Maia Papaya Brings in the Fall

Books & Trickery

by Tatiana on January 29, 2010

Maia loves to be read to.  It’s not uncommon for her to take a book in both hands, run over to me, and plop her butt in my lap, all the while babbling.  She particularly likes turning the pages for me — sometimes before I’m ready for them to be turned! And although I adore reading to her, I like it even better when she brings the books to her daddy.  There is something that melts my heart about the two of them with their heads bent, focused on the pages of a board book, Chris raising his voice to princess-ly levels, growling with the ferocity of a dragon, and then adopting a nasally tone for the bum of a prince.

Sometimes, however, when Maia brings us books, she has something more devious in mind than using us.  She settles down into my lap, talks to me in her wordless way about it, then as soon as I start reading she stands up, grabs the coffee table, and hauls herself up onto it.  Now, I know I shouldn’t let my daughter climb on tables, but the way she casts a triumphant grin at me over her shoulder is kinda charming, and she’s pretty damned proud of herself.   And she is apparently part monkey, because you would not believe how fast she climbs up there.  I guarantee it’s faster than you read that sentence.

She’s a mischievous one, my Maia.

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On my mind

by Tatiana on January 25, 2010

“My daughter’s birthday is coming up soon,” I say, fussing with the button on the blouse I’m holding.  It’s a pretty colour, a vibrant sort of rose that seems inspired by the deep violet hues that have dominated the past season.

She nods.  She has ashen blonde hair with hints of gray at the roots, cut short and distinguished.  She used to be a teacher and she still looks like your favourite one, the one who brooks no nonsense but notices, appreciates, and encourages every effort you make to succeed.  We clicked with one another instantly.  “Your…. Maia” — she always hesitates before saying Maia, as if worried she’ll get it wrong — “she’ll be a year old?”

“Yep.  It’s gone by so quickly.”  I always feel sheepish saying this; I read a quote once that for a mom, the days are long but the years are short, and it resonated with me.

“It gets faster,” she replies, and there’s an unexpected sorrow in her voice. Looking at her, I suddenly see every smile line that creases her eyes and mouth; her face tells the story of decades of joy.  She’s seen many birthdays, from her children and her grandchildren, and I wonder where the sadness comes from.

Is she thinking of a deceased loved one?  Does she miss her family?  Is she reminded of her own mortality when she looks at me, twenty seven and unwrinkled, exulting in my only child’s first birthday?

Or is she just a mother who, despite her pride in her adult children, laments the swift passage of time?

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GTT: Pet Peeves

by Tatiana on January 21, 2010

This week over at Girl Talk Thursday, we’re discussing our pet peeves.

1) When people don’t throw away nail clippings.

2) When time is left on the microwave (ESPECIALLY if the door is left ajar!)

3) Chips / cereal / crackers etc getting left open so they go stale.

4) Toilet paper unrolling from the bottom (if I see this at your house, I’ll fix it!)

5) Forcing “tw”, “twi”, “tweet” etc into a word in order to “Twitterfy” it and look cool or cute.  It doesn’t work. Related to this, when people intentionally do something that they know annoys you because they think it’s funny is also a pet peeve.

6) When Chris gets up with Maia in the morning and doesn’t bother clipping her hair back or putting it in a ponytail so it’s out of her face.

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Month Eleven

by Tatiana on January 13, 2010

Dear Maia,

Today you turn eleven months old, and all I can think is how young that seems.  When I think of you, I think of a kid; when I think of an eleven month old, I think of a baby.  But you’re not.  You walk, talk, interact; you have a distinct personality, you know what you like (and don’t like), you are fiercely independent, and above all, you are fun.  Babies?  They’re definitely not as fun.

You love to dance and clap.  I don’t really like to leave the television if I’m not watching something in particular, but it’s tempting to when I know that any music — fast, slow, awesome or stupid — is going to catch your attention and cause you to start shaking your groove thang.

