Wednesday, January 15, 2014

The Little Ones I Love

Chloe Jane - My firstborn. She is a beautiful example of a lion and a lamb. She is gentle and tenderhearted. She cries at movies and when she witnesses the pain of others. To truly "discipline" her rarely includes anything other than talking with her about how her actions make the other person feel. She loves to snuggle and melts into my arms when I hug her. She's quiet and creative and loves having time to herself (much like her mama in that characteristic). A lover of books and art and soulful music. Then, out of nowhere, she flashes a bold streak. Like a lioness, she is focused and determined and not afraid to roar. She's stubborn to a fault, but it often plays in her favor. She makes up her mind she is going to try something new - and succeed at it - and she does. No one can convince her of her ability before she's ready, but once she has it in her mind, there is no stopping her. The kid's got guts. Her laughter is one of my most favorite sounds in the world. She is beautiful and fearless, all wrapped up in gentle and tender. She is captivating.

Maple Anne - My little firecracker. In our home, she is audacious and uninhibited. She sings at the top of her voice, speaks with gusto, and flies around the house, half-naked, in an unbridled flurry. She plays hard and works hard and loves hard. It's rare to coax a snuggle out of her. But when she gets in her mind to hug me, I can expect two little arms squeezing so hard that they are shaking, and a long, wiggly kiss on the cheek that usually ends with a raspberry. She takes everything in stride - the good with the bad - and has resilience out the wazoo. While she is gutsy and bold at home, she is reserved and observant in the "world." She enters into new territory curious, yet cautious. She watches - with sparkling eyes - all the dynamics of the space and people, and usually hides in a coloring sheet or quiet game until she finds her footing. Like a fairy or nymph, it's rare to catch her "true form" outside of her natural habitat, but when you do, she is mesmerizing.

Penelope June - My sweet little bundle of contradictions.  She lights up if I look in her general direction, and when we jiggle her belly, she curls up into a little ball and squeals with laughter.  Her sisters are her favorite toys. Her father is her calm place (believe it or not). And the dog is her greatest source of entertainment. She loves faces and people and raspberries and baby talk and tickles and snuggles - until she doesn't. Then she's done. And when she hits that point, her only comfort is a cool, quiet room with little or no stimulation. If she is ever fussy beyond consolation, she simply wants to be left alone. And in that quiet space, she once again finds her center, and makes her way back to that happy, giggly baby. A sweet little bundle of vigor and life. She is my sunshine.

And those are the little people who have taken over my world and turned me inside out. I love them, in all their similarities and individuality. They are my adventure. 

"You are my I love you"
 - by Maryann K Cusimano

I am your parent you are my child
I am your quiet place, you are my wild
I am your calm face, you are my giggle
I am your wait, you are my wiggle
I am your audience, you are my clown
I am your London Bridge, you are my falling down
I am your Carrot Sticks, you are my licorice
I am your dandelion, you are my first wish
I am your water wings, you are my deep
I am your open arms, you are my running leap
I am your way home, you are my new path
I am your dry towel, you are my wet bath
I am your dinner you are my chocolate cake
I am your bedtime, you are my wide awake
I am your finish line, you are my race
I am your praying hands, you are my saving grace
I am your favourite book, you are my new lines
I am your nightlight, you are my sunshine
I am your lullaby, you are my peek-a-boo
I am your kiss goodnight, you are my I love you

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The Quote That Started It All...

I myself have twelve hats, each one representing a different personality. Why be just yourself? - Margaret Atwood