Holding on

I have been taking a lot of pictures of George sleeping, the first of which was taken on my first day home as a full-time mother.  George is growing up entirely too fast for my taste, but there are two times when he still looks like the baby I knew this time last year—when he’s all wrapped up in his hoodie towel after bath time and when he’s sleeping.

I think these pictures must be my subconscious trying to hold on to that baby morphing into a boy before my very eyes.

I didn't get the camera in time for these shots, but I still see that "baby."  The paci doesn't hurt.

My children are growing every day and it’s just about to kill me.  Silly, I know.  But I am also certain that every parent who read that last sentence knows exactly what I feel.  We want our babies to grow, to learn, to excel at whatever potential lies within their bodies and brains.  But wonderful, wise Mother Nature has also instilled in us a great sadness when we watch them change and I often find myself wondering why that instinct exists.  Perhaps it is to prevent us well-meaning but flawed parents from sending them out into the world too early before they have learned everything they need to know from us.

Ms. Nature has no worries from this writer – I am holding on to mine as long as they will let me.  But not really, right?  And in fact, nearly every moment I have with the children involves pushing them towards independence.  Frances is learning how to cook, pick out and put on her own clothes, read and write, and use the computer (ugh).  George is happily picking up his toys after himself, getting in and out of the bathtub, combing his own hair and soothing himself to sleep at naptime and bedtime with a good book (that’s my boy!).  And they are both learning their place in the family, their place in the world, how to resolve conflicts without my intervention and that a little politeness goes a long way.  All of this leads me to the conclusion that I really have no one to blame for my children’s growth but their parents - oh, the irony!

So, for now I will just keep taking my pictures in the vein attempt to freeze these moments in time.  I hope George doesn’t start putting up a fight.  Or at least begin questioning my sanity.

Ballerina girl

In case you’ve missed my many, many comments on the subject, Frances had her first dance performance this past weekend.  My world has officially come 360 degrees.

The show itself was as wonderfully cliché as you can get—darling little 3, 4 and 5-year-olds dancing to songs like “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “Colors of the Wind,” or Frances’s “Stray Cat Strut,” completely out-of-sync with each other (and the music) with one little girl sitting on the floor, one gazing offstage at who knows what, and one waving to her mother in the audience.  In other words, it was perfect!

And yes, I know I am shamefully biased so I won’t even try to be impartial but Frances was hands-down my favorite dancer up there (not that I even glanced at anyone else on stage when she was dancing).  She performed her routine exactly like she lives her life—she watched her teacher carefully, dutifully did all of the moves just as she was asked, raced to and from her “mark” when the show was over and seemed completely unfazed by the hundreds of eyes looking on her.  I was so proud of her I thought my heart was going to burst.



The four cats (and George who had a small crush on Lily, cat #1)




Teacher extraordinaire, Miss Ashley




George is in heaven




They are actually in sync!



So proud of her post-performance flowers

And while Frances was the star of the stage (again, I realize this comment is not a credible statement), George was the star of the audience.  My 20-month-old sat through 18 routines (1 ½ hours worth) straight as an arrow, clapping after each dance and begging for more when the curtain closed.  Needless to say, we may have a male dancer in the making as well, which would only make sense since I have recently found out that Will actually did take dance when he was around Frances’s age.  This fact only makes me love my husband that much more, which I didn’t think was possible.

Frances’s three sets of grandparents came to her performance—Nana and Pop, Grandma and Grandma, and Gram-E and Mr. Pyles.  And I think it’s safe to say that everyone enjoyed the show!



The fan club, minus Pop (the photographer)



I went into this dance performance weekend debating whether Frances should dance next year.  I didn’t know if she was truly enjoying it and whether she was getting any benefit from it.  About half-way through the show, my mother whispered in my ear, “She has to do this next year.” 

I think she’s right!

Happy Father's Day!

I am writing a very last-minute post to my wonderful husband, Will, who deserves much more than I could ever craft in words.  We have just returned from an incredible evening the highlight of which was Frances’s first dance recital (yes, you know I will write more on that later!) and dinner with a large portion of her entire fan club, which included Frank, my father-in-law Jerry, and my pseudo-father-in-law “Mr. Pyles” as Frances calls him.  All that was missing was my fourth father, Daddy, to round out a true Father’s Day dinner!  Unfortunately such a fun-filled day has left me completely deprived of enough time to dedicate to thanking Will for these last 3 ½ years of parenthood.

Will never ceases to amaze me with his seamless transitions from bachelorhood to incredible husband and then right into fatherhood.  I grew up in a huge family and was lucky enough to be around babies from the beginning.  Will comes from a smaller family where all of his cousins were relatively close in age and he was the first of his generation to start having children—so needless to say, Will didn’t have a lot of experience with babies.  All of that changed the moment Frances was born.



