“Paint the Rain”, a snapshot .

One category that I have not written much in as of late is Teacher Mama.

That is because for this academic year my primary job is working in the home.

I will resume teaching in June, and I am so excited to do so, but I do miss my kids and the special moments that they provide.

Today, when my daughter got into my car at pick-up for our favorite part of the day, she said, “Mommy, maybe we can do a rainy day activity?”

And instantly a snapshot appeared in my mind:

It was two years ago, and my daughter was in my class of New Twos. There were seven kids total that dayand I was working with a woman who became a dear friend; family, really.

It was a gray, rainy day, and the kids were getting a bit stir crazy.

So we told them to look out the window. To watch the rain as it fell and pelted the cement play area outside of our classroom.

We carefully covered each child in a smock and then covered the tables in paper and gave them paint in shades of blues and grays and white.

And we told them to paint the rain.

I will never, ever forget watching these children, as they watched the world, shouting “Paint the rain, baby!” as some kind of chorus.

So today, as I’m home with my kids, that is what we will do. We will paint the rain.

Acts of loving kindness.

When I was teaching older kids, I used to reward my students for acts of loving kindness; little things that I would observe that would recognize these children for their good deeds and generosity towards others.

Today, I would love to make an Acts of Loving Kindness Chart of my own.

In one day, I experienced four completely separate, but incredibly meaningful, acts of unexpected kindness. We will go chronologically:

1. This morning when I was going through my daughter’s backpack I found a little, perfectly wrapped package with my name on it. Inside was the perfect little gift to make me smile. A fox, from a former colleague and my daughter’s former teacher. She is the kindest soul, and I so appreciate that though I no longer work across the hall from her, we are still connected.

2. I met my mom for a walk this morning after dropping my daughter off at school. My husband usually does drop-off, but had an appointment this morning, so I was up and out early and decided to take in some sunshine. We walked to the local market so that I could return a pack of bad cucumbers, but really, we caught up. We had so much to say, to fill each other in on, unbelievable, as I had literally slept under the same roof (and finished the same bottle of wine) as my mama just two days ago. As we walked she presented me with a sunglasses case. A fancy one. “Here,” she said. “Your sister wanted you to have these. Happy early Mother’s Day.” I have always loved my sister’s sunglasses and she felt that they weren’t right on her. So she gave them to me. I was so touched by this gesture. And I feel so lucky to have such a nice pair of sunglasses. I’m so fancy now.

3. Today, after I picked up my daughter from school, I found that the baby was asleep in the carseat, so in order to capitalize on his nap time and also to kill some time I took her to the drive through for a vanilla ice cream and a stop at the new organic market. There I bought three items: A red pepper, a peppered goat cheese, and a goat gouda. I am not kidding. It didn’t seem weird until I typed it out just now, but seriously, how weird is that shop? When we got home the baby was up, I fed him an avocado, and tried to straighten up an untidy kitchen, unloading and reloading the dishwasher and wiping down countertops. In the middle of my cleaning my doorbell rang. I expected to see a solicitor or neighbor, but instead it was an old friend. My husband and my love story connection starts way, way back when my dog used to run away in his backyard, and this friend is someone who knew us both as young children, completely independently of one another. She is the mother of my son’s oldest and best friend. She was also the division leader at the overnight camp where I went for a summer and 5 days. I was homesick. I didn’t last. She talked me through many a teary time.

She stopped over today to drop off gifts for my kids, to catch up and to bestow upon me something that brought me to tears.

I saw the word Live and I started to cry. I thought about my darkest hours. I thought about this past weekend. I was incredibly touched.

4. This evening, I opened a package sent to us from our Boston Besties. They wanted to cheer us up; to make us feel loved; to distract us.

Twin and Go Go sent us the best, sweetest (literally) care package.

I mean it when I say it made us truly feel cared for.

This time in my life has taught me so much. It has given me great perspective. During this time I have lost friends. I have become infinitely closer to others. It has helped to restore my faith in people, when it was almost all but gone.