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This past month has been an exciting one for you, with Grandma visiting, going to see family, and your first Christmas, as well as other fun things like taking Buffy to the vet on Boxing Day (stupid dog) and going to see the Olympic torch pass through our town.  People keep asking me if you “get” Christmas, and if by that they mean do you understand the concept of celebrating Jesus’ birth or Santa Claus bringing presents then, no, you don’t “get” Christmas.  But if they’re really asking whether you had fun celebrating the holiday, then the answer is an emphatic yes.

You enjoyed the Christmas gatherings, and although you were not terribly interested in opening presents (a fact which blows my mind, because if we were to give you a newspaper, you’d spend the next half hour shredding it and squealing with glee), you sure did like them once they were out of the wrapping paper.

DSCN3064By far, your favourite presents were the blocks.  Babcia and Grandma both got you blocks, which is great because you now have enough that, no matter where you go in the house, there will always be a block hiding out somewhere nearby.  Mommy and Daddy are marginally less thrilled at this fact than you are.

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You also love your books (not so much the puppet in the background, obviously).  You were given something like four or five books for Christmas, and you like to bring them to me one at a time to read.  The one you’re holding in this picture, How Do I Love You?(aff) made me cry the first time I read it to you, because it’s so damned sweet.

santa maia 2009I have to say, though, that your favourite part of this month was going to visit Santa.  Not because of Santa himself — you see, in that picture you have your worried face on, your oh shit why are Mommy & Daddy not holding me? face — but because here, you met your soulmate: Man Playing Guitar And Singing.

DSCN3040You stared at this guy for like four or five minutes, Maia, and every time we moved you away you just beelined back to him.  You weren’t interested in dancing or clapping with his music; you simply wanted to watch him in amazement.

Since then, you’ve learned how to point at things that intrigue you, which I’m somewhat grateful you didn’t understand then as you would have pointed at him the whole time, as if we didn’t already know you were interested.  Here at home, you point at things like the floaty balloon that came attached to my birthday flowers, or the dogs, or the mirror, and we show them to you, and you are delighted with the fact that you are communicating with us clearly — or more accurately, you’re delighted that we’re listening.

You really enjoy pointing at the pictures on the walls — they’re pictures of you.  We got them for Daddy for Father’s Day.  I hold you, point at each of the 14 pictures, and describe what is going on in them.  Mostly we giggle together — Maia doesn’t like her hat! is a pretty funny picture, I must admit — but there is one picture that always makes me stop in my tracks, so it’s the last one we look at together.

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I say, “This is brand-new Maia, not even a minute old,” and I start to choke up as I look at you, naked and pink and squinty-eyed, curled up on my chest, your dark hair plastered to your forehead, your perfect little pouty lips, your hand pressed to my skin.  That you were ever so small and new baffles me, and I can’t believe that from that new little creature has sprung this active, sassy toddler.

You are still so exquisitely perfect that it makes my heart hurt, though.  I love every moment of being your Mama better than the last, and we are so lucky to have you in our life.

All our love,
Mama & Daddy.

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GTT: Not hot. At all.

by Tatiana on January 8, 2010


Today over at Girl Talk Thursday, we’re discussing celebrities that we do not understand the appeal of.

My list:

1) Robert Pattinson.  People, this picture is from the cover of GQ.  If GQ can’t make this dude look good, no one can.

2) Taylor Lautner.  I swear I’m not necessarily biased against Twilight peeps, I just don’t see the appeal.  Maybe if he walked around shirtless with a bag over his head…

3) Sarah Jessica Parker.  She is just not attractive to me.

someone please save that hottie from the goblin woman trying to eat him!

4) Madonna.  GAG GAG GAG.  Put some fucking clothes on, gain a little weight, dress your age, and maybe you’d stand a chance of getting off this list.

5) Kelly Ripa.  She just looks like an orange bobble head doll to me.

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Victim as Witness

by Tatiana on January 5, 2010

Two years ago today, on my 25th birthday, I was in a very different place in my life.  Chris and I lived in a basement apartment and he worked nights, so I was also on a nighttime schedule; I slept from 10am til 4pm or so.  I was not working, having been fired from my bartending job in July, but I kept in frequent contact with a coworker from there — we’ll call her Alyssa. Her bleached blonde hair tumbled down to the middle of her back, naturally wavy although she kept it straightened.  She had huge blue eyes, a slender figure, and a smoky voice; people either thought she was incredibly beautiful or not attractive at all.  I fell into the former category.

