Ask For What You Want

Today I had what I like to call a "full circle moment". One of those moments where I was forced to stop, turn around and really examine the trail of stepping stones which lead me here.

Let me share the story with you:

Once upon a time, a very good friend of mine received a photo shoot from an amazingly talented photographer. The kind of photo shoot that could be printed in a magazine. Naturally, I was quite overwhelmed with jealousy and I demanded this photographers information so I could book a session with her.

The typical business arrangement ensued. We exchanged information. She was professional, organized, detailed and lovely to interact with. I waiting on pins and needles for our session date to arrive.
On the day of the shoot, we were the last family, on her last day of  a fall mini session weekend. I'm talking 2 days, back to back shooting family photos non-stop for 8 hours each day.

It. is. exhausting. 

She scurried over to us in a huff of happiness even though I could tell she was running on the "creative high" I know so well. And what she produced for us, as her last group....on the last puffs of energy she had left, were some of my favorite family photos to this day.

Now, any normal person would hang these photos up...and smile when they looked at them and think nothing more about them.

But not me.

I was mesmerized by this shoot. I was loving this shoot in an un naturally romantic way.  A way that anyone who doesn't have a passion for photography could never understand.

And a dream was born inside me. 

I didn't just want to book more shoots with this chick. I wanted to BE this chick. (in an "experienced and talented photographer who takes great images" kind of way. Not the -Single White Female- wear her clothes and cut my hair like her and steal her husband and life" kind of way.)

But as usual, I was too scared to ask for what I really wanted so I sulked in silence.

And I studied her work for a year. A whole year. I stared at her website, her blog, every single photo shoot she ever posted on the internet. I studied her composition, her editing, her posing, her use of light. I took more photography classes. I practiced my work on friends and family. I tried, and tried, and tried to get my work to her level....MY taste level, and it just wasn't getting there.

And a whole year of this went by, and another fall photo shoot was booked with her.

And once again, I was floored.

And this time I thought, "Damn it...I'm going to ask for what I want!"

And so I did.

I emailed her asking for something I had no idea if she even offered. I mean, how do you tell someone you admire, "Hey, I think you are really talented and I kind of want to be just like you." and NOT sound creepy? I decided taking the risk of looking creepy was worth it to me.

And as I imagined, she was so kind. And so gracious. And more than willing to offer me a mentoring session.

We planned a date for the session and I about jumped out of my skin at the reality of this actually happening.

In the mean time, before our mentoring session date arrived....life panned out in an un expected way. A series of events caused us to begin to hang out in a more "friendly play date" type of arrangement. We discovered that our kids were just months apart in age and we planned a few play dates.

And magic happened.

We clicked. I mean really clicked.

In my mind, what I was expecting out of this whole ordeal was a mentoring session with a photographer I admired and respected so much, hoping to soak in all her knowledge and skills.

And what I got- was a friend.

And I'm not talking like one of those, "part time" friends you hang out with because your kids are the same age and it's convenient.  I mean the real deal kind of friend. The kind of friend you want to slobber all over because you can't believe how much you are connecting. The kind of friend you can bring any shame story to and there is no judgement. The kind of friend you can have over at your filthy house and not care because you know they're depth of character is deeper than judging you on your mess. The kind of friend who has taken your cat of 15 years into her home and loved it like her own because your daughter is allergic-and she didn't think you were crazy when you actually went crazy because of it. (story for another blog when I can talk about it, too sad still. )

On every level. In every way. Total and complete divine intervention has played it's hand again in my life.

And now even our kids are in love:

And I am again reminded how God works. When you have that whisper of a dream inside you, if you just have the faith to ask for what you want...he will show up in ways that will crumble and crush any expectations you had.

God can dream a bigger dream that you can even imagine. His hopes for you and your life are more abundant than you even think you deserve. 

This little moment, this tiny email I took a chance on sending- has given me more purpose, more drive, more passion, more compassion and more love than I ever could have dreamed of.

