Aurora is gentle: her demeanor, her wispy yellow hair soft as milkweed-silks on a breezy fall afternoon, her delicate fingers wrapped in my hand as we walk across the street. “Look both ways. Now since we don’t see any cars, we can walk across, but we have to keep looking both ways just in case.”
Aurora’s kisses are gentle: I say, “Aurora, can I have a kiss?” She says no, then smiles and runs to me with wide arms to kiss me and gives me a melty hug. She says no to everything, initially.
She pats me gently on the shoulder when we walk up the stairs. She snuggles in tight as she falls asleep. Being a mom is fantastic.
I am excited to return to blogging in order to share my momness with you. My hope is to fill this site with everyday anecdotes, instructions for the crafts, games, and songs that Aurora and I find entertaining, and other pieces of this-and-that that make childhood (and motherhood) so special.
So without further ado I will continue on with today’s entry. It is about a mom-craft I like to call “Puff Balls in a Grits Container.”
It requires the following: a bag of pom poms, a container, and something to cut holes into the lid of your container.
To create the toy, cut two or three holes in the lid. The sizes of the holes should be slightly larger than your pom poms. Prep your container by making sure it is empty. (In my case this involved relocating a couple cups of grits.) Now deposit your pom poms into your container. Ta da!
Aurora determined “Puff Balls in a Grits Container” to be an instant success. We sat together on the floor stuffing individual puff balls into the holes and then dumping the whole lot back out onto the floor. It was a happy half-hour plus.
Then I created a game that has forever replaced the first: “Puff Ball Avalanche.” Aurora sits patiently on the floor as I pour the container of puff balls on her head. Gentle bouncing balls of fiber-fill softly cascade from her head to her nose to her toes to the music of squeals and giggles. I think there is no happier sound. She helps me gather them up and return them to the container and then patiently sits waiting for the moment I dump them again.
I do not know how long Aurora can play “Puff Ball Avalanche,” because I often tire of it before she does. Then I feel odd that my attention span is shorter than that of my child’s. When I feel like I need a reprieve from the gathering and dumping of puff balls, I play Aurora’s ultimate favorite pom pom game: “Puff Ball Massage.” She smiles tenderly and holds perfectly still as I gently run a single puff ball down the length of her arm, across her toes, on her checks and eyebrows, her elbows, her ankles, her back if it is bare, her nose, and many more of her beautiful body parts. Sometimes I name them: “Puff ball on your arm. Puff ball on your shoulder.” Sometimes she instructs me where to massage: “Elbow. Tummy. More elbow.” Sometimes she closes her eyes and we enjoy each other’s silent company.