Those who fell into the latter saw the things I did not: her sunken eyes, her too-thin face and frame punctuated by the bony jut of her hips and shoulders, and the straw-like texture of her hair.

Two years ago on my birthday, something happened that made me see those things.

I sat at home as Chris worked, $80 in my pocket, and I itched to go out and celebrate.  Alyssa and I had gone out clubbing before and had a blast — she was, unexpectedly, a quiet partier, more content to sit and observe, while I went out on the dance floor to get down & dirty.  I had nothing else planned, and so I called to see if she wanted to go out.

When she answered the phone, I knew something was wrong.  She spat out something about fighting with her husband, how he had hidden her new jacket so she had broken some of his new KISS memorabilia — honestly, the two of them squabbling like children was nothing new, and the two of them mistreating one another’s material possessions was pretty common as well.  He treated me nicely enough — he was a very charismatic guy — and I figured that their marital difficulties were theirs to deal with, not mine to judge.

I recognized the signs of potential abuse, but when I asked her about it, she insisted that he’d never hurt her, they had a baby together, of course he would not do that, he never laid a hand on her because she’d kick his ass if he did, etc etc.  So I stopped asking.

That night, she came to pick me up.  She was upset, her head hurt, she was tired — she had a thousand reasons to want to go back home.  I begged her just to go out to dinner with me and see if that helped.  We had nachos and a drink apiece and she decided she just wanted to stop by the house to kiss her son goodnight. Fair enough, I figured.

When we got there, the fighting began in earnest.  He told her she was dressed like a slut, that she didn’t need to look good if all she was just hanging out with me.  She said she wanted her new jacket back, because it was cold outside.  So on and so forth, as I sat in the living room with their son who stared at the television.  Eventually she came storming down the stairs to sit beside me.  “I’m going home,” I told her.

She begged me to stay, begged me to take her out.  She said she had a friend on the way who would be our designated driver so we could get plastered and forget all about men.  And because it was my birthday, because I needed her companionship, because I couldn’t abandon her, I said alright, I’d stick around.

Her husband came downstairs, all smiles for me.  I shuddered.  Alyssa said we should go sit out in her van and wait for her friend to arrive, and as we walked out, her husband launched into a harangue against her about how she looked, how she talked, how she acted.  He said he’d call her mother and tell her how many drugs Alyssa was taking.  She had tears on her face as we walked outside, her still not wearing a coat.  When I asked why she didn’t have anything with long sleeves on, she said he had hidden everything.  When I asked why she put up with this, she said he wasn’t normally like this.  I knew she was lying, but I felt like there was nothing I could do.  Her abuser had left us both powerless.

Their son stood peering from the glass front door, staring at us.  Throughout the whole ordeal he had been silent, like he always was, every time I visited.

Her husband stood in the kitchen, at a window, talking (or pantomiming) on the phone, gesturing viciously out at Alyssa, sneering and smirking.  “He’s talking to my mom,” she whispered, “he’s telling her everything.”

“He’s faking,” I told her, “don’t let him fuck with you.  There’s no one on the phone with him. He wants you to go inside, but you need to stay here with me.”

“That’s my baby in the door, he needs me.”

“He needs you in one piece.  Stay here.”

She reached into the back of the van and picked up something.  I don’t know what it was, but it was heavy, and it was on a cord, and she flew out with it in hand, screaming as she swung it, smashing it against her husband’s Camaro parked in the driveway beside us.  Four or five times she smashed her husband’s car, and finally she looked up at him, looking out at her.

He hung up the phone.

She raced back into the van with me and locked the doors, but left the window open.

“Roll up the window and ignore him,” I pleaded, as he came storming out of the house.  I knew that face.  I knew that look.  He wanted to hurt her.