Just today I was gifted with four acts of loving kindness.

And tomorrow I will make it my mission to perform acts of loving kindness to others.

Because I want to keep believing that people are good. That the world, even though sometimes strange and scary and sad, is beautiful.

And there is no better way to do that than shining from the inside out.

Light.

This morning, I am seeking some peace, and so I found myself lighting candles around the Living Room;

some are my cherished Balsam and Cedar that bring me back to christmas morning long ago;

one is a favorite from the Catskills, Voluspa Ambre Lumiere;

and then the remaining candles are from a gift I received from a very special friend upon moving into my new house last year.

And in thinking of this special friend, and in reflecting so much about gratitude, I want to tell you a story, one that I have never shared before.

It was the summer, nearly five years ago. I was just starting my new job as a teacher at the school where I would spend the next four years, until just this Fall. I was paired with a woman with whom I had an instant connection. She was smart and funny, she was brave and she was kind. She still is all of these things (and more) but I took to her instantly. We bonded over many things that summer, like a shared adoration for chocolate chip cookies and toddlers, but she did something for me that I will never forget.

Because of her warmth, her light, I felt that I could confide in her my deepest of secrets; that I was trying to get pregnant. And anyone who is trying to get pregnant knows that the process is…trying.

And one day, as we splashed around with our two year olds at water play, she looked at me and said “I promise you, you will get pregnant. I know it. I promise.”

And really, how could she have known? How could she promise? But she did.

And that month, I conceived my daughter and got the call that would change my life forever.

And so I have been forever grateful to this friend, who gave me hope when I was feeling particularly hopeless, who gave me light when I was feeling lost.

So it was particularly appropriate that when I moved into my home, she gave me actual light in the form of beautiful candles.

So this morning, I light these candles, I strive for peace, and I think of this special friend, and am reminded to stay strong.

Because she always does.

And she made me a promise years ago. And I feel like returning the favor.

Music.

Music is playing inside my head
Over and over and over again
My friend, there’s no end to the music
Ah, summer is over
But the music keeps playing
And won’t let the cold get me down

-Carole King, Music

***

This morning, as I spent time flitting about and trying to tidy,

I left my daughter to have some quiet play time in her room. I had the music playing, in the background for us,

and I kept busy picking up socks and wiping down counter tops

she kept busy playing in her dollhouse and paging through her books.

And there was a serene rhythm to our morning.

But, it was not silent. I soon realized that my daughter was singing along to music that sounded from my little cell phone speakers.

She knew all of the songs.

She knew the words to “Bell Bottom Blues”

and to “(The Angels Want to Wear My) Red Shoes”

and to “Comeback Kid”.

And, of course, she knew every word to “Oh Yoko”.

And, I shouldn’t have been surprised. She puts her song requests in with me every day. She asks for songs by name (or the names she’s invented for them). She asks for reggae songs, and alternative rock songs and performances by college a cappella groups.

Music is a part of her. Real, good, honest, grown-up music. My kid knows music. And she loves it.

***

When I was 11, I decided to take a Musical Theatre Class at the Walnut Street Theatre. This meant waking up at a painful hour for a Saturday, trekking downtown and spending hours in a dance studio, high above the street.

And as tired and as grumpy and as annoyed as I would feel at having to make the early trip,

as soon as my teacher entered the room, it was magic.

His name was Ricardo. He was so tall and talented.

He taught us songs

and dance steps

and style.

He taught me about music.

We sang Showtunes, yes, but we also sang  “Music” by Carole King and “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)” By Simon and Garfunkel.

Ricardo died when I was in High School, long after I had graduated from his Saturday morning class.

But, every time I feel tired, and hear music start to sway through my head in slumber,

I’ve got no deeds to do, no promises to keep.

I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep

let the morning time drop all it’s petals on me.

Life, I love you. All is groovy.

I think of my teacher. Tall and talented. And I Love music, just a little bit more.

***

My childhood has a  Soundtrack.

