For the Love of Toddlers

Cassidy.Marie.Rose
February 7, 2017

Maybe it is midnight. Maybe it is four am. I am emotionally and physically exhausted; as I have been for the last few years. Am I still watching TV? Mountains dissolve into the screen answering my question: screen saver is on. A tiny voice yells out. First it cries, then begins saying my name “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy” with increasing desperation. Jackson. I open the bedroom door. “Blue stars. Need blue stars.” He says knowing I will be sleeping next to him tonight. I turn on the stars, (part of a toy that shuts off after twenty minutes) reminding my self to continue looking for his missing nightlight. He rolls over, as if the crying never existed, and burrows his head into the space between my chin and shoulders. I kiss him on the forehead and whisper, “love you”. “I luff you Mommy” he whispers back.

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Hair

Cassidy.Marie.Rose
January 29, 2017

I am suddenly very aware of my hair. I tilt my head to the side and run my fingers through it as my thought process begins to rev up, like an old car on a snowy morning. I twirl a strand around my thumb and slide my index finger around the smooth edge created by my knuckle. The rhythm of writing begins as my pen dances along the page in the same speed of twirling hair. One hand writes and the other twirls hair. That is how I think, how I navigate through my cluttered brain. I imagine my mom is sitting in her chair watching reruns of King of Queens doing the same thing. Thinking. Twirling. Thinking. We really need to stop doing that, she says out of habit for as long as I can remember. I am suddenly very aware how long my hair has gotten. It is always getting too long, it grows way too fast. I am ready for a cut, a change. It is a scarf, a means to hide things, a security blanket I have been wearing for a while now. I stop writing for a minute and make an appointment at the salon.

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1000 Times

Cassidy.Marie.Rose
January 23, 2017

Happy Monday!

I am beyond humbled by the support for my last post highlighting my beautiful relationship with my teenage daughters.

As a giant thank you to my amazing readers, Layla has allowed me to share her last digital art project. She spent long hours laboring over these drawings in attempt to animate the song 1000 Times by Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam. (Whom I had the pleasure of seeing in concert last year)

 

Check the song in its entirety on my Spotify Playlist 

My Not-so-typical Teenagers

Cassidy.Marie.Rose
January 21, 2017

To be a parent to teenagers and toddlers often puts me into a weird parenting tug-of-war. Then I take a step back and realize the advantages I have. This week I focused on a little ode to my beautiful teenage (well Liv, 12, is technically not a teenager yet..) daughters.

I am in my car, with two toddlers. Only a two and half hours until home. I reassure myself. A quick check to the rear view mirror reminds me that I am alone with them. The older two are at home. Help Mommy! Ipad stuck! Jackson shrieks as I pull onto the freeway. He locked it. I curse. Mamamamamamamamamamama!!! Cece chimes in. Her arms reaching out trying to hand me the bag of cereal she was eating. I watch as she sprinkles half the bag onto the car floor I had just cleaned. I see a Mickey Mouse book beyond my reach. Refocusing my attention on the road, I turn up the music. “I had that dream; that you were mine. I had that dream a thousand times; The car seems lonely, I realize how much I miss my girls.  I don’t hear their chatter: silly, sarcastic, intelligent, confusing, and comforting. I want to see their faces when I surprise them with hot chocolate from Starbucks; a gesture of appreciation for them fixing the Ipad for Jackson or replacing the cereal in Cece’s outstretched little arm for the book in front of her feet. My thought haze dissolves as Cece coughs up green Lucky Charm tinted blob of vomit.

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Confidence

Cassidy.Marie.Rose
January 14, 2017

Confidence. That word is kicked around a lot. The only confidence I can count on is the ability to settle a constant dispute between toddlers. Barely. Confidence. What does it mean? I own this room. I landed that job. I made that sale. Is it being completely comfortable in your own skin? I think about it a lot. I scribble, “work on confidence” on the top of my carefully selected 2017 planner. My guide to a beautiful life, it promises. The flower pattern on the cover is too irresistible to pass up. I want to work on my confidence. I have been meaning to do that for a while now since it has been a long struggle for me. Somewhere, I will always be that twelve-year-old girl who was the butt of unattractive jokes. When I am feeling especially down on myself, I can hear whispers of past classmates, loser. Adolescence came at me pretty fast; I wasn’t prepared to be a woman. I was happy just being a kid. I was perfectly content to hang out at my friend’s pool wearing a neon pink bathing suit that my mom picked out, not thinking twice about how it makes my boobs look or whether or not I should have shaved. Last year brought a lot of that feeling back. The fourth baby was a total shocker. I wasn’t prepared to be a full-time working mother of four. And like my sad attempt to hide my blossoming sixth grade chest in a sports bra under my uniform white tennis shirt, I wasn’t fooling anyone. And dwindling amount of confidence I had going into 2016 completely faded by the end of the year.

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