dearest daughters & son

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!)

Sand Circle DIY

Dearest Daughters,

I've wanted a sandbox for a looong time. For you, of course.

Not because I have memories of Great Grandma Gibbs' (well Lolopop's childhood) sandbox. Or because it seems like an awesome way to simultaneously stay in my pajamas AND go to the "playground"/"beach"/"camping".

I've looked for one of those used plastic-turtley-thingy-or-others off and on for the past couple years. But, I couldn't bring myself to buy (even used) a big hunk of plastic that would surely break and end up in a landfill with my fingerprints on it. Also, they just aren't big enough for two growing girls.

I wanted something quality and durable and nice to look at. You know, made of wood or something?

I could build a sandbox, I thought.

Well, I could. With Lolopop's help...

So, then, I'd hop on-line and think, I'll just buy a nice wood one and be done with it. Except, then I'd go back to thinking, I could make that for waaaaaay cheaper. But, then I never would.

Oh and Pinterest was ever the tease.

Source: apartmenttherapy.com via Terry on Pinterest

Source: remodelista.com via Anna on Pinterest

Source: dana-made-it.com via Melissa on Pinterest

 

 

 

 

Source: younghouselove.com via Melissa on Pinterest

 

This weekend my dreams (for you) finally came to fruition. Because of three factors.

1) Having spent an entire week somewhat paralyzed by anxiety, I had a bit of I've-done-nothing-productive-cabin-fever. And, I decided it was fitting to play the part of a real crazy person, by taking on this task in one day.

2) Lolopop, who is a very handy guy and who holds the tools hostage, has had a lot of projects on his Honey-Do list and I got tired of waiting until he was ready to do a project that I could very well do My Own Self.

3) But, doing it My Own Self meant lacking those tools and his nuanced expertise. So, I hit up Pinterest and craigslist with a vengeance. And was inspired by some no-nail solutions, coupled with stumbling upon a nearby arbor company with a massive pile of free wood.

The inspiration:

Source: google.com via Lauren on Pinterest

 

Source: recycledcrafts.craftgossip.com via Lauren on Pinterest

 

Source: apartmenttherapy.com via Lauren on Pinterest

 

And thus, our sandbox, um, sandcircle, was born:

Pile o' free wood, mostly fir. Just took a car-load of smallish and shortish rounds and hoped for the best.

Big thanks to my ever-supportive husband who indulges and muscles my whims.

Honey? I turned the kids into tree rounds. Also: yay for our new big car. I feel so empowered by my ability to transport large objects!

Plotting the course. Didn't do much concrete planning before (other than killing about nine feet of our crabgrass and therefore, having a general idea of size). So, just had to make sure we had enough rounds to go a-round (har har).

Found the center of our dead lawn and made a make-shift measuring tape compass to spray paint a nine-foot diameter circle. Then, got to digging up the dead sod.

Still digging. Whew! If I had to again, I would use Lolopop's roto-tiller first. Or rent a sod cutter? By the end, we had a system down, though. Tanned and toned to boot!

Ta-da! We could have just put the rounds straight on the ground like one of the Pinterest examples. But, digging down gave us a few more inches for sand-digging later on and a way to stabilize the stumps--sinking them a few inches below the dirt on one side and, of course, the sand on the other.

Dun-zo. Daddy-o.

While beadle napped, Unkinan and I laid two perpendicular layers of Weed block and pinned them down around the edges and center with landscape staples. We wanted to make extra-sure sand or your fingers wouldn't get this stuff up so we were enthusiastic with the staples; Unkinan had to make more out of wire coat-hangers. Shoulda done that from jump and saved a few bucks.

Don't underestimate the importance of placement! I let Unkinan handle this one! He was determined to make these rounds fit together like a puzzle, which is a good idea if you want to keep the sand in and the dirt out.

Rounds set on landscape cloth, all snuggled up to each other and the inner edge of our circle. We tucked any sneaky-peeky landscape cloth down and filled over it and into the exterior crevices with dirt.