My memories play as scenes before me,

and I can feel them, so vividly,

and I can hear the music that lead us and guided us and shaped our days.

Driving down stretches of windy, mountain roads in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, with Elvis Costello’s “Mighty Like a Rose” blasting from the speakers of our rental car.

In the carpool line of my very first Day Camp, listening to For Our Children and never wanting to leave the car. Or my mom.

Dancing on the living room couches with my parents to The Pretenders

Hearing “Sweethearts Together” for the first time, with my dad, and knowing that it would be my Wedding Song.

Outdoor concerts, from Crosby, Stills Nash and Young to orchestra at Tanglewood;

Family sing-alongs;

Hours and hours and hours spent around the speakers,

nurturing and

growing love;

my music memories serve as the lamp posts that light the story of my childhood.

***

Music is a part of my daughter. She breathes the melodies, just as I do.

There is little in this life that brings me more joy.

I hope that she always finds the light in music, just as I have.

I hope that music will always keep her warm.

***

This post is dedicated to my friend, GM: For always believing in me. And in music.

About Mommy

Hey there!

Hi!

Thank you so much for stopping by.

You may been here before. Thanks so much for sticking around.

But, perhaps you’re new here. Perhaps you’ve wandered these parts before, but you’re not sure. Perhaps you need something to jog your memory. Perhaps you’re not a newbie, per se, but haven’t been here since the beginning.

I’m here to catch you up.

See that tab right over there?

Yeah. There —————————————>

That’s my little bio, but really, it’s a bit stale. Things have changed. Of course I’m still parenting a Princess Baby with my Prince Charming, and things are still wonderful,

and also sometimes scary,

but my little girl has grown up before my eyes. And now, she actually can have an intelligible conversation with me. And since I started this journey of writing from Land of Mom, my girl got glasses. And this new path allowed both of us to look at the world differently. So, I write about it.

And since I began chronicling my “Ever After”, I had a very important “promotion”; Not only am I a teacher at the most warm, wonderful, vibrant, colorful, amazing school, but I have now also become a parent there. It is the BEST.

So that’s me. That’s who I am and what I do. But, most importantly, I want thank you for taking this journey with me. Whether this is your first or four-hundredth visit, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being a part of my ever after.

And now, in order to get us all up to speed, here are my cliff notes; an abridged version of how I got here today.

Much love and baby kisses,

Mommy Becca

Mommy, Ever After; The Cliff Notes:

I was born. I know, spoiler alert, right?! Read about Baby Becca.

I lived, I loved, yada yada yada….I met my husband.

The Story Of Us

The Story of Us–Chapter 1

The Story of Us–Chapter 2

The Story of Us–Chapter 3

He liked it, so he put a ring on it.

The Proposal Story

The Proposal, Part Une

The Proposal, Part Deux

The Proposal, Part Trois

The Proposal, Part Quatre

The Proposal, Part Forever

And we got married and decided to grow a baby. And she had to come out, somehow.

The Birth Story (Caution: Not for the Faint of Heart)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5–A Happy Ending

(Spoiler Alert:) It’s a girl!

A girlie girl.

She was named for a Superhero.

Oh, and I breastfed her for 17 3/4 months.

Also, you should probably know that

I am obsessed with feathers, and this is why.

(read more about my feather obsession here. ) And I always keep an eye out for pennies.

In my house, we have nightly dance parties,

obsessions with Sex and the City, Dirty Dancing and Top Chef

and absolutely no boundaries.

I sing.

I have an incredibly tight family.

And we always save room for dessert.

There you have it. A small glimpse into the highlights of this land I call home.

I hope you stick around. I hope you enjoy.

Stats

So, this month, for the very first time, I neglected to write a Monthaversary tribute to my daughter.

You know, like when she was

five months

and

six months

and

seven months

and

eight months…

And it’s not that I’ve been forgetful

or busy teaching.

It’s that I can’t put into words how much this little 9 month old means to me.

I can’t find the right way to say that she is my air

and my song

and what makes my blood pump

and my world make sense.