It is remarkable the way God orchestrates in my life. I can turn around and see the trail of people who lifted me up and took my hand in the darkness and handed me off to each new person who has helped me rise to the next level of my experience on this earth.

And I'm so grateful. 

And are you waiting for THE BEST part? My total full circle moment?! The one that had me tear up and shake my head at the absolute magical miracle this whole experience has been for me?

Well, we did finally have our mentoring session. And it was everything and more than I could have hoped for. And now, this big time, hot shot, wedding photographer who I have admired and swooned over for 2 years has herself a new facebook profile pic she loves.

And would you like to know who took this photo of Miss Rachel from De La Vue Photography?

Chana.
Me.
I did.

That's my work looking back at ya up there:) 

Well, actually...that's God's work looking back at ya up there, and He did a BEAUTIFUL job on her, if I do say so myself.

Full Circle. And I'm still soaking it all in.

Life is good people.

Definition of Me

It's a Sunday evening.

Late.

The only time I'm allowed much consideration for myself beyond the tipped sippy cups and burned pizza dough I need to scrape off the door of the oven.

And we go and go and go and go.

My days feel like I twirl and whirl and wonder where I am at the end of it. Sometimes I literally slam my hands to the sides of my face.  And I have to remember to listen to my breath just to hear my own voice inside my head.

I'm here. 

I'm still here right?

Am I still here?

Who is this lady with shoulders covered in baby snot, wearing baggy syrup covered sweatpants? I can feel so bare sometimes in this thick of child rearing. I can feel so absent from the flow of life. I can feel so caught up in our life that I forget there are other's living their lives right along side me. That can make me sad.

I used to look people in the eye. I used to smile at strangers. I used to hold open doors for people. I used to be observant. I used to notice how a mother would tenderly tie her son's shoe while he held onto her head for balance in front of Starbucks. I used to be the "cool girl" sitting at the outdoor table wearing my big black sunglasses, reading  my SARK book, sipping my latte while I watched the rest of their stories unfolding.

I liked being that girl.

These days are beautiful too. But it's different. It's a different kind of beauty. These days I have to sift through the moments like I'm panning for gold. I sway the soaked pebbles back and forth and look for the bright shiny gold moments that stand out. I try to pick them out, one by one and lay them across my lap while a gaze at their sparkling beauty. And no matter how hard of a day we have- if I take the time, I can always find a few nuggets of gold to make me smile.

It's the time I miss most. 

Oh how I miss having time. Having time to do anything. To read a magazine, to paint my nails, to finish a phone call, to have a personal thought, hell...to eat half a sandwich without being interrupted.  Any of those things would feel like a Hawaiian vacation.

And I was lucky. I know how lucky I was to capture most of my twenties in the way that I did. I experienced so much and was allowed so many challenges which helped my personal growth. I was swollen and exploding with mistakes and bad judgement. I was oozing with self doubt and critical thinking which manifested itself in painful and self destructive ways. I was a wandering wreck smashing and stomping my way through innocent people's lives, all the while attempting to become this lady I am now. I knew she would emerge one day.

I remember being hung over at Target, 9am and getting myself some pizza pockets and diet coke, praying I wouldn't still feel drunk for my serving shift at 4pm. I'd see the bright and shiny mommies pushing carts of bouncing children toward the dollar section. And I'd almost wink at them, knowing one day- I'd be one of them.

I just didn't think it would happen so fast. And now here we are. I'm the mom searching for the 2 seated card for both my girls to sit in. I'm the mom handing out candy to keep them quiet while I load the register with applesauce packets and fruit snacks. I'm the mom on a Sunday morning breezing by the regretful looking 20 something girl -who's trying to hide her pregnancy test under the US weekly she's buying.

I'm the Mom now. 

And sometimes that is a lot to wrap my head around....

It's a balancing act. Between wanting to convey an aura of strength and stability for my family. Yet still discovering who I am in this new uniform. It's been nearly 5 years. And I still feel like I'm fumbling and tumbling along some days.

