Tooth Fairy

She was brushing her teeth and out it tumbled... I was super proud of her -- no tears.  Just a matter of fact, "Mom, my tooth came out!"

The tooth fairy pays big bucks for the first tooth.  And of course, the money is sprinkled with fairy dust.

And the tooth fairy wants to promote good brushing habits in the future.

The tooth fairy wrote a note to introduce herself.  Girlie's fairy is Twinkle Toothy.

The letter was Girlie sized, but it was folded up so a fairy could carry it.

She was so proud of herself.

Where did my baby go?  I can't look at this picture without bawling.

A Loss of Innocence

"Mommy, what's Boston?"

S#$t.

That was the first thought that ran through my mind when my almost six year old asked me this question two days after the Boston Bombing.

And the thing is, I would have sworn I was prepared for this moment.  I don't watch the news when the kids are awake/home.  I don't listen to talk radio when they are in the car.  Their father and I are very careful not to talk about scary things when they are around.

That being said, I had read the parent articles and blogs about "How to Talk To Your Child About ____."  I had thought about what I would say when the question came up -- even as I was praying it wouldn't.  Still, I know that as Girlie spends more and more time away from me, as she is exposed to more of the world, she is going to learn more about the world -- things I may not want her to know about.

But when she asked the question, I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  I could remember nothing that I had read, could recall nothing that her father and I had decided to say.

So I stalled.

"Boston is a city," I said matter of factly, hoping that would end it.

"Are there bad men there?"

Double s#$t.

"Where did you hear about Boston?" I asked.

"At school."

Of course. 

"What did you hear?"

"That there are bad men.  And they had a bomb.  And they hurt runners.  You run, Mommy.  Are the bad men going to hurt you?"

Hell.  Thanks so much, school. 

"No," I said immediately and firmly.  "The bad men are not going to hurt Mommy."

"So there are bad men?"

"Well," I stalled.  "There are bad men -- not like in your TV shows but bad men in real life. But Boston is really far away from us.  You don't have to be scared of them, you know that, right?"

"But I'm a little scared of them," Girlie said.

"I know," I told her.  "Can I tell you a secret?  I'm a little scared of them too.  But then I remember something that makes me less scared."

"What?"

"I remember the helpers.  There are always way more helpers than there are bad men.  Did you know that?"  Thank you, Mr. Rogers.  Thank you.  

"Who are the helpers?"

"Helpers are people like policemen and firefighters and doctors and nurses.  Sometimes helpers are just  people like you and me who decide that they need to make good choices to help others."

"Oh," Girlie said, cuddling up to me on the couch.

So we sat there, quiet, her little blonde head under my chin while my heart ached with sorrow at her loss of innocence -- her realization that bad guys are not just in TV shows and books; that they are real and dangerous.

"Mommy?" she said a few moments later.

"Yes, Love?"

"I want to be a helper."

And then my heart ached with love. 

It Sneaks Up On You....

Just how quickly they grow...

My baby is five months old and doesn't fit in the bassinet anymore.

I knew how hard it was going going to be for my youngest to get older.  Well, I thought I did.  I was expecting the firsts to be hard -- a little bitter sweet.  First smile.  First time sitting up.  First time rolling over.  First tooth. 

It was the firsts that I wasn't expecting that knocked me to my knees -- first time in a crib.  First time in 3-6 month clothing.  First time going to sleep by herself.  First time in the play center.  First time in the jumper.

And the packing up of the newborn stage.... Getting rid of the swing, the bassinet, the vibrating chair.  Passing the 0-3 month clothes on to friends.

Where did the last five months go?!?

When Did I Become A Grown Up?

~
I love my kids. I think that is pretty obvious.

Still, though, there has always been a thought in the back of my mind -- I had better do this right or the grown ups are going to come and take them.

I know that they are mine and that I am their Momma. I'm not stupid.

I just also still feel like a teenager most days. A mature teenager, sure. Like a 19 year old. But still a teenager. But I rarely feel like a grown up.

I have had plenty of "mom moments" - you know, those moments where is is blindingly clear - Oh, sh#$, I'm a MOM.

I finally had my Oh, sh@#, I'm a grown up! moment.

It wasn't when I was paying my astronomically high mortgage on my shoebox of a house.

It wasn't when I was balancing the check book and trying to get blood out of a turnip.

It wasn't when I was sneaking veggies into my daughter's dinner.

It wasn't when I made appointments to get my kids vaccinated.

It was yesterday, when I got out of the shower. I was wrapped in a Spiderman towel with a princess towel in my hair, since my towels were in the wash (See what I mean? Wouldn't a grown up have clean, adult towels?).

My older two burst into the bathroom, demanding that I referee the fight they were currently having. I think it was over what park they wanted to go to.

I told them, "Hey, guys, come on, Mommy doesn't want to deal with this right now."

And my four year old daughter glared at me and said, "You have too, Mommy, you are the grown up!!"

When did that happen?!?!?

My Children Are Growing Up To Fast

~

Last night, I sat up, heart pounding, certain that I had heard my daughter cry. I went and tiptoed into her room, prepared to soothe and settle when I realized that she was sound asleep, curled up in her twin bed, a book next to her. I put the book away, tucked her foot under her blanket, and kissed her cheek.

So I went into my son's room, thinking that in my sleepy state, I misinterpreted the cry. Nope. He was face down in his big boy bed, arms and legs sprawled out, his blanket kicked to the floor. I covered him up, kissed his little head, and went back to bed.

Where I stared at the ceiling for an hour.

My babies are growing up, I thought. This thought ran repeatedly through my head like an annoying ticker on CNN.

The echoes of my babies' cries have not faded from my little house and I already have two big kids.

Instead of cuddling a little baby girl, I have to bit my tongue when my daughter says, "Yes, Mother? What can I do for you, Mother?" when I call her name. I went from Momma to Mother awfully fast. And she's three, for the love of God.

Instead of soothing a colicky baby, I have to sit back and let my son try to dress himself when he grabs he clothes from my hands and says, "No! Mine do!" How is this possible? Didn't I bring him home from the hospital last week?

I love that my kids are growing up. And I hate it too.

Boyo

Where did my baby go?

When did this toddler, this almost a grown up, look-at-me-riding-a-trike-and-reading-a-book-BIG-BOY, get here? How did I miss his arrival?