Too late, she realized the same.  She was rolling up the window as he reached through it, seizing a fistful of her hair, and next thing I knew she was shrieking, I was screaming, and he was hollering, “DO YOU WANT TO DIE, ALYSSA?  DO YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING KILL YOU?”  He was shaking her head back and forth, up and down, slamming it against the frame, against the window, and I scrambled against his hands, trying to get him to release her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I remember screaming.  “Let her go!”

He finally did, throwing her head away from him.  “I’ll fucking kill you if you come back home,” he said.  “Remember that.” And he walked away.  He never once acknowledged me.

She was sobbing, rubbing at her head, pulling away handfuls of blonde hair in clumps.  I had no idea what to do.  I remember wishing that I had a cell phone to call Chris.  I did not once think of calling the police, just my husband, because he would protect me and hold me and take me away.

We didn’t talk, I just held her close as she cried.  Finally, she looked up at her house.

Her son stood in the doorway, witness to it all.

On that day, two years ago, I was a victim as surely as they were.  To this day, I blame myself for not being more proactive; as a mother, the thought of the environment that child lives in makes me nauseous.  I should have called someone to get him out of there.  I should have called the police against her husband.  I should never have sat there mute and powerless.

Yet I did.  Because I am intimately familiar with being a victim of a violent man, and it’s entirely too easy to fall back into that mode of just protecting one’s most basic self, just staying quiet and hoping that the abuser will simply walk away without hurting you too much.

Silence is a tool of abuse.

Today, I share my story at Violence UnSilenced.  Today, I refuse to be ashamed of what happened to me.  Today, my 27th birthday, my first as a mother, I have an obligation to myself and my family to speak out, to drown the shame in a sea of support and love.

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Spoon Feeding

by Tatiana on January 3, 2010

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Thanks for teaching her THAT lesson, daddy!

by Tatiana on January 2, 2010

On New Year’s Eve, we had chicken cacciatore for dinner.  So Chris and I are sitting on the couch, Maia’s in her high chair, we’re watching The Office like usual, and during a commercial break we’re watching her eat.  She’s picking up strands of spaghetti and tossing them casually aside. Then she picks up a chunk of chicken and shoves it into her mouth, before digging through the spaghetti again.  She’s been doing stuff like this a lot lately, where she eats her favourite part of a meal first before going for the rest — for example, we had roast chicken, crescent rolls, and brussel sprouts with bacon tonight, and her order of eating was the crescent roll first, the roast chicken second, the bacon third, and the sprouts last.  She ate everything, though!

The dogs circle below her as she eats, and every once in awhile they get excited.  They begin whimpering and prancing around on their hind legs, and sometimes they’ll even yelp/bark in anticipation.  Joss did this when a strand of spaghetti dangled from Maia’s tray, just out of his reach, and Chris hollered, “JOSS!” It scared the dog, and it scared Maia too.

She startled so hard that she shook the tray, then she stared at Chris in amazement.  He apologized for frightening her, looked back at the tv — and she yelled at him!  I laughed and laughed and laughed.  What an attitude!

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Top Stories of the Parenting Blogosphere in 2009

by Tatiana on December 31, 2009

2009 is the year I really started to pay attention to the parenting blogosphere.  Oh sure, I was pregnant in 2008, but I only really liked reading the blogs of other moms pregnant with their first, which doesn’t provide an accurate depiction of what’s going on in general.  This year, I like to think that — particularly due to Twitter — I’ve gotten a lot more well-rounded in the blogs I read, the people I interact with, and the news I hear.  Here, in no particular order, are what I think were the biggest stories of 2009:

BlogHer ‘09
This conference spawned many a blog post, both before and after the event, as well as its own spin-off for those of us who couldn’t get there — BlogHer@Home.  From the anticipation of what to wear to meet Tim Gunn to the Nikon party drama to swag whore behaviour to the aftermath of attendees recapping their experiences, talk of BlogHer ‘09 dominated the summer.

Maytag-gate
When Dooce’s Maytag washing machine crapped out, everyone heard about it.  Some people were pissed that she was “bullying” the company, others thought it was all overblown melodrama, and some were completely on her side.  In the end, though, a women’s shelter ended up getting some new appliances, and I think we can all agree that’s awesome.

