What I Wish for Raine

Sometimes I find Raine out back, by herself. Sometimes she's puttering around, but most times she's to be found on the top rung of our folding steps--just sitting quietly. She can spend as long as 15 minutes out there, being still.

I don't quite know yet what's going on in her mind when she's out there. I'd like to think that at this young age, she has learned to appreciate the simple joys in life. Like the birds chirping or the flowers stirring in the breeze (then again she could also be plotting her next act of mayhem).

When I think of Raine's future, I want grand things for her, naturally. I want success, happiness--all the good things, all the best things. But what I'd also want is for her never to lose this ability to simply be still.

Be still and know that He is God.

That's something that I have difficulty doing. I get so lost in the busyness of this world, in the striving to achieve whatever--success, happiness, accolades--I no longer can be still and trust in the God who only has the best in mind for me.

The same God who has only the best in mind for Raine, even grander than I could ever hope for. And I wish--I pray--that Raine will always know to be still and find peace in that.

Adventures in Motherhood, Chapter 2

We lie in bed, side by side in the dark. It's time to go to sleep, but I can see the exuberance and energy still shining in her eyes. She holds up a finger close to my face, and with a pleading look asks, "One?"

I'm dying to sleep, but I give in. "OK. One last time."

She scrambles into a flat-on-the-bed position and begins, "Say.....clock!" It sounds more like, "see cahk", but we understand each other. I echo, "Clock!" and tickle her tummy as she screams with laughter.

"Say...clock!" she says again when she regains control of herself. "Clock!" And more giggling, squealing and tickling ensue. Over and over, we say clock and laugh. Sometimes, she takes a very long pause after "Say"; I can see her bursting with the anticipation. Sometimes the anticipation gets the better of her. She dissolves into gales of laughter--without saying "clock" or me having to do anything.

Finally, I tell. "OK, enough. Time to sleep. Good night."

She takes my face in between her tiny hands and gives me a kiss. Then she settles down with a final sigh: "Fun."

We drift off to sleep.

Why I Married Him

Me: Do we look at the glass as half empty or half full?

The Hubby: Half empty.

Me: Darn. We're both pessimists then.

The Hubby: Yeah. And we accuse each other of drinking from the glass.

Adventures in Motherhood, Chapter 1

Motherhood may sometimes be a lonely job, but you are rarely, ever, alone.

Take the bath I tried to sneak in the other day. I park Raine in front of her electronic nanny and zip into the bathroom. Madagascar is Raine's current favorite (she finds the scene where Alex the Lion bites Marty the Zebra's butt hilarious), so I assume that would give me enough time for a little pampering.

I had barely turned on the shower when I suddenly feel a cold draft. The door bangs open (should've locked it!) I hear "Mama!" And suddenly I'm shampooing to the melody of an enthusiastically played out-of-tune xylophone. OK, skip the conditioner.

Then total silence. Uh oh. I peek out of the curtains and I see Raine busy brushing her teeth. Well, sucking on her toothbrush is more like it. I figure that will buy me an extra five minutes, so I prepare my bath puff. Then there's a rustling of the shower curtains. "Boo!" she says, then disappears. She reappears on the other side. "Boo!" This happens several times. OK, fine. I'll just use plain soap today.

I peek out, and Raine is back to brushing her teeth. I hurriedly rinse off. I open my eyes and there is Raine right in front of me, with a huge smile, tugging off her shirt. "Aaaaack!" I scream, "Raine, get out, you're going to get wet!" She steps out wailing. OK, no post-bath body oil.

I towel dry, quickly. "Sorry, Raine, Mommy didn't mean to shout. You startled me, that's all...Raine?" And I step out of the shower, she's sniffling while brushing her teeth. When she sees me, she lightens up. "Mama." She lifts her hands to be carried.

Oh well. There'll be time enough for long baths when she grows up.

Some Weird Advice

Yesterday, as I was waiting for my train, I started reading those TV-type ads at the station. The flat screen monitor ones with soundless MTVs, supposed ETA of the next train, and of course the ads.

These TVs also had scrolling tips, to give more value to the bored commuters, I suppose. Yesterday's set of tips was for better hair. And this is Tip#2:

When going shopping or running errands, take some time to stand outside nearby salons.

Um. OK. That makes perfect sense. Will try that some time soon.

This Really COULD Happen To You

Yesterday, Raine was taking a nap and The Hubby texted to say that he was back from the grocery. So I went out to open the gate. Chloe, our grumpy old wonder dog, had peed on the driveway, so I started hosing it down as The Hubby parked our SUV in the garage. Next thing I knew, there was a barefoot baby next to me, toes wiggling in the puddle of water, gleefully grinning at me.

My heart stopped beating for a moment. The Hubby and I did not see her come out of the house.

I've read about the rise of young children's accidental deaths caused by SUVs. They said that as SUVs get bigger, the visibility--of the ground and those blind spots, I suppose--goes down. The drivers just don't see the kids--toddlers mostly--and they get backed up on or hit, usually in their own garages or driveways. Musician Steve Curtis Chapman's daughter, Maria, died because of this. But I was thinking, hey that happens only in the States. It wouldn't really happen here. And not to us.

Wake up call! I am so thankful that nothing happened to Raine. I realize that we have to be more vigilant, more conscious of where she is and what she's doing. While I am a staunch believer in independence, I have to temper it with caution, with prudence.

Thank you, Lord, for watching over Raine.

And So It Begins

A few weeks ago, I was ferociously typing (not a pretty mental image, but I assure you, that's what I was doing) in our bedroom when I realized that Raine had been pretty quiet for the past 15 minutes or so. Now, as any mom will tell you, total silence and awake offspring--the combination will always send shivers down your spine. Not a good thing.

I was about to get up and check on her when she came tottering in, burbling non-stop in that breathy, high-pitched voice of hers that she uses when she's excited. She took my hand, pulling me to my feet, then led me out the door. She proudly pointed to the wall and beamed at me. And this is what I saw:

Raine had scribbled on the entire wall with her blue, purple and black crayons.

When I finally reattached my jaw, I launched into the full "crayons are only for your paper you don't write on the wall or the floor or the appliances or your books or on yourself no no no no".

Raine's proud smile changed to her pouty, lower-lip-trembling-I'm-about-to-cry-but-I'm-holding-it-back look. She sniffed--then reached up her arms for a hug from Mommy.

As I held her, her face buried in my shoulder, I gently explained again why I reacted the way I did. Deep inside, though, I thought it was adorable (as did her Daddy, when he came home that night). She's a quick learner, though, our Raine. She never wrote on the walls again after that.

We didn't wash the walls immediately. The Hubby wanted to keep her masterpiece up for a few more days. And every time Raine would pass by, she'd pause slightly, and give a little smile.

Ah, Raine. Someday. Someday, your work will be admired by many. And it won't just be on the wall outside your Mommy's bedroom.