The Best Kind of Medicine March 14, 2015

I find it happens in the most curious of ways. Or sometimes for no good reason at all. Laughter. From the ground up, it’s true what the imperviously mysterious “they” say about it being a contagion. At least that’s what I have witnessed around my forever home.

Lately, a formerly thoughtful giggler known as dear baby Carter has evolved into a much more boisterous and free-spirited fountain of laughs. I know just what I can do to get him going. For the most part, so do mom and dad. Even he seems to know that if he runs a certain path through our home or has a conversation with a sock he carefully fixed onto his hand, it will bring joy to his heart.

Yet it seems each new day something new brings out the gleeful sound. Today it was mom’s foot. She got him in his tummy with her toes by mistake, and that set of a long and fulfilling session of laughs that even I got involved with.

It made me realize how important it is to be open minded about joy. As he giggled with delight in a game of chase, I found myself wondering what the world would be like if everyone could find something new to giggle about each day. I personally laugh (and smile) with my tail, so I’m not sure what good that does for me.

But later this afternoon, I overheard mom talking with dad about the physical and mental health benefits to laughter, like how a minute or two of laughter can relieve tension and stress in the body for up to 45 minutes. It boosts the immune system, releases what mom called a “happy hormone,” and protects the heart. Sounds like a win-win to me.

So today I find myself feeling so grateful for my silly little person and all the laughter he brings into my forever home. Even if it does happen in the most curious of ways, or sometimes for no good reason at all. Laughter. From the ground up, it’s the best kind of medicine around.

 

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The Possibilities of Existence March 12, 2015

It was exciting. And interesting. And a little terrifying. I was sure it wouldn’t last long. When you’re talking about the attention span of a toddler, nothing ever does. Yet as I took dear baby Carter on an exploration tour of my backyard paradise today, I could tell he was as into it as I was.

From our ground-up perspective, the gradual incline is like a mountain, the decline like a valley. There are trees and pinecones and a garden to explore. So that’s what we did. Together we walked all over the yard, and he talked his talk (in a language neither my forever parents nor I can translate) and I listened. He showed me pinecones that I pretended were a new toy. And I watched as he took it all in. 

It was his first time wandering the backyard on his own two feet, since there was already snow on the ground when he first started walking. And it was fun.

It reminded me of the dreams I had all those months ago of us running and playing together in that yard. There wasn’t much running (the grass is still pretty brown and muddy) and it’s still to early to expect him to understand the game of fetch, but we’ll get there.

Not only that, but as I watched him wander and touch and feel and babble to himself, I realized this is just the beginning. There is a very good reason toddlers don’t pay attention to one thing for very long. Everything is new. Everything is different. Everything is exciting.

Watching it all unfold filled my heart with joy for these reasons. Because yes, it was a little bit terrifying thinking of him falling or trying to eat something he shouldn’t. But it was also pretty neat to think of this as just the beginning.

“That is the exploration that awaits you!” the late, great Leonard Nimoy suggested. “Not mapping stars and studying nebula, but charting the unknown possibilities of existence.”

There is so much out there in the world for my dear baby Carter to see and touch and explore. Sure, there will be bumps and bruises along the way, but that is all part of the journey, all part of the existence, I’m so honored to bear witness to.

 

The Truth About Big Girl Panties January 29, 2015

All it took was a tidied kitchen with dishes cleaned and put away, a kitchen table set for a dinner that was already cooking in the crock pot, a quick run to Target for a few necessities, two loads of laundry nearly completed and a happily napping baby. Mom accomplished all of this before 9 a.m. the other day, in what I (as a key eyewitness) would argue as a successful feat of motherly multitasking.

I find there are days like that. When everything goes smoothly and everything that needs to happen happens without a hitch. The house is clean. The laundry is done. Dinner is accounted for. Work gets done. Everyone is happy.

Today was not one of those days. 

It all started with a “spill-proof” snack cup. I never knew there was such a thing, but apparently the idea is for a toddler like dear baby Carter to help himself to a variety of handheld treats in a neat and orderly fashion. Much to my snacking pleasure, that idea couldn’t be farther from reality. In a matter of about 90 seconds, the “spill-proof” container of snacks evolved into a sea of doggie snack goodness all over the carpet. And that was only the beginning. Within another few minutes, I couldn’t believe what I watched unfold before my eyes.

Toys were everywhere in various states of torn apart distress. Containers of baby bath soap and lotion were strewn about in hallways and bedrooms. Garbage cans, laundry baskets and cabinets were emptied in a way that created a minefield of everything from dirty underwear and peanut butter jars to tupperware lids and canned tomatoes. No room was safe from the tiny toddler tornado known as dear Carter, who (by the way) was a happy little camper about what he managed to accomplish in such a short period of time.

I knew we were in trouble when I saw it. Mom consciously decided not to address every little thing as it happened like she usually does. It was like a switch went off in her mind or something. It was like she was paralyzed. And all she could do was cry.

Because today was not one of those days.

The house was in a worse state than I think I’ve ever seen it. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink. A forgotten load of laundry was developing some sort of unfamiliar stench in the washing machine. Dinner was destined to be takeout again. Work was not getting done. And soon there will be two tiny toddler tornadoes around here.

It took an intervention from some very special loved ones for her to realize it. Not every day is going to be a good day. The supermom cape doesn’t have magic powers. But somehow you just do it. You figure it out. You “mommy up.” You put on your big girl panties and move on with life.

They are skitchy and uncomfortable sometimes. And they’re certainly nothing to look at. But somehow making that decision to put aside the tears and power through seems to provide the boost you need to survive a day like today. That, and the strength you gain from knowing you (and your big girl panties) are never as alone as you may feel.

Living in A Moment January 11, 2014

I’m not complaining. I want to be clear about that. But I’m not going to lie. While I am overwhelmed with joy for the major life change my people have embarked upon, it kind of frightens me a little. All right, I’ll be honest. It frightens me a lot.

I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn’t expect it to happen this fast. Mom and dad have thrown caution to the wind. Forget the baby books. Put aside the message boards. Just as I knew would happen, Carter is writing a book of his own. And I can’t say my people seem to happy with the outcome.

When mom was pregnant, dad used to joke that he wished she could give birth to a toddler. Though it would be physically impossible, it seemed appealing then to be able to fast forward through the “tough” newborn stuff and get right to the talking, walking trouble that comes with little people who are about two people years old. That way at least they can tell us what they need, he said.

Meanwhile, any and every caring friend and family member concurs. Much of the advice and suggestions align with each other, but one has stood out to me. This too shall pass, but cherish these moments. He will only be little like this for a short time. They grow up so fast.

If dogs could talk I would echo these words. It hasn’t been easy, but as American hockey coach Herb Brooks suggested moments of challenge represent opportunities for success. “Great moments are born from great opportunities,” he said. Because let’s face it. Fast forward is no way to live.