and enjoy some quality family time before making the drive back with the kids solo. It's a big drive, but I was confident I could pull it off. The day James left Chicago is the same day that my 'morning' sickness struck. Cut to me, white knuckling a 16 hour drive, with the kids screaming in the back, and a bottomless bag of saltines permanently glued to my lap. It was rough... and after that I just haven't been up for a whole lot of adventure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we've had a lot of days at home, playing in our dry brown excuse for a yard, going for walks to the park, watching nature documentaries, eating cereal and fruit and chocolate pudding. I have accomplished almost nothing, aside from growing a baby, which I often remind myself is quite the accomplishment. James has done lots and lots of laundry and dishes, he still only knows how to cook burritos and pancakes... so we've eaten boatloads of both. Slowly I am starting to find my sea legs and some energy. Hopefully good health will return in time for our annual camping trip next week! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids are both excited for the new baby. They talk to her and suggest names like Cheetah and Peach. It's very sweet. Oh and it's a girl! I'm officially old, so we got to find out way earlier than in the past via blood test. We have so much to look forward to, as soon as this sickness passes. Any day now!</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-17346773248543766112016-06-14T23:23:00.000-04:002016-06-15T05:07:08.863-04:00Feeding Myself<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've always felt at peace in my relationship with my body and food. So many of the women in my life struggle with their body image and count calories (what's a calorie?!), but gratefully I just never thought about any of that. My weight has often fluctuated, around ten pounds up or down, but I was never unhappy or self conscious when I was on the heavier side of that curve. I have always eaten exactly what I like, never dieted, and if I wasn't swimsuit-ready, so be it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These last couple of years have really turned all of my assumptions about my body image upside down. At some point, shortly after Roo was born, I started gaining weight. Likely it was a combination of tipping to the second half of my thirties, serious sleep deprivation, working more, and lacking time to cook and eat well. For a long time, I tried to shrug off the added pounds. I'd always been very kind to myself about extra weight, and so I just ignored it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, somehow, inexplicably, I am weighing in with the same numbers that I registered full term with both of my pregnancies. It's nuts. My body often doesn't even feel like my own, and it's hard to understand how it really happened. Suddenly I am self conscious, and I do have body image issues, and it definitely doesn't feel good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Despite all the extra exercise that I've peppered into my routine, the pounds are not melting away. I am coming to the painful reality that if I want to change my body, I will have to be more thoughtful in what I eat. This might seem like a minor issue, but meddling with my food tops the list of things I swore would never come to pass. Begrudgingly, I have looked into all the diets and their coordinating hashtags, but I have to say there is something really off-putting to me about any routine that has a group of enthusiastic followers. I'm not good at being part of a team, and I don't like being limited by any rules, even if they're by my own construction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know that approaching food reform as restriction won't work for me, I love food and I'm not interested in eliminating any of my favorite groups. So my current attempt at dieting is more about rewarding myself, by preparing my own meals with love. The best and freshest ingredients from the garden or market, selected and arranged on the plate with care, eaten while seated and without distraction, mindful in enjoying each bite... definitely not easy with two demanding children in tow, but I'm finding it is possible. And it certainly beats skipping pasta (though likely less effective!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Indulgence rather than deprivation, I will let you know how it goes! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Lunch in June: hard boiled eggs with sea salt / strawberries with basil, parmesan, and balsamic vinegar / radishes with salted french butter</i></span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-27651929964815265162016-06-12T23:04:00.001-04:002016-06-12T23:09:46.979-04:00The End of The Beginning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Smith's last day of preschool was just like every other, a routine that has rarely deviated in the past three years; he made sure to pack Foxy in his backpack, he climbed the stairs, hesitantly watching to make certain Roo and I were following, he switched his shoes and I walked him to the bathroom, we headed into his classroom to answer the 'question of the day', I watched until he finished his drawing, helped him choose an activity, then a final kiss and hug before I left. There was no special celebration or graduation ceremony, the school believes those events can be too stressful for some children... a policy that might make me roll my eyes if I didn't have the kid that cries when people sing him 'happy birthday'. The whole morning felt so unexceptional that I had to keep reminding myself a chapter was ending.