This definition of who I'm supposed to be gets exhausting. It's overwhelming. I wonder if I'm just a creative mom? Or if there is something more I'm supposed to be doing? Is there something else I'm supposed to be offering the world?

I imagine as though I've got all these pretty boxes, wrapped in adorable paper with labels on the front:

Mom
Wife
Daughter
Granddaughter
Sister
Friend
Photographer
Baker
Designer
Writer

I feel like my life is spent hopping from box to box wondering which one "fits" me best. Which one do I want to stay in the longest? Which one do I want to kick to the curb? Which one feels the most "me"? Which one is the most acceptable? Which one do I feel the most connected to?

And the truth is-my legs are tired from all the hopping. My mind is tired from the over analyzing. My ego is tired from feeling like I belong in some of the boxes but not in others.

It is me who puts these labels on myself. And it is me who feels defeated when I decide to change my mind or tip toe into a new avenue of creativity.

So I will declare this now and remind myself when I'm feeling tender:

I am all these things.

And labels can not define me. There is no label you can put on your authentic self. It's impossible. I will continue to grow, to change, to adopt new philosophies and explore new terrine. I will continue to challenge myself and exhaust my husband with my new business adventures and dreams I have to allow my creativity to flourish. Because that is what it's all about for me. To have the opportunity to nourish my creative spirit in what ever form fits my fancy. It is the "zone" I've always loved most. Creative folks know what I'm talking about.

The part where you dream your vision
Then you execute your vision
Then you marvel at your vision.  

That is my natural high. To see my work come to life, in whatever form I'm dabbling in. I'm never wondering about anyone's opinion when I'm in that space of creating. It is just me-and my soul- splattering out some rock solid pretty-ness.  George Lucas said, "A true artist and visionary isn't concerned with the opinions of others. They are only concerned with others helping them to achieve their vision."

Period.

I'm done with the labels. I'm done with worrying what people are going to think of me and my journey. I'm done putting pressure on myself to "succeed" in at least one or more of these boxes. I have to remember that it is the journey presenting itself- which is the true lesson. 

My new box is going to say simply one word:
Chana

(photography by Sophie. Me: no make up and yoga pants. This is the mom she knows and loves)

And if you need me, that is where I will currently reside. I'll be baking, dipping truffles, photographing beauty, editing that beauty, hot gluing fabric flowers to pin in my hair, learning to sew, reading Fancy Nancy to my girls, encouraging my husband, calling my grandma for a recipe I forgot, laughing with my mom, teasing my baby brother, crying with my best friend, and writing long sappy blog posts.

Ava is Growing

These days are deep with discovery. 

Many posts lately have been about your sister, the Big Girl as we call her. And up until now, it's been because so much change has been happening to her side of the story. You sat patiently by, allowing as all room to adjust and grow into our new chapter. You clapped and drooled and cooed with the sweetest of smiles. You didn't fuss for a thing. Your head bobbled in your car seat as we raced to and from pre school. You swayed with the winds of change in such a natural way I'm afraid I took it for granted.

You've never once complained when I have to wake you up from your nap to pick sissy up from school. I cringe every time I have to do it. I sneak into your room, rub your back and whisper "time to get sissy Ava." Your muffled bed head rises and with the determination of a marine- you sit right up with your arms raised ready for me to snatch you up.

You burp in my face with your nap breath, every time. I love it. Your mom is weird.

You'll sip your bottle in the back seat with your hair standing sky high, eyes heavy from the deep sleep you were roused from. And you never cry. You never fuss. You never show a single sign of even being annoyed.

Why?

Because you love her.

Ohmygoodness do you love your sister. You think she is just the most amazing, smart, pretty, funny and delightful human being who has ever walked the earth.

 And guess what? I do too:)

And she loves you just as much. Did you know when you are napping, Sophie will ask me if she can wake you up and kiss your sweet cheeks?

