The little mama turned one...

And we had to celebrate the first year of the sweetest baby girl this side of the Mississippi.







She has filled my life and heart with the best example of a life well lived... find joy in simplicity, happiness in a new day. Mila rises with a huge smile on her chubby face, and goes to sleep all cuddled up to fluffy pillows and her mama that loves her so immensely. Thank you baby girl.

It's show time...

This blog is no stranger to the theme of the inspiration that comes from mothering and the constant ways that this role in my life has evolved me. Interestingly, I have suddenly been hit with the hard fact that although I have been at this mommy gig 2.5 years+ I still hadn't 't hit "real time" until now. My children's needs were so easy to meet. Belly fed, warm, clean, and loved. Easy to fulfill.

Now, that exact same pair of olive eyes that started this whole thing is watching every move I make. She notices everything. The way I walk, say certain words, put on lipstick, and bite the inside of my cheek. It's so cute, usually. Seeing her walk down the hall in my high heels, her tiny butt in Mickey underwear. She packs a purse before we leave and puts on body lotion.  But, there are moments when my influence on her is so apparent it shocks me. I am on stage!



It's so important to be real with my children. I do not want to feign perfection (even if I could) because it would be a lie. I want them to look up to and admire the person I am because it makes we want to be better. I idolize my mother to her core, to who she is when no one is around to see. What more could you ask for? Kids that adore you even more when they realize there are things in you that separate you from the rest of the world. I cannot believe my daughters can be even better, or worse, because of who I am.

We have come to the point where I have to stop my constant use of expletives and incorrect teeth brushing technique. Olivia seems to record every subtlety about us and now we know that one of her strongest attributes is that she is so glaringly aware of her surroundings. She's completely in tune with her environment and how everything happens. Ever since we began to maintain some sort of routine and constancy to her daily grind there are far less fits and better sleep at night. And between all of that are the days that make up this chapter of her life. Childhood. So incredibly important! This is when we became who we were meant to be, it's when we needed more from life than a hug and kiss from mom.

I come out of the midst of the days that are too short and too packed to keep writing on this little Internet spot of mine. There's the bossy 2.5 year old, crawling (almost) 11 month old, 1/2 marathon in two weeks, and pile of laundry that will soon enclose us as we sleep. I am too wiped to even type anything worthy. There so much I want to touch on, so many exciting/trying/awesome/overwhelming/sunny/new happenings to share. I will soon bore you with every detail of what goes on, but in the meantime, I must wish you all the loveliest of mother's days.

A day late, but every day we're on the job.

Hermanitas.

Today I left my parent's place after spending the afternoon with my sister watching True Blood. The details of our time do not matter at all since I drove off and found myself daydreaming other details. Are my girls going to have our connection? Unspoken understanding?

I should probably explain. My sister and I are just two weeks (to the day) shy of being three years apart. I remember when my mom's water broke and all the late-night commotion. Movie scenes. My dad's hurried movements as I sat on the floor in fleece footie pajamas, my mom's purple nightgown, the awful brown shag rugs. I knew something important was happening but was way too young to begin to comprehend. My sister, my DNA in another variation. We are so different.

There are two things I am curious about. One is, the fact that Paloma and I are such unique individuals. I think we understand each other yet not always agree. She boils my blood, calms my fears, is so intuitive to me. The second is, will they like each other? I mean, really. I adore my sister. I see her beautiful spirit and lightness more clearly than anyone. I know this. As I drove home, wondered, will my girls know each other's light?

Will they really see my soul divided into two between them? We are so much of where we came from.



Often they sit together, both guilty of a disaster of toys scattered all over the floors. Their little figures each sitting on the only toy-free patch of the rug. Both so beautiful to me, I am often still in awe that they are real. I love them as two but together it's just mind-blowing. Me, then one, and another. 

o.

her hands are bitty
as they fit over mine
i am reminded of
the small, the tiny
how truly miniscule
her life is so far

the presence of she-
a being so huge
sometimes i forget
she just got here
just started.

