Little Girl Faye

I just love this little girl... I like her parents a whole bunch, too. :)

On the phone with Bella

I happened upon this adorable moment of Penélope on the phone with her beloved cousin, Bella. They were talking so loud that I could hear both ends of the conversation. So stinkin' cute.



Penélope: "Do you wanna come to my house, Bella?"



Bella: "Yeah! When can I come over?"



Penélope: "You can come after lunch, if you want."



Bella: "Sorry, that's not a good time for me. I need to be here when my Daddy gets home from work. I can come at night."



Penélope: "Um, no, só (only) in the dia (day). Not noite (night).



Bella: "But I can't. I have to be here when my daddy gets home!"



Penélope: "You can come now."



They talked for 30min.

A Conversation with a Little Happy

A couple of weeks ago...

"Mom, you wanna de-cansar (rest) wis (with) me?" Her hands were eagerly clasped together trying to contain the excitement of a great idea.

"Sure, meu amor."

"We could snuggle in your bed on the fluffy pillows if you want."

"Lets!"

We climbed into my unmade messy bed and Penélope eagerly adjusted all things fluffy and comfy around us. She laid down on her side, head up and chin resting on her hand. Then she said,

"Let's conversar (talk). Um, what you like?" (I just love how her questions are asked just like in Portuguese, an affirmative with a question mark.)

"I like the sky, I like yellow..." I answered.

I asked her the same. We talked for a little while then she asked,

"Why you love me, Mom?"

My heart felt a little squeeze. I wondered if I had not been affirming something in her that she felt the need to ask me why I loved her. All the million of reasons came swirling around me, but I wondered what she needed to hear.

"I love you because you're my favorite present that God ever gave me. I love that you are kind and thoughtful. I love that you get silly and that you dance. I love you more than anything else. I love you just the way you are..."

As I talked about why I loved her I could tell that her whole being was soaking it in. I hoped I had expressed what her little 3 1/2 year old needed to hear.

There is something powerful about verbalizing an emotion, a specific thought. I'd like to think my actions show Penélope that I love her and that all the kisses and hugs I give her tell her that I really like her a lot. But speaking it out is the other important piece of feeling completely loved by someone, I think. All of our senses need it. Even though I tell Penélope that I love her several times a day, I think she needed some specifics. Not just, "do you love me?" I think she knew that. But rather, "why do you love me?"

It's true that mere kind loving words mean nothing if it's never put into action. But I wonder sometimes if those that we love the most need more specifics at times. Maybe that helps validate their specific individuality. When Penelope is older and when she inevitably goes through those moments of self doubt I want her to be able to fall back on some specifics. The unique things that her mom saw in her that are priceless. It's something I'm definitely need to work on.

This morning...

Penélope wanted to "snuggle," she said, in my lap while I ate breakfast. She asked me, "why you love me, Mom?" Before I could answer, she said with a huge smile plastered on her face, "Porque Deus fez me assim!" (Because this is how God made me!)

The Quandary of Laundry

Here's the deal. I don't enjoy folding laundry. In my home there is an everlasting load of laundry that sits next to my side of the bed. It just sits there bored out of its mind.

I am a nanny part time. Everyday I go to work I fold and put away laundry. I do with task without complaint. I do it efficiently. I am focused.

At home it's different. I stare at it a lot. Even as I type, it's looking back at me. Glaring at me, really. Yet, I would rather blog about not folding the laundry during which time I could be mundanely folding the stinkin' clothes. But who wants to do that? Let's face it, I am no Martha Stewart. I'll cook and do what I call mild cleaning. For example, I don't enjoy getting too involved with dusting.

On the dusting note. I remember when Penélope was born my mother came to stay with us for a few weeks. One day, my mom started cleaning which in her routine inevitably leads to dusting. This is not the most obvious line of thinking for me. Dusting will get done when I can no longer remember the color of any given surface. Well, Christopher was AMAZED at what my mom was doing, like it was a rare forgotten art form or something.

So back to laundry. I think I have figured out why I'm such a better homemaker at work.

1. At work there is a tangible incentive: a paycheck. Doing just about anything with a monetary reward in mind makes me a much nicer person. Well, maybe not anything but certainly laundry.