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have had this feeling about so many milestones in parenting; crawling, walking, eating, talking, weaning, going to school, making friends, moving through fears and patterns... I always anticipate these transitions far in advance, I struggle to visualize a new reality that seems impossible and cling to the current state with premeditated nostalgia. I cry and grieve a threshold that hasn't even come to pass, and then suddenly, I find myself moving through to the other side with shockingly little sentimentality. I deeply want to acknowledge this big shift and be present, to feel all the feelings, but instead it's just life marching forward. Just another day, different from the last. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>smith's first day of 4-day preschool / september 2015</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>smith's last day of preschool, ever / june 2016</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">*Memory Lane: <span style="color: #999999;"><a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2014/06/a-school-year.html" target="_blank">first and last day of 2-day preschool</a> </span>/ <span style="color: #999999;"><a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2014/09/3552-bittersweet-september.html" target="_blank">first day of 3-day</a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Okay, on second thought, maybe I will cry. And on that note, the poem Smith's classmates wrote about him (Smith = W).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>The important thing about W is that he is our friend.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He knows a lot about dinosaurs.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes to play in the block room.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes to run down the hill.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes the Burj Khalifa in Dubai.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes to build tall towers.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He's friends with James and Henry.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He's good at coloring.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He's friends with me.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes to build.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He knows a lot about architecture.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes to play in the loft.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He knows a lot about animals.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He likes playing with sticks.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He really likes funny stories.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>He's silly.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>But the important thing about W is that he is our friend.</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I do still wish all school could be like preschool. Next stop, Kindergarten!</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-52405192204967867042016-06-09T23:53:00.002-04:002016-06-12T23:37:35.479-04:00Tall Buildings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>morning blooms </b>tall buildings <b>post-planting picnic </b>sunday's rain <b>mid-morning snack </b>mini-tall buildings <b>mowing efforts </b>from where i rinse dishes <b>the daily dress debate</b></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fads sweep through our house like violent storms, some lasting only a week or two, others persisting for years. Trains, sea creatures, dinosaurs, bugs... Smith might flip-flop to a fault when it comes to picking out a shirt or a snack food, but the kid can definitely commit to a topic, and he digs in deep. We all can't help but become pseudo experts on each one of his passions as they dominate our breakfast, lunch, and dinner conversations. Roo spits out complex dinosaur names that have strangers calling her 'genius', and I'm still seeking purpose for the arsenal of train facts that I memorized during those 'train years' (roughly 2-4).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This last month has been all about tall buildings, skyscrapers, the taller the better... and James is beside himself, he is just so thrilled with Smith's newest crush. As parents, we try our best not to push our interests on the kids (try!), so bedtime chats over the finer points of the Burj Khalifa, One World Trade, and the Kingdom Tower, James honestly looks as though he has won the lottery every time, he's glowing!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Personally, I could do without the constant soundtrack of overzealous block towers crashing to the ground during nap/ quiet time, but it is delightful to see Smith's genuine interest and skill in studying and constructing buildings. A chip off the old block... at least until that next fad blows in (sorry James!).