The Life of A Ladybug

Happy fourth birthday, Sarai!

I know that today is the day that we celebrate Sarai, but I can't help but feel a little deserving of celebration myself - LOL!  I did push her out, after all.

This morning, she snuck into my bed while I was in the bathroom.  When I came out, all I saw was Vic (snoring, as usual) and a lump under the covers.  A giggly, squirmy lump.  I pulled back the covers and she was under there, with her eyes squeezed shut, grinning so hard that I could count each of her teeth.  I kissed her and rubbed her tummy and she giggled and hugged me.  I said "Happy birthday, Mumma!" and she said, "I'm this many now!" and held up four fingers.  Vic woke up and told her happy birthday and they hugged and cuddled.  I dressed and off we went to my mom's, singing the birthday song - she chimed in with "I'm 4 years old now!"

Every year, around her birthday, I tell her the story of her birth.  We did that last night, as we cuddled on the couch.  I love holding her and telling her that story, over and over - the story of when we first met.  It was love at first sight.

Happy birthday, dear Sarai!  May you grow in beauty, strength, and love.

(Picture from Halloween 2006 - she was a baby bellydancer!)

Mother's Day Gift Ideas (courtesy of Sephora)

Mother's Day is almost upon us and, as a mom and a beauty junkie, I wanted to give you a few ideas for Mother's Day gifties - Sephora style!  (All gift suggestions can be found in Sephora stores or on www.sephora.com.)

For the frequent traveler mom:

NARS Artist Palette.  If you know a mom who travels quite a bit (that would be me), this palette is a great gift.  It's sleek and thin enough to not add much bulk to your travel bag.  It has a mirror and contains ten of NARS' top-selling shades - four neutral shadows that can be sheerly pretty for day or smoked-out for night, two shades of the Multiple - one for highlighting and one for adding color to the cheeks, and four fabulous lipsticks. 

For the mom who can't afford an island vacation, but wants to feel like she's been on one anyway:

Carol's Daughter A Mango Melange Moment.  Includes a shea souffle, cleansing gel, perfume spray and a loofah.  All the body products are scented with Carol's Daughter's amazingly tropical Mango Melange scent.  This scent is one of my favorites and never fails to make me feel all island girl-y!

For the beauty junkie mom:

Sephora's Summer Blockbuster Palette.  This palette is a scaled-down version of the one that flew off the shelves at the end of last year, only to be seen making the rounds of eBay for astronomical prices.  24 eyeshadows, 24 lipglosses, five cheek colors, one translucent shimmer powder, two shadow applicators, a blush brush, and a lip brush.  What else could you need?

For the animal activist mom:

Smashbox Palettes for PETA.  100 percent vegan eyeshadows that have never been tested on animals.  Comes in two breathtaking trios: Earth Mother (on the left), which is the neutral set and In the Wild, which contains brighter, springier shades.

Stay tuned here!  I'll have upcoming posts with more Mother's Day gift ideas!

Good Lord.

The other day, as we were returning from a pancake dinner (we do that every now and then - Sarai and I love pancake dinners ... Vic had meatloaf - spoil sport), Sarai said, "Mommy, I want to hear church music on the iPart (which is what she calls the iPod)."  I put on her favorite gospel song, "Glorious" by Martha Munizzi, which she made us listen to three times and then "I am God" by Donald Lawrence and the Tri-City Singers.  After she listened to those two songs, she said, "That's fine.  You can listen to something else now."  Gee, thanks.  Anyway, I put the iPod on Shuffle and the next song that came up was "It's Raining Men" (which is one of my favorite songs, by the way).  Sarai listened for a bit and then, we could hear her quietly singing in the background: "Raining men.  Hallelujah.  Raining men.  Amen."  Then she says, "I like this church song, Mom."  Umm ... after I got over the shock, I said, "It's not a church song, baby."  "It says, 'Hallelujah' and 'Amen'."  "Yes, it does."

Vic and I made eye contact.  He said, "Hmm ... what does it say about us that our baby thinks 'It's Raining Men' is a church song?"

Lord.

Can we have it all?

Many women of my generation have been raised with the belief that we can have it all - that we can be wives, mothers, career women and do it all with style and flair.  I'm here to tell you -  we can.  Just not in the way some of us think we can.  There are several friends of mine who tell me that they look to me as an example of having a balanced life ... as a woman who has all the things they want and seems to juggle all balls easily.  But it's not easy.  And I don't do it alone.

