dearest daughters

Sometimes I Wonder

Dearest Daughters,

I embrace your creativity, perhaps more than the average parent. You've taken over the kitchen table with your scratch paper and markers, pipe cleaners and stamp pads, glue sticks and stickers.

Fifty percent of the freedom I give you is a conscious effort to not helicopter, to not step in when you can do for yourself, to let you gain confidence in your problem solving abilities, to not give you any preconceived notions or to shape your idea of what something should be.

I won't lie; the other 50% of the reason I don't intervene in your creative endeavors, whether at what we now call the "Art Table" or whether playing "dress up, pack your bags and fly to Hawaii"--is because I'm just not paying attention.

No one's losing an eye. And whatever you mess you make just doesn't bother me THAT much. What's more scraps of paper on the ground? And red hand prints on the white cabinets? Nothing a vacuum and Magic Eraser (tee emm) can't fix!

I don't think my parents let me "get away" with this kind of stuff. With making messes, however creative. I don't remember having any dress-up clothes. (But, Lola did sew some bomb-diggity Halloween costumes in her day. That, I will not deny.)

Your Auntie Ningang KT just told me that she uses you as a little anecdote to others about how you're not overly into Disney Princesses. That is to say, you like them, we watch them, I'm not anti-Disney Princess of anti-frill, but at the end of the day you were Buzz and Jessie for Halloween. You are equally excited about pretending you're a robot ballerina or a pirate princess.

I like your creativity and freedom of expression.

But, sometimes I wonder...

While working on a sewing project the other day, I handed over the scraps to you girls. And this is what you came up with, whilst my sewing machine was whirring away:

Bel made Buzz a pair of undies with a heart sticker on the crotch--a little Magic Mike-esque if I must say--Intergalactic Space Ranger by day and, well, you know, by night. I'm sure it was nothing like that; in your current potty-training reversion, I'm certain you just wanted to hook your buddy up with a little extra however-be-it-stickered, night time protection. You're quite considerate like that. And fancy too.

And in a fitting comparison of personalities, Danjo just horded the fabric I handed to her, threw in some torn paper scraps and made her mini-Buzz a little nest next to the wine rack. It's gonna be a long night.

Love,

Bel's Digital Portfolio

Dearest Daughters,

They (whomever they are)(probably self-proclaimed parenting experts without kids of their own)(or child development academics)(or artists with special ideas about children and art)(anyway), they say to avoid praising artistic results, especially in young children.

I'm supposed to emphasize the process of art. And praise your efforts. Not your results. (Certainly a theme in this household.)

And I've done so. No one can accuse me of denying you artistic experiences, of not letting you play with mushy toilet paper or goop or play dough, with pudding, with dirt and water, or mud, with rain and food coloring, with paste and mixed media, or cardboard boxes. (Hey People, if you've been reading awhile, click on some of those links for a walk down memory lane! There are photos, and a couple of videos in there too. My how they've grown!)

I've done all the right things, including not pouring over and hanging up every little scribble you've created.

But, I'm a parent, dang it. And I'm a little bit artsy-crafty, meeee-self. So, sometimes I'm just proud of you. Or amazed by you.

Despite all my attempts to encourage process, to keep art open-ended, to not lead your towards any idea of what your creations "should" look like, you keep producing these darn tangible results. One: because you're awesome. Two: because you're you. And you is a lot like me.

So, even though I've never put a piece of paper and crayons down in front of you and told you to draw a robot or yourself or a chicken. Even though I've never drawn a robot for you. Or instructed you how to use lines and shapes to make a robot.

YOU PAINTED A ROBOT! WHEN YOU WERE TWO. AND A CHICKEN! AND YOURSELF! AND YOU ROCK! (AND I CAN ONLY SAY THAT HERE. OR ELSE THE ART-PRAISE-PROCESS-CHILD-DEVELOPMENT-PARENT EXPERTS WILL GET ME!!!!)

So, I present to you... not plastered on my physical walls, but here, on this virtual wall of sorts...

Babybel's Digital Gallery, The Early Years

Print awareness, 2 years, 3 months.

Berry Tree, 2 years, 9 months

Robot, age 2 years, 9 months

Goth phase, 2 years, 9 months

Self portrait in oil pastel , 3 years

Spider in oil pastel, 3 years

Bread and eggs, 3 years, 1 month

Chicken wearing a bonnet, 3 years, 2 months

Self portrait, 3 years, 3 months

Easter eggs, 3 years, 3 months

Self portrait, 3 years, 7 months

Chalk on sidewalk, 3 years, 7 months

Self portrait, 3 years, 7 months

Surfboard and sun, 3 years, 7 months

Danielle on a rocketship, 3 years, 7 months

Love you no matter what, even if your robot is wonky, even if it's perfect, even if you send your sister to the moon on a rocketship,

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Don't miss out on Bel's additions to her digital portfolio! Make sure Make sure to like Dearest Daughters on Facebook.

