Dressed for Success

Believe it or not, Eowyn started this morning with pants on, onesie buttoned, and socks on feet. She had other ideas, though.

Happy Little Chef

For Christmas, Eowyn received a play kitchen. At first, I was a little concerned about purchasing such a large and fairly pricey gift for my not-yet-two-year-old daughter. However, it's been wonderful. I'm so glad we got it!

Eowyn will play with it for hours. That's saying a lot, considering her age. On mornings when we don't have errands to run or places to be, it keeps her occupied from almost the time she wakes up until lunch. It's also been quite helpful in that, while I'm finishing up dinner, she will "cook" at her own kitchen too. This doesn't usually last the entire time I'm cooking, but any respite from a screaming toddler hanging on your ankles while you are working with hot pans is welcome.

Below are some pictures of Eowyn at her kitchen. Upon taking these pictures, I learned that she knows to say "cheese" when a camera is pointed at her (that accounts for the grimace on her face). I didn't teach her that, but it's awfully cute!

More volatile than the stock market

There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.
--Longfellow

The range of Eowyn's mood swings has been taking its toll on me. It's been difficult to keep perspective on it. On days when she wakes up from her nap cheerful and easygoing, all is right with the world and I feel blissfully happy to be a mother. We laugh and sing while we pretend with her baby dolls, read books, and play on the swings. I cook dinner without incident while she pretends to cook, too.

But--it feels more often than not--other days she wakes up in a delicate temper. Tickling might make her scowl, or she'll throw her books in frustration. She cries to be in her swing, then cries to be out. She clings, screaming, to my leg as I attempt to provide our dinner. She clamors to be held, then protests to be put down again. Those days, I count the minutes until her bedtime, when I can have respite from the emotional energy it takes to handle her.

After she's in bed (and often through the long afternoon) the self-doubt and finger-pointing begin. What am I doing wrong as a mother, that she is like this? Why can't Christian be home before 8:00 to help me? Is it because he just doesn't care enough about us? The evening often plays out with fits of crying and venting of anger and frustration on an unsuspecting husband.

At this moment, I can see clearly the ridiculousness of the situation. Eowyn is like a prairie field, covered in bright sunlight one minute, the next minute tossed by a tempest which leaves as quickly as it came. But when I'm in the middle of the storm, it is just so difficult for me to remember that there is ever a beginning or an end to it.

I'm praying for perspective and grace.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The weekend before last, I attended the UPC women's retreat. This was my first time away from Eowyn overnight, and I was struck by a surprising sadness in the days leading up to the retreat. I was startled to realize just how much I would miss her, and how much I worried whether Christian would feed her well, change her diaper enough, pay her enough attention and get her to sleep without too much trouble. I cried a fair amount! When it came time to leave, I choked up again. Fortunately, gabbing with the other girls in the carpool helped distract me quickly.

I was under the misconception I would get more sleep while on the retreat. Instead, I struggled with a bout of insomnia and found myself listening for Eowyn's cry in my sleep even though she was nowhere near. Still, spending time away, completely free of responsibility for her, was quite nice. Chatting with other adult women without distractions was amazingly refreshing.

As it turns out, Eowyn survived just fine without me. I'm not as indispensable as I believed. She ate and slept peachy for Christian. She didn't mope or otherwise appear to notice much that I was gone. And that's...really...great...hmph.

A guest post

Since my mom writes about me so frequently, I thought I should take the time to share a little bit about myself, too. First off, there's my name, Eowyn. I'm cool with it. My mom and dad mostly use it when they want me to quit wandering off into the neighbor's yard. I usually take it as a signal to run faster. Otherwise, mom calls me 'baby', though she often uses 'sweetie' in a strange, strained manner, as in, 'oh, sweetie, please don't dump your milk on the floor!' Now, dad calls me 'sunshine' in the morning, even when I'm screaming and refusing to get my diaper changed. Dad's great!

washing my face with lots of soap

I would say that my greatest talent is creating incredible messes. My favorite media for these creations are cereal, copious amounts of water, soap, sometimes even my own pee. My common activities include yelling at the top of my lungs just because I can, refusing to eat food that I wolfed down eagerly the day before, and pooping when I really ought to be napping. I love to try and dress myself, though I must admit that I often get so angry at my pants I start screaming. Those things just won't cooperate!

attack of the pants

I love to read books with Mom and play in the sink. I like to pretend to cook things, and I like to use my crayons to write on things I shouldn't. My favorite words are 'uh oh' and 'oh no.' Dancing is another favorite activity. I like to change stations on the radio until I find music I like, and I insist that Mom dance along with me. Hey, it's good exercise, and just plain fun!

Fashionista

Having just stepped out of the bath, Eowyn models this fall's newest fashion trend (an EB original, of course). She calls it, 'Mother's shirt worn sideways. Sort of.' Get in on this style before it's soooo 5-minutes-ago!

Dressing is a new favorite realm of discovery, as you can see.