</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-63205774280035073232016-06-03T00:34:00.000-04:002020-04-24T13:48:41.254-04:00Hardened<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My dad is sick. Four words I could have probably strung together at birth. If I am honest, he was always sick. Deeply gifted and deeply troubled; a photographer with a brilliant eye, a lighting director on blockbuster films, and a man who made art out of everything he touched, for better and for worse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He was handsome and talented and charismatic, a personality that everyone just wanted to be around... until they didn't. He'd show up at grade school pick-ups in leather pants and a white t-shirt with cigarettes rolled in the sleeve, nodding me onto the back of a roaring motorcycle, and earning equal parts raised eyebrows and swoons from teachers and parents. He would buy me elaborate presents on his own birthday, and always repeated that if any kid ever really messed with me, he'd beat the shit out of them... I just had to say the word.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There were the years before rehab; cabin walls covered in photographs, meals cooked over an open fire, summer morning stops at the 711- to pick up a buttered bagel and a Yoo-hoo for me to tote to camp. There were the years of optimism following rehab; loft walls covered in photographs, money rolling in from big movie gigs, one then two then three more babies in as many years. And then, there were the years that connect those memories to today; the reality that mental illness, and not merely addiction, haunted this man; studio walls covered in photographs, watercolor postcards with hundreds of stamps and fragments of narratives bearing my address, broken relationships- personal and professional... blocked phone numbers, forced distance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For over a decade, I have been convinced that I've made peace with my relationship with my father. He was so mired in the past, obsessed with wrong-doings from his own father, all the injustices of his own life... That isn't me. I won't allow that to be me. I am strong, I am willful, I am mindful, I am responsible, and I will cherry pick memories that serve me, and cast aside those that defeat me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I will remember all the trips to fine museums, the ballet, tiny art galleries, punk rock shows, and dive bars. I will remember when he'd buy shoes for homeless guys on the street, give them his cell number, and in a few cases, a fresh start in life. I will remember how he wept seeing my drawing of Frida Kahlo, how he told me that I'd never be poor with talent like that, and how truly he believed in me. I'll remember his generosity, how his gifts for my children, whom he never really met, have always been numerous and flawless... right down to the box that arrived a month ago from Mexico; superhero wrestling capes for Smith, colorful embroidered dresses for Roo, perfectly fitting for each.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A couple weeks ago, I noticed a few missed calls from Minnesota, no message, no answer when I phoned the number back. Then came the news from my aunt, my dad wasn't well. He'd been in a geriatric psych ward, and now in the ICU. Maybe it was the trip to Mexico, maybe the shift in seasons, likely a mental break that was years in the making, maybe he'll pull out of it, maybe he won't. And just like that, the thick skin that I have spent 38 years hardening, feels riddled with holes. I don't know what to hope for, I don't know what the best end to this story would look like. I only know that this is a piece of my life that I was resolved would never again cause me pain, and it hurts like hell. No matter how tough I try to be, no matter how tightly I try to hold my shit together and make this life beautiful and easy for my children, the fear and pain and joy and beauty of my own history can never be escaped. I'm working to cope with that, and working to realize that it's probably for the best. I'm working...</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-24176282331555748612016-05-30T22:41:00.001-04:002016-05-31T13:48:51.436-04:00Community Garden Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Smith has this little stuffed <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2015/01/details-d102.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #999999;">fox</span></a>, 'super foxy' or just 'foxy' for short. He carries him everywhere and also sometimes accidentally leaves him behind to spend the night abandoned in a playground or grocery store... still we somehow always track him down (so far, knock on wood!). I think about how many toys and stuffed creatures I have carefully chosen for the kids over the years, some hand made with loving care and hefty price tags, and yet it's this synthetic Ikea fox, thoughtlessly added to the cart in an effort to buy me some extra shopping time, that has won his heart. I never would I have guessed that we would be retracing our steps and making late night phone calls to track down that $2 mass produced toy, but Smith loves him, and so now we all do too. It's funny the things that wind up being critical to finding personal joy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our community garden is a bit like that fox for me. Six years ago, when we first scored our plot, it was just a way to bide my time and get my fingers dirty until I could move back to the country. I never imagined that 400 square feet of sun soaked earth would play such a big role in our family's warm weather rituals. James was initially ambivalent about our plot, and these days he is often the one dragging us all there, weeding and watering at the end of long work days. The kids have grown up with our garden as a major feature of their lives, and despite our move last summer, this patch of land, connected to a community and not a set of house keys, has remained a constant for them both.