Five!

Dear Mags,

I’m feeling a little over-full from dinner tonight, and it’s reminding me of five years ago when I was about to go into labor with you. Five years is a pretty long time, especially since I really have no concept of what life was like before you arrived. When I try to remember the me I was before you were around, it’s kind of like looking back at a different person, so much of who I am now revolves around being a mom to you and Ellie. You surprise me every day – sometimes the surprise hits me when I realize that you and Ellie have cut your own hair or eaten a whole tin of Altoids or drawn tattoos on yourselves with marker. Today I found the mechanism for a door knob – the part that goes inside the door – under your bed. (?!?) But, more often than not, the surprise is the kind that leaves me nearly stunned with the wonder of how big, how smart, how beautiful and how unique you are.

Yesterday, I bought your Halloween costume – Snow White this year. I was decidedly NOT surprised that you chose a Disney princess as your costume of choice. I was surprised at the fact that you chose Snow White. You have never seen that movie, to the best of my knowledge, unless the babysitter snuck it in there one night while we were off at the symphony (because your father and I are VERY cultured). You tend to be a top-tier princess fan – Ariel, Cinderella. Snow White is more of a classic. She doesn’t say a lot, isn’t all that feisty, and she’s very kind to the dwarves. I like that you went a little off of mainstream. But, back to the shopping trip. I went without you and Ellie because I wanted to have a chance to THINK if necessary, so I bought everything without having you try things on. I went to Target in the hopes that they would have both the Snow White costume you had requested and a pink princess dress because (again, to my surprise) Ellie chose to be a princess but not one from a Disney movie – just one with a pink dress. Anyway, I found both dresses (and the angels sang) AND two pairs of sparkly shoes – pink for Ellie and red for you. You had admired the same shoes months ago, but I had refused to buy them because at the time, I didn’t see the need for you to possess red sparkly shoes. It’s a good thing, too, because your feet have grown. I showed you the shoes this morning, and immediately you said, “Those are the shoes I wanted a long time ago!” And, there you have it – me standing there stunned that you are old enough and smart enough to remember a shopping trip that had to be in July. You have a mind like a steel trap. Then, I had you try the shoes on, and God bless you, if you could have WILLED them to fit, you would have. But, Honey, these are shoes for Halloween and we are actually going trick or treating this year (for the first time ever) – Your shoes need to be comfortable. Eventually, after getting your foot stuck in the ill-fitting sparkly shoes (like Anastasia and Drizella when the guy comes with Cinderella’s glass slipper), you admitted that they probably wouldn’t work. Then, you promptly hid them under a pillow in the back corner of my closet. You did show me where they were and trust me to go in search of a bigger pair today (which I did – and found some – and the angels sang again, even louder than yesterday). When you and Ellie got home from preschool today, you tried on the new shoes and they fit (my surprise at the size of your feet is huge – as are your feet themselves). You then tried on your costume, showed Ellie her costume, helped her put her shoes and dress on and danced about in shared delight with your sister. Neither of you coveted the other’s dress or shoes (knock on wood and register more Mommy surprise – yay!). I’m looking forward to the coming year.

I think four was kind of tough. You developed a very strong head, which I’m sure will serve you well, but which at times drove me BONKERS. Thankfully, along with that new-found assertive opinionated persona, you also set aside the crippling shyness that we’ve dealt with for so long – well, maybe you didn’t set it aside, but you are much better at communicating with people – even in the presence of your Papa and I than you used to be. Thank goodness. Fortunately, (knock on wood again) I think in the last couple of weeks, I’ve seen you actively choose to be a nicer girl on many occasions. I believe that you’re actually getting to an age where you realize what it means to elect to be kind. You have kids in your class that are not considerate or well-behaved, and you tell me about them and how you don’t like to be around them. I enjoy hearing this stuff because hopefully it’s molding you into a thoughtful human being and teaching you to steer clear of ne’er-do-wells. Also, I think you’re really honing your critical thinking skills. In fact, you have developed what I consider a pretty impressive ability to reason with the best of us (although I have to tell you that if I say, “Because I’m your mom and I said so,” it will always trump any argument you can provide no matter how well-considered it may be).

You are really into art at the moment – and learning your letters and writing, writing, writing. Five is going to be the year you learn to read, and that is so exciting. Once you can read, you can begin your quest for world domination – or whatever. I can’t wait to watch those doors open up for you. I also think the art thing is interesting. I don’t remember ever having a great interest in art – I’m not sure why. I’m glad you do. And cooking! Now that we’re finishing up the kitchen remodeling project we’ll be able to cook together even more. I am so proud of you when you help me cook breakfast or dinner. I love how careful you are and how intently you listen and participate in making our food. You can crack an egg without getting shell all over! Rock on, Sister.

Your Papa and I have both noticed that you are developing a knack for turning phrases that are colloquial and appropriate to the situation. I don’t know how that happens in the brain of a kid, either, but it makes you seem like a little adult and very smart. I wish I could think of something you’ve said, but I guess you just stop me dead in my tracks when you do it, and I forget to remember.