9 months old.

She’s now been out longer than she was ever in.

In fact, she’s now going to be turning a whopping 10 months in just a few days.

I know.

She’s old.

But, in all seriousness, I need to learn to stop blinking. Every time I do, another month has gone by.

And she has changed some more.

When I began writing this baby book of sorts, my daughter was scarcely two months old.

She was so new.

So itty.

So babyish.

And, in the time since I first wrote about getting poop on my face

(aka my very first blog post ev-er)

my little peanut of a baby has completely blossomed into a little girl.

She has a personality.

She has grace.

She has a sense of humor.

She has words.

She has hair.

And, I’m not a talented enough writer to write what that all means.

Plus, I just love her too much. I start to lose my mind when I try to articulate how and why I feel the way I do.

My lips start to tremble.

My hands get weak.

My eyes start to spring a leak.

And so, I will take a much more clinical approach and record my latest baby stats in this baby book of mine.

And, because I don’t keep a real baby book

(just this and a very special journal, about which I will share the story some other time soon),

I have no idea what one actually records in those little spaces,

so I’ll make it up.

Here goes:

At 9 months old,

my little mama jama is a crawling machine.

She thinks she’s a dog.

The dogs are her best friends.

They are her idols.

She likes to play in their water bowl, carry socks in her mouth, shake the life out of toys and eat her food with no hands.

Her favorites:

Song: “It’s OK, Try Again” by, The Shins

TV Show: Yo Gabba Gabba, duh

Food: Zeyda Bear’s meatballs marinara

Drink: breastmilk

Book: Goodnight Moon

She has 2 teeth,

poses like a supermodel,

brushes her own hair,

sticks out her tongue on command,

mimic’s everyone’s everything,

and makes us fall more and more in love with her every single second.

Happy 9 3/4 months, sweetest dear.

You’re our everything,

our only thing

and our best thing.

Love,

Your Very Proud Mama

I didn’t realize

that at 5 months old,

my daughter would already be a big enough blabbermouth

that she puts her mama,

a queen blabbermouth in her own right,

to shame.

Let me just say, that I’m a talker.

I chat.

I gab.

I have been known to have some diarrhea of the mouth, at times.

Sometimes, when it spreads, it can even be called word vomit.

Shocking, I’m sure.

Not only have I always been an avid talker,

but I was also an early talker.

I started to speak my first words at 6 months,

and by 1 year old, was speaking in full sentences.

My mom’s friends had fun teaching me words,

like “pocketbook” and “Daddy bring home the bacon!”

As my dad likes to say now, I started talking at 6 months old and never shut up.

And, it is my belief that my daughter is already following in these very chatty footsteps.

She blabs.

She babbles.

Although she doesn’t quite speak English (save the incessant babbling of words like “Mama” “Baba” and “Dada”),

she speaks as though she is conversing,

her voice rising as if to ask a question,

and laughing at her own babbly jokes.

Let me tell you,

it’s adorable—

most of the time.

It can get a little difficult,

like just now, as I was on a work call (which, for me, is really blabbing with my co-teacher, but, you know) and I had to stop every 40 seconds to say, “Wait, what did you just say?” because my daughter was squealing, giggling and talking her baby talk in my ear.

In fact, the other day, I overheard my husband giving her a little pep talk.

“You know,” he began. “I have a feeling you are going to be talking as much as mommy, pretty soon. And even though I didn’t think that was humanely possible, and even though I will never get a word in between the two of you, you’re just so cute, so I won’t mind.”

She may be a big ol’ blabbermouth,

but she’s my big ol’ blabbermouth,

and I love every single incomprehensible word.

So, with that,

I will leave you with my baby’s last little pearl of wisdom:

“Gaga ga wawa uhhh, ha, ohha, mamamamamammamamamamamaammaam!!!!”

Which, loosely translated, means,

“I may say a lot, but that’s because I have a lot of fabulous things to say!! Deal with it, mom. This blabbermouth is here to stay!!”