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When we were looking to buy a house, several friends made comments assuming we'd give up our garden, because we would want to start one in our own yard, or it would be too far away. But we actually made proximity to the garden a key factor in our buying process, and we are definitely keeping our plot! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">True, it does require more effort to pack up the kids and drive just to do a little gardening. I am sure that if I could swing open my back door and poke around, everything would be better maintained. But it is so worth the added work. It's wonderful to walk around and chat with other gardeners, sharing tips and seeds. I love that we were able to stay close to the city, and all of the culture and excitement it has to offer, choosing a small and shady lot without sacrificing sun loving veggies in the process. Best of all, our garden happens to be nestled in a nature preserve, which means our non-country-kids get to kick off their shoes, run through fields chasing butterflies, toss stones into streams, and generally experience much of the freedom my country-kid childhood afforded me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I love you community garden, you have given our family so much more than we can possibly return. Never outgrow us, and we promise that we'll never outgrow you.</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-14200715094788369402016-05-23T23:50:00.002-04:002016-05-24T12:56:52.915-04:00As Told by an Only Child<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I often think that being an only child, who is raising a couple of kids, is like living in a suspended state of puppy love. That idealistic giddiness that comes with the first true crush, the starry eyes that no sour reality can penetrate, we are closing in on three years of siblinghood in this family, and I still can't contain the daily swells of happy tears when I watch simple interactions between my children.</span><br>
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</span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They fight, they torture each other, they defend each other, and give rough embraces that send them both crashing to the ground... it's all typical stuff, but these moments are my favorite part of each day. Even when they are driving me nuts and I lose my temper, I take comfort in knowing that they can help each other navigate my special brand of crazy.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For every set of siblings that stay thick as thieves through adulthood, there are likely many more that never get along, drift apart, or just never relate to one another. It doesn't always work out, and there are often good reasons for the distance. But being an only child, I can ignore possible future realities, and just glorify today's head-locks as character building, and embrace the squabbling as a welcome soundtrack to the 'big family' life that I always imagined.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of my greatest hopes for my children is that they will always be there for each other, and that they will genuinely enjoy and respect one another as adults. Of course, much of that is out of my hands. Still, I do believe that parenting plays a substantive role in setting the tone for long term sibling love, and we're doing our best to lay down that sturdy foundation. Knocking on wood, and sentencing them both to a life of shared bedrooms and late night whispers. Like it or not!</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>This is tough to understand, but I just love it when they plot against me. I'm looking forward to their future memoirs detailing the lives of a brother and sister, raised by a sappy only-child mama.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="404" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/167830679" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="718"></iframe> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://vimeo.com/167830679">operation rescue</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/user14887983">Mama Smith</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>p.s. there's obviously a lot of good that I could say about being an only child, and being raised by a single mother, and on and on. I suspect we all yearn for pieces of what we missed out on, while also honoring the beauty in what we did have. hopefully that comes through in this journal, as a whole. I know there are a ton of awesome only-children coming up in this world, without question!</i></span></div>
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<br>Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-80794316454128107372016-05-15T23:33:00.005-04:002016-05-15T23:33:51.993-04:00Notes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">warming up <b>frozen pizza with a side of sunshine </b>new lunch location <b>daffodils to cure a lousy day </b>wallpaper test run <b>nap-time bits </b>morning view <b>rainy morning routine</b> girls' lunch<b> afternoon activities</b> catnip and lavender<b> barbershop and lollipop</b> meals to beat the rain<b> favorite jacket </b>new bed slumber <b>quiet time with 'foxy' </b>'dusting'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had my final evening of classes for this semester last Wednesday and, coupled with several days of our first real taste of summer weather, I am feeling almost giddy. The past month has seemed a haze of exhaustion and rain. There was so much to do, so many late nights and early mornings, sniffly noses and coughs, day after day of clouds and rain, and way too much 'screen time' and fast meals for the kids. We weren't in our typical (or preferred) spring rythm. But after some planting in the garden and a few sunny days this week, I finally feel like we are pulling it together! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We have been slowly (well, by my standards!) working to make some changes in <a href="http://projectlittlesmith.blogspot.com/2015/11/house-in-progress-kids-room.html" target="_blank">Smith and Roo's shared bedroom</a>. We hung back up a few prints tonight, and it's pretty much complete. I know I shift their room constantly, and yeah it's a mild obsession... but I really think we almost have it right now! I can't wait to get a moment to take some pictures and share the progress. It's such a fun space, and truly reflects each of their personalities. There's nothing that beats a great kid's room, right?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another big push has been in preparing for Smith to enter kindergarten next year. It has been a substantial effort, mentally and emotionally wrapping our heads around the idea that he is old enough to even be entering a full day of real school, plus dealing with all the conflicting thoughts around public school in general, and the transition from his current Reggio Emilia based preschool. I've been attempting to get him ready for 'expectations', working on fun ways to spark his lagging interest in letters and numbers (building off his love of science and nature, as best I can). And then there's all the logistical issues and paperwork that come with pushing through an existing speech IEP (for those of you who know what that is!), switching districts... There have been a lot of late night talks with James, my mom, just to myself over all of this. We've had last minute debates on private schools, and a million second and third thoughts. But I do think we've chosen the right course. And if not? Well then we will just make a change. I have to keep reminding myself that nothing is irreversible. And of how fortunate we are to live in an area with impeccable public schools, something I certainly don't take for granted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So that is some of what we have been up to since my last visit here. Seeds have been thrown in the gound, house projects have been completed, forms have been filled out, screens have been temporarily banished (well, for the kids anyway), and I have that super optimistic high that comes with the promise of every new season. There may be a frost warning tonight, but I've committed to sandals and packed away my winter coats. It's time!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>*I always feel slightly sheepish to return to this space with a collection of week-old snapshots from my phone. There just hasn't been the time, or interest, to pick up my camera in the last month, and I find that the more regularly I get on here, the more I want to keep it up... so I'm just going with it!</i></span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-52643609071433069312016-04-27T00:05:00.000-04:002016-04-27T07:45:56.342-04:00Boy's Gone Wild<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the last few months, I've discovered that having a five year old is a true revelation. I am certain that all mothers feel vitally bonded with each of their children, and my connections are not exceptional... but the relationship I have with this boy, my first baby, with whom I've shared each and every day of the last five years, feels remarkable. Seeing so many of the quirks, that were trademarked in his infancy and toddlerhood, feed into the personality of this wholly formed and articulate human being, is wildly surreal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seems as though I know everything about him, all his sensitivities... how he'll be bold and confident, but then suddenly shrink when confronted with an unfamiliar person or challenge, that when faced with a decision, he will always make the opposite choice first and then self impose a crisis before settling on his second pick, that asking him something head on is the fastest way to make him shut down. I know that he is surprisingly adventurous in exploring the world, climbing high and straying far, but that he can be trusted, always. He never gets himself stuck out on a limb and forever amazes me with how clearly and unconsciously he understands the edges and dangers around him. He's exceptionally tuned into his environment, yet often exceptionally tuned out to the people within it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the last five years, I've started to form my own narrative of the person he is, and as I am sure is true of many parents with kids that could be described as 'shy' or 'sensitive', I have also imagined how we will help him navigate the challenges that may emerge as he makes his way through the impending school years...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">... So now here is the twist; yes he is shy and sensitive and a loner in many ways, and yes he is a very small kid, scraping the bottom of the height and weight charts since birth... but he is also a wild, silly, social, and increasingly aggressive boy. I have spent so much time imagining how I will defend him against the 'mean kids' of the world, that it's been more than a little disarming this year to get the teacher updates wherein he has pushed an unsuspecting kid, or to hear him make fun of the boys in his class who like princesses and 'girl stuff', or to listen in on the general tone of destruction and violence that prevails over all his imaginative play. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a few weeks of crisis this past winter where I thought, 'what happened to that sensitive geek I have been raising, and who is this alpha male that's replaced him?!'... I'm sort of kidding. But there's a giant helping of truth in there too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lately he seems to have mellowed out some, and I am seeing what I hope to be a healthier balance of wild and sensitive. Still, five has been a big reality check for me. As much as I think I know my child, and with everything that has been ingrained in him since birth and still persists as part of his character, he is obviously finding himself, testing new ideas, growing, and changing constantly... and sometimes radically. I'm bracing myself for decades of surprises from my predictable, routine-loving boy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>*it's been a tough month, but i am still doing this! my sweet and faithful blog readers... this blog is happening this year (but just let me finish out the semester ;)</i></span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-69110139168228451802016-04-01T00:44:00.002-04:002016-04-07T08:21:27.230-04:00Easter at Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Easter is that holiday, where every year I have visions of boiling red cabbage to dye eggs and personally felting special toys for each of the kids... then the inevitable smash cut to wandering the aisles of Target the night before, trying to piece together meaningful trinkets, and in an outright verbal battle for the final two wooden crates (they were entirely out of baskets- how?!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was our first Easter at home in many years, and I was really worried it would just be boring for everyone. I loooove (there can not be enough 'o's there) a quiet Christmas, but spring and egg hunts just seem to require family and friends. Spoiler alert, maybe we now have a big enough family of our own to carry that weight of fun. We missed hanging with our loved one's, but we truly had a great celebration all on our very own... thanks to Twister, fondue, and of course, Target.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We did actually use natural dye on our eggs, because we love eggs and buy them with care, and after reading a few articles on the typical egg dye not being good to consume, I got myself all freaked out. Still, there was no way I had time to peel a dozen onion skins or boil berries (all this might sound nuts to anyone not versed in Pinterest and Instagram, but I promise that everyone under the sun is all about that natural dye!). We cheated and bought our's from <a href="http://www.naturalearthpaint.com/products/natural-egg-dye-kit" target="_blank"><span style="color: #999999;">Natural Earth Paint</span></a>, and having tried several other brands, this one is definitely my favorite. The colors are pretty. A bit muted on brown eggs, but the kids were pleased, and I felt good feeding them every last egg. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The biggest key to our holiday's success, and Smith proclaiming it, "the best Easter ever!", was the bunny leaving a treasure (aka egg) map. James was initially skeptical in the late hours of Easter Eve, when I put on the pressure to hide real eggs inside, hide candy stuffed plastic eggs outside... and oh yeah, draw a treasure map indicating each egg. After some whining about my making 'too big a deal out of everything', he pulled out that pen and totally got into it. I knew he would! In the end, I think we could have skipped noting the actual location of the eggs, because the kids just ran around searching randomly for them... but oh my, they were impressed by that map.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Smith is already an 'eagle eye' by nature, and spotted a bunch of eggs out his window before we even let him leave his room, in the early hours of morning. I had to stand on his bed and crane to even see where he was talking about. The kid is intense. Roo is a little less 'gifted' in egg sighting skills, but made up for it with candy enthusiasm. Together they were quite the pair, racing around our tiny yard to uncover every egg. The final treasure was hidden in their tee pee tent in the basement, a big crate full of board games and craft activities. I have to take the credit for that idea, and it really was perfect. We spent the rest of the day playing twister and beading necklaces... trust me, it was more fun than it sounds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We ended the night with fondue, which is becoming a favorite celebration meal for our little family. It's so easy and there's a bite of something to suit everyone; winter veggies, spring veggies... every season tastes good dipped in cheese!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The kids actually cried on Easter night, wishing that we could do the whole thing again the next day. Five and two years old really seems to be the sweet spot for maximum magic and appreciation for these holidays. I'm trying to invent a few more, just to relish the moments. It's really good right now, and I'm soaking it all up and putting these memories in the reserves to get me through those impending preteen years. Maybe they will just stay sweet like this forever, but sleep more? Here's hoping.