Did you know when you were teething the other day, and in so much pain, Sophie asked me if God could make her teeth come in instead of you? The very first thing she asked me when we picked her up from school was, "Is Ava feeling better?"

She adores you. And we all love each other in a way that no one else could ever understand. And even when she steals your toys and you are forced into a screaming fit...that is still love. 

Love is sweet and quiet and gentle.
Love can also be loud and frantic and wild.

You'll learn these things.

You can't imagine what you bring into our world. You are nothing like we'd imagine you'd be...and more than we ever hoped for.

This is you at 15 months old:

Bold. Brave. Wild. Free. Fearless. Independent. Determined. Funny. Wild.

And that's just the start. I wasn't prepared for such sweet surprise as you. You are so different than you sister ever was. Sophie enjoyed being babied (she still does). You have no interest in being babied. In fact, you seem rather annoyed with my attempts to show you any nurturing beyond the necessary.

Oh, you still love your morning bottle and rocking with Mama. You'll waddle up to me, bottle hanging from your mouth, gripped by your tiny front teeth, and say "rock rock rock" with your head nodding up and down..

It is my absolute favorite part of my day with you.

After that- you are off and running. I get a few kisses in as I chase you around, but its only if I sneak them. You've got plans, ideas of where you need to be. You march around this house now like a warrior. You demand things, shout orders and throw epic tantrums. Please don't be offended when Sophie and I laugh at you during your fits. You are just so darn cute when you are kicking and biting!

From the minute you figured out you could walk and talk, even a little bit....you've been on a mission.

That lame mission of growing up which I despise.

But I know it's happening. I see you discovering and soaking in everything. I see you watch Sophie and mimic her in your own clumsy way. I see you figuring it all out.

You are not afraid to try anything. Nothing scares you. I've seen you roll of the couch, hit the floor with your face, get up and shake it off like a stunt double in a Mission Impossible Movie. For you to actually cry, it has to hurt. Sophie pulled her hair on a drawer handle and cried for an hour over it. I swear I saw you roll your eyes at her. Did you?

You are no drama, but you want what you want. We had a throw down yesterday over the pickle jar. Remember that? How you wanted to pull the pickle out of the jar yourself, so I attempted to let you. Only to discover that you wanted to tramp around the house while holding the pickle jar with NO LID while smelly pickle juice sloshed all over the carpet and the new clean piles of laundry I'd just folded. Remember how I took the pickle jar from you and you royally freaked out? You decided to scream and cry and bite everything in sight. You bit the highchair. The dining room table legs. The arm of your baby. The remote control. The lint brush for Daddy's suits (how was that for ya by the way?). And then you slammed your whole body down on the floor and flopped like a fish with snot pouring as you rolled back and forth across the floor wailing. Again, I'm sorry we laughed. We didn't know what else to do.

You have a voice. We get it. We'll try to provide what we can to please you, but pickle juice cologne is where I draw the line. 

 

But that face.

That little face stops my soul. The twinkle in your eye, the wonder in your expression. I'd forgotten those little things about your age. Somehow I got swept away in it all. But I am here now. 100% fully and totally engaged in this half baby-half toddler-half cave girl stage you are in. I'm trying not to be too wrapped up in the sadness of losing your infant stage. I'm working on staying right here and basking in the glory of this special stage too.

How you run up to me, blanket dragging behind you, saying "Mama cuda, cuda, cuda (*cuddle*)"

How you feed any thing with a mouth. Somehow each and every animal, baby, and family member needs a bite of what ever slimy wet, spit soaked menu item you are devouring at the moment. You are very generous in that way.

How you bounce your booty while you and Sophie hold hands and dance the "Hot Dog" dance on Mickey Mouse. Did you know Sophie used to perform that as a solo a few years ago? I could lay down and die of happiness seeing you two together shaking it to that song.

How you hear a door slam in the hallway, and you run to our door shouting, "Dadda! Dadda!"

