Every Morning For Now

Friday, January 25, 2019

Every morning for the last six years, give or take a few, this is one of the places I stand-- behind my girl, a basket of supplies nearby, wrangling tangles and coaxing Lucy's thick hair into a ponytail, or a braid or two. First I take out any previous ponytail holders. Then I usually add a small dollop of leave-in-conditioner, focusing primarily on that middle patch of hair in the back where her hair begins to spill down her back-- the place where tangles form into a briar patch of knots. I then spray her hair with water and begin working out tangles with a Wet Brush-- a miracle brush I've had less than a year that I should have spent the money on years ago. As much as I try to keep the pain to a minimum, she flinches on many of the brush strokes until I've managed to get the tangles out or down to the part of her hair where I can then grip the whole mass of hair and use my fist as the buffer to pain while I yank on tangles more vigorously within the ponytail hanging down from my hand. If you've ever brushed long hair, I'm certain you know exactly what I'm talking about. 

Once her hair is tangle-free, I make a part in the top front, and pull her face-framing hair into a small ponytail or french braid, only along the right side of her head-- preventative measures to keep her hair out of her face all day. There is nearly never a day that her right front side of her hair is not contained in one of these ways. I've never been able to let myself let it go, and consequently, she has never learned how to keep her hair out of her face herself. I still don't know just how much of a disservice I've done her by always keeping her hair tamed.... time will tell, I suppose. 

After this first ponytail/braid, I then usually either brush her hair into a low pony or into two braids. Again, this almost never varies, and the reasons are nuanced: 1. Since hearing scare stories from fellow moms about head lice, I decided early on in her school career that I'd just go ahead and never send her to school with her hair down. Easy enough. 2. But because she nearly never has her hair down, when I do give her that option, say for church or just a random summer day, she nearly never opts for it. She is a creature of routine, and I've created the routine of "hair up", so she doesn't choose "hair down". 3. I've tried to talk her into a bun or two. Nope-- too different from the routine. 4. I snuck her hair into a high ponytail last week-- her first one-- and she didn't say anything about it. Good or bad. Which means maybe I can add that to the menu now. But maybe still not actually ask her if she wants it or not. Because she'll say no. Because it's not what she's used to. But she didn't mind it when it was in all day last week. So.

At least once a month, when she's particularly vocal about the hair-brushing pain, usually after two or three days of being home with nowhere to be, and not having her hair brushed daily-- these days which also seem to yield a higher likelihood that she'll either be in costume and/or rolling around the floor/in a blanket/in and out of a play tent/etc. where friction compounds her tangles--I then threaten to take her to get her hair cut. Not short.... not like a bob or anything.... But maybe shoulder-length? I tell her that it would make hair-brushing a breeze every time. She says she loves her long hair, and used to protest the idea of a cut more... but recently, she hasn't argued to keep it long when I bring it up. So I see a trim in our future. Maybe only 3-4". 

After all this--- the actual work and the overthinking of the actual work.... the agony (for her head and my nerves) of working out particularly bad tangles...the wondering if I've created problems by under-instructing her on how-tos and over-containing the flyaway potential and being too routine overall.... After all this, I still love the feel of her hair under my hands. I love the moment every day that we are physically connected, engaging in a timeless ritual between mother and daughter. I love that she lets me. (That she doesn't even know any different). I love turning chaos into silken order. I'm even getting better at the braiding bit. 

But as she moves from age 7 to age 8 soon, I've begun to realize I can't do it for her forever. She's going to need to learn some things for herself. So we've begun a few little lessons here and there-- how to brush one's own hair. How to make a ponytail (I never realized how complicated this is to someone who's never done it. Harder than tying shoes, even.) Soon I'll begin helping her try shampooing and rinsing her own hair. (It's so THICK. I haven't been able to bring myself to let her do it on her own yet... all I can envision is clumps of conditioner still deep in her hair, unrinsed.) 

I know a large percentage of mothers out there would read this and be SHOCKED we've not done any of this until now. But maybe some of the moms are where I'm at. And maybe a few more won't even begin this much teaching until a few more years after age 8. To each her own. I think maybe the girls will all turn out okay in this area, eventually. (Though watching my girl with a ponytail holder, still not grasping how to pull the hair through it.... ay yi yi.)

All this to say-- Every morning for the last six years, this ritual, this act of love and caregiving, has been a good and humble work. The simple task of brushing hair, braiding hair, smoothing hair. Using my hands to show her I love her and I care about her well-being. And one day it'll be over. She'll take the brush into her own hands and she'll learn her own way. And I will miss this. But I get to do it a while longer. Every morning. Every morning for now. 

Quinn is SIX!!

Friday, January 18, 2019

 Now We Are Six
When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five, 
I was just alive.
But now I am Six, 
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now 
for ever and ever. 
A.A. Milne

The day before his birthday, Quinn's whole kindergarten crew at school celebrated their 100th day. There are five kindergarten classes, and all the teachers planned a super fun celebration for the kids-- treats, games, crafts, collections, counting, etc. etc.  