What I've discovered in my life is that it takes a village to be me.  Yes, we've all heard that "it takes a village to raise a child", but in my mind, it takes a village to have a life, or, at least, to have the life that I lead.  I am a very happy woman, but I'm happy because I've made myself happy.  I live with joy and I live my life as fully as possible.  None of that would work without my support system.  Now, mind you, my firmest support, aside from God, is me.  I love myself and I put myself first.  That is not to say that I do what I want to the detriment of my daughter or my husband.  But that does mean that I don't restrict myself to make them happy.  One day, my daughter is going to grow up and leave my house to lead her own life.  If I put myself aside now in order to focus entirely on her, what will I have when she's gone?  What would happen to me, if, God forbid, something were to happen to Victor?  If I didn't have other things in my life that give me purpose, I would wither and die.

I like my job.  I have wonderful co-workers and working for the Federal government affords me flexibility that can't be found in other work environments.  I am successful at what I do - I'm good at it and it pays well.  I work 9 hours most days, so that I get two Mondays a month off to spend with my daughter and attending to my household. On the days when I do work, Sarai stays with my mother, who, thankfully, lives less than a mile from us and across the street from my workplace.  As a freelance make-up artist, I can make my own hours.  To keep up with my bellydance rehearsal/performance schedule, I have the help of my supportive husband (who grumbles now and then, but never forbids - not that I would listen, anyway) and mother, as well as being gifted with dance partners who love my daughter and welcome her into our circle.  I have friends who expect to see her when we get together and who love and nurture her as her "aunties."

Without these people, I could not do what I do.  I acknowledge this.  I am not a miracle worker or Superwoman.  There are women who cannot live my life because they do not have a similar support system or are unwilling to utilize the one they have.  There are women who have made different choices - who choose to be mothers first.  That decision is right and proper for them, just not for me.  There are women who shake their heads and "tsk" when I say that I love to be alone with my husband, sans child.  If having no "date nights" works for their marriage, more power to them.  But for me and my husband?  If we didn't have nights where we didn't have to worry about being "Mommy and Daddy", if we didn't have nights (and sometimes whole weekends) of romance and unrestrained loud sex without worrying about hearing the pad of little feet ... we'd fizzle.  We know that.  We like each other a lot and we enjoy each other's company.  I think this is a great example for Sarai - it shows her that marriage can be hot and sexy, that it doesn't have to be humdrum just because it's a committed relationship.  I want her to see her parents kissing one another passionately and flirting with one another.  I want for her the kind of marriage we have - one full of fire and fun.

It is not selfish to want the best for yourself.  It's okay, I promise you.  The best doesn't have to come in a way that causes harm to others.  But you can live your life - you can go out with your friends, take that class, open that business ... you can, but you have to acknowledge that you can't do it alone. 

Sometimes I wonder ...

... if I'm the only one who had a hard time adjusting to the idea of motherhood.  When Sarai was conceived, Vic and I weren't taking any precautions against pregnancy, but weren't particularly trying to get pregnant, either.  We'd just gone to closing on our house and were, understandably, over-the-moon with happiness and excitement.  In our celebratory zeal ... Mumma was conceived.  Um, whoops.  But also, yay!  Or, at least, it was yay as far as Vic was concerned.  Pretty immediately, I started thinking, "Oh my God ... what did I get myself into?"  Of course, I put on the best face in front of everyone else because they were so excited and mostly happy for me.  Mommy seemed a bit underwhelmed, but I wasn't surprised by that.  She was underwhelmed when I told her about our engagement, too.

Growing up, I expected that being pregnant would be one of the best times of my life.  But frankly, pregnancy sucked about 80% of the time.  There was excitement - I enjoyed coming up with names for her, planning and designing her room, buying the tiny little dresses, diapers and booties.  But every night, I would wait until Vic was occupied with schoolwork planning and I'd go off in a dark room by myself, sit on the floor and worry about whether I'd be a good mother, about what would happen to me and my baby should Vic and I not work out.  I would tell myself that women always have the bulk of the work of parenthood and that I'd signed myself up to a lifetime of putting my child before myself.  I didn't know if I was ready for such selflessness, such sacrifice.

