Sunshine

There is a lyricism to childhood that we as parents and mentors and employees and mess cleaner-uppers, and spill moppers, and shoe tier's and in and through all those mundane duties of adulthood are often apt to forget. We become masters of ushering in milestones and tucking bed corners and sniffing tops of heads and pulling on our little one's boots, and ignoring the whines. In that rythm of life we sometimes forget that children need to explore the elements of the world but do not need our approval, merely our companionship. They need us to be there with them, also exploring, creating, discovering, not saying with a nod and a placating smile,
"yes, honey. I know."

My little sunshine is four. She is bright and social and healthy and breaks my heart with her sweet yet halting eloquence. And in that she has taught me a crucial lesson: love and childhood are beautiful in a way nothing else it. They can't be misunderstood, there is no wrong way to say "I love you." There is no wrong way to be a child.
If you stand in the sunshine outside and spin in circles with your eyes closed, you will see colors dancing inside your eyelids as you spin, around, and around, and around.
Love is the same way: but it's there whether you spin or not.

I love you, my little sunshine.

Loving the Skin She's In

Welcome to the October 2012 Carnival of Natural Parenting: Instilling a Healthy Self-Image
This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month our participants have shared confessions, wisdom, and goals for helping children love who they are. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.
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Motherhood is the undertaking of a lifetime. This small person that I am raising is the most important person I will ever meet. She is part of me, and part of my partner, the man I love most in the world. It is hard, therefore, when she doesn’t see how wonderful she is or says things about how unhappy she is with her body. She is so smart, funny, gentle, caring, and beautiful. But my Little Berry sometimes expresses that she doesn’t feel right in her own skin.I should take a moment to point out that we are a multiracial family. My partner is African American. I have Irish-and Cherokee Indian heritage, but identify as Caucasian. I am happy with myself and comfortable with my body. We celebrate diversity. We deliberately seek out people who are not “just like us;” we live in a diverse neighborhood because we want her to grow up meeting lots of different kinds of people and respecting people for who they are, not what they look like. And in showing her that what you look like doesn’t matter, we believe you have to make it matter. We don’t pretend different races doesn’t exist, and we are certainly not Colorblind

This week alone, she has said: “I don’t like my brown skin,” and “I am not brown, mama, I am white like the walls. I don’t want to be brown.” She has also said things about her papa’s skin: “Go away papa, you are a creepy brown guy.” This moment in motherhood pained me deeply. I also should note that Little Berry talks about not wanting to ‘be a girl.’ In truth, this is infinitely easier for me to handle. When she says “mama, don’t call me a girl anymore,” I apologize for assuming her gender and tell her she can be a boy or girl (or a freaking dinosaur!) if she wants, and that I will love her no matter what.She prefers to dress in things that are predominantly ‘boyish,’ or to be more specific, she shies away from dresses, skirts, pink things, hair bows, princesses, and the like. She is definitely a gender diverse or gender undecided child. And I can help her with that. I can call her “my boy.” I don’t push any choices on her in this regard. It is not hurtful, just as it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if she wanted to pierce her ears or cut her hair. Those things are her choices.But, barring some major, Michael Jackson-style body modifications, she will always be brown. And she is beautiful for it. And even if I COULD change it about her, I wouldn’t. It is a huge part of who she is and she gets it from her beautiful papa. Last night after bath time, running on inspiration from a friend, I showed her that she has my knees, and her papas eyes, and his smile, and my toes, and how her skin looks like she took a paintbrush and swirled my colors with papa’s colors and made a whole new color, the warm brown of a nut shell that has just fallen off a tree. I was feeling pretty good. I was feeling poetic and even thought to myself “I wish someone would say these things to me!!”But she looked me in the eye and said “No mama, I am not a brown guy…stop calling me brown. YOU be a brown guy if you like it!” I didn’t giggle. But maybe I wanted to a little.We do the things we are supposed to do: we talk about differences, we tell her about how all families are made in different ways. How bodies are not all the same, but all are beautiful. We volunteer in and out of our community and she loves it. We read books with lots of different kinds of people represented in them, like “Everywhere babies,” by Susan Meyers. We believe that everyone is special, and everyone is different. We believe it is our differences that MAKE us special. We tell our Little Berry how wonderful she is, how beautiful she is inside and out. She likes the inside part. She’s still not sold on the outside.In truth, it is not her ‘fault.’ After all, she is only four. But neither is it my fault: most of her feelings are internalized from the media, from magazines in grocery stores, from the fact that storybooks about minorities are hard to come by, from the fact that even in a diverse neighborhood, she is surprised to see other people who look like herself. She gets it from television where the only black character is stereotyped, too. Motherhood is an adventure. In mine, I am raising a child who isn’t comfortable in her own skin, despite how extraordinary she is. It hurts my heart, but we have a long way to go before she truly loves the skin she’s in as much as I do.
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Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!
Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:
(This list will be updated by afternoon October 9 with all the carnival links.)

