Category Archives: My Story

I’m Learning to Ask, Wish for What I Really Want

Posted on May 17, 2013 by | 10 Comments
Editor’s Note: Today, I am participating in May’s Secret Subject Swap put together by Karen of Baking in a Tornado. This week, 11 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. My Secret Subject Swap subject was submitted by http://dinoheromommy.com.

 
Have you ever had a birthday wish come true? If not, which one wish do you hope would come true?

Every year as I blow out the candles on my cake, I close my eyes and wish for the same thing – happiness, health, and love for my family and myself. This is my little mantra and quiet prayer that I actually whisper to myself as I blow out my candles. So, I am having difficulty coming up with a cute response to this question.

Oh how I wish they would stop putting my actual age on my cake. Does this count as a birthday wish?

Oh how I wish they would stop putting my actual age on my cake. Does this count as a birthday wish?

You see, I have never been the type of person who creates wish lists. Not for Christmas, not for Mother’s Day and not for my birthday. I’m not sure why, but even as a child I felt uncomfortable asking for things.  I was a normal girl who coveted material items, but I never dared ask.  I was always aware that money was tight, so on some level perhaps I felt like I was being ungrateful or irresponsible if I made it known that I wanted something I didn’t already have. Or maybe I was afraid of asking and then being disappointed by not getting what I asked for in the first place. I am not sure why, but I do know it simply made me uncomfortable to ask for or admit that I wanted more, whether it was a popular brand of shoe or clothing or gadget.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy and appreciate receiving gifts as much as anyone does, but asking is still a struggle. It has taken me years to get comfortable with this idea of asking for gifts or making wish lists.  My husband is all about making lists of things you want or need. To him it makes sense. It’s not about making demands or asking for high cost things, but about making it easier for your loved ones to give you something you actually want or need instead of making them go out on a limb and guess.

Leading up to every major holiday or birthday he will ask me repeatedly what I want and I always respond the same admittedly annoying way, “I don’t know. Anything is fine.”  I am truly not trying to be coy with this response. I simply have trouble asking for anything. And even though he knows I am not playing games he still gets frustrated. You would think after almost 8 years of marriage he would be able to read my mind, but alas not so much. He needs concrete suggestions.  It makes him happy to give me what I want, so I am working on creating lists.

I am working on coming up with wishes and more importantly I am working on allowing myself to admit these wishes not only to myself, but to my loved ones. Maybe this is the broader lesson. It’s okay to dream. It’s okay to say those dreams out loud.  And more importantly it’s okay to say, “Honey, I want those diamond earrings… um I mean… anything is fine.”

So, am I the only one who struggles with this problem? Please leave me a comment or join the discussion on the Tiny Steps Mommy Facebook page.

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there: 

http://www.BakingInATornado.com Baking In A Tornado

http://hypnoticbard.blogspot.com/ The Insomniac’s Dream

http://dinoheromommy.com/ Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

www.thepursuitofnormal.blogspot.com The Pursuit of Normal

http://themomisodes.com/ The Momisodes

http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com Searching for Sanity

www.theblacksheepmom.blogspot.com Black Sheep Mom

http://mooreorganizedmayhem.blogspot.com/ Moore Organized Mayhem

www.dailydoseofdamn.blogspot.com Daily Dose of Damn

http://www.tinystepsmommy.com Tiny Steps Mommy

http://momrantsandcomfypants.wordpress.com Mom Rants and Comfy Pants

 

Secret Subject Swap
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A Mommy’s Touch

Posted on May 12, 2013 by | 1 Comment
Editor’s Note: I originally wrote this piece a few months ago to be read out loud. It is very personal and emotional for me, which is why it took so long to share it here on Tiny Steps Mommy. I can’t think of a better day to share this love letter to my mother than on Mother’s Day.
 

I know the tenderness of her touch with my eyes closed. The gentle way she smoothed my hair and fixed the pillows behind my head when I was sick. The soft melodies hummed in perfect harmony. She is my rock. My security blanket. She is the reason I rock my babies to sleep and rub their backs when they are ill. She is my teacher and my heart. She is my mommy. But last year, I grew to know her not as simply my mother, but as a loving and dedicated daughter.

Last year I stood by her as she took a journey I never wanted to understand. A journey I still think about with bated breath. The journey we are all supposed to take. The journey of adaughter saying goodbye to her own mother. My grandmother… Mi Abuelita.

I watched my mother nurse and care for the matriarch of the family day in and day out for more than four months. My mother prayed over her, sang songs of comfort, brushed her hair, fixed the pillow behind her head, and fought to make her Mommy comfortable as we all prepared to say goodbye.

