My True Reasons

Sometimes I'm tricked into thinking that, since no one actually reads this blog but me, I should no longer post her. There are times (like today) when it's so disappointing to know no one is interested in what I have to say.

But in moments like these I have to remind myself of the true reason why I write this blog: because I want Cookie to be able to read it someday, and experience her own childhood in a different way. I want her to know more about me, about how I felt while stuff was happening. I want her to know that besides having tons of flaws, I love her with all my heart and soul.

So if 15, 20 years from now you're reading this, my precious Cookie, know that the love I have for you can barely fit into my human heart. You, my princess, are the reason I keep going, the reason I have faith in life. And I want you to know that right now (like countless times before) I'm thinking about you and the way you look when you say you "have love to give me".

I'll be back to posting at the end of the week. I'm planning some major changes for your swimming class, love. Hope you enjoy the new stuff! =]

Memories...

"Mana, brigadu por lavar minha berta e meu pijama e deixar eles taaao quentinho."

...that was a long time ago. I miss it. My baby is growing up. =/

Her Moments...

Cookie: “Mana, do you want me to go sit on your lap and give you some love?”
Me: “Oh, yes. I can’t resist love.”

Me: “I couldn’t take the phone to the party, because I was already holding you, the umbrella, the car keys, the two plates of food, and the drinks. I only have two hands, you know.”
Cookie: “The octopus has eight hands. Maybe you could dress up like one and then you’d have more hands.”
Cookie (a minute later): “No, that wouldn’t work. The hands would fall down.”

30 Days of "Her Own Way"

So with the end of the school year (I made it! surprisingly enough.) I’m back to being a full-time sister. Which doesn’t help the fact that God has not rewarded me with patience for the last couple of weeks. I’m freaking out all of the time, about the stupidest things (like the fact that we always have dirty dishes), I yell a lot, and I probably don’t make Cookie feel good, either. I’m deeply ashamed of myself for being such a shitty sister lately, but my beloved child has grown to be so difficult! She doesn’t do anything I ask her to anymore. Forget rules, because now she wants to do things “her own way, not my way”. It’s like we’re in a constant battle over who has the power to say how things will work, and I’m losing every time. She’s talking back to me! My little angel gets angry at me and yells back. Which makes me even angrier, which in turn makes her angrier, which doesn’t help the situation at all. I wish things would go back to normal, you know. I honestly never minded picking her outfits, and I resent it now when we go shopping and she refuses to get the cutest ones. Should I let her dress like an old beggar? Or should I impose my will, like I’ve been trying to do with no success? Such hard choices. I realized that loving a small child is easy; they’re cute and all, they listen to you, they say how much they love you, the obey the rules and go to bed when it’s time. But loving an almost-five-year-old is freaking hard; it is not for the faint of heart. Sometimes my Cookie has to remind me to speak softly to her, and although it breaks my heart, I think: “how the hell am I supposed to stay calm and speak softly when you’re turning the whole freaking world upside down?” I haven’t come up with an answer yet.

While I don’t find the magic formula for good sisterhood, I should just pray for more patience. God knows I love her, but I foresee a long month ahead of us.

The Three Little Pigs and the Princess

Cookie and I like to read stories. Well, she likes to listen while I read, but that’s a start. I read to her every night that I’m home, and if I sleep over, she gets to pick two stories instead of one. She’s learned to pick the big books and count them as one story… she’s got future. Sometimes I forget sleeping over means two stories (ok, maybe ‘forget’ is not the word), and she reminds me: “mana, what about the second story?” and when I ask why, she replies: “because yesterday you said sleeping over meant two stories.” Yesterday, of course, meaning any time from yesterday to four years ago, when she was born. Gotta love it how her world is so easy compared to mine.
While other girls like Princesses stories, mine likes the Three Little Pigs. We read the same story every night, and sometimes we read it a second time, too. I’ve grown smarter now, and started buying her new books so we’d have “more options to choose from”. So far, no success. But then, who can blame her? I read the Harry Potter books eight times, and I’m a happy person.
At first I would ask mom to read to her when I wasn’t home. But you know how it is with moms (or is it just mine?), they’re always tired and full of other stuff to do. Mom also said she couldn’t read in English, and while we can’t find books in Portuguese on Amazon, there’s little I can do. But eventually I realized I don’t really want to share this moment with her. Call me selfish, I don’t mind. It’s my moment with Cookie, and it’s something only we can share. We lie in bed with our blankets and read, one word at a time. Eventually she starts “reading” to me, telling me what comes next and pointing at the pictures. Oh God, how I love her.
p.s. Did you know that something different happens to the big, bad wolf depending on which book you’ve got?

My Grandfather's Tales

Today in class a girl talked about how she was always interested in her family's history, and how they have lived in San Francisco (in the same house) for more than 10 generations. She said that when her grandfather (then 97 years old) got sick, she knew he wouldn't be around for much longer, and so she got her notebook and decided to get from him all the information she could. He has been alive for most of the century, and she wanted to know everything there was to know before she missed her chance and he passed away, carrying with him all the knowledge that only himself could bring into this world.

It made me think of my own grandfather. He passed away a couple of months ago, and he was one of the smartest people I've ever known. I usually say he was a walking encyclopedia, but he was so much more than that, really. I often thought about talking to him about our history, and not just rely on my mother's version of the facts. I've always wanted to share a little piece of his knowledge, of his story. He had lived so much, gone through so many things! I remember the tales he used to tell us kids, and they were nothing like your ordinary tales: they were magical, and yet realistic. The kind that scares you to death and at the same time makes you wonder if it was really a tale, or if it had happened. He has a story for everything, a good one. But then he got sick, and I didn't call. Mostly because I was certain that he knew I loved him, and partially because I was never good at this. I thought he would recover, yes, but even after I knew he wouldn't, I didn't call. And that was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made. There was so much about him that I never got to ask. And he died without me having the chance to know it all, without me asking for it. Did he think I didn't care? Did he not know how amazing his stories were, how much I loved his jokes, how much I admired and loved him? I guess I'll never know. And that's what hurts the most: not the fact that our family history is lost, but the fact that my grandpa's history is. The fact that he never sat down to tell me about himself. The fact that my little sister won't remember what a great man he was, and how much he loved her.

I should have called. I should have said the things I thought he knew. I should have chosen to be present, instead of distant. How I wish I had another chance. Sometimes I dream of him... in the dream I know he's about to die, and I hug him and think: "I know this is the last time, so I'll make the most of it". When I wake up I always feel a little better, and a little worse at the same time. If there is any kind of life after death, I hope he reads my blog.

Love...

10/10/10

Eu:
"Cookie, eu amo voce muuuitao. Voce mora bem la no fundo do meu coracao."

Evelyn:

"voce tambem, mana, mora la no fundo do meu coracao, bem la pertinho da barriga."