• Why I Walk Around Naked — Meegs at A New Day talks about how she embraces her own body so that her daughter might embrace hers.
• What I Am Is Not Who I Am — Jennifer at Hybrid Rasta Mama discusses her views on the importance of modeling WHO she is for her daughter and not WHAT she sees in the mirror.
• Carnival of Natural Parenting: Verbs vs. Adjectives — Alisha at Cinnamon & Sassafras tries hard to compliment what her son does, not who he is.
• The Naked Family — Sam at Love Parenting talks about how nudity and bodily functions are approached in her home.
• How She'll See Herself — Rosemary at Rosmarinus Officinalis discusses some of the challenges of raising a daughter in our culture and how she's hoping to overcome them.
• Self Esteem and all it's pretty analogies — Musings from Laura at Pug in the Kitchen on what she learned about self-esteem in her own life and how it applies to her parenting.
• Beautiful — Tree at Mom Grooves writes about giving her daughter the wisdom to appreciate her body and how trying to be a role model taught Tree how to appreciate her own.
• Do As I Say, Not As I Do: Nurturing A Healthy Body Image — Christy at Eco Journey in the Burbs is changing perceptions about her body so that she may model living life with a positive, healthy body image for her three young daughters.
• Some{BODY} to Love — Kate Wicker has faced her own inner demons when it comes to a poor body image and even a clinical eating disorder, and now she wants to help her daughters to be strong in a world that constantly puts girls at risk for losing their true selves. This is Kate's love letter to her daughters reminding them to not only accept their bodies but to accept themselves as well in every changing season of life.
• They Make Creams For That, You Know — Destany at They Are All of Me writes about celebrating her natural beauty traits, especially the ones she passed onto her children.
• New Shoes for Mama — Kellie of Our Mindful Life, guest posting at Natural Parents Network, is getting some new shoes, even though she is all grown up…
• Raising boys with bodily integrity — Lauren at Hobo Mama wants her boys to understand their own bodily autonomy — so they'll respect their own and others'.
• Sowing seeds of self-love in our children — After struggling to love herself despite growing up in a loving family, Shonnie at Heart-Led Parenting has suggestions for parents who truly want to nurture their children's self-esteem.
• Subtle Ways to Build a Healthy Self-Image — Emily at S.A.H.M i AM discusses the little things she and her husband do every day to help their daughter cultivate a healthy self-image.
• On Barbie and Baby Bikinis: The Sexualization of Young Girls — Justine at The Lone Home Ranger finds it difficult to keep out the influx of messages aimed at her young daughters that being sexy is important.
• Undistorted — Focusing on the beauty and goodness that her children hold, Mandy at Living Peacefully with Children watches them grow, loved and undistorted.
• Off The Hook — Arpita at Up, Down and Natural sheds light on the journey of infertility, and how the inability to get pregnant and stay pregnant takes a toll on self image…only if you let it. And that sometimes, it feels fantastic to just let yourself off the hook.
• Going Beyond Being An Example — Becky at Old New Legacy discusses three suggestions on instilling healthy body image: positivity, family dinners, and productivity.
• Raising a Confident Kid — aNonymous at Radical Ramblings describes the ways she's trying to raise a confident daughter and to instil a healthy attitude to appearance and self-image.
• Instilling a Healthy Self Image — Laura at This Mama's Madness hopes to promote a healthy self-image in her kids by treating herself and others with respect, honesty, and grace.
• Stories of our Uniqueness — Casey at Sesame Seed Designs looks for a connection to the past and celebrates the stories our bodies can tell about the present.
• Helping My Boy Build a Healthy Body Image — Lyndsay at ourfeminist{play}school offers readers a collection of tips and activities that she uses in her journey to helping her 3-year-old son shape a healthy body image.
• Eat with Joy and Thankfulness: A Letter to my Daughters about Food — Megan at The Boho Mama writes a letter to her daughters about body image and healthy attitudes towards food.
• Helping Our Children Have Healthy Body Images — Deb Chitwood at Living Montessori Now shares information about body image, and her now-adult daughter tells how she kept a healthy body image through years of ballet and competitive figure skating.
• Namaste — Kat at Loving {Almost} Every Moment shares how at barely 6 years old, her daughter has begun to say, "I'm not beautiful." And while it's hard to listen to, she also sees it as a sign her daughter is building her self-image in a grassroots kind of way.
• 3 Activities to Help Instill a Healthy Self-Image in Your Child — Explore the changing ideals of beauty, create positive affirmations, and design a self-image awareness collage. Dionna at Code Name: Mama shares these 3 ideas + a pretty affirmation graphic you can print and slip in your child's lunchbox.
• Beautiful, Inside and Out — It took a case of adult-onset acne for Kat of MomeeeZen to find out her parenting efforts have resulted in a daughter that is truly beautiful, inside and out.
• Mirroring Positive Self Image for Toddlers — Shannon at GrowingSlower reflects on encouraging positive self image in even the youngest members of the family.
• How I hope to instill a healthy body image in my two girls — Raising daughters with healthy body image in today's society is no small task, but Xela at The Happy Hippie Homemaker shares how choosing our words carefully and being an example can help our children learn to love their bodies.
• Self Image has to Come from Within — Momma Jorje shares all of the little things she does to encourage healthy attitudes in her children, but realizes she can't give them their self images.
• Protecting the Gift — JW from True Confessions of a Real Mommy wants you to stop thinking you need to boost your child up: they think they are wonderful all on their own.
• Learning to Love Myself, for my Daughter — Michelle at Ramblings of Mitzy addresses her own poor self-image.
• Nurturing An Innate Sense of Self — Marisa at Deliberate Parenting shares her efforts to preserve the confidence and healthy sense of self they were born with.
• Don't You Love Me, Mommy?: Instilling Self-Esteem in Young Children After New Siblings Arrive — Jade at Seeing Through Jade Glass But Dimly hopes that her daughter will learn to value herself as an individual rather than just Momma's baby
• Exercising is FUN — Amy W. at Me, Mothering, and Making it All Work talks about modeling for her children that exercising is FUN and good for body and soul.
• Poor Little Chicken — Kenna at A Million Tiny Things gets her feathers ruffled over her daughter's clothing anxiety.
• Loving the skin she's in — Mama Pie at Downside Up and Outside In struggles with her little berry's choice not to celebrate herself and her heritage.