How you expect everyone to stop what they are doing, clap and look at you in your latest fashion accessory. It's usually my big pearl necklace you put on all by yourself and you swell with pride and puff your chest out while you parade around.

How you point at the T.V and demand to view one of your two favorite shows. "Bubble" or "Tuti".

How you let Sophie sit and kiss you on the cheek 100 times and you never care. She will seriously pin you down just to kiss you over and over and you just giggle away. Yesterday I caught you sitting her her lap, leaned all the way back, sucking your thumb while she twirled your hair. You two are killing me.

I don't know why I get it this time around....
But I get it.

I get how fast this goes. I get how you will zip right by me and you'll be in middle school if I'm not careful.

Your pudgy little fingers wrapped around mine while we rock during sunrise.
Your squishy thighs that barely squeeze into a pair of jeans.
Your little thumb you suck with the dent in the pointed nail from your bottom teeth rubbing on it.
Your round puffy tummy popping out the bottom of your jammie shirt I assumed would fit.
Your devilish smirk when you run away from me while I'm trying to change your diaper.
Your sweet after bath smell of baby lotion and diaper rash cream.

I will be right here, on the floor next to you soaking all this in. I'll ignore the crushed cracker crumbs, the piles of laundry, the sticky kitchen floors and the toilet that looks like it belongs in a locker room.

I refuse to miss out on this glimmer of time in your life. And I will repeat this mantra in my head until someone shakes me:

"You are still my baby. You are still my baby. You are still my baby."

Maybe it was my miscarriage?

I'm just not sure. All I know is that I am so profoundly aware of what a precious gift your childhood is. I am so deeply honored to be chosen to provide a home and life for you. I'm so attached to the fact that being your mother is the greatest journey and blessing of my whole existence.

Did you know I weep tears of gratitude over you, sissy and daddy every day? If my eyes don't well up with tears at least once during the day...then I know I'm not doing a good job staying connected to my truth.
 

I love you. And want to know something else? You were pooping in this photo. 

See?

You are even cute when you take a crap.

And Off You Go....

Mama feels guilty over here.

It's been months since I've written anything here. Months.

So much has happened. We've moved across town....again. Ava turned one. That seems impossible. I have a whole blog post dedicated to that epic event (stitches and all) very soon.

For now, I have to write about whats bubbling to the surface as I sit in total panic and disbelief.

You, my sweet love, are headed to preschool in just one day.

And even as I read that sentence over and over, it still gives me chills. I can't really explain why it's so dramatic for me. If I dig deep, I think I could let some of it spill out. I've been trying not to let it spill out for a week now. Tonight, for once....it will be your mother, not you or your sippy cup tipping sister,who does the spilling.

This was you just yesterday:

No, I'm not kidding. This was just yesterday. . Just yesterday I was smelling your sweet little head covered in patches of rubbed off dark hair. I was rocking you back and forth in our glider and watching your tiny puff of hair blowing in the breeze we made on that rocker in your tiny bedroom. I remember wondering what your hair would end up looking like one day when you grew up.

And boy, do I know now.

Just look at you. This precious and perfect little girl you have become. I watch you grow up and I'm still so amazed at who you've become. It's happening. You are stepping into who you'll be in this world. And even though preschool is just a few days a week, for just a few hours, it's so much more to me. It's letting go. It's saying goodbye to "our world" we've created over the past 4 years.

It's goodbye to puffy diaper butts hitting the ground with a "thud" as you slurp your bottle straight from the fridge.

 It's goodbye to spontaneous apple picking in the nearly nude any day we choose at Grandpa's farm

 It's goodbye to tummy tickles to get you to laugh during our monthly photo sessions.

 It's goodbye to grass tickling your tiny toes as you experience nature during your first summer crawling.

 It's goodbye to playing with make up for the first time and letting mommy experiment her new photography skills.

 It's goodbye to random snow forts any time we choose.

 It's goodbye to messy stained faces where tiny fingers fumble to find your mouth.

