Maggie, Maggie, Maggie - We need to have a talk. I know how much you like to touch base with your father in the morning even though he leaves for work by 6AM (on weekdays). I know you like to crawl up in bed with me and watch him choose his clothes and direct him to wear a necktie although that's totally out of the norm at his office. But it's fun. I know how sad you are when you get up in the morning and he is already gone. I remember very clearly the sobbing and despair yesterday morning when you realized that you had missed him. In fact, that crying so moved me that I mentioned it to your loving dad.
He told me that the two of you had had a conversation the night before that went something like this:
Mags: "Papa, I like to wave goodbye to you when you leave for work, but sometimes I don't get to see you in the morning."
Jay: "Yes, Mags, I leave early. If you want to wave goodbye to me, you just have to get up before I leave..."
So, then you tried yesterday morning, and missed him. And cried. And apparently determined that you would not miss him again. (Needless to say that the implications for me are as follows: each morning you will now either get up earlier than any respectable four year old should OR you will oversleep and start the day crying because you've missed the chance to wave goodbye.) BUT, I digress - this morning (SATURDAY) at 3:45, I heard "pat pat pat pat pat" down the hallway. Then I heard the door to the darkened great room open and a little voice call out "Papa?"
When there was no answer I heard the door to our bedroom ease open. You focused in on the sleeping form of your father, took comfort in the fact that he was still in bed and went "pat pat pat pat pat" back to your room. That was two hours ago. You are now asleep. Your father is now asleep. I AM AWAKE. VERY AWAKE. AND LIKELY TO STAY THIS WAY FOR QUITE SOME TIME. We may have a problem here...
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Extreme Chemistry Training
At one of our recent symphony outings, Jay and I were perusing the program and there was an interview with the new young concertmaster, Jun Iwasaki. In the interview, he was asked how many hours a week he practices. He said that it was an impossible question to answer, but that his goal was to learn the pieces he would be performing well enough so that if someone woke him up in the middle of the night, he would be able to get up in his pj's and play the piece from memory at concert quality. Here is a link to another interview with the concertmaster - can't find the one I'm talking about online...
Right now, I am doing practice problems for my chemistry test tomorrow. Ellie is SCREAMING because she and Maggie are arguing over ownership of a particular "baby doll." It is Maggie's doll, and I have tried to sell the idea that Ellie is simply babysitting, but that only works for a minute or two. Someone just fell down in the back of the house. The dog is whining. I have little hands clutched around my left thigh. My shirt is being tugged, and yet: I have just successfully identified how many moles of calcium carbonate are needed to produce 1.21 of carbon dioxide under STP conditions.
Right now, I am doing practice problems for my chemistry test tomorrow. Ellie is SCREAMING because she and Maggie are arguing over ownership of a particular "baby doll." It is Maggie's doll, and I have tried to sell the idea that Ellie is simply babysitting, but that only works for a minute or two. Someone just fell down in the back of the house. The dog is whining. I have little hands clutched around my left thigh. My shirt is being tugged, and yet: I have just successfully identified how many moles of calcium carbonate are needed to produce 1.21 of carbon dioxide under STP conditions.
Breakfast for Two
Maggie's taking care of breakfast this morning - my only roles were to fry an egg, toast an English muffin and brew the coffee. At this rate, maybe it won't be that long until Jay and I can move into the outbuilding and leave the kids alone in the house... Oh, the quiet would be a nice change.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Fun with Personal Pronouns
How do you entertain a 2 1/2 year old? Get her up in the morning and say, "Hi, Ellie! You're you!"
"No, I'm ME! YOU'RE you!"
"You're right! I'm me!"
"No, YOU'RE YOOOOUUUU!!! I'm MEEEEEEEEEE!!"
"Yes, you are you! ...and I'm me."
"MAMA! You are YOU." (hands on hips, lips pursed, brow furrowed)
"Okay, you're Ellie. I love you. Let's go get some oatmeal."
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Proof that the person who is my exact opposite exists
If there were a universe that existed where we were created as absolute polar opposites of ourselves, this would be my blog.
Okay, and this is just insane...
Okay, and this is just insane...