Wordless Wednesday: "Pappa wear me!"

Late night musings of an eternal mamma

I give her little face a kiss and she tucks her head into the crook of my neck. I smell like a mama, she smells strongly of bubbles and strawberries, a result of her affinity to sneaking the soap bar when she's fully clean and my hastiness to pull the tub stopper as the water gets chilly.

I knelt by the tub tonight, watching her soap her own toes and firmly refusing to brush her teeth. I swept a washcloth behind her ears, under her curvy chin, and wondered: how long she will need me yet? As I scooped water into the palm of my hand to rinse the day away, I glimpsed a bigger girl with memories and stories to spill out, with an eagerness and lightness of her father's and a the voice of a dreamer like me. Her hair swirled down around the top of her neck in a way I had never seen it do before, tracing rivulets down her spine and joining the bath again. My heart whispered: will I always know her this well?

The night is long at times, spent shuffling (those ever growing) little feet back under the blankets and getting up for water, worrying over my two dearest loves as they sleep, as if they were both my children, and I suppose in a very primal way they are. Both are sound in my nest all night, tucked around one another and oblivious to this mama's dually committed heart thrumming away, wanting to hold them both at once.

I fear her growing because I'm terrified I haven't got it down. I want longer to get it right before she will know that I am misguided, before she sees my faults. Eventually I'm sure she will recognize me as a pawn. I don't know the rules. I don't know the steps, I can't dance this fast and in these shoes.

As I scooped her from the tub and she pressed her face into the crook of my neck, we went in search of pajamas for the night. Pulling from the basket nearest me, I found my fingers wrapped around a tiny set of pajamas too small for any girl of mine. These were hers nearly two winters ago, just as we were seated deep in worry about our future, cold and jobless with no hope or vision for that to change, when there were too many hours each day spent sitting in classrooms waiting to graduate so I could hold my daughter whenever I pleased; hoping that my classmates didn't see my breasts leaking, at times wondering that they did not smell my fear that this route they celebrated with joy I counted as hell and yearned for it to end.

Darker hours in the shivering winter spent fighting with Pappa because my heart was never in school again, I could spare it all just to be a mamma. These were the pajamas she wore the morning we drove to the polls to vote for idealistic "Change," and the morning my sweet friend Jessy came to visit after her weekly Chemo battering. She smiled and yet looked faint, she sang to my wee babe about teething gums while I worried about my girl, who had immediately fixed herself on this splendid friend to investigate her thoroughly- I hope that my own girl will be as open-minded, loving and generous each step of the way as this beautiful young woman I am blessed to know.

This instinct to protect is not exclusive to the faces we see and love each day. It is not limited to the hands we hold or gently scold, and the tiny feet that pitter-patter and sometimes "THRUMP!" around, making tangible progress and marking the traits that will be theirs for life right before our eyes. It is for the children we don't get to hold, the ones we were ourselves, the ones we see on the television while their mother's wail. These children, these little sparks that flash for only a moment, that always have to face the cold with empty tummies, they are why my heart is breaking for my own. I stood in front of my mother when I was seven and told her I wanted to save all of the orphans, and asked her why we didn't try to help. Her reasoning was complicated and altogether simple at the same moment, yet her theory fell deaf to my ears and I am sure that day I stopped believing in universal love.

This is the joy called motherhood, I share it with many strong and willing women now, and before me. Surely more will come after me as well. Some bear a multitude of souls into the world and some never kiss a single tear frosted cheek, but all have willing, loving, open hearts. We swap tips and laughs and fears. We all dream big, and none of us wants our children to resist our open arms. This is the joy called motherhood. It is the voice of universal love.

Do something kind for another person today. Do it for your heart, and mine, which needs reminding that humanity is always embraced by mothers.

Waste not....

I wouldn't really call us frugal. We make lots of careful choices with our money but we also spend a lot on things we value. But we're not wasteful.
Last night at dinner I piled a plate full of lettuce and baby tomatoes, carrot slivers and broccoli for Little Berry and myself. She enjoys dipping her veggies in cream cheese and so I reached for the container to give her a separate dish of it for dipping.
I turned around to find her shaking the rest of the bag of lettuce into the garbage. She looked so proud of herself, like she was helping me. I think in her mind she was being genuinely useful. But it got me wondering:

How do we teach children about not being wasteful?

-Give them age-appropriate tasks they can complete. When we're leaving rooms or the apartment I will pull a chair up to the light switch and ask Little Berry to turn the lights off for me. She enjoys it and it gets her practicing the habit of noticing such things. Make it fun or a game and they will remember it.
In the case of food, I will start involving her more. Perhaps from now on she can be in charge of putting the lettuce into a Tupperware container or picking just as much as we need to eat at a time from our container garden of lettuce.
- Volunteer with them doing something like picking up trash in the park or cleaning out their toy box to take items to a local thrift store. This way they get to see their efforts pay off and see an alternative to simply throwing things away.
-Use less myself and model appropriate behavior. I am guilty of some times pouring a glass of water down the sink if I am finished. We can use that water on our plants or start leaving a bowl of water outside our apartment building for smaller creatures in this summer heat. The fact is- everything we do means something to our children.
-Be wary of what I am modeling as "trash" to my daughter. Recycling is something kids can get involved in and teaching about waste isn't just for the environment. It's ideal for the health of your family as well because your choices will lead to a healthier childhood for your little ones and a better parenthood for you.
-Talk about it, read about it, make up your own stories about it. This one is a given and probably easiest of them all. But just talking about it means nothing if you don't also model the behavior.
-Relax. Sometimes kids are wasteful. They don't comprehend that splashing in the sink is wasteful- to them it's pure bliss to have chilly streams of water everywhere. Sometimes you need to let go of the rules and just enjoy the moment.