(BTW, when you visit our page, hover over the "Like" button and make sure that "Show in Feed" is checked. That is, if you want our cute faces to show up in your feed!)

Danjo's 2nd Birthday Invitation, minus the actual invitiation.

Dearest Daughters,

How awesome is this invite for a honey badger/snake themed party? Ha!

Perfect for Danjo!

Made at paperlesspost.com; they didn't pay me to say or do this. I just like their designs. Period.

Oh, wait. I made it, so there's that.

Also, sorry to say: no, the whole Internet and our DD People are not invited; just the close fam this year. It's nothing personal. It's just that there's not enough Xanax in the world for me to attend, let alone host a party that big!

Love,

 

 

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To continue feeling offended about all our other fabulous parties you're not invited to this year, go like Dearest Daughters on Facebook, where we'll rub how much fun we have on the DAILY in your face. Hearts and rainbows! - Dearest Daughters

(BTW, when you visit our page, hover over the "Like" button and make sure that "Show in Feed" is checked. That is, if you want our cute faces to show up in your feed!)

My new project

"Love after Love"

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

- Derek Walcott

More on poem and Jon Kabat-Zinn's Science of Mindfulness can be found here.

Rain, rain, don't go away! Come back again another day?

Dearest Daughters,

I'm naturally sedentary and content to sit around all day staring at various objects: books, walls, television, you, etc.

Babybel, like me, is happy to stare at things. Danjo not so much. She's prone to jumping in, touching, crushing, if allowed the opportunity.

When I'm being a Good For Nothing, both of you tap into your current inner-child and do a pretty good job of entertaining yourselves; of finding something new or different to do during our days at home, to explore, to play with or (in Danjo's case) to destroy or to climb. In spite of me. And all the things I should be doing with you in order to ensure you don't have daily melt-downs, grow to be well-adjusted and get into an Ivy League school.

Adults are okay with being bored. That's why we're so boring. We've grown out of using our imaginations and hypothesizing. I don't know why exactly. Too busy? Too tired? Too stressed? Too serious? Too selfish?

Or we just already know what putting our entire hand in a bowl of hummus feels like.

Putting the Conundrum of Danjo aside for a second--even the laziest-book-readers amongst us would benefit from getting our booties off the couch once in awhile. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Because if you came to my house you wouldn't see a buttocks-shaped indent on the far-side of the sofa.

On a rainy day, after several (I won't say how many) hours of children's television (however educational-public-broadcasting in nature), one must face reality, turn off the television and HOLY MOLY GUACAMOLE CANNOLI, get up and out and do SOMETHING!!!

Love,

Inspired by:

Source: littlepageturners.blogspot.com via Lauren on Pinterest

Cardboard Parenting

Dearest Daughters,

I aspire to be a cardboard parent. That's a term I just made up.

By my definition a cardboard parent, literally, is one that gives their child a cardboard box and allows him or her to have his or her way with it.

But, what a cardboard parent really is at his or her essence is a parent who encourages their child, embraces his or her gifts and visions. Allows space for self-expression. For making messes and mistakes and figuring things out. A parent who is there to love and support no matter what, who will bring in the duct tape when asked and glow with pride every step along the way.

I believe all children are born creative. And gifted and naturally imaginative. But, not all children have adults that support and love them unconditionally. There are certainly many factors that determine the kind of adult a child will become, but having fiercely loyal adults in his or her life is probably the most determining.

Behind every awesome person you meet, there has got to be an adult reponsible for that. A cardboard parent maybe?

Last night your Daddy and I watched Being Elmo: A Pupeteer's Journey. Your dad loves loves loves him some Elmo. I liked Elmo as a child, but he started to annoy me as a parent, watching "Elmo's World" morning after morning. I have this self-righteous stance about Elmo "selling out," about the episodic, vee-jayed re-formatting of Sesame Street, about the (I kid you not) dozen or so various forms of Elmo living under our roof, mostly your Dad's collection.

The documentary gave me a new appreciation for Elmo. Not only for this amazingly talented black man's journey from the outskirts of Baltimore to becoming a master, world-renoun puppeteer, a unique story in it's own right, but also because I realized what Elmo represents to people; why kids and (grown adults) love Elmo.

Elmo is "pure love."