Here I am, three years later, and I'm still not sure.  I am sure that I'm a good mother, though maybe not a great one.  I am sure that Sarai is healthy, happy, and loved.  I am sure that I do my best to provide for her the things that she needs and a good bit of what she wants.  I am sure that I go out of my way to tell her, daily, that she is brilliant, capable, worthy, and beautiful.  I am sure that I am afraid for her.  I am afraid that she will not understand her own magnificence - that she will not look in the mirror and see how unspeakably lovely she is, that she will not hear the musicality in her voice that rings out with every word, that she will allow some little bastard to make her believe that she is less than her worth.  I worry that she will be beaten down by the world.  But I believe my job, as her mother, is to shield her from the world's wrath, while giving her the tools to run free in it and soak up all its joys.

I know there are women out there who will say that I am less than a good mother because I have been honest about my feelings.  They are probably the same women who would be defensive upon hearing that I think way too many mothers pour all their hopes, dreams, and energies into their children.  Way too many put unreasonable expectations on their children, channeling every bit of love into them ... and I wonder, how will those children stand up under the pressure?  Sarai is my child and I want the world for her ... but I want the world that she wants, not the one I've built for myself.  And I don't want to spend 24/7 with her - sometimes, I want to be alone with my husband, or to have a girls' night with my friends, or even just a room to myself, by myself.  And I think that showing her that she is a huge part of my life, but not my whole life will give her the freedom to blaze her own path, knowing that my life's happiness doesn't ride on her shoulders.

She's home!

Sarai is home from her weeklong vacation! Apart from the day she was born, I've never been so happy to see her. Vic and I have had a vacation from parenting and it was really great and fun. He and I discovered that Sarai is quite capable of spending extended time away with a family member, which will make us feel much better about getting away, when we can. But, we've spent more than a little bit of time in this past week thinking about her and talking about her and wondering what she was doing. You never truly get away from being a parent, not even for a minute. I'm so happy she's home.

The Story of Sarai and the "Cream Blush"

Last night, Sarai and I were in the basement family room. I was on one side, on the computer, she was on the other, playing with her blocks. Or so I thought. I looked up and noticed that her sleeper was down around her ankles and she was swaying back and forth, doing her "bellydance." I said, "Mumma, put your sleeper back on. It's chilly down here." I watched until she pulled it back up over her arms and then went back to the computer. A few minutes later, I glanced over again - the sleeper was back around her ankles. I was irked and said, quite a bit more forcefully, "Sarai! Are you crazy? I said put your sleeper back on!" Well, she thought "Are you crazy?" was funny and proceeded to dance around singing it, "Are you crazy? Are you crazy?" over and over. I had to laugh. As she danced closer, I saw that she had what looked like rouge rubbed into her cheeks. I rolled my eyes. Vic had brought her home a chicken strip meal from Burger King and a jar of clay had come with it. I had made a point of telling her not to put the clay on her face or anywhere near her mouth. I just knew that she had disobeyed and rubbed the clay into her cheeks. So, I snapped, "What is that on your face, Sarai?" To which she replied, "Boo-boo." (Boo-boo is what we call poop.) I'm thinking to myself, "That can't be true. She rubbed that clay into her face and knows she's in trouble, so she has to think of something else to say." I say to her, "That is not boo-boo on your face, Sarai. Come here." She danced on over. I pulled her close and smelled her face. I have an honest child if nothing else. She had rubbed boo-boo onto her cheeks. I just sat there in shock for what had to be at least ten seconds. I was in utter disbelief. Here, in front of me, danced my child - my beautiful, lovable baby girl. And she had boo-boo ... poop ... kaka ... feces ... shit ... on her face!!! I began to shriek. I freaked all the way out and proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs, "OH MY GOD!!! WHY DO YOU HAVE POOP ON YOUR FACE??? ARE YOU CRAZY??? IT COULD HAVE GOTTEN IN YOUR MOUTH!!!" At this point, I am retching at the thought of her possibly having eaten shit. I am running up the stairs with her held out at arm's length, screaming the whole way. She is laughing her head off. When we got upstairs to the bathroom, I am trembling and shrieking, in shock. She is hysterical with laughter and continues to cackle the entire time as I literally try to scrub the skin of her cheeks and hands. I would have been proud of the job she'd done with contouring her cheeks, had she not used shit as her blush of choice. Yes, I did proceed to call everyone in my family to tell them. Unfortunately, those who were not home last night will be hearing about this over Thanksgiving dinner. I hope they don't have any gravy on their plates. And, by the way, I will be saving this in my mental databank to be retrieved upon the visit of her first boyfriend. Oh yes, this story will be used to embarrass her in front of potential suitors. It is a requirement. And, I think, my just reward, for having a totally shit-faced child.