First picture of Will as a father.  I am still in awe of the sheer joy in Will's face as he looks in Frances's eyes.  I think the finger-wrapping started here!




Will and George - father/son at its best!

Will changed both babies' first diaper (that lovely meconium one) and had a magic touch during those tough late-night crying spells.  He is most certainly the fun, creative parent (in fact, I sometimes wonder if he should be the stay-at-home figure instead of me), but he can also be strict when necessary.  Both Frances and George’s eyes light up the second they see Daddy walk through the door in the evenings – they simply adore their father.  And so do I!

Thank you, Will, for giving me the greatest gifts on the planet—Frances and George—and for being a true partner in parenting.

Happy Father’s Day to my incredible husband, to my other aforementioned four fathers above, and to all of you wonderful fathers out there who deserve a day of celebration in your honor!  Us mothers, daughters and sons are lucky and thankful to have you in our lives!

Experimenting

First, I want to say thank you to each and every one of you who commented (or emailed) on my last post.  It is refreshing and comforting to know that so many parents have the same thoughts and fears about this topic (not to mention some great ideas to help me!).  All I can say is, our next generation is in great hands with parents like all of you.  Thank you, thank you.

Now, for a change of pace (whew!) I came home from the gym this past Sunday morning to find Will taking some experimental shots with our camera (have I mentioned how much I LOVE my new camera?!).  We have yet to learn everything we need to know about its various features (much less read a book or take a class on how to take better pictures – there’s a thought!), but it has been fun to test out some of these options even if it does look a bit like amateur hour on film.

Some of my favorite shots from the weekend...

This series uses the color accent feature, which focuses on a single color and keeps everything else black and white:

These are my favorite shots using this option (I’m thinking of framing them for our walls, although I have no idea what they will look like printed out.  I’ll keep you posted.):



And just in case anyone is wondering, my children do wear clothes 99% of the time.  But I find myself grabbing my camera anytime they are in diapers/bloomers only because they are just so darn cute.



Below is what Canon calls “color swap,” exchanging one color for another.  In this case, Frances requested that her skin be purple (of course):

This shot is a little weird when the camera turned George's hair red (apparently his hair and his skin are the same color because it just turned everything red):

Purple grass (okay, this feature needs some perfecting):

And I am not sure what Will was trying for here, but it's just such an adorable close-up of my girl I had to share:



Those eyelashes!



My least favorite feature, the "fish eye":



Can someone please explain to me when this is a necessary option in picture-taking? 

Finally, the "miniaturization effect" is supposed to make the background appear miniature (a la "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood").  This feature didn't work well in the house, but I'm curious to see how it will look in outside pictures:



As if they needed any more help looking miniature. 

Happy Thursday everyone!

I used to weigh 89 pounds

I weighed this between the ages of 14 and 15 not 9 and 10, when it likely would have been healthy (although, I do remember weighing 75 pounds in fourth grade, which was a lot apparently because half of the class started giggling when the teacher shouted this number out to the school nurse in front of the entire group.  Maybe it all started then?).  I started losing weight one summer when I left home for the Boston Ballet’s intensive 8-week summer dance program.  Strangely enough, I was not chubby or even very big at the beginning of that summer.  But a perfect storm of events and circumstances came together that precipitated my eating disorder—the program was exceedingly competitive and I wanted ensure I stood out.  My roommate was skinny.  Tiny.  Unhealthy.  And probably most significantly, I was praised for my new figure.  In fact, at the end of the program I was asked to stay in Boston to train with the company (this was the same day that I fainted during Variations class because I hadn’t eaten more than an apple in the previous 24 hours).

I decided not to stay in Boston, which probably saved my life or at least my body from almost certain quick injuries, and returned home to continue my dance training at the Virginia School of the Arts (which has just recently closed down – more on that in another post).  I remained 89 pounds (give or take a few milli-pounds) the remainder of that 10^th grade school year until the entire dance department told me I needed to gain weight.  I will never forget the astonishment I felt when they said those words.  I was in disbelief.  I needed to gain weight?  I thought the entire point of perfecting your dance career was to be as thin as possible.  But if my small frame was keeping me from dancing to my full potential, it was defeating that purpose and gain weight I did (with the help of a nutritionist and a counselor—sort of.  That part I hated).