Anyway, this year will be a big one. By your next birthday, you’ll have started school and that will be that. I wish you fabulous things for your five-hood. And I look forward to getting to know the unique individual that you’re becoming and becoming and becoming with each waking moment. I’ll keep trying to be the best mom I can be. I love you! Happy birthday, Darlin’.

Love, Mama

Harnessing the Wind

I checked in at Chookooloonks today and saw this great video. It made me want to do something worthwhile with my afternoon.

Love Thursday

Here's some love on Thursday. This was on the ferry from Tacoma to Vashon Island (which we took out and back, just because...) There was some tickling and lots of rain.

Here's the backstory: I read some mommy blogs. For a couple of years, I've read Dooce religiously. She's funny sometimes, and she takes good pictures and has cute pets and children. I know she gets alot of hate mail basically because she is so well-known and puts out so many opinions and often talks more about herself than some people really care to know. I am not emotionally invested in her blog, but I guess that many people are (for good or bad). Still - today she put up a link to all of the hate mail she gets and has blasted it with ads, in an effort to turn the hate into money. It's all just a little sad. I can't imagine getting all of the hate mail, but I also can't imagine putting it out there for all to see and to make money off of it. It's kind of an example of two wrongs not making a right.

On the flip side, I also read Chookooloonks. This is the blog of a woman/mom/wife/artist on a journey to bring more love, authenticism (is that a word?), beauty and truth into her life. Her blog is not read by as many people as Dooce, but she has fans - mostly those who also think that sharing and spreading love and beauty and truth are worthy goals. She is a lawyer turned artist, and she has some lovely thoughts. One of these is Love Thursday. When I checked her blog today, she had 24 Ways to Show Some Love in the next 24 Hours. I thought this was so much more the way I wanted my day to start off today, that I, too, decided to share a love photo and to maybe try one or two of the things she suggests. Sorry, Dooce.

Aaargh, the juggling!

I know in the great scope of LIFE, I am not alone in saying that balance is a bitch. The juggling with going back to school and trying to do Jazzercise and also be fully present and engaged with my kids and husband on a regular basis leaves me pooped a large portion of the time. I've cut myself some slack on the blog since January when chemistry classes started to fill up every single spare moment - and many moments that I didn't actually consider spare. This week, my parents are here and I am in between terms at school - with one last blast of chemistry coming at me this summer. Hopefully, the whole summer vibe will factor into my studies and I will find a way to relax a little. But, in this week - between kids and parents and planning a kitchen remodel, I plan to blog. At least once or twice. And then there's the little matter of finding the cord to hook the camera up to the laptop...

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...

Finishing off the Damn Top Ten List - #9 and #10

(photo from the OBT website)

#9 on the Top Ten List was supposed to be a long description of the logistical nightmare it was getting Maggie to the OBT Nutcracker in the ridiculous snowfest before Christmas, but that was long ago, and I want to get this blog back into the present day. So, I vote for just saying "bygones!" and letting it go. Suffice it to say the adventure involved exchanging tickets for a less treacherous day, stuffing my family into a pickup truck as if we were circus clowns, bribing ushers at the Keller auditorium, streetcars, very fancy dresses, long walks on icy sidewalks, and even a certain person in my beloved circle of relatives peeing in public on a Portland thoroughfare. That, and the realization that the first act of The Nutcracker is really pretty boring - It's not good until the snow falls and the Sugar Plum Fairy gets her groove on. Okay, enough of that until next year.

#10 was supposed to be about all of my favorite gifts from the holidays. I think I'll just save those posts for individual ones at later dates as I've got time. I'm desperate to get back into real time on this blog. So, goodbye, Top Ten list. Hello, February.

Top Ten List #8: The Great Toy Purge

For Christmas, I got Ellie and Maggie a little wardrobe from IKEA in which to keep all of their dress-up gowns, shoes, tutus, wings, jewels, hats, tiaras, and sundry accessories. They loved it. However, within 5 minutes of realizing it was a present, they had emptied out its contents and started using the two sides as individual dressing rooms. Yes, they had to contort themselves like circus performers to fit inside the cubbies, but it was fun. For them. For me, I saw a piece of furniture designed to bring order to our lives instantly reduced to a backdrop for a large supply of pink frilly crap on the floor.

For a bit, I'd put it away at night. And, I'd try to get Maggie to clean it up. Have you ever tried to get the wind to stop blowing? Leaves from falling to the ground in autumn? The sun from rising in the morning? It didn't work (although Ellie will actually clean stuff up on her own with just a little prompting.) But, one kid straightening up isn't good enough because the other one can always come along behind her and dump the box of Legos or toss an entire bookshelf on to the floor because she thinks her favorite bracelet might be in there behind the books. So, one day while they were at KinderCare, I got out a few giant trash bags and moved everything that was not put away into the bags and then into storage bins in the garage (see above). I figured they'd come home and freak out. But, do you know what? Nobody freaked out. I don't think anyone noticed. This was a few weeks ago, and honestly, we're all okay.