Kevin Clash, the pupeeteer, based Elmo on both of his parents, who loved him and supported his interest and many talents (sewing! acting! improv! making an object come to life with nuanced flicks of his wrist!) Kids at school made fun of him. His siblings too. Given that he was Jim Henson's first black puppeteer, I'd say that making puppets and creating characters and putting on shows was and still may not be an ordinary thing for a young black boy to do. But, his parents never batted an eyelash. Not even when Kevin acted on his childhood urge to cut out the fur lining of his father's coat.

That, is carboard parenting.

Then, just this morning, I stumbled across this story. Another example of yes, an amazing individual, but also a parent who supported and provided space for his child to pursue his interests and use his gifts to create a fully functioning arcade out of cardboard boxes. Are you starting to get it?  Cardboard parenting!

Caine's Arcade from Nirvan Mullick on Vimeo.

I doubt these types of parents think much about what they offer their children, when they give them a cardboard box or the lining to their coat. They believe that it's just what parents do. They, as I would, give all credit to their amazing children. And I'm not here to take any of that credit away.

But, I'm given pause to think about how I might have reacted if I found you had destroyed my coat. Or how I might have reacted to find a greatly reduced supply of packaging tape after all that arcade building! About the ways I helicoptor parent, because I want so badly for you girls to suceed. So I meddle sometimes. Or redirect your thoughts and actions into neat little, managable, adult-comprehendable packages.

Or about the times I quickly, but unecessarily tell you "no"; my knee-jerk reactions, my negativity and critical nature.

As a parent, you have to set boundaries and provide limits. It's not always possible to say "yes."

But, too often, in intentional and unintentional ways, we confine our children, we say "no." And for not very good reasons. Like our schdules or our notions of scarcity. Our insecurities. Our fear. Or because we put ourselves, our ideas, our need to control first.

We tend to build boxes, neatly packing our children into them, instead of doing the obvious: handing them the tape and carboard, the fur and feathers, baseballs and bass clefs, dirt and dancing, numbers and letters and love.

Girls, you were created awesome.

Now, go. Git. Build your dreams.

Just don't stab yourself. Or each other. Please.

(Click video above to see my attempts at cardboard parenting over the past few years.)

Love,

Clean Mush: the five days plus infinity activity

Dearest Daughters,

It's not a brilliantly original idea that I let you play with "clean mush" (toilet paper, soap, borax and water). That's been done a million times over. In other people's homes. And classrooms. On the Internet. Via The Pinterest. Or our favorite art book.

It's not original, but it's certainly polemic.

"I can't believe you let your kids do that!" visitors declare.

"What a mess!"

Etcetera.

I'm not trying to be Susie Homemaker. Apologies, to Susie, if I'm offending her. And I'm not some early art experience guru.

I've said before and I'll say it again: these kind of things keep ME sane. Because the keep my kids BUSY.

This activity in particular, kept one or the other or both of you occupied for twenty to thirty minutes. SEVERAL DAYS IN A ROW!

DAY ONE. We made the stuff. And it was fun to see each of your personalities come out, in the manner you approached the clean mush.

Bel, you were very methodical and hands off. Danjo, you jumped right in. And I ended up moving you to the floor, because I'm being literal when I say that you jumped right in.

DAY TWO: We had sealed the mush back up in a large plastic container. So, on day two, we just potato mashered and wooden spooned and whisked away. Bel was less hesitant by this point and got her hands a little dirty. I was going to just throw the stuff away, but Great Grandma Gibbs was visiting and in her infinite wisdom thought I should keep it a little longer.

DAY THREE: GGG was right and you were both happy to play with the clean mush for another round. This time we squeezed out the mush and made sculptures. Triple G suggested making eggs. We squished and squeezed and then put our treasures in the unheated oven (with the light on) for a couple of days.

DAYS FOUR AND FIVE: were spent checking to see if our sculptures were dry and flipping them over.

Life happened and although Babybel did NOT forget about them for ONE second of ONE day EVER, our sculptures sat for a few days on the counter. We waited somewhat patiently to find a time to decorate them.

TODAY: While Danjo napped, we got to painting.

So, okay. It's not the tidiest thing. Or the most effortless thing. And I let you girls watch copious amounts of television, so compared to that, it is HARD.

But, I read this article recently about how in the United States we have this co=dependency dilemma. That we're not actually raising our children to be independent, even though it's such a dearly held American value. According to the study, American parents, don't make their kids DO things, because it's "just easier" not to make them; to just do it oneself. Kids aren't given respect for their abilities or the opportunity to contribute to the family unit.

And that's not totally related.