SOS

I sat down at the keyboard tonight and stared at my blog's URL for about 35 straight seconds. What the hell do I write about? After browsing through my usual blog reel I am left feeling sort of empty. My house isn't that clean, big, or manicured. The lighting usually sucks for photos and frankly it's not even *my* house. My creative energy is shot when I finally have time to whip up some super-awesome-DIY crafts and my children are cute but their clothes never match.* Other notable blogs make me feel lame.

Sometimes when I write I feel a great sense of fulfillment because words have always been my best friends. I discovered them early and they've since been stashed under my arm in the form of books or forced inbetween the lines of notebook paper in such a personal way. When someone writes me and says they can relate/enjoy/bother to read what I type it truly fills me with an enormous sense of well-being. Not only did I medicate my spirit with putting my emotions into sentences but someone else actually felt something from it. Wow. Rad.

So, for those of you reading. THANK YOU. I am sorry if you have e-mailed me and I haven't written back. I will. But, I need your help. How do you do it? Nurture your kids, keep your home clean, your husband satiated, shave your legs, make cool shit, cook something delicious, and feed your magnificent female brain ALL IN ONE DAY? Please. I am feeling inadequate. Either I am the semi-together mom having fun with her kids or the housewife en pointe with housework and having something ready for the husband to eat when he comes home.

Mila's bed is completely full of clean laundry that needs to put away (it's not like she sleeps in it) and last time I tried to cook with both kids awake and by myself I got all hot and bothered. Not in a good way. I think of every hat my mother wore my entire 0-22 life. Full-time career, housework, cooking, LOVING HER FAMILY SO FULLY, being the hero, generally saving the day no matter what. How exhausting. I need to be rich just to shower her with monetary gratitude because she deserves the world and I want to buy it for her someday. Show me how!



*My girl Adriana shared a similar sentiment here and so beautifully.

An appropriate muse.

I am going to come right out and say it. Having one kid is heaven, and having a toddler plus a baby is a true exercise in two very important things. One, is mothering your kid in a way that is loving and beneficial. The other is reminding yourself daily that you aren't going to fuck up your kid because your personal flaws become so horrifyingly apparent.



Lately I have been thinking back a lot to the writer I named Olivia Simone after, and how the books I read of hers in the months before becoming pregnant (unknowingly) would now tie back into my life over three years later.

It's frightening to think that you mark your children merely by being yourself... It seems unfair. You can't assume the responsibility for everything you do — or don't do.

-Simone de Beauvoir, Les Belles Images (1966), Ch. 3

I recall reading these very words, tucked into an uncomfortable Ikea couch with a purring cat nestled under my legs. They sort of embedded themselves as soon as my eyes scanned them, I thought to myself: My children will be different, thinkers. They'll be cute and quirky, never bratty. I will never lose myself in them.



And now you fast forward and there is a yellow-haired hurricane sleeping in the next room. She breathes heavily even in her sleep, her cheeks always rosy no matter what. I wonder what she dreams of. So intense, always. I disliked the term "terrible twos" but we are in the throes of that perfectly coined term. It's a constant struggle. Sure, it's sprinkled with triumphs, great conversations, and belly laughs but it's surely tough. And tiring. It's brought some negative thoughts.



Today I wondered, as I wrangled her into the bathtub after she spilled her potty in a defiant attempt to empty it herself, what my life would be like now if she hadn't come along. I'd have time, my patience stores would be full, and I would be a lot more relaxed. The bad was fleeting. It quickly became mushy and I almost felt the back of my eyes tighten. Those knobby knees! wild eyes! neck hugs! I would not know those?! It shocked my feminist literature loving side- My daughter showed me who I am. My individuality is caught somewhere between where she starts and who I am now.

Now that I analyze this more consciously I am aware of what I want to change within myself so that I can be a better person for the girls. Examples: I (finally) stopped my disgusting habit of picking my nails and Olivia stopped biting hers. My borrowed "whisper when you want to raise your voice" trick makes Olivia actually stop and look at me, and when I just really need a breather I send my husband a frantic text to SOS, COME HOME ASAP. Every single day Olivia challenges my flawed, selfish nature and every single day I fight my errors. I guess this mothering thing is one of two teachers- the mother and child. I am hoping that my earnest efforts will help cancel out my imperfections.

And if all other desperate attempts at sanity fail, there is always the after bedtime cocktail.