What are your tips? How would you approach wastefulness with your child/ren?

Blog Hugs, or "Blugs!"

Mama Christina from Diary of a Mom gave me a bloggy award! I am so flattered as it's my first!
The rules are:
One: Tell us about a memorable hug you’ve had. It can be a person, pet, whatever…
Two: “Hug” at least one other blogger or as many as you like.


Part One:

Wow, this is very hard for me. As many people know, I'm not a hugger. I'm not touchy-feely or lovey-dovey, and I have to remind myself to give physical affection, even to Pappa Starbucks. He, however, is very very much a hugger and is always asking for them and so is Little Berry. I think this will be a good exercise for me to write about hugging though since I've been trying to work giving them more....eagerly?
On my 20th birthday, Pappa Starbucks and I were meeting for breakfast. We were in college, we knew each other fairly well but were not involved. He was gushy-mushy-lovey-dovey-always-grinning around me and I knew he liked me a lot. One of the reasons I was at that point hesitating to date him was actually because of how exuberantly affectionate he was.
I got up that morning, showered and dressed in my favorite button down plaid shirt that my best friend always picked on me for wearing (good naturedly of course) and fixed a bowl of very crunchy granola to take to breakfast even though we were meeting in front of chic-fil-a (he's vegetarian and I didn't eat meat in front of him for a very long time) so I wouldn't be chowing down on a chicken biscuit while he ate his frosted flakes or oatmeal.
It was a chilly and frosty-aired morning, and I walked from my dorm to the cafeteria to meet this silly guy- trying to make sure my hair wasn't all frizzy from the sweater I was wearing, and generally wanting to look good but not have anyone know I was TRYING. It was, after all, my BIRTHDAY.
He met me inside the cafeteria with a cheerful grin and leaned in to hug me- "Happy Birthday!" he said. He smelled like Tide and toothpaste and I realized I had flutters- genuine nervous butterfly flutters in my stomach at that moment, and I knew we'd be together for a long long time.
And we've been together ever since!
Part Two:
I hug Ittybits and Pieces, The Milk Maid, Erin, Milk Donor Mama, and last but never least, my Friend Monica!

raising a wild child

We love the outdoors. We don't have a lot of wild place to explore, but I want my Little berry to see that the world is beautiful. She notices the littlest things, a tiny bug, a bee on a leaf, a golden flower smashed underfoot. This week we played under the blossoming trees and built tiny houses for imaginary fairies, butterflies, snails.
I know she doesn't understand the concept of "imaginary," but she concentrates so hard helping. She fetches grasses and sticks with precision, plucks tiny violets and pebbles out of the way, waits for an ant to cross before stepping.
Here is where we started:
And when we finished, we had this tiny teepee of twigs:

capped with a lovely golden flower and a million brilliant rays of sun
Waiting to spin a little mystery into the everyday of some unsuspecting soul.

What have you taken the time to build with your child lately? Next time you're in the park, I challenge you to pause, find a small space, and make a fairy home (take pictures and share them with me if you do!)

My birth story with little berry, part 2

This is the final part of my birth story with Little Berry. For the first installment, see here .
Around noon on August 4th, I was still laboring hard. My water had still not broken, but I was having strong contractions every three minutes that I could not talk through. I was using the shower for 10-20 minutes at a time and it really helped. At one point, I began to feel guilty about the water usage and came out of the shower. My midwife suggested I use the birthing tub, and filled it for me. It was bad timing.

Pappa Starbucks was at home (remember, it was just around the corner) to walk our dog. I was exhausted so she filled the tub for me and I got in, leaving me alone. I felt suddenly and intensely overwhelmed by how alone I was and I started feeling tense, upset, perhaps even scared. I felt hot and painful and angry and loathed the birthing tub, although I think if I had tried it again with Pappa Starbucks there to would have been able to relax and enjoy it. I got out and put my headphones back on, listening to the same song over and over. It was "Crazy" by Seal and I had been using it throughout the morning. Something about it helped me relax and I kept it on repeat. I bounced on the birthing ball, tried the birthing chair, and when Pappa Starbucks returned, I was exhausted and realized I needed sleep. I had thought there was no way I could sleep in labor but I did-for almost an hour I was in a heavy hard sleep that was lucid and also very deep. When I woke up, I felt like I was coming out of a trance and I began laboring hard again.
I know my midwife checked me and I was almost fully dilated. I tried the shower again and I remember standing under the sharp splattering of hot water, the sound of running water filling the room, when I entered the third stage of labor. I wanted to push, I needed to push, but I was in the shower alone and there was no one else there to keep me from falling. I had a vision of responding to the urge to push and then slipping and hitting my head, or of the baby falling down the drain, a bizarre frantic airless panic sank in. Looking back on moments like this I wish wish wish I had sought out a doula. I could have used someone throughout my labor to just "be" with me. I was alone a lot. My midwives were busy with another mamma to be who had arrived (they complained about her while I was pushing!) "only two centimeters dilated and already screaming."
I crawled out of the shower on my knees, found a towel, and went back to the pretty yellow room that was around the corner. I think if I had not been alone in the shower I would have probably given birth rather quickly standing up there, it felt natural, compulsive.

