Sugar and Spice

I communicate for a living. All day, every day, I communicate. I don’t just communicate, I persuade, convince, and argue. I’ve taken classes, read books, and paid consultants to make me better at communicating. I know that the message isn’t just the message, but the way it’s conveyed. I know what you say isn’t half as important as how you look saying it. I am by all accounts a professional communicator. Yet, sometimes, like this morning, when I realize that my most important message to my important audience is falling flat, it is all for naught. This morning on the way to school after having a “which do we like better” music sampling amongst Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach (thank you Mrs. Burke’s kindergarten class composers of the month – she literally knows the difference), Pumpkin asked me matter-of-factly when I was going to quit work and be a babysitter mom. I explained to her that I enjoy my job and I work to make her proud and so we can do all the things she likes to do....

Those of you who don't know me too well may be surprised to learn that I can be a real meanie. I could explain away why that is - probably something to do with being a short, young female in a competitive and aggressive profession dominated by loud, old men. In any event, I have to admit that sometimes I can a bit of a bully. At work, it usually ends well. The problem is when it comes home with me. Add to that the fact that I am a bad disciplinarian. I don't like to discipline my kids. For one, it puts a damper on what we have going on (i.e., if she can't go to the party, I can't go to the party). I understand that is immature and selfish and don't you dare think for a minute that I didn't REALLY reconsider even typing those words. But this blog is all about being honest and that is the truth. Fortunately for me I have some really, really, really wonderful kids. But, they are kids. They fight and argue and sass and sometimes they need to be discipli...

I posted an article on Facebook yesterday about the first Kindergarten drop-off. “How did we get here?” the author asked. It’s the same question I’m asking myself, so the thought is not unique. I'm certain I was not the only mom walking out of the building today with her tongue pressed hard against the top of her mouth trying to stop tears, barely able to eek out a have a great day as I left my part-baby part-big girl to start her education. So, while the question is hardly unique, this blog post is my answer. It’s my “baby book” letter to Pumpkin about her first day of Kindergarten. How did we get here? How did I get to this beautiful little pink-clad angel, nervously clutching my hand, proudly strapped into her monogrammed owl backpack holding her already completed first homework assignment that she cannot wait to turn in? How, in 5 short years, did I get to this creature who is simultaneously and always my needy baby and already my moody, temperamental all-girl child? The...

I forgot how much I loved Wilson Phillips until I blasted it this morning on the way to Vacation Bible School. I tried to explain to Pumpkin what an amazing song this was and get her to fist pump to "some day, somebody's gonna make you want to turn around and say goodbye (say goodbye)...." She looked at me like I was crazy and asked me to turn it to Kidz Bop's version of Iggy Azalea. I tried. When I turned on and tuned out the K-I-D-Z, I started thinking about holding on. Parenting, I've discovered, is about a fine line of holding on and letting go. Like a see-saw. Holding on to their baby-ness while letting go as they test their wings. For other analyses, see all other deep (or mid-thigh high) posts I have attempted in the past. The "holding on" I was thinking about today had more to do with my sanity. In other words, in this context letting go would be a problem. These days I feel like I'm having to hold on extra tight not to lose it comp...

Today started Pumpkin's last week of preschool. You faithful readers know how hard it was when I dropped her off for her first day of daycare at 8-weeks old. She's been in "school" since that time, but for some reason "Kindergarten" was a hard step for mama. When I look at her, I scarcely see a baby. She asks questions that I cannot answer and has conversations that tell me, like the song she sang at PK graduation, she "will learn much more than I'll ever know." Sometimes she is so grown up I almost forget she's a little girl, at least for a little while longer. Then there's Bug. Suddenly she wears panties and sleeps in a big girl bed. She holds entire conversations and loves to play school. She idolizes her "sissy my best fwind." Her laugh is infectious, from the deepest, happiest place in her soul and she loves to laugh and make others laugh. They are growing so fast I sometimes wish I could make time stand st...

It's Saturday afternoon and everyone in the house is asleep for nap (Hubby included). It's quiet. My life is very rarely quiet. The lull of the dishwasher and hum of the dryer are almost therapeutic and boy have I needed some catharsis lately. Never fear. Nothing earth-shattering has occurred, other than enrolling Pumpkin for Kindergarten and having Bug almost fully potty-trained. They are growing up. My logical brain knew this would happen. I'm not sure my heart was ready for it, because it has brought with it a bittersweet heaviness. It is the eternal first world mother-struggle, so I know I'm not unique. I'm so fortunate that my "grave" concern is that they are growing too fast, rather than not growing; that I am trying to find more leisure time to spend with them and not worrying about where their next meal will come from. I am fortunate beyond belief and to even consider my woes as problems is almost selfish. Nonetheless, my humble and grateful he...

The Brown girls have had an eventful week. Hubby has been at a conference in Vegas all week (listen closely, there are no sad, sad violins playing for him). While he was gone, I turned 35. That's all there is to say about that. Also while he has been gone, Bug has had a mystery bug which delayed her starting her second daycare in one month after being yanked from the first one due to verbal abuse. And, somewhere in there, we celebrated Martin Lever King Day. As I previously reported, daycare #1 didn't get off to a great start. That was to be expected. Unfortunately, the bad start turned into worse and worse days the longer we stayed with it. The bad days turned into bad nights as she dreaded the morning. Suspicions were high, but I pushed that mother's intuition down. But then Nona paid a surprise visit to pick her up and walked in on a teacher screaming "SHUT UP" and my little Bug crying. No wonder she hated it so much. Sadly, it all started to make way to...

There's an anonymous prayer that makes its way around the internet and gets posted on office refrigerators called either A Prayer for Today or Morning Prayer. It's a tongue-in-cheek prayer about how perfect the speaker has been and ends with the revelation that he or she has not even gotten out of bed yet. Like most humor, it's funny because it is true. Like most truth, it stings a little. I'm the best mother I can be in the morning. I feel full of hope (at least once I'm full of coffee). I have plans for joy, learning, sharing, and loving. I drop my kids off and cannot wait to see them again. Then life happens. Then 5 o'clock rolls around. Most days I'm no longer the mother I want to be. I've got hungry, wound up tiny people literally hanging on me, both talking at the same time, asking for snacks, telling me of their days, all while I'm trying to go through mail and cook dinner. That's when I turn into a mother I'm embarrassed...