We did some pi-r-squared math to determine the area of our circle. The hardware store had a handy chart to let you know how many bags you need based on your area and the depth of sand you want. We ended up with 30 bags, that's 1500 pounds of the good stuff: pre-washed (hopefully not too much silica) play sand. "You got a big sand box," the customer pick-up worker noted. Um, yes, sir, we do.

Various sand-pouring, dumping, stabbing and waterfalling strategies.

Yay! Done in a day! Now to figure out the rest of the landscaping!

And after a day away with Lola and Lolopop, the moment we were waiting for: the big reveal!

"Mommy, thanks for the sandbox, but will you build me a bunk bed now?"

Come on over! You know where to find us.

It was a long day, but worth the time and sweat. It was good to be out and about and not freaking out. And to do something productive, spending QT with your daddy too. But, most especially, it was worth it, knowing we've created a space for your childhood memory-making.

Also, there's this: GO OUTSIDE AND PLAY IN THE SANDBOX, uh, SANDCIRCLE!

Love,

P.S. Thank you, thank you, thank you to Lola and Lolopop who watched you girls all day, to Unkinan who lent his muscle, landscape staple-making sklls and stump-arrangin artistry. And to your daddy, who did a lot of the grunt work and is above and beyond supportive of me and my endeavors.

P.P.S. Forgot to break down the materials and costs, which were insignificant, compared to most scenarios of buying AND filling a sandbox.

1. Weed Block - 3 ft x 50 ft - $16

2. Landscape staples (pack of 10) - $3 plus another 10 homemade staples (free) - could've skipped buying these altogether!

3. Twenty Douglas Fir (because that what's they had) rounds, approx. 12-18" diameter each - FREE - holler!

4. Play Sand - I mentioned our calcuations above and we probably only used 26 of the 30 bags to obtain about 5-6" depth. We'll save the trouble of returning the extra bags and keep them for when we need refills in the coming years. I've read about play sand safety controversy and using alternatives like pebbles, but we just went with this stuff. It did have a small warning about containing material known to cause cancer, i.e. silicia, which from what I know is an element of all sand situations. This stuff was pre-washed and easy. And aren't we all going to die of cancer anyway? We might as well enjoy our lives as we live them in the BEST SANDBOX EVER? - $5/bag x 30 bags = $150 - 20% OSH discount = $120.

That is all. Grand total = $139 (plus tax, of course!)

P.P.P.S For now we're covering it with a tarp-bungee cord configuration, but am considering options for a more permanant solution. Any ideas?

If our weekend was sponsored...

Dearest Daughters,

This weekend is brought to us by:

Firstly, all the People, who have been so great. I want to thank the People for their support, thoughts, prayers and reassurances, their anxiety tips and tricks. And for being vulnerable with me.

Turns out 1-in-5 people I know deal with some form of anxiety. Okay, that's not like scienctifically collected data. And I certainly respect everyone's right to privacy (though I don't seem to respect my own), but holy moly! How did I not know that I was surrounded by you people? Us people!?

Seriously. Knowing I have you (anxious and not) People and Xanax in my back pocket has helped me to return to some semblance of normalcy. Or, at least, being able to leave the house for milk. There will be many more milk-runs, visits to doctors and yoga studios and artist retreats and day spas and the ocean. And many more conversations with you and therapists and God and my family.

Whether you've been reading for a year or a day, thanks for being a part of my journey!

This weekend is also brought to you by...

Doing puzzles on your own, at my tigermother insistence.

Some puzzling of my own.

City planning. And smashing, courtesty of Danjo.

Running some traffic scenarios.

Ridiculous roses from our yard. Huge and beautiful and smell so good! Tell them to stop, already.

Goop. Shout out to Borax!

Nervous energy and Pinterest and staying home.

One-day-DIY! Just a sneak-peek, come back tomorrow for more!

Oh and by Xanax and dark chocolate. But, I swallowed those, so I don't have a picture to show you.

Love,

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

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,

To my side piece

Dear Pinterest,

Sometimes you teach me a new recipe. Sometimes you make me laugh. Sometimes you allow me hours of feeling creative without leaving my desk.

And sometimes.

You save my life.

