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Tag Archives: Elle

The Bee’s Bruised Knees

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Elle and I are a lot more alike than either of us will probably ever readily admit. In the pursuit of being your own person, sometimes the driving factor is to show who you are not.

And yet, I see Ellie’ s banged up shins next to my own bruised legs and can’t help but think, “Yep. That’s my girl.”

Ok, so it's really our shins. Whatever.

We are not particularly careless, but we are not overly cautious either. I’m a mechanic and like a gardener, getting dirty is pretty much part of the job description. By Sunday, my hands are usually not too gray — unless I work on our cars over the weekend — in which case, forget it. However, my legs tend to bear the brunt of my work. On our smaller buses, the Type As (the rest of the world knows them as Short Buses), I remount the tires by resting them on my thighs and then lifting. Don’t judge. It works. So that’s the twin bruises on my thighs.

Then there’s the abrasion on the outside left leg paired with a two-day-old bruise on the inside. Inside is where I banged my shin after a test drive and outside is where I gouged it BEFORE the test drive on some sheet metal.

It’s cool. My tetanus shots are up to date.

Elle on the other appendage, is a complete mystery. I ask her, but I don’t think she always notices when she gets injured. Mr. Pirate and I have encouraged her from the get-go to dust herself off and pick herself back up again. She cries, but almost always follows it up with, “I’m OK.”

Maybe she’s been watching a bit too much “Paw Patrol” and has accepted the accident-prone Dalmatian, Marshall, as her personal hero?

Marshall the firehouse dog

He really is OK. He’s just still growing into his paws.

Regardless of the why, I think I’d rather she learn to be resilient and aware enough of her own body so that she knows when to sit it out and howl, and when to bounce back with a grin and a wave.

So for all of the Moms like mine who had semi annual visits to the hospital, thanks for letting us learn our limits. We’re out there raising up the next batch of cheerfully bruised kiddos, and I think we’re all better for it.

~*La!

Helping

“Momma, I want to press letters.”

And so we are. I remember being her age and sitting at my mother’s blue typewriter, tongue sticking out of my mouth as I poked away at the keys. The satisfying click and thunk of the keys striking the paper roll.

This morning she read the white letters on the STOP sign in one of her picture books.

“S-T-O-P. Stop. That’s a stop sign.”

Ellie might not recognize the connection between what she’s saying and what she’s seeing, but that’s OK.

She’ll get there.

“I holded it up and I holded it down and I banged my heart in weightlessness.”

Yep. That’s my girl.

~*La!

Slow burn

There are so many things that make me burn.

Injustice.

Intolerance.

Deliberate callousness.

So when I feel stuck on a low emotional simmer that I can’t explain, then I feel like I’m not doing enough.

Right now, I’ve tried for over an hour to put one word after another to form some coherent account of my brain space.

It’s really busy in there right now and there’s not enough oxygen to set my mind on fire.

The bottom line though is that I hope Ellie will never be called Honey when she is on the job in the someday future where she is an adult.

~*la.

Blame It On the Toddler In the Nicest Way

There is a slogan often applied to clothing for small children that states: “I am the reason we can’t have nice things.”

Mr. Pirate and I have come to understand exactly what that entails. He amended the slogan this morning after Elle found an uncapped pen and her dad’s open book and personalized it as: “It’s not even nice things. I just want things.”

After the holidays that’s a terribly materialistic thing to say when a person is supposed to be self-sacrificing and interested in goodwill for all. But there you have it. We young parents are super self-centered and our goodwill pretty much extends only as far as our toddler’s attention span.

I’ve been away from blogging for almost a year and although it’s a cheap and lame excuse, it really is all Elle’s fault. Children change you. No matter at what age they enter your life – whether you’re 30 and a parent for the first time or 45 and marry into a per-existing family unit – the introduction of a new, and permanent person in your life is a major life change.

I marvel at being her mom. It’s crazy. There’s this walking, talking person in my life now who didn’t used to be. Without even realizing it, we’ve adapted.

Jonathan Coulton understands.

We plan weekend errands around her nap/feeding schedule. Social engagements have to be kid-friendly. My wardrobe really does revolve around how easy it would be to scrub out unexpected stains.

The Jade House though remains an ongoing-exception. All projects have been put on hold for the time being, but not completely dismissed. We just have to look at them differently. A working hall bathroom would be great before she starts potty-training, but getting a handle on the organizational nightmare our house has become is a higher priority.

This brings me back around to the selfish nature of new parents. She’s napping right now. I should be folding laundry. Or cleaning up the kitchen. Ravenholm, the basement, is still a lost space. But I’m not. Instead I’m blathering to the Internet and giving strong consideration to jumping in the shower. Maybe even I’ll take a nap.

~*La!