This 100 Days thing is not new. My older two kids have gotten to celebrate with special activities during their kindergarten years... But one thing I've seen lots of other schools do that my school never did was to invite the kiddos to dress like they're 100 years old. I mean, COME ON. So cute!! I've envied all my friends' posts with their little grandmas and grandpas, and wished our school did that part of the 100 Day celebration. 

So imagine my delight when the flier came home this year WITH THE COSTUME PART ADDED! Woo!!!! Little old Grandpa Quinn, here we come!

Except, you cannot have missed his expressions in these photos. He was NOT into it. The suspenders and plaid shirt were already a major compromise. The glasses and the gray-dusted hair put him over the edge, and he was NOT a happy kiddo as we got ready for the bus. (Needless to say, I didn't even approach him with the makeup pencil to draw on some wrinkles. Even though it hurt my heart to have to skip it.)

He gamely posed for me anyway, but would NOT smile (I almost tricked him, in photo #2/4, if you look)... but this last shot, a candid, shows how he really felt. 

Dang it. 

Poor kiddo. 

(Poor me. I REALLY wanted this. How do other mamas get their kids into this idea???)

But never fear-- he ended up having a WONDERFUL day, and changed right into his jammies when he got home, and all was well. 

And this morning, his SIXTH birthday, I made sure to grab just a few more photos, so that he would not just have Sad Old Man portraits for his birthday:

And now he is six, and he's clever as clever. And so darn sweet. And funny. And handsome. And kind. We are lucky lucky lucky he's in our family, and so delighted to celebrate the HECK outta him today. 

Happy birthday, my beloved Quinn Atticus. 

I Want:

Thursday, January 17, 2019

I want:
A pedicure.
To make a quilt.
To nap and read endlessly until I actually get bored of napping and reading.
Delicious beef, beautifully prepared.
An easy time of day to get outside for regular walks.
An easy time of day to get outside in the wild with my kids.
To give my kids the experience of ice skating without the inevitably 
awful learning period where all of them are falling and HATING IT.
Game night with good friends.
Someone to play with my hair and scratch/massage my scalp.
Time and energy to tackle decluttering in my basement.
Time and energy to photograph and post items for sale online.
To find the $30 cash back I lost this weekend.
To go to the movies. Several times.
A road trip with Joe.
Someone to make dinners for us every day.
New prints for my 3x3 photo wall.
To sing harmony with people.
To play with some kittens.
To stretch.
To stand somewhere magical.
Photo: happened to find some good light on our snow play day last weekend. I "selfed" it with the big camera, and  nabbed a few I actually like. Ta da. 

For fun: a few other "I Want" lists from past blog posts:
28 Days (2010)
Oct. 12, 2010
Journaling Exercise: I Want (2009)



Hello, 2019: 10 Minute Freewrite About Blogging

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Ten-minute morning freewrite, and GO:

If there is one thing that I've accidentally let go of that has simplified my life, it is blogging. Putting it on my to-do list, struggling to make time for it, agonizing over how much I WASN'T managing to blog about, stressing about having photos ready for each post.... That has slipped away this past year, and as I sit here reflecting on that, I realize that that self-made pressure is completely GONE. Gone. And that this is a blessing. 

If there is one thing that I've accidentally let go of that is creating a wound in my soul, it is blogging. Creating space for myself in front of this computer, allowing myself to "be a writer" for a bit.... Stream-of-consciousness typing therapy.... Plus having sweetly documented moments in my family's life, as well as really the only journal of my own journey that isn't just images (I'm looking at you, Instagram, phone camera roll, etc.).... This has slipped away this year, and as I sit here reflecting on it, I am profoundly sad. 

It's not the BLOG (say it they way I just did in my head, "BLAAAHHHHHHHHG", with a teenagery voice and an eyeroll)..... It's not. I don't aspire (anymore) to be this clever, popular blogger. I don't NEED the world to read along and nod their heads (though you, whoever you are reading this, still give me little bubbles of joy when you read and nod your head and maybe even comment). It's the writing-paired-with-images that fed my soul. It's the steady, semi-consistent checking in with my own self in the form of writing that was the beautiful part of this. 

Yesterday, I was finally adding words to my "Through My Doorways" post that had had images on it since I created the post in November. And I really wanted to link a part of the post back to a previous post that I swore existed, but I couldn't recall exactly what year I'd posted it. So I spent the better part of an hour just scrolling my blog. Clicking "older posts" again and again, going further and further back. Never even reaching that strange, hazy time before we lived in this house in Ballwin, and yet there were still SO MANY posts and so so so so so SO MANY photos between yesterday and summer 2013, and I just...... wow. I suddenly felt the loss of it keenly, acutely, and deeply. I realized that even if I'd accidentally stopped making myself stress about blogging, I'd also accidentally stopped allowing myself to blog as a therapy art form.

My 10-minute timer just went off. Larkin is awake and chatting to herself in her crib. 

I have no lovely conclusions. This was just a freewrite. But.... I think I'm back on blogging.
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