 It's goodbye to miles of curly hair that fluff up nice and high after a bath.

 It's goodbye to nighttime puddle stomping, not caring how late it was because we can sleep in as late as we want the next day.

It's goodbye to my choice of hair accessory and outfit selection. It is you who wakes up and heads to your closet now.


I just don't know how I can express the overflow of feelings I have about this next step. Change isn't anything I've ever willingly turned toward ever in my life. I'm a clinger. In the worst way I want this for you. I know you are ready. I'm not. But you are.

There you are.  Ready to step out there and take it all in. I know this little nest I've created for you is getting crowded. You're ready for more than we've got going on here. Yo Gabba Gabba and finger paints aren't cutting it anymore. I see it in your eyes. The restless wanting for something you just don't even know is out there.

I get it.
I don't want to get it, but I get it.

We were watching "Finding Nemo" the other day and Nemo's dad asks the sea turtle how he knows that his little boy sea turtle is ready to be going to school and growing up.

The Sea Turtle simply says. "When they know, you'll know.....ya know?"

Remember how I started crying when the Sea Turtle said that to Marlin? Well, someday you'll get why. Leave to to Disney to continue to teach me life lessons at 32 years old.

And it hit me.

You know. But you don't know you know. And that's where my job as your mommy comes in. It's my job to know when you know, and try to guide you in the best way I know how.

So here we go. Letting my little baby go and steer her way into the very world I've tried to prepare and protect her from all at the same time. What a trip that has been, and will continue to be. Soon you'll be coming home with stories about class, and crafts to hang on our fridge. For the first time in four years someone else will be your teacher. That scares and relives me all at the same time.

How can I even begin to explain those two emotions existing in the same heart? It scares me because I've been in control of what influenced you and effected you for so long and I hate letting go of that privilege.

It relieves me because I know there are lessons out there that I just can't teach you. You have to learn them from others and on your own. That is just how life works. You are going to have your feelings hurt and I can't stop it. Some mean girl can try to take you down and I won't be right there to re direct you. I have to trust that over the years I've filled you with so much confidence and courage that you can handle these yucky things that happen in life. Your innocence was one of my most beloved parts about you. I cradled it and kept it safe. I nurtured it and marveled at it knowing that soon, it wouldn't be mine to guard anymore.

And here is where I see if my hard work paid off. If all of our late night talks about your sweet little soul and our out loud prayers to God about blessing us are going to pay off.

Here is where I have to let go, and that sucks.

And as much as I've begged you (and you know I'm serious here), you are still growing up. You are dreaming big dreams of making new friends and singing songs you've never heard. You are lining up your new colored pencils and organizing your snacks. You are choosing your first day of school outfit and telling me how you want your hair. You are explaining to Ava where you will be during her nap. You are cleaning out your desk drawers for your home work. You are ripping the tags off of your new back pack and adjusting the straps that are too big no matter what.

And I'm standing behind you choking back the heaves and sobs, pretending these red eyes are darn fall allergies.

But there is some sort of still peace inside me about all this too.

Because it's time.

And I know that. Doesn't mean I have to like it. But I know it. And something tells me that because you are my kid, you are going to be just fine.

And don't mind me and Ava hanging out in the parking lot watching movies in the car while you are in school.

I love you.
Stop growing up.

For My Girls

You don't know this about your mother. You are too little to really "get it".

You see, Mommy is a bit of a sap. I live in a constant state of panic about the two of you growing up. Daddy says I'm addicted to my babies. He's had to keep me from sitting on top of you, trying to squish you into floor to prevent you from growing up.

It's hard for me.

To watch you slip and slide into each new stage of your lives is beyond bittersweet. I don't know how I will ever begin to express what being a part of your world has meant to me. It has been the single most profound experience of my life and I spend my days wondering if you will ever be able to fully understand the depths of my love for you. If you will really know deep down in your bones how precious you are. How cherished you are. How beloved you are. How goshdarnstinking cute you are.