Friday, February 13, 2009
6-Word Memoirs
I read a little thing on the Powells Books blog, and it caught my eye. Now, whenever I have a free moment, I'm writing 6-Word Memoirs - or if not exactly "memoirs," then at least little summaries of my day. It's very Facebook, but instead of pithy little status updates... Colleen is: staring at the computer as the girls pull out the cat's claws one by one. Colleen is: dancing the Macarena with the dog... it's more like a haiku for the day. Or the hour. Or the mood. Try it, what'cha got?
Friday: KinderCare has borrowed the noise.
Cold fingers - Hot tea? Red wine?
My hair: messy. My brain: tired.
What will we have for dinner?
What, another homework assignment? No way.
Rancid dog farts. Well, he's old.
...wow, those are a little dark. Maybe I'll try more after that glass of wine...
Friday: KinderCare has borrowed the noise.
Cold fingers - Hot tea? Red wine?
My hair: messy. My brain: tired.
What will we have for dinner?
What, another homework assignment? No way.
Rancid dog farts. Well, he's old.
...wow, those are a little dark. Maybe I'll try more after that glass of wine...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Jazzercise photos
At the request of my dear old friend, Kathie Roth (Johnson), I posted a photo of myself teaching Jazzercise on Facebook. Then, I realized that I had never posted a photo on the blog, basically because I have never had a photo of me teaching until someone (Terry E.) took a bunch on the occasion of my 40th birthday class (thus, the balloons and tiara).
So, here goes. I love these people. And, it's really true: I love Jazzercise.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Look at the picture of Ellie and me from the previous post before you read this. Get her ridiculously adorable silly smile in your head before proceeding.
Okay - go ahead...
This morning, I was full of Good-Mom-ness. I had plans for us for the day. We would do art. We would bake cookies. We would eat a nutritious lunch together. There would be bath time and story time and my little angels would snuggle down happily into nap time with nary a whimper.
It was about 9 AM and we were square in the middle of art time. The art tablecloth was spread, paints abounded, papers were being filled with the tangible results of my genius-daughters' imaginations. Ellie, smiling sweetly, looked up at me and proclaimed, "Mama, YOU SUCK!"
"What did you say?"
"Mama, YOU SUCK!" (Smiling.)
In horror, I realize that I am both speechless AND running to grab the video camera. I turn it on.
"Ellie, dare I ask you to say what you just said before?"
"What? Flowers!! Princesses! I'm a princess!! I do painting!"
"Yes, but what else did you just say?"
"I don't know."
I turn the camera off.
..."Mama, YOU SUCK! HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!"
I called Jay and told him the story. He said, "Is this funny?" "No, of course it's not. I don't think so, but kind of funny in a this-better-not-happen-again kind of way..." "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Okay - go ahead...
This morning, I was full of Good-Mom-ness. I had plans for us for the day. We would do art. We would bake cookies. We would eat a nutritious lunch together. There would be bath time and story time and my little angels would snuggle down happily into nap time with nary a whimper.
It was about 9 AM and we were square in the middle of art time. The art tablecloth was spread, paints abounded, papers were being filled with the tangible results of my genius-daughters' imaginations. Ellie, smiling sweetly, looked up at me and proclaimed, "Mama, YOU SUCK!"
"What did you say?"
"Mama, YOU SUCK!" (Smiling.)
In horror, I realize that I am both speechless AND running to grab the video camera. I turn it on.
"Ellie, dare I ask you to say what you just said before?"
"What? Flowers!! Princesses! I'm a princess!! I do painting!"
"Yes, but what else did you just say?"
"I don't know."
I turn the camera off.
..."Mama, YOU SUCK! HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!"
I called Jay and told him the story. He said, "Is this funny?" "No, of course it's not. I don't think so, but kind of funny in a this-better-not-happen-again kind of way..." "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Friday, February 6, 2009
I Dood It!
Darling Ellie,
Years from now, when you are graduating summa cum laude from some prestigious university probably on the east coast, we will look back on early February 2009 as the time when you first began to assert your independent thinking and self-assuredness and carved in stone the fact that you are indeed the daughter of a certain someone whose most defining characteristic is "Spunk."
