The Mischief of Minions

Kids, Family, Insanity…

The turn to Age 4…


My daughter is now S. – Age 4 instead of S. – Age 3.5, and I admit, I am fighting off a bit of sadness and anxiety.

Her birthday was celebrated with sugar and fire (a la candle in donut as is tradition in my family among my sisters) and much fanfare, but after the stress of parties, etc. I fear my unchecked mind has had a little too much time to think.

My daughter becomes more interesting every day: drawing new things, creating amazing and bizarre stories in her head, pulling the most peculiar and yet somehow sensible logic and applying it to her world in the most fascinating ways. She has a memory like a fox for the most bizarre of details, loves music and art, and has an affinity for kindness and love that seems endless. Her beauty is becoming more mature, and at times I think I see glimpses of what she may look like even years from now with stunning clarity.

Don’t get me wrong: she can out-drama most 13 year olds and attempts Machiavellian schemes with maddening skill – and half the time has me pulling out my hair – but that is besides the point, and I am secretly proud of her more clever attempts.

I fall more in love with this kid every day, but at the same time, it is the realization of how quickly time passes, and how short a time I will really have with her, that floors me. I feel lucky and priviledged to have this child in my life – with all her blessings of hope and wonder at the world, and with it grows so the fear of its changing and moving on.

I am a mommy with pre-abandonment issues. On the last night of her third year, I admit I crawled into her little twin bed with her in the middle of the night, under a halo of butterflies and happiness and just laid there staring at that tiny face trying to soak it in so I would not forget any detail.

I push my fear to the background and try and focus all on my hopes for her future, and joy for my present with her – our present with her. She fills my house with love and madness, and is adored by her baby brother and parents. I must rejoice in this, and tell myself constantly that S – Age 4 will be even cooler, and that butterflies must be allowed to soar to truly live.

::Sniff::

I am one blessed mama.

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A Perfect Moment



Frozen in time, a glimpse of tiny perfection in a moment where I am actually sitting and appreciating you. Your beautiful lips, your red-blonde lashes, the warmth of your tiny head and your visage of total relaxation and comfort.

Your squishy elbows and milky-white skin; your soft breathing and baby hair curling with sweat: your sculpted curving cheeks amaze me; the way you turn yourself so trustingly into my body gives me peace.

In this moment, you are still mine, wrapped in my arms. These seconds go too fast, and you are growing far too quickly for my liking. I search your face trying to memorize each tiny piece – each nook and cranny – because by tomorrow it will have changed.

My little boy, you are precious beyond words to me. You are all that is perfect and good with the world, and one of my greatest blessings.

In a short while, you will either be howling with laughter or screaming your head off because I left your milk in the kitchen; in a year you will be driving me crazy with your demands and talking back to me. You will likely throw trucks at my head, kick your sister and torment the dog. And that’s all ok: I look forward to your growth and the mystery of who you will become.

But allow me to enjoy this moment where you are peaceful, and sleeping and mostly potential. I am so grateful to be here with you! I love you forever, little boy. May your dreams be beautiful.

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