Every single aspect of my life has been elevated because of you. My creativity, my purpose, my marriage,  my connection to the Lord. I couldn't have ever fully understood His love for me, until I had children of my own. I didn't even know love like this was even possible.

So you can understand why I cry on the couch about a new tooth poking through, or an acceptance letter to pre-school.

I see myself as a warrior of memories. Or maybe..... more like a gate-keeper.

I have one shot at this.  

One shot.

I have a dysfunctional drive to create the most special, wonderful, fun, child hood I can for the two of you. I spend hours thinking about how I can make every single day something you will remember and look back fondly on. My guilt crushes me to dust when I'm folding clothes instead of blowing bubbles for you. I'm realizing as I am now a parent of two, you won't remember much from this time. I don't know who really can vividly remember their lives before the age of maybe 7 or 8? So not only am I debating if I should handle the strange smell from the pile of dishes in the sink...or if I should make us a home made mud pie to smash up outside, I'm also obsessing about how I am going to make sure you remember these days.

And this is why you see Mommy laying on the floor in front of you with that big black "clicking" thing shoved in your face all day long.

Who else is going to remember how you pretended to be Ariel and scooped up all the sea shells from the bottom of the ocean? How you so tenderly laid them on your princess make up station and made sure to sniff each one before setting it down. The way you made a cupcake out of play dough in your mold from Christmas. You said Snow White was coming to visit and she would be mad if you didn't have a treat for her this time. You didn't want to be rude.

Who else is going to tell you about how you piled every single doll you have into a stroller and pushed it into the bathroom with you every time you had to go potty. Sometimes you would nearly have an accident on the floor while you made sure every single one was fit nice and snug in there. You call them your "pee pee buddies."

Who else is going to remember your dress up drawer and all of the magic it held for you. Who is going to remind you about your 200 character changes you would have daily? And how you would scream at me if I dared to call you Ariel instead of Cinderella. The way you would hobble along in clunky high heel shoes and refuse to remove them even if your toes were squished. How you'd naturally sit with your legs crossed in a dress....without me ever showing you.

I am the one who will remember the hours you would spend setting up your play houses. All of the detail and thought you would put into each room. How you would think about where each person would sleep and how the couch would be arranged so everyone could see the T.V. It will be me who tells you about the time you insisted the bathroom needed a fire place because people's feet get cold when they poop. And it also needed a stove in case someone was taking too long and needed a snack. You placed a lamp in the bathroom because they are dark and scary and the water bowl is for the dog who can't get to the water in the potty when someone is sitting on it.

I am the one who will tell you the story about the time we tried to make microwave cake in a mug. We had such high hopes for yummy and delicious perfection.

I found the recipe on Pintrest and we were dying to eat our goodies while we watched Finding Nemo. You helped me stir our mugs and visions of a light and fluffy cake in just 4 min were on the horizon!

It was you who told me, "Mommy...I don't think this is right."

And you were right. It was a horrible, rock hard, stiff and taste-less mess. We learned that nothing that yummy can happen in 4 minutes. So we ate ice cream out of the bucket together on the couch. Daddy was mad that we didn't use bowls. We laughed at him and you told him to "chill out."

It will be my job to tell you about the first time we curled your hair "fancy" like mine (your words.) You won't remember the banana flavored ring pop you sucked on while we sat with your feet in my bathroom sink as we curled your long pretty hair. You won't remember how it took my breath away how stunning you were at just 3 years old. Your beauty is so time less, almost vintage. You remind me of royalty. A princess, in real life. I will spend my days cultivating your inner beauty, praying it will be as remarkable as your outer beauty.

I hope you do, but I have a feeling you won't remember our first Christmas as a family of 4. I'll have to remind you about the time we were decorating the Christmas tree and you decided that you were going to be the tree that year, so Ava wouldn't be scared of the real tree. You said you would stand very still and wouldn't peek at the presents we put under you. All you needed was that water bowl thing we had to put under the tree, so you could "pee pee" in it when you had to go potty.

