Vegetables and candy.

We took a trip up to Peter's folks' today and spent some time in the garden.  Sonja got to pick some carrots, which is always a good time.  I love that we can still get amazing, freshly picked, organic produce from this beautiful garden at the end of October!  We came home with a bounty: corn, beets, green onions, carrots, italian parsley, broccoli, acorn squash and grapes.  Life is good.

Sonja helping Joyanna wash the carrots.

Enjoying the fruits of her labour: eating a freshly picked carrot.

Peas.

Gorgeous chard!

We're eating well tonight!

Grapes.

Today is also Halloween and this is the first time Sonja has gone trick-or-treating.  Her first Halloween, we were in Mexico for my best friend's wedding.  Last year, we had every intention of going door-to-door, but we ended up at our friends' house and Sonja and her best buddy just ended up running around the house and helping us hand candy out to the people who came to the door.  They didn't seem to miss going out, so we didn't worry about it.  So tonight, Sonja and I went up and down our street and she charmed everyone who opened their door.  I was only there as support; she was a pro.  She said "Trick or treat!" and "Thank you" and "Bye" and was just adorable.  And she cleaned up.  All her loot is currently up on top of the fridge "so the dog won't get at it."  Yeah right.  I shudder to think what would happen if we let her eat as much as she wanted...

And I guess it's only fair that if I post photos of Sonja in her costume that I post some of me in mine.  So here are two of me as a kid.  I'm guessing I was about six and eight, respectively.  

Happy Halloween.

Doing the math.

Here's me in my kindergarten photo, complete with a Mom haircut:

And here is Peter, in his kindergarten picture.  His hair may or may not have been cut by his Mom (but most likely was):

And this is us, over 25 years later, on the day we married:

And after all of that came these two:

Sonja, at 3 months old.

Haven, at 4 1/2 months old.

And it still boggles my mind.  Sonja is almost three years old now and I still look at her and think, "I can't believe she's from us."  I mean, scientifically I believe it of course, but my disbelief has nothing to do with biology or genetics or anything like that.  I watch her and Haven and I'm awed that their wonder at the world was made possible by their Dad and me.  I feel blessed everyday that I have these girls in my life; thankful to them.  But I'm reminded more and more that I also feel honoured and really, I'm grateful to my Mom and Dad for creating me.  The more I look at the old photos of myself, I see that spark of wonder in my eyes and I think, "Thanks."

So I'll sum it up by adding this photo of my Mom when she was about the same age as Sonja is now (just guessing):

Check out that spark in her eyes.

Motivations.

I've spent some time lately thinking about myself as a kid.  What made me tick?  What did I think about and what were my motivations?  The thing I keep coming back to was my need to be noticed, my need to be validated.  Nothing new here; these are common needs for most kids.  But what I came to realize is that I've never gotten over this, I've never not craved validation and recognition.  The funny thing is, when I am noticed, I cringe away from it , or I make it out to be less than it is.  In effect, I do exactly the opposite of what I want deep inside.  Is this behaviour just something I learned along the way somewhere - am I telling myself that to bask in the glow is shameful or wrong?  And would I want my kids to behave the same way?  

Well, the truth is that Sonja does behave this way.  When she is recognized for something, most of the time she frowns and turns away.  And it baffled me at first until I looked at myself and said "ah."  Well, actually, if I'm going to be honest, I said "Holy shit, she's just like me.  Crap."  And then I cut myself some slack.  Is being like me all that bad?  Is it?  And then I had to actually consider that.  Is being like ME all that BAD?  And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I recognized and validated myself.  I am a good role model for my daughters.  I am a kind person.  I have a good sense of humour and I appreciate beauty.  I could go on, but it just makes me feel silly.  Alas.  

The point is that the little girl who wanted to be seen is now raising two little girls who want to be seen.  And really, who is better qualified?

Good.

"Sonja, STOP putting that on Haven's FACE. NOW." 


My teeth clenching, my voice raising. Breathe.  Breathe again.  Again.  No amount of reasoning and patience seems to get this request through to a two-and-a-half-year-old child.  I realize as I'm doing the dishes (I loathe doing the dishes) that tears are falling into the water, and they're mine.  


"What's wrong, Mama?"
"Mama's frustrated, Sonja."
"Mama's frustrated? Good."


And I laugh, as I should at such a statement, because it's adorable.   She will say "good" to anything these days.  


"Who are you talking to Mama?"
"Oh, some people are just really bad drivers."  (I won't repeat what I actually said to that driver.)
"Really bad drivers? Good."


"What's that Mama?"
"It's an ambulance going to help someone who might be hurt."
"Someone might be hurt? Good."


It's more an affirmation that I've answered her (many) questions than an actual commentary on the event, and I have started phrasing my responses in such a way that hearing her say "good" at the end of her parroting will be even more enjoyable.  

But back to the frustration.  I've had to start letting go of trying to change the way Sonja plays with Haven and just take on a supporting role.  Be there with them and for them and not depend on the judgment of a toddler to decide the best way to play with her baby sister.  Her conduct is a reflection of my guidance.  Why has it taken me six-and-a-half months to realize this?

Always remember and never forget.

You could say it's because I now have kids of my own and you wouldn't be wrong.  But that doesn't diminish how life-altering it was when I held my baby in my arms and realized, finally, that this is where we all come from.  All of us.  We all begin our lives in this same way, as helpless, innocent babies, depending on our parents and the world to nurture us and keep us safe.  And in most cases we receive that love unconditionally and we flourish.  As a parent, the exceptions which range from tragic to hideous, are unthinkable, but they lurk in the back of my mind and force me to remind myself how lucky my daughters are and how lucky I am to have them.


The point of this is that in my every deliberation I try my damnedest to remember that every person I meet, from the girl at the checkout to the panhandler on the corner, started out the same way, as a red-faced, squealing babe whose Mama loved them and only wished them happiness and every opportunity she never had growing up.  Here in Victoria, we have many people living on our streets and they have travelled via many different paths.  There are so many stories.  I try to picture their baby photos and it makes me see them, really look at them and see them.  Can I change a life by saying "hello"? Likely not, but at least I acknowledge them and it's more than I see a lot of people doing these days.  I would hope that if my Babes were in their shoes that someone would show them a little kindness.  Always remember and never forget that we are all that baby.  We are.