Why am I writing all of this down some 20 years later?  The truth is I have never fully recovered from those days of dancing towards the “perfect” body.  There are still days (more than I would like to admit) when I look at myself in disappointment.  I am always striving to be thinner—I want skinnier arms; smaller legs; a tighter stomach.  I had all of those when I was dancing, but I paid a huge price for those ridiculous goals.  The minute I gained the necessary weight my teachers had asked of me, I straddled the border between a passable dance weight and too chubby.  And those two lines have stuck with me all of these years and remain ingrained in my brain.  I live my life between passable and chubby.

And what scares me the most is that I am now in charge of raising my own daughter to always love every ounce of her incredible body as much as I do.  And I really love it.  I love how round her stomach is.  I love those baby rolls she still has on her inner thighs that are just now starting to disappear.  I love her tiny arms and long legs.  And I love that she loves her body, too; and I don’t want that to change.  Ever.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed at the thought that I hold such an important role in Frances’s body image.  I am overwhelmed because I still don’t know all of the answers myself—how do you achieve the right balance between sufficient exercise and overtraining?  How do you treat yourself to favorite foods without feeling guilty for the next 24 hours?  How do you walk through life without constantly comparing yourself to an image (whether real or imagined) of what you think you should look like?  Of course, maybe I am in the minority of these thought patterns and my job will be easier than I anticipate.

In truth, I know that the best thing I can do is to lead by example, again something that is a constant battle for me.  I need to ensure that Frances understands good nutrition, that being active every day is important, but that everything in moderation is best.  I am very blessed with a husband who effortlessly lives his life under this philosophy (Will actually stops eating when he’s full and eats nearly all food groups with every meal.  Who does that?).  I suppose in many ways I hope that Frances follows his lead instead of mine.

Obviously all of these lessons I want to instill in George.  But for some reason (maybe silly; maybe evident) I am more concerned about my girl.  I know I still have some years to enjoy Frances’s youthful attitude towards food and activity (and boy, is she active!).  In fact, maybe in these passing days before she starts looking at herself with a more critical eye, I can learn a thing or two from her about how to love food, love life and just love you.  Just the way you are.

I have been given the greatest gift in raising this incredible girl.  I only hope I can rise to that challenge!

One party, two special guests

This weekend was one of those busy, busy, busy but great, great, great ones that make you think “we should do that more often!”  Especially when both children take 2+ hour naps (at the same time) on Sunday afternoon – then you know you’ve done something right.

Nana was in town Thursday and Friday nights, which is always a celebration in and of itself.  On Friday morning, we braved the botanical gardens so that my mother could see them for the first time in the daylight (each Christmas, the gardens put on a fantastic light display; the only downside being that you can’t actually see the flowers).  The temperatures were borderline oppressive, but it was still a fantastic tour and a nice change of pace for me to have an adult to converse with as we strolled among the flowers, over the bridges and through the conservatory (and a fair share of chasing after toddlers and coaxing three-year-old girls away from the tree house).



Organizing pennies for the fountain



I wonder what she wished for



Watching the volunteers water the flowers



Saturday we celebrated Will’s grandmother’s birthday at Will’s parents' home.  Frances and George love visiting Grandma and Grandpa’s house, usually visiting the toy corner first:

Cousins Trey and Justin also make any visit that much better:



Have I mentioned how much Frances adores Trey?



Baby Justin.  I took about 100 pictures of this little guy - he's at that perfect age when you just want to eat him up!



However, this visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s was made most special by Will’s great aunt, Catherine and her friend, Marie.  They traveled all the way from Cleveland for a first-time visit with the great-grand-niece and nephews.



Aunt Catherine with Frances, George, Trey and Baby Justin





Aunt Catherine, Barbara, George (who insisted on being in the picture) and Marie



Aunt Catherine (or Aunty “K” as she is affectionately known) and Marie are both retired nuns who give retirement a good name!  They are also avid readers of this blog, which is both incredibly flattering and a bit intimidating (in a good way of course). 

And what’s a birthday without cake:



Happy Birthday, Grandma Lee!



Frances thrilled to pieces to be eating the purple rose:

A picture of the whole gang, taken by Will. 

Please note the incredibly high angle of this shot.  I am aware that my husband is unusually tall, but I am still sometimes struck by just how tall.  This picture tempts me to ask him to take random shots of our life from his height, if nothing else so I can see the world from his point-of-view.  Not to mention, there are probably some serious cleaning/organizing/decluttering opportunities that I am missing simply because I am over a foot shorter than he is.  But I digress…

The weekend ended with a Sunday morning at home, a midmorning (HOT again) trip to the playground, lunch, the previously mentioned two-hour nap, and another visit at Grandma and Grandpa's for some pool time.

See?  Busy, but great!

Nana's here!

Nana’s in town for a two-night stretch, so there will be many activities and very little blogging.

The only thing missing in these pictures is Pop.

Have a great weekend everyone!