Blogger Flu

It seems that along with the swine flu, there have been several outbreaks of blogger flu going around the internet. I’ve been feeling particularly out-of-sorts myself, and I’ve read at least 15 posts from other bloggers having similar issues over the last month.

Symptoms of blogger flu include, but aren’t limited to, feeling down or overwhelmed, trouble putting thoughts to the keyboard, difficulty in organizing coherent posts, and a generalized worry that no one would want to read about your boring life at the moment anyway. It’s not quite to pandemic status yet, but I wouldn’t doubt its ability to mutate.

I’ve wanted to write several times in the past week, but when the time became available, I sat down to the computer and my thoughts took on the consistency of pea soup. The harder I tried to craft a post, the more difficult it became. But then when I went back into my blog reader and started to catch up on the thousands hundreds of posts I’m behind on reading, I noticed I wasn’t alone in my writer’s block. It seems a lot of people are struggling with what to write, wondering if they’ve lost their blogging mojo. Some are dealing with a lot of heavy life issues, some are crazy busy, and some are feeling depressed. (And some are dealing with ALL THREE. And while there’s no “I” in “some”, there’s definitely “me”. Ahem.)

So I’m not going to stress out if the words aren’t there. Because I know it’s just a temporary illness and soon I’ll be back. And I’m certain the words will yet again flow freely instead of being dragged from my head by force. I’ll rest, regroup, conserve my strength, and come back better than ever.

Anyone else out there want to admit to a touch of the blogger flu? I promise I won’t make you wear a mask.



Now You Know Why They’re Not Models

Scene: Fall festival, trying to take a nice photo of both girls. (Click any photo to enlarge.)

OK, girls, look at mommy and smile!


C’mon, Mira, smile for mommy! You’re too young to be sullen! Oh…um, Cordy, I don’t need your help making Mira smile…


Mira, c’mon, look at the camera like Cordy did. Cordy, are you looking?


What kind of a face was that, Mira? Cordy, please focus! Just one photo of the two of you smiling! That’s all I’m asking for!


Good eye contact, Mira. If only you didn’t look so bershon. Now can we get Cordy to look at the camera and have both of you smile? Please?


OK, clearly we’re done here. Fine, I’ll leave you alone to play on the stairs and wait for the hayride.

Wait…now you’re smiling? Hold still! Let me get my camera out again! Don’t stop smiling! Argh, I don’t have enough time! *CLICK*


You two are determined to have me committed.



Make A Wish

I don’t know what she wished for, but when I asked Cordy if we could sing Happy Birthday to her on Saturday and she said yes, I got my wish.

Cordy’s Fifth Birthday from Christina M on Vimeo.

I can’t even begin to tell you how much progress is wrapped up in that one little song and her reactions to it. It was the main topic of conversation among family for the remainder of the party.

(And this year’s cake was different, too. We avoided the usual cake, filled with artificial ingredients and enough artificial dye to turn the Scioto River red, in favor of an organic cake, with real buttercream frosting, no artificial ingredients, no HFCS, and dyes make from all-natural sources. For the first time at a birthday party, Cordy didn’t get sick or have a meltdown after eating her cake.)

It was a great party.



Five

Five years ago, you were somewhat of an abstract being to me. I had no idea what was coming, and no matter how many babies I was around, it couldn’t have prepared me.

My first impression of you was the angry baby being carried past me in the operating room. Your face was screwed up in an awful expression, angry at what you considered an untimely birth, angry at the doctor who pulled you out of your warm comfortable home into the bright, cold world. You spent the next six months angry at the world, and it took every ounce of strength and patience from your father and me to calm you, comfort you, and show you that life wasn’t as bad as you thought it was.

Each subsequent birthday has presented us with a different child. Your first birthday, you were the girl who loved all the attention, but loved the cake even more as you attempted to eat the cake without hands by face-planting into it.

At two you shunned the crowd and most of the presents in favor of the safety of my lap and a few selected toys.

Three was a child who howled in pain when we sang happy birthday to you, hiding under the table to escape the auditory assault, only to later reappear and gorge yourself on the cake frosting.

Your fourth birthday was filled with balloons and friends, and this time you took notice of the friends around you, although you still didn’t want to share your balloons. We knew you didn’t like singing, so we settled for all saying “Happy birthday!” in unison, at a loud, but not-too-loud volume for you.

And now you’re five.

At this year’s birthday party, I expect to see you playing with your friends and if not enjoying the small crowd of people, at least tolerating your guests. You will tell me or your father when you feel overwhelmed, and even though it will likely come out as, “I’m scared of presents” or “I want to stay in my house forever,” we will know what you mean. You’ll eat your cake, and if all goes as planned you won’t suffer from a tummy ache or a behavior shift thirty minutes later because this year’s cake won’t have any artificial dyes or corn syrup in it. We now know what you need to be happy.

I still can’t believe you’re five. Five feels so much older, as if I somehow missed that transformation from baby to big kid. I watch your concentration on puzzles, and I swear I can see your mind working behind that furrowed brow. When did you learn to concentrate? I wonder what happened to that goofy toddler I remember, counting everything in sight.

And I’ll confess I don’t wonder much about what happened to that sensitive, hair-trigger tempered preschooler and the screaming meltdowns that occurred on a regular basis. Some things are better left in the past.

I’m pretty amazed at the awesome little girl you’ve become, Cordelia. I can’t wait to see who you’ll become in this next year. Happy birthday to my Amazon warrior princess.



Wishful Thinking

As I was kneeling down in front of Cordy yesterday, talking about some topic I can’t even remember, I noticed her eyes suddenly fixed on mine.

Eye contact is hard for her, so I was amazed at how intensely she was looking into my eyes. For at least 15 seconds she was staring directly at me while I talked to her.

OMG, she is making so much progress! I thought. I was thrilled that she was not only listening to me, but looking at me while I talked to her, a task we’ve tried to get her to do with limited success.

I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “Cordy, I’m so proud of you for looking at me while — “

“Mommy! I can see myself in your eyes! I see Cordy!”

Oh.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...