</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-88677174700743522802016-03-26T01:17:00.000-04:002016-04-01T00:45:02.694-04:00Transition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">James started a new job this week, and the decision to leave his previous company was one of the toughest that we've made as a couple. It's much harder to leave a position you love, and that was the best job he'd ever had, far and away. Frankly, it changed our lives for the better in so many respects, I actually marvel to realize that it only lasted a few years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's the expression that 'every baby is born with a loaf of bread under each arm', and I often think of how true that was with our little Roo. I vividly remember James fielding calls while we were in the hospital giving birth to her, fiercely negotiating his next move, after years of struggling to leave the architecture firm where he'd worked (slaved!) for nearly a decade. Caught on the losing end of office politics, and working 80 hour weeks with little compensation, and less appreciation, we knew a second baby meant that he had to make a move. He weighed offers from half a dozen architecture firms before finally deciding to take a plunge into the unknown (enemy!) world of construction. It was scary, but we were comforted in following a 'good guy' and former colleague, and ultimately we found that the payoff was about so much more than money. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally afforded the respect and responsibility that he'd long deserved, James has matured so much in just a few short years, both professionally and personally. It is a beautiful thing to watch someone you love get all that credit you always knew they were owed, and to see the impact it has on every aspect of their being. And so, it was yet another leap for him to leave the comfort of that position, and again follow his mentor to a new and exciting project. I'm so proud of him, how hard he works, how he makes time to get home so that I can go out and work too... it's a lot of pressure and balance and responsibility, and I never take that for granted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're looking forward to this next chapter, a big new building in the works, and another transition for our family. Any change is nerve wracking for this creature of habit, but mostly I am just feeling very grateful for it all. Cheers! (and happy belated St. Patrick's Day ;)</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19766666724444291.post-73145906575328042462016-03-22T02:09:00.000-04:002016-03-22T07:27:36.596-04:00the Break<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's 1:30 in the morning. James started a new job today (yesterday now), and I got his abbreviated report, as we traded kid duty, and I headed out to teach evening studio </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(he says it went well, more on that coming soon)</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. The sun was still up when I pulled out of the driveway. Daylight savings has been nothing but bliss in this house, 5am </span>wakeups<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> have slid all the way back to 6am- pinch me!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a month of deferred transitions, James's limbo between jobs magically coordinated with my spring break last week, so we pulled Smith from preschool and headed out to my mom's for some down time. I am already dreading next year, when Kindergarten guidelines will make our lives even less flexible (homeschool?! James says 'no way'... but it sure is tempting me). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We had intended to ski, but the crazy warm winter put an early end to the season (I tried not to add another parenthetical thought here... but I have to note that we now have several inches of fresh snow, in a predictably dramatic March twist... I'm only going to get a few hours of sleep, let me have my parenthesis!). So instead we played with Poppyseed the wonder dog, hiked, and poked around town. It was mostly relaxing, though the impending new job did have us more on edge than I would have liked. Considering we generally don't handle transitions all that well, I think it was a success. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched Smith come to life, exploring nature without restriction, and did my usual hemming and hawing over whether we should be living in the country. Both kids fell in love with Poppy, despite the jumping and nipping, and have been begging to see her since our return, and for a dog of our own for next Christmas. James and I went out for a nice dinner to celebrate our 12th or 13th dating anniversary (he's going to kill me... but I really don't remember). My mom and I caught up on reality tv... so quite the well rounded spring break.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now it's back to the not-so-usual routine. Updates coming when I can string together a few more hours of sleep!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">*thanks iPhone for taking these pictures. I keep trying to use my real camera more. I have been better! But in truth, I need a new camera as mine has all kinds of issues, and that iPhone is always right there in my pocket ;)</span></div>
Mama Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17489450713167896817noreply@blogger.com4