When I went from the rushing water to the quiet yellow room I also felt tense again and instead of still needing to push, I began walking. I spent about 15minutes walking, my contractions very strong and consistent. I was on my knees breathing in and out to Seal when my midwives started insisting I try different positions. They were tired I'm sure. It was about 3:00 in the afternoon and I had been there since about 8am. It occurred to me that this is going to happen soon and I'm almost there!
I know I was anxious. I felt very unsupported. I'm okay saying this now, I've worked through most of the feelings I have about her birth. Writing these things down for me is the last step in moving past the sorrow I have over what I expected versus what I experienced. Not all births with midwives and "natural birth centers" are peaceful or beautiful. Not all women who choose unmedicated births have support teams and I was one of those women.
My midwives were fairly aggressive during the last stage of labor and the 45minutes I spent pushing. They held my legs, they told me when to push, they moved the lip of my cervix back forcefully without asking if I wanted them to. They massaged me forcefully with olive oil and never once asked if I wanted them to. And I didn't have the energy, knowledge, stamina- to tell them they were hurting me. I wish I could have that hour back, I would do it differently, I believe firmly that these are all interventions, that left on my own I could have found a natural position (rather than flat on my back, really, the most unproductive position) and I would be sharing different words.

But I lay, and I pushed and I cried, and I yelled words about how "I DIDNT WANT TO BE PREGNANT ANYMORE!!!!" And after this feeling of immense anger and solitude passed,
I breathed in and pushed down down down through the end of the world and out into the spinning light of a yellow room I birthed my beautiful daughter whose cord was tucked in spirals around her neck, where Midwives clamped it and cut it even though her pappa had asked to do it himself, and lay her on my chest to learn how to breathe.
We went home that same evening around 9:00, 4 hours after she became my daughter, little berry was safe at home, in a small apartment on a pretty street that will always be a little special, it was where I began to feel like a mama.

About seeing color:

As a mother to a biracial babe, and a partner to a African American man, I want to put a few words on race out there for you all.
"I don't see color" is a phrase I've heard a lot since entering this relationship. I've heard it from friends and family, strangers, new acquaintances. It's a phrase that, despite what you'd think, does not make anyone think you really don't "see color." It says not "I think were all equal" but rather "I prefer not to comment on the fact that we are all different" or "I'm not sure what I think about race but I sure am uncomfortable talking about it."
Racial issues are still prevalent in our society. But it's more than a culmination if historical prejudices, it's that individuals often shy away from diversity. One of the reasons I love living in the city is for the blend of people. On any day, I see as many brown people as I see black people as I see white people. I meet Indians and Caucasians and Europeans and Africans and African Americans. And this is important to me because it allows me to see people who don't just look
alike, or like me, but with whom I have interesting and challenging conversations nonetheless.
It challenges the perception of sameness- because we are all living in the same community, enjoying the same resources, but we don't all look like one another. For the record, in case I haven't already made this clear? I think people are beautiful. Colored people, pale people, pink people. All of us.
I grew up in a predominantly white community in rural Appalachia. I never thought about race because it always seemed like everyone was like me: we were pretty much all "white."
I also never thought that being "white" made me better/ smarter/ more priveleged- but guess what? It does make me more priveleged.
Being "white" in America is like being normal in a room full of people who may or may not be "normal" too, but with whom you do not identify.
Being the standard by which others are measured. It's something we often take for granted: our neighbors will look "like us," that cartoons and books will depict people "like us," that we can find plenty of toys and story books and movies that have characters resembling ourselves or our children, that when we place a phone call to our phone service provider/ Internet/ paper/ local radio station- no one will make assumptions about us regarding the sound of our voice and our income/ lifestyle/ racial heritage. That when we walk into a grocery store at 11:00 at night to buy diapers- the cashier won't stare at us thinking we're there to rob them. These are all elements of our culture and they're a given for many many people. Saying "I don't see color" is like saying "I don't even think what you're (you're=others) going though, is real" or "I want to believe that everyone is like me." It ignores the history of racism, it is a process of ignoring the history of slavery, and it is, in my opinion, a 'white privelege' comment.
I want you to challenge yourself to see color. See race. See people's differences, see their character, see their names, their scars. Hear their voices, their stories.
Don't turn your head because someone has a different skin color and you feel uncomfortable sitting next to them on the park bench. Don't make blanket assumptions regarding their story. They may be African, Haitian, Mexican, Spanish, Dutch, Sweedish. But they're still an individual, skin color shouldn't be the only thing you see.
By allowing others to say these things or saying them yourself, ("blacks are ignorant, thrives, have poor work ethic, are disinterested in education," etc) we are hindering the progress that so many people are fighting for every day.it is hateful, and perpetuates the cycle of racism. We are still a far cry from having equal rights for all Americans, and all I'm asking from you is to push yourself that little step farther: ask yourself where your assumption formed. What is the basis of your reasoning? Why did you think what you just thought? Why is it okay to assume that our President is not an American? Or for Chris Matthews to say on live TV that he " forgot [Obama] was black for a minute" (an incredibly racist comment indicating that Obama's
speech was so good he could almost pass as a white man)?, Or to make fun of his middle name? Ask your children, your friends, your family when you hear them say these things. Ask yourself.
Most of the time, you'll be surprised that people don't know why they thought anyone would
feel 'better' (as if "they" were the one who was uncomfortable with their own skin color) hearing those words:
"I don't see color" or other comments of authority. In reality, it's the same as saying "I'ts okay, we can pretend you're just like me!"
One more thing, about my sentiments: that person you're talking about? That's my life partner. My daughter. My family.