It will be me who reminds you about your Dorthy obsession and the Wizard of Oz. How you insisted on wearing your Halloween costume every single time you watched that movie. Which was about 6 times a day and that meant you wore your Halloween costume just about every day. You'd come running up to me saying,"Mommy...quick! Do my hair like Dorthy before the movie starts!"

It will be me who will thank you for sitting so sweetly while I snapped photo after photo of you in our little natural light "studio". You won't remember your darling fingers or adorable feet. You won't remember how you told me to back up because you wanted a better angle for the photo. In the end, you would direct me and somehow I would end up with photos that were perfect.

The two of you will need me to tell you the stories of our mornings together. How I cherished and soaked in as much as I could of our last few months before Sophie started pre-school. Ava propped in the corner of the couch, 7 months old....happy to be nestled next to her 3 year old big sister while she watched Winx Club. You won't remember how every morning....Ava and I would be up first. My big girl would stumble out of her bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes and hand over her favorite bear,Ted,  for Ava to cuddle. I'd tell her how sweet that was of her and I'd hear, "Well Mom...she is my sister ya know?"

Who else is going to remind you of your puffy little toes that looked like mini sausages? How your feet were so plump at 6 months old, we couldn't put socks on you because they dug into your chunky ankles.  How you smiled every day, all day long since the minute you learned how. You won't remember how I used to hold you and sway you back and forth and call you my "sweet little baby from God" over and over.  I'll have to tell you about how every one's face would light up with you woke up from your nap. The way Sophie would hear you giggling in your bed (because you never cry) and she'd run screaming down the hall, "Ava's awake!"  It will be my job to tell you about the way she would push the stool to your crib and crawl right in there with you and kiss you on the head a million times. And you certainly won't remember they way you would buck and kick and squeal with delight the minute anyone came in your room to pick you up after a nap.

I will be in charge of telling you how you would suck your thumb when you were hungry or tired. Unless you are still sucking your thumb later in life, in which case, we'll need to get you some help.

Who else will remember your sweet soft skin? Or the way your squishy arms felt wrapped around my neck. How you would bury your face in my neck and drool and giggle when Daddy tickled you in my arms. I'll have to tell you how Daddy thought it was weird that I was always smelling your breath, telling him...."Babies only have milk breath for such a short time! Pretty soon she'll be eating real food and getting teeth and she won't have this breath anymore." He would shake his head and tell me I was the only person on earth who would find a way to be sad about baby breath. He doesn't get it.

It will be me who will have to pull out this photo on your 16th birthday. I'll tell all your friends how you were in the middle of a sneeze here, but I had to keep the picture because your cute little baby boobies looked so adorable. You will hate me for a while....but you'll laugh about it when you are 30. I promise.

And when you two are fighting, as sisters do....about someone wearing the others clothes to school, or taking up the bathroom or whatever. I will be the one to remind you how much you adore and love each other. I'll show you photos that captured you in real moments, not posed....fake smiling moments..... where you were showing each other love. You will look at the photos, just like I do now, and you will know that there is an un-mistakable bond you share. One of you won't remember life without the other. You will see the admiration radiating for one another in these images and your hearts will melt and you will be reminded how lucky you are to have each other. And you will stop your silly bickering (or else!).

So please don't be annoyed when I'm laying next to you while you are trying to paint or draw, snapping photo after photo. It's my job to hold onto this stuff for you girls. Until the days come when you can look back and pretty much remember most of it, and then I'll try to lay off. (I'll probably be the annoying mom pushing everyone out of the way so I can snap a pic of you at all your school functions though...sorry....you've been warned.) My job is to take this one sliver of time I have with you being so little....and try to mold it into the most amazing experience of your life. I want you to look back on this time we had together and really be able to feel the love we had in this home. My mission is simple: create it. document it. preserve it. remind you of it.

And okay, cry over it too once in a while.

I love you to pieces my little ones.