Or at minimum, insure the physical and emotional safety of my smallest child who is "full of life." I say that both euphemistically and lovingly.

(I saw this fine motor skill activity awhile back and in a fit of exasperation, in the face of filling a whole 'nother hour until we left for work this morning, I hit up the recycling, the craft drawer and grabbed a pair of scissors. She played with for about five minutes. Trust me, that is a LONG time in Danjo Land.)

My sincerest and heartfelt thanks.

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,

Do not underestimate the power of dirt and water.

Dearest Daughters,

I chose to have you. I knew what I was signing up for. And while I use this blog as a place to hash out my parenting philosophies, over-thinking, over-analyzing, hypothesizing, etc., this isn't a place for me to complain about what a drag children are.

That being said.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whew, I feel better.

When I had Babybel, breastfed her, changed her, read to her, played with her, sleep-trained her, taught her baby tricks and the English language and the concept of an "evergreen" tree,  I thought to myself: "Self, you are such a FREAKING AWESOME parent."

Little did I know, it had little to do with my nurture and lots to do with Babybel's nature.

"Aw, I can TOTALLY do this again," I told Anyone Who Was Listening. And I was pregnant again before Babybel was even a year old.

And now, here I am, with a three year old and a sixteen month old. Correction: a relatively cooperative three year old and a gymnastic, independent, curious sixteen month old from Trouble Town, USA. I'm sure you've met a kid or two from there before.

And it's all I can do to not pull my hair out. Well, that is, if I had a chance to pull my hair out in between the corralling, barricading, intervening, repairing, remediating, and restraining of Danjo. Yes, I said restraining. And listen: you gotta do what you gotta do to change a diaper, get shoes on, buckle a car seat.

Danjo, your attention span is short and your body is quick. And your mommy is lazy. It's a frustrating combination.

It means that I actually have to keep an eye on you. I can't just throw you in a laundry basket full of books and expect you to stay there like your sister would have.

We have an abundance of toys and books. They're laid out at your level. And I direct you to them. Where you play nicely for about three seconds. Then, you methodically throw each object on the floor. That takes another three seconds.

So. There goes the first six seconds of our day.

The next few seconds are spent emptying all the garbage cans in the house. And any available laundry baskets. Dirty or clean.

There's the lower cabinets of the kitchen and pantry, of course. We must not forget about their urgent need to be "reorganized." And if I'm not fast enough in emptying the dishwasher, there go all the clean utensils on the floor. Because they needed to be washed again, after all. You're such a helper.

And television? Forget it. Babybel can sit in one place, watching one, two, three feature length animated singing animal nonsense films in a row. Danjo can't make it through the first three notes of the opening song.

Okay. So, this is me again. Not complaining about how annoying children are. This is me, attempting to embrace the nature of a child who I'd swear wasn't mine, except for the fact that you propelled yourself from my womb (if that wasn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is).

I recognize your need for perpetual and varied stimulation. But, like your easily overwhelmed sister, I don't understand it. And don't find it realistic to play the role of toddler entertainer all day.

I embrace your whirlwind nature and let you keep yourself busy (with the aforementioned minute-by-minute routine)(as if I had a choice)(it's not as if I could beat you into holding still and reading a book)(or can I?)(has anyone had success with that?). Ultimately, it's just my job to keep you safe, watching you out of the corner of my eyes. But, even that gets tiring. See above: corralling, barricading, intervening, repairing, remediating, and restraining.

I've discovered two things that keep you occupied for more than six seconds.

Back online.

Dearest Daughters,

Did you know you can survive a week without access to the Internet?!

My sources tell me that, apparently, people do it all the time!

Nevertheless, I feel cheated. Not simply because I pay for a service I wasn't receiving, but, more importantly because AT&T deprived the People of their All Access Pass into Dearest Daughter's Mundane Existence.

I feel the need to recap. One, two, three, and go!

At the San Francisco Zoo

Enjoying a warm California winter day, sidewalk, bike and body painting.

Playing with/riding our house guest, Rueger.

Capturing the castle at Bel's preschool playground. My that's high!

And, done.

I feel better, Internet. Don't you?

Love,

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