- mamma pie

Feel free to comment but please be respectful and leave the hate-based/ fear-based comments for someone else.

Uh-oh...

And down she falls.

Yesterday Little Berry was playing on her toy car that my mom (hi mom!) bought her. She stood up in the seat as I was stirring some boiling spaghetti...and fell. She chipped her front top tooth and now it seems to be causing her some sensitivity issues. I'm more than a little scared about taking her to the dentist. I don't want my daughter to be sedated...or drilled on...or scared either. I feel pretty awful. Hopefully (and I've been told) it's not that big of a deal. They should just be able to put a little cap on it/or file it down a little bit. I hope it is that easy.
(when this photo was taken, I had my foot on the car. I feel pretty stupid now for letting her do it at all. yes. I'm stupid)

101

My last post was my 100th post. I didn't even notice it. I guess that goes to show how fast things are moving these days. It's been feeling almost balmy here and this is such a wonderful thing because I was feeling so blue to be cooped up indoors all day every day. I'm sure it will not last, though when we were further East it certainly felt Springlike much sooner in the winter and I can't tell you how much I loved the way the city would fill our apartment in the winter. It made being inside seem like being just behind the curtain on stage to hear the rattling of the trucks on the freeway echoiing into our little space, filling the walls with the humming noises of someone else's adventure.
Little Berry loves being out of doors with me, brings me her shoes and my own, her jacket, the keys, just to get my attention that she wants to go walk. When it's bitter cold though she doesn't want anything to do with it, and squalls to be picked up so she can tuck her face into my neck and poke the freckles on the side of my face. She calls them each a "ball" though, or somedays, "murse?" which is Little Berry for nurse and I have no idea why she thinks my freckles are going to yield milk.
I'm in desperate want of a bicycle, I want a lovely vintage style one that's on display at Target and a sweet baby carrier that goes behind the seat. I've been spying on them at the Thrift stores and have found a few contenders but they all need work and they're not that much less than a new one here. So I'm saving my dollars and waiting, and when Spring comes and I have a summer to look forward to on flat roads of rural Mississippi (or Arkansas, who knows?) I will buy my bike and buckle in my Little Berry who by then will be quite a BIG Little Berry, and we will ride.
We're having that language explosion age, I've been warned about it before but it just slipped away from me that this is what's happening, until this morning I was putting laundry on the clothesline and she was standing a few feet away pointing at the sky and saying skyyyyeeeee? followed by burrrrd? 'reeeee? (tree)and turtle? In the past week or so, she's learned mouse, and keys, and socks (shocksh?) and cow as well as that cow's go Mooooo?! and points to their udders and says "Murse?". She can say Pig (pigsh!), which sounds a lot like her enthusiastic "fish!" and snort when she sees their picture. She spots airplanes in the sky that look like mere pinpricks in the clouds and shrieks about them until they've again faded into the mystery that is a cloud. This morning I was telling her something and I said the word "one"- I think I said "oops! That's only one shoe." And she said: "Two?" but she usually gets pretty lost after four.
I have two pieces to her little kitchen set painted a pretty white, and am waiting to paint the last, the stove. It is somewhat tedious because my minutes to do it are spare but the reward is great. She loves it immensely and has been pilfering from my silverware drawer every few minutes to play whatever games it is that gets her so wrapped up and immersed in taking things out and putting things back in again. I've decided to try my hand at making toy food for her. I have plenty of felt wool but I don't like the feel of wool toys enough to do that, so I've decided to use pre-knitted fabrics, like organic cotton sweaters I picked up at the thrift stores in heavy weight yarns and cut them apart to make them from. I will post photos of this when I'm done as well as a tutorial if I succeed.
Here's something to think about until I post again:
Which is cutest?
Little Berry, last January


OR: Little Berry this week

Making a mini terrarium

I know you are coming here just to see this. Right?
Well, Pappa Starbucks' Mom and Sister came over yesterday.
So I made a terrarium for his sister who is still just a kid. I wanted it to be fun and cheerful and a bit fantastic- like a mini fairyland in a jar. I've been saving glass jars and reusing them a lot lately (because suddenly I'm realizing all the things I need glass jars for!- buttons, q-tips and band-aids, embroidery thread, miniature toys that I keep for things like terrariums,needles,dried herbs, spices, ginger syrup for making ginger ale, candied orange peels that I made so I wasn't wasting the peels...and because they're deeeeelicious- etc)
I'm looking at my photos of this terrarium and a little disappointed. I've been "copping out" a lot lately and using my iphone camera for things I should just use the regular camera for. And I didn't take any pictures showing the side of the jar either and how full it is.
So Little Berry and I went on a walk taking this little jam jar that I had with us. We found a patch of moss and proceeded to find a piece about the size of the base of the jar. We also had a spoon with us and scraped up enough dirt to fill the jar about three inches. We gathered a few tiny grasses and acorns and took this all home.
At home I mixed in some richer dirt from a flower pot that was also much looser. And then we tamped the dirt down for the moss because moss likes firm surfaces. We placed the grass, acorns, and tiny bird next. There's about an inch from the top of the jar left.