2. Although at work there is a reward, there is, also, a threat to losing the reward: getting fired. I'm not dumb enough to let the laundry pile up day after day because I realize my job would at risk.

Let's face it, at home there is no such thing. I don't get paid. And if I don't fold the clothes is Christopher or Penélope going to fire me? I don't think so.

I guess until they invent a closet that sanitizes clothes or something, I'll keep my little method going. Laundry and I will continue our staring matches, I'll keep watching Chris retrieve coveted pieces of clothing from the basket from time to time and every night, I'll cozy up to the laundry basket. Dear Laundry, I'm sure, will always have hope for tomorrow.

The Bed Is Made

This was Penélope's first time making the bed by herself. Even though not everyday does it turn out this well, I never remake it. I only point that out, because I want to remake it half the time! But given the fact that she seems to have the same perfectionist tendencies as her mom, I never do. I want her to know that her best effort is never a disappointment.

It's so cute to watch her do it. She picks up the big pillows and says, "I'm forte, Mom. I'm really forte." ("forte" means "strong" in Portuguese)

She felt very proud of her accomplishment. So did I. :)

Big Brown Eyes

They say the eyes are the windows into the soul.

I yelled at Penelope. It pains me to say it, but I did. I was working on a project and she wanted my attention. She immediately launched into a mega sized meltdown (which is very unusual for her, I might add) when I didn't respond to her. I stupidly insisted on one final step in my project before dealing with her. Not a good idea. Not good at all. What I thought was mega sized was the toned down version of the melt down to be. So I yelled. I raised my voice and said, "Stop! I can't take this!" I said that several times before I got up to attend to her.

This was not my proudest moment as a parent.

Other meltdowns are the result of not getting her way, but this was different. Her sad eyes said it all. I got up and took her into my arms and held her until her crying was down to a whimper. Every once in a while her big brown eyes would look into mine and she would say, "I need to cry, Mom. I need to cry." I heard my own heart crack.

I realized that she had asked me several times before the meltdown for attention, and I kept saying, "In a little bit." When I yelled at her the message I was sending her was, "Penelope, when you're acting like this, you are unlovable." In effect, I was placing conditions on her in order for her to be loved. I screwed up. (I have always said that I never wanted my kid to think I had it all together. I hate to think how well Penelope knows that already.)

I looked back into her sad eyes and I talked about how Mommy had screwed up. I asked if she would forgive me. Before I finished the question she said, "I fo-give you, Mom." And it was at that moment that I realized I had to tell her something.

I asked her to look right into my eyes. She did. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying so much, but still brown and sad. Then I said, "Penelope, I love you when you're happy. I love you when you're sad. I love you when you don't obey. I love you when you get mad. I love you always... Her eyes watered up again. I wanted to keep going, but she wrapped her little arms around me and pulled me in tight. She kissed my cheek that was damp from my own tears.

My hope was that my words, my love reached all the way to her gentle young soul and hugged away the hurt. From my eyes, I think she could see that I really meant it. From her eyes, I could tell that she got it.

Penelope and Her Hunt Boys

When I told Penelope that she was going to hang out with her cousins, the first thing she said was, "I gonna see my prince, Mom? My prince needs me? Does he, Mom?"

Nathan is her prince. Maybe she's right. Just look at him helping her ride the bike.


Then it was time for a picnic. Penelope's favorite thing. We went to Lake Harriet and goofed off and kicked the ball around.

I had to post this picture. This is a classic "Penelope expression." When she gets excited her whole being expresses it. Look at her hands and foot. She was elated with the thought that perhaps some squirrels lived in the hollow of the tree. She and Natie put a Cheeto in the hollow for the thought-of residents.

Many other moments, Penelope simply enjoyed observing her fun cousins.
Monkeys on bars.Again, Penelope enjoying the entertaining view of three cute monkeys.

OK, so could there be any cuter Hunt boys around? I don't think so. They are delightful.

Nathan, perfectly lovable. I can't even stand it.

Never will you find more affectionate brothers. Did I mention how I totally can't even stand it?

A fun day indeed.

(Sad to report that after this sweet moment on the bike Penelope aquired her biggest boo boo to date. There was much sorrow, but nothing that her doting Prince couldn't handle. He brought her a toy for comfort, almost in tears himself, and even sang softly to her.)