But, as I'm sweeping up dried bits of toilet paper mush and cleaning out the dryer lint trap full of toilet paper fuzz balls; when I'm wiping up paint or anxiously waiting for you to put your shoes on EVEN THOUGH WE NEED TO BE THERE IN FIVE MINUTES AND WE'RE SO LATE AND HURRY UP, MARIBEL! When I can't honestly tell you the percentage of waffle that actually made it into Danjo's mouth, because I've let her feed herself (despite the mess on her and the floor) since she was old enough to self-feed. When I can tell you how much sand Danjo ingested because I sat there and watched her do it.

For every moment of frustration and impatience and exasperation at how DIFFICULT it is, there are an exponentially rewarding amount of moments wherein I see (or foresee) not only your independence, but also your ability to contribute to this family, to help others around you and to, ultimately, be a functioning member of general society.

Thanks to clean mush, you girls will not be co-dependent, narcissitic, ego-maniac brats.

Or something like that.

Love,

Afternoon Art

Dearest Daughters,

Sorry for the unannounced, but sorely needed break in writing letters to you. Perhaps, there will be more on that later. Perhaps not.

For now, I'll just dip my toes back in with a glimpse into our afternoon.

Bel, ever the artist. I don't know when you learned to draw things. I turn to get you an afternoon snack and before you know it, there's a chicken on our table.

And, Danjo, ever the unconventional child, prefers body art. Also, enjoys nudity and jumping off of things.

Twenty-five year old Danjo, I believe that was your personal ad I just wrote.

Love, love, love,

Ramblings: employment news, my stay at home parenting worries, attempting to keep ourselves occupied.

Dearest Daughters,

It's about time I told you that pretty soon I'm going to become a full time stay at home parent--if only for a couple of months before I'm driven insane and/or penniless and into the arms of some form of employment. I'm crossing my fingers that won't happen.

The truth is: I'm lazy. Or that's how our capitalist, dual earner household society might view me. And if I never had to conventionally work for money another day in my life, I'd be content. On the other hand I have this urge to be "productive"--it's both innate and a societal pressure.

I want dearly to be able to spend my days playing and making art with you girls. Rolling around in the grass or dirt. So, I look forward to being able to spend ALL my time at home with you. Particularly those precious mid-morning hours, when we're all at our best.

I'm nervous about this transition. And the internal struggles I have with myself over "getting things done" versus "enjoying my kids" versus "having time for myself" versus "teaching my kids to entertain themselves."

This also means that we'll have to take Babybel out of school, which is a mere two mornings a week. And while you certainly benefit from the activities and play and structure and social opportunities provided by preschool, you are the type of child who will do fine in any environment you're in.

I can't really get a grasp on what "worries" me about being at home full time. I guess that I fear that I won't like it. That we'll all get bored or have tantrums or end up watching television all day. And the house will still be a mess. And I'll forget to feed you or give you water. And we'll all just be starving and dehydrated and cranky. And wet our pants.

Or something like that.

Sometimes when I post things on this blog or on Facebook describing our day, the People praise my parenting--the activities and opportunities that I provide for my children.

But the truth is: as much as I do it for you, multiply that times a thousand and that's how much I do it for myself. Really, People.

Lolopop, hearing about your recent watercolor bath, declared, "What a good Mommy you have! We just threw our kids in the tub and hosed them down."

To which I replied, "It doesn't take that much. I just give them the paints and make sure the water's warm and sit there for an hour." And we're all happy. In my measure, the supposed "effort" is worth not yelling at my children all day.

It's not so much what you girls need so much as what I need to get through my day. I have no discipline. And I like to call Lola and ask her, "So? What are you doing today?" And as long as we're all occupied, we make it to the end of the day unscathed. But, when there's no discernible objective to our day, I feel sort of lost and bored and like we desperately muddle through our day, me perpetually throwing toys and food in your general direction, feeling like I can't make anyone happy, attempting to avoid meltdown.

I need a routine.

I need go-tos. Outings, activities, snacks.

Auntie Katherine gave us a couple of books awhile back when I communicated this exact sentiment to her; the need for Sanity Preserving Time Occupying Not Television Related But Easy As Pie Go To Activities.

I highly recommend these books; your library might have a copy.

First Art: Art Experiences for Toddlers and Twos

Preschool Art: It's the Process, Not the Product

This morning's activity, as simple, as messy, as duh as it seems, came from the first book. Just so the People don't start to thinking I'm as amazing of a parent as my Facebook page lets on.

Working with the materials while you wait for Mommy to hurry up and make the paste already.

Danjo explores her materials.

Signing: "more" paste? (To eat, of course!)

Art is a process. Inclusive of clean up.

Love you,

I write this from a toilet.

Dearest Daughters,

An original haiku for you this afternoon, as I sit on a (lidded) toilet, supervising contained, harmonious play:

Painting in the bath
Two birds, one stone, endless fun.
Water's cold. Oh well.

Love,
Mommy