It doesn't matter if we are talking about applying salad dressing to a pile of lettuce leaves on your plastic plate, removing your diaper, combing your hair, donning your shoes or fastening yourself into your car seat - You proclaim to all within earshot, "I DOOD IT!" Then, you follow it up with a look through those adorable jewel-encrusted glasses that says, "Just try to mess with me, Buddy/Mama. My Force Field is up - and if you even TRY to remove said diaper without my permission, I will spin my head a full 360 degrees, spew fire from every orifice and bonk you over the head with my stuffed monkey." Thus, Mama backs off and waits until you realize your pants are on backwards/you can't reach the yogurt/you can't drive the car yet. Then, you ask for help, and we can all get on with the business of our day again. (Thank God.) When I am in the moment, I may sometimes seem a bit, shall we say, frustrated. But, when I am thinking objectively, I am happy (and proud) about your spunk. I have long feared (although that's not the right word...) the fact that you are 20 months younger than Mags, but will probably only be one grade behind her in school. She will be nearly 6 when she starts kindergarten and very likely will be solving quadratic equations by the time she hits first grade. But, I am confident that you will kick some ass of your own when you get to school. Because you are Ellie, with a capital E.
Your teacher at KinderCare, Ms Christine - Or just "Christine" as you like to call her - LOVES you. You walk in, and she can't wait to give you a hug and promise that you won't get sent off to another class because you make her laugh. (Plus that, you are the only kid who enunciates clearly enough for her to understand what the hell you're saying.) This morning, she told me a story. The other day, I guess she mentioned that it was snack time. Being a food-driven creature, you went and sat down at the table. I guess the other kids (being two) kept playing and running around. Ms Christine got distracted. A few minutes later, she again said, "Okay, it's snack time!" And you, still sitting at the table with your hands neatly crossed, deadpanned, "YEAH, you already said that." The world can't spin fast enough for my Ellie.
Years from now, when you are graduating summa cum laude from some prestigious university probably on the east coast, we will look back on early February 2009 as the time when you first began to assert your independent thinking and self-assuredness and carved in stone the fact that you are indeed the daughter of a certain someone whose most defining characteristic is "Spunk."
It doesn't matter if we are talking about applying salad dressing to a pile of lettuce leaves on your plastic plate, removing your diaper, combing your hair, donning your shoes or fastening yourself into your car seat - You proclaim to all within earshot, "I DOOD IT!" Then, you follow it up with a look through those adorable jewel-encrusted glasses that says, "Just try to mess with me, Buddy/Mama. My Force Field is up - and if you even TRY to remove said diaper without my permission, I will spin my head a full 360 degrees, spew fire from every orifice and bonk you over the head with my stuffed monkey." Thus, Mama backs off and waits until you realize your pants are on backwards/you can't reach the yogurt/you can't drive the car yet. Then, you ask for help, and we can all get on with the business of our day again. (Thank God.) When I am in the moment, I may sometimes seem a bit, shall we say, frustrated. But, when I am thinking objectively, I am happy (and proud) about your spunk. I have long feared (although that's not the right word...) the fact that you are 20 months younger than Mags, but will probably only be one grade behind her in school. She will be nearly 6 when she starts kindergarten and very likely will be solving quadratic equations by the time she hits first grade. But, I am confident that you will kick some ass of your own when you get to school. Because you are Ellie, with a capital E.
Your teacher at KinderCare, Ms Christine - Or just "Christine" as you like to call her - LOVES you. You walk in, and she can't wait to give you a hug and promise that you won't get sent off to another class because you make her laugh. (Plus that, you are the only kid who enunciates clearly enough for her to understand what the hell you're saying.) This morning, she told me a story. The other day, I guess she mentioned that it was snack time. Being a food-driven creature, you went and sat down at the table. I guess the other kids (being two) kept playing and running around. Ms Christine got distracted. A few minutes later, she again said, "Okay, it's snack time!" And you, still sitting at the table with your hands neatly crossed, deadpanned, "YEAH, you already said that." The world can't spin fast enough for my Ellie.
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