Next I placed the polymer clay mushrooms. I got three packages of polymer clay at the check out at AC Moore or Hobby Lobby and made these mushrooms. It baked under five minutes and I chose to leave them unpainted. I would have left holes in the stems for pins if I had thought about it but they're fine without them and haven't fallen over at all.

I will definitely be making more of these. I think they would be really nice for college students or as gifts for young people getting their first apartment. Low maintenance (needs lots of indirect sunlight and occasional watering) and lovely to look at. Also is rather dreamy and I know a certain young girl I want to make one for still.
*I'm looking at you Caitlyn!*
--> on another note, I am looking for a seamless way to round the corners on my photos. I've tried photoshop (I only have 5.0) and can't get it to do what I want, and I haven't found any good online generators. Any tips besides buying a new computer?

not one, but two

I forgot to share this yesterday. Sunday when we went out to do our regular grocery shopping, I had just given Little Berry a bath. Around here, that's quite an undertaking because she has such dry skin and hair. It's a constant battle to keep her healthily moisturized. She LOVES washing herself in the tub but letting her use soap is problematic. I have yet to find a soap that truly moisturizes her skin, let's not even talk about her hair. If you know of one that is great for biracial skin, especially babies, preferably one that has lots of olive oil in it, please let me know!
Lately I've just been giving her the tub with water in it and a little bit of Mr.Bubbles to play in and then after she's played for a while I get her hair wet and then I rub olive oil on her scalp. About a tablespoon but she doesn't have much hair so it doesn't take much.
Anyway, Sunday right before we left she was getting out of the tub and I decided to try a new hairdo. So far she has only had enough hair for a single little pony tail.

See it there? That tiny little wisp on top of her head?


And Sunday, just when I had given up hope forever,

I was able to wrangle her into TWO piggytails.It was a proud moment for me.

Sewing Table

Since we moved into this apartment we have lived in a seeming hodge podge of disorganization or non functional spaces. Finally I have created my own corner where I can actually point out as my own sewing space, (with my own sewing table!) or to write or just doodle. When we were students, I simply made my school desk work, even though it didn't. But when we moved here, and I became a full-time at home mamma, well, I begged for my own crafting space.
And I got it! I haven't included photos here of my fabric stash...or of my bookshelf loaded up with sweet vintage children's books, but I wanted to share my sewing table space and my sweet little wall behind it.

Strung up you see my vintage-style French children's "manners cards" we picked up in Paris. I wish I could remember the name of the shop...I can tell you we were accosted by a gentleman outside of the shop who was angry that A0 we didn't speak French and B) that Little Berry wasn't wearing socks and C) that the sun was shining. The sun! Shining on our daughter. How dare we let that happen!
You know, because we should have stayed in if the sun was shining, it makes perfect sense.
Anyway, back to my space.

I also put up some handmade mustache's. Because I can't seem to get enough of them lately and I can't decide what to do with these at the same time.
I have so many ideas though.

I have a little bit of room on the wall for things I don't want Little Berry to get her grimy paws sweet little baby hands all over- that's to say it isn't big enough to hold EVERYTHING I'd like to keep her from of course, but that would just be called a SEPARATE HOUSE.

The wrong way

Have you ever noticed that going through things together with your significant other either strengthens you as a couple or shows you a side you didn't know existed, or maybe ignored? Pappa Starbucks and I have been through a lot over the past year, good things and unforgettable experiences (like our trip to Europe for two months) and bad things (like graduating from college with no job prospects and coming back from Europe to not have a "home" anymore). Little Berry is a dream, but sometimes I get worn out being with her all day and let's face it, baby's don't measure out what they want from you in little request throughout the day. They want everything, they want it all the time, and they want it right away.
Sometimes I feel like I am failing to teach her patience, and just focusing on teaching her love, how to be happy, that I love her being sweet.
I know there is a balance. And from any outside view, we're doing a great job. But we disagree so intensely on the small issues that the big issues become pushed to the back of our minds. I know this is a recipe for disaster. I know that parenting is hard. Loving her is just the reward, the special reason that being a parent is worth it and the reason we all keep going daily. I have so much that I want for my life, and so much that I want for her life, and so much that I want for Pappa Starbucks' life that I don't know what to do first, where to put my passion. I want to do it all, and all well, but I'm not capable of that.
I take responsibility for other people's dreams and projects and desires, people not in my immediate three- and I do the best I can for them, but at the same time I am afraid I might be letting down the people who DO count on me. I can't be in charge of everyone's happiness and yet I want for us to all be happy. There is perhaps an easier way to say this, but it feels like I am being an underachiever because the only other option is to do everything, for everyone, so I please the people I know I can please, and I let the rest fall by.
I want to please, I have always been eager to make people happy. There are reasons for this, reasons I am just now beginning to understand but not willing to admit. There are consequences to treating myself and my partner and my daughter like we are last on our on list, but I don't know how to begin stripping away all of the problems and commitments that don't make me a better person, who I want to be, who I am, and focus on the ones that do. I am going the wrong way to get to my dreams but I am going to fast to notice it.