Maddie (& Binky)
Madeline Spohr’s passing devastated the parenting blogosphere.  I don’t know of a single mother who heard this story and didn’t feel instant compassion for Heather and Mike and deep, abiding sorrow — and love — for Madeline.  The founding of Friends of Maddie, a charity in her memory that provides support to families with babies in the NICU, has provided a way for everyone to continue showing their love for this beautiful little girl who left us too soon. Heather’s pregnancy with Maddie’s little sister, dubbed Binky, has been avidly followed and cheered on, and we can’t wait to read about her in 2010.

Nic & the TSA
In October, blogger Nic White tweeted and blogged frantically about how TSA agents in Atlanta took her son out of her sight for ten minutes.  Parents were up in arms – how could such a thing happen?  It was terrifying!  An abuse of power! Err… not so much.  The next day, the TSA began sending out links on Twitter to a video that almost completely contradicted Nic’s story.  Some of us were angry at and hurt by Nic’s (apparent) lies; some supported her unwaveringly; some were concerned about how this reflected on bloggers as a whole.  Altogether, though, it was a really messy happening that strained, and in some cases broke, friendships.

Stellan
In July, Twibbons began appearing on people’s avatars for a little boy named Stellan.  He was having heart troubles and was in the hospital in critical condition.  We worried for him, we hoped for him, we prayed for him, and he emerged from his troubles victoriously.  Then, in November, he had a successful emergency procedure performed on his heart that has, hopefully, cured his ills and left him a healthy, strong little boy.

Anissa
In mid-November, Anissa Mayhew suffered a stroke.  The amount of support that poured out for her was (and remains) incredible.  130 bloggers showed their love for her in an incredibly touching video and there have been countless blog posts and tweets praying for her, as well as an online auction to raise funds for her medical expenses.  Her recovery has been incredible thus far and we’re all looking forward to hearing from her in the new year.

Aiming Low
Related to Anissa, she founded Aiming Low, a website with an all-star roster of female bloggers dedicated to being “perfectly not-perfect exactly as you are“.

Nestle Boycott
Spurred by the list of attendees of the Nestle Family conference, Annie of PhD in Parenting (whose influence makes her practically a top story in and of herself) spearheaded a movement to raise awareness of a Nestle boycott that has existed since the 70s in response to their formula marketing practices.  At Halloween, the #boonestle hashtag was established to help tweeps show their support for and/or participation in the boycott.

Military Mom
In December, Shellie Ross experienced the loss of her two year old son by drowning, a tragic event bookended by tweets.  News outlets and other bloggers called her monitoring of her son into question, but some were quick to show their support for her through her grief.

Honourable mentions:
The first Type-A Mom Conference
Twitter parties (in particular #GNO)
Books – The Mominatrix’s Guide to Sex, Kirtsy Takes a Bow, The Pioneer Woman Cooks

What did I miss?  What were some stories of 2009 that you found to be particularly powerful?

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The Big Girls

by Tatiana on December 26, 2009

There are so many parenting things I’m completely unprepared for, things I never thought about that touch me deeply.

On Christmas day, we were visiting family, and in attendance were two other children — a ten year old girl, and a four year old girl.  They got along really well with one another, and although they idly interacted with Maia here and there, they were more interested in racing around the house together and playing with each other.

Maia wanted to play with them, though.

Whenever they entered the room, she lit up, watching them.  She offered them her blocks.  She watched them leave the room and toddled after them.  When they went down into the basement, where I wouldn’t let her go, she stood at the door and watched them walk away, her palms pressed to the glass, her brow furrowed in worry.

All of the adults, of course, wanted to play with her, and she loved it a little bit, but we were nothing in comparison to the Big Girls.

At the end of the night, the girls went into the living room and started dancing while listening to the Mamma Mia soundtrack.  Maia loves music, and next thing I knew, this happened:

My heart exploded with love.  The three of them danced and danced; it was amazing, beautiful, and it filled Maia with so much joy.

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