I know this is the circle of life. The way it’s supposed to be if you are lucky. You are born in the arms of your mother and one day if you are blessed and you live a full long life like my Abuelita then perhaps you will leave this world surrounded by your loved ones. The people you helped bring into this world. I understand this and I fully believe this is an honor. Yet, it terrifies me.

Every time I stood by my Abuelita’s bed and watched her slow rhythmic breathing, my eyes would scan her arms. Her freckled soft almost translucent skin. The skin of my mother. My eyes would scan her hands. Her rough hands that told a story of a long hard life. My hands. My eyes would scan her face. Her high pronounced cheek bones. My aunt, sister, and daughter’s cheek bones. You see, my Abuelita was and is a piece of all of us.

Being a granddaughter wasn’ta role I ever thought about. I always knew I was blessed to have my Abuelita and I loved her very much, but she didn’t live close during my childhood and our relationship was long distance.

But, when I became a parent, I finally got it – like so many things. I watch the love my parents and my in-laws have for my children and I understand that having grandchildren is a blessing and an opportunity to continue the love you created when you brought your own baby into the world.

When my children run into the arms of my mother, their Nana, I can feel the warmth of her love wrapping around me simultaneously. And really the arms of all the generations of mothers in my family who came before me.

This is why when I held my Mommy’s hand as we said goodbye to my Abuelita, my mother’s mommy, the impact was so visceral. Three generations of women. Three generations of mothers one moment and then just me and my Mommy and my Aunt. Just tears and an unspoken understanding that one day I too will have to say goodbye. That one day my children will have to say goodbye. That the cycle, while a blessing and an honor, is one of the most difficult parts of growing up. And one of the most important reasons I will always remember the tenderness of my mommy’s touch.

 

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Remembering Every Kiss, Hug Even if Our Children Can’t

Posted on May 2, 2013 by | 3 Comments

Our fingers interlock. His hand is small compared to mine, but not as small as I remember. I trace his face gently – touching his forehead, nose and chin. I remember how he used to love butterfly and Eskimo kisses. It was our thing. The ritual way we said goodbye, but not anymore. His breath is heavy and slow. He finally releases the long day and drifts into a deep slumber.

I watch my 7-year-old sleep with his hand in mine and I feel the pangs of time moving too fast. The pangs of regret and guilt when I think about how difficult our relationship is at times. He is my most affectionate and demonstrative child. He is the one who is always smiling and trying to get a laugh. He is the entertainer who craves attention. All attention, but especially mine. He is also the one who knows exactly which buttons to push and how to get a rise out of me. If only he understood how much more attention he already receives. I give my heart, but it never quite feels enough. I always have this deep-rooted feeling like I’m doing it all wrong when it comes to him.

I recall our earlier conversation and feel more pangs. The deep in the stomach kind. The clinching of my heart kind of pain. He spoke with such thoughtfulness and a surprising maturity beyond his years. We were sitting in the doctor’s office alone just waiting when he informed me that he only wanted to hold my hand at home because he got embarrassed in public. So I told him the story of his first day in preschool and how he didn’t want to let go of my hand and how he made me do our butterfly/Eskimo kiss ritual three times. He paused and looked at me and asked, “Why can’t I remember that? Why can’t I remember a lot of things from when I was little? And how come you can?”

With my heart in my throat and my soul on the floor I answered,”It’s my job to remember. I will always remember everything. I will remember every kiss and hug, even if you can’t.”

He smiled so sweetly and bright and asked if I could give him a butterfly kiss and Eskimo kiss again. My heart leapt and I gently brushed my eyelashes against his cheek and rubbed my nose against his nose. I will never forget that moment.

I will also never forget my realization that he is right. There are so many precious moments that do slip away from memory over time. The seemingly innocuous ones that you take for granted. I wish I could lock them all into a box and experience them again and again. I want to feel my babies sleeping soundly and perfectly on my chest. I want to smell their bald heads and breathe in their scent. I want to feel the tightness of their baby hands wrapping around my finger. I want to rock them on my shoulder and feel the heat of their breath on my neck.

I promise to always remember holding my sweet boy. Here he is at 6 months old.

I do feel it is my responsibility to remember and preserve these moments in time. The moments that are creating the foundation for who or what my children will one day become. It’s not always easy or possible though. I sometimes find that the memories of my four babies blend into one. I sometimes struggle to remember it all.

But, not this memory. Not this conversation. This one will always be about my sweet, loving boy. The master of pushing my buttons and stirring my frustrations who also knew exactly what was needed today as he slipped his hand in mine and drifted off to sleep, but not before whispering, “I love you to Pluto and back because the moon is just not far enough.”

 

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