16 months of joy

Today my Little Berry is 16 months old. She's so big, and such a baby all at once.
She is still not much of a morning person (see above photo for proof) but I'm in love with this age, this stage of development, with all of its words and even its frustrations. This morning she got angry ANGRY because she wanted so desperately to dress herself and isn't capable of doing it all at once, she just doesn't have nthe motor skills for it, but you should have seen her try. She was intense, desperate, breathing heavily, picking up her foot with both hands and trying to poke them into her pants. In the end she settled on letting me put the pants on her that she picked out because any other pair? Elicited shrieks.
And she tries to read, pointing at the words on the page, making up garble about them. Everything has a name whether she gets it right or not, but boy oh boy does she try! A few weeks ago she started saying "airplane!" and now everything in the sky- from the moon, sun, birds, clouds, to airplanes themselves are pointed and called out as such.
If we're in the kitchen, she drags over her high chair and waits to be fed, grinning, and making messes with it whenever it's placed in front of her. She's very sensory oriented and specifically, loves feeling, touching things to see what they do.
She rolls her eyes when she doesn't like what we're telling her. She's been doing this for about three weeks and it's simultaneously hysterical and absurd.
I bought a vintage quilt recently at the Goodwill and she has spent so much time while we nurse stroking it, pointing at different images, licking it and right this very moment she has her whole face plastered against my computer screen watching the letters be typed and saying NnnnnOSE!
My girl, she is a joy.

Another day older...

Whew. Another year gone in just a day it seems. I'm always relieved when birthdays pass and my day returns to being just another box on a calendar, marked by slow, forgettable minutes, hours, days of the same routine that is life. In some ways it is sad to know that I will not pinpoint this day in time, remembering the lively sparkle of sunshine on Little Berry's hair as we take our afternoon walk, the smile my daughter flashed at a stranger in a wheel chair, or the kisses she planted on my mouth after I gave her a sip of my cocoa this morning. It is not a memorable day, not a spectacular day, it is only another moment in time lasting as briefly as the last.
But as I watch Pappa Starbucks taking out the trash and little berry fuss over a toy wedged between the cushions, needing a nap for her and a hair-tie to tidy up myself, I do wish that I could steal these moments away and never lose them, never have to wish I could remember that faint dimple on her face or that I could reach out and take her teeny hands inside my own because I would be there, breathing them, living them, smelling over and over again the crest of her perfect tiny head and sweet baby ears, holding her in my lap trying or grabbing me and trying to nurse in the store will be faint memories, but I also know my love for her will stay just as all encompassing as it is today, just as intense, just as perfect, tangible, and frighteningly bright.
That much, I know for sure.

24 things

24 things because It's my 24th birthday!
Sweet things I love:
1) My Little Berry
2) My wonderful Pappa Starbucks
3) "Crazy" by Seal
4) Handmade toys
5) Phish Food ice cream from Ben and Jerry's
6) Co-sleeping
7) Vintage children's books
8) Sewing
9) Dogs
10) The color yellow
11) Bicycle rides
12) City life (and the bookstores that come with that)
13) Chap stick
14) Mint, paprika, rosemary, lavender....
15) Trader Joe's (and their mangoes!)
16) Sunshine
17) Rain
18) Pride and Prejudice
19) Chocolate
20) Cloth diapers-I'm especially loving the Bum Genius right now
21) These printable bookplates
22) These sweet fabrics
23) Vintage paper dolls like these
24) My new etsy shop! More dolls coming soon!

From the "archives"

Here are some pictures from this time last year. The first is of Inauguration night at the Governors party. We had just heard that Obama won.

It was so, so loud in that room. Perdue won as well and everyone was laughing, whooping, some crying. It was exciting for us as a family.
This second photo was taken at UNC as Pappa Starbucks picked me up on a friday afternoon. Have you been there in the fall before? It is so beautiful. Springtime, too.

Do you see this precious purple face?
We were struggling so hard with thrush and a cranky baby those days. Today she's well and instead of purple gentian violet stain...


Toothies.

Sunny day

Today it is a quiet day, Little Berry wanting much more attention from me than I have energy to give. We walked a while earlier and are both so tired that soon she will crawl up on my lap and pat me, wanting milk. I love the smell of her hair and her the way she grins at me while nursing like she knows how great she is. And she is, all the time. I know these tiny sweet moments will be sparce as she gets bigger, but seeing her become independent already has its rewards. She knows that when we are going to the car she needs to get into her seat, or that when I get my shoes she needs to get hers. When she needs a diaper change she will often bring me a diaper and when she's hungry she sees me cooking. She is already pretty able to content herself while other things are being done.
We had a lot of fun with my nieces and made a lot of noise, it was exciting, energetic. They took off this morning loaded down with new things and stories to tell at home about their stay in the city. We took them up and down the city hitting all their favorite types of places. I don't know or sure if they loved it but they kept forgetting they had parents, so I think that means yes.
I can see now how having multiple kids could make things both harder to manage and sweeter to enjoy. We've pretty much decided around here that we will be the house of three for a long time though, just because we enjoy one quite a bit and don't exactly want to have to juggle our attention around. This doesn't mean never though, and I have so many boxes of girl clothes stored away that she's already outgrown that I don't know what I will do if I don't end up with another girl someday.
The holidays are encroaching again and it seems like they are always sneaking up, perhaps not even sneaking but running in eagerly and announcing themselves "HI!! HELLO! IT'S ME! CHRISTMAS!" so I've decided that this year I'm not going to let them get the best of me. I will not get the holiday blues, greens, or reds this year. I will take it easy and be direct about my very minimum interest, and they will come...and they will go.
Today, however, I am going to continue kissing this sweet baby's head,
washing, drying and folding the mundane that is laundry,
baking bread,
and enjoying my new sewing space.