There's some good stuff out there. Some of it is stuff that I'd actually like to put back into circulation. Her freakin' Sleeping Beauty dress is out there! And Ellie's Cinderella dress! And the accessories for Maggie's Sleeping Beauty vanity! It does not work without the accessories, but she has not asked for them even one time. Not one. In fact, the other day, Maggie came to me and told me that I could make all of her toy food "get lost like my other stuff." So I did - that's the little white bin on the top. The thing of it is, that even with the piles of stuff in the garage (much of which was new at Christmas), there's still enough stuff to make this happen (see below). I asked Maggie today, "If you could just keep three toys, what would they be?" She couldn't even name three things - she just said, "My big girl bed." Am I doing something wrong here?

Misery, thy Name is PINEAPPLE

Here is a photo of my last happy pineapple-eating experience. Now, here is my story: I am, for the most part recovered from the food nightmare that was last week, and I will share this information as a Public Service Announcement in the hopes that I will be able to save one other poor soul from the godawful pain that I have experienced in the last week.

Last Sunday, not yesterday, but the week before, I was in Costco shopping around for the usual - a giant box of oatmeal, a few flannel shirts, a 40-pound bag of dog kibble and a case of spendy Italian fizzy water. My eyes wandered, as they are wont to do, and landed upon a display of perky looking whole pineapples direct from Costa Rica. My mind flashed back to happy days spent lolling about the house in Molokai, drinking coffee in the morning and tossing back oversized chunks of juicy pineapple. I thought it would be fun to spend the $3.89 to allow the rest of my family to share in the joy-inducing flashback.

The next morning, Maggie woke up and said, "Mama, I want to watch a show." I said, "How about we have something to eat instead. Would you like some oatmeal??" She said, "No, I want some of THAT" - pointing, of course, to the pineapple on the kitchen counter.

"SURE!!" I said, and whipped out the giant kitchen knife. In no time at all, I had sliced, diced, divvied up pieces... Well, shortly thereafter, my mouth began to feel as if I had either stuck a hot poker between my lips and sucked on it like the wrong end of a mammoth lit cigarette or contracted some rare disease that involved turning my spit into caustic acid and my taste buds into tiny sponges. Eating became something to be dreaded. Suddenly, before putting anything in my mouth, I did a quick mental assessment of it's potential crunchiness (because things like chewed crackers felt like they were cutting into my tongue) and it's approximate acidity. Wine? Too acidic. Tomatoes? No. Spinach? No. Even milk - "Lactic acid? Will that hurt?"

So, as we know, Google is our friend. I searched "tongue pain" - and soon, without prompting, saw the word "pineapple" - Until then, I had not traced the potential cause of the misery - I didn't know if I was contagious. I didn't know if it would ever get better.

Apparently, pineapple - especially unripe pineapple - has something in it called Bromelain, which can be used as a meat tenderizer, and I had tenderized my tongue (well). When I say that I will never eat pineapple again, I am not being overdramatic. I read that I could expect the pain to last from 7-10 days, and it did. I went to Costco this past Saturday. Somewhere between the electronics and the cheese, I saw a kind-looking middle-aged man with a fresh pineapple in his cart. I seriously had to (silently) yell at myself inside my head to keep me from throwing my body into his cart and covering up that pineapple like it was a live grenade. I wanted to save the man, but then I realized that I wouldn't be able to do that if they kicked me out of the store for harassing the other customers. So, I let him go and I said a little prayer for his tongue health.

Cranky Monday - Bah Humbug.

I am going through a phase where the thought of spending entire days with the girls makes me cranky. I can identify why this is. Let me use today as an example:

6:45 AM - Coffee is brewing. Maggie emerges from the bedroom part of the house. "Hi Mama! I want to watch a show."

Me: "Good morning, Mags. Did you have a good sleep?"

Mags: "Yes. Can I watch the first Princess Diaries?"

Me: "Not right now, Mags. We need to have breakfast. Maybe read a book. And get dressed. We could draw on the chalkboard... or make Christmas cards!."

Mags: "I want a cookie, and I want to watch a movie on the television."

And, so, here you have it. It is still black as a pit outside, and before ingesting ANY coffee, I am faced with a choice: Give my child (and later, of course, her younger sister) over to the television for a big chunk of the day OR say NO to the TV and face not only the wrath of a four-year old (and her surprisingly creative attempts to act out passive aggressively in response to the fact that I have dared to assert my parental will upon the house) but also the challenge of entertaining them both by myself for the entire day.

Today: NO TELEVISION. (Grrrrr!!!) I made the decision in part because I knew I had to teach Jazzercise tonight, and I am pretty sure that once I leave for class, the TV goes on pretty quickly. And really, it's getting a little ridiculous. I have one of those children who can recite more movie lines than I can. Someday, a cute boy may find her ability to quote Shrek after burping appealing... ("Better out than in - that's what I always say!") BUT, wait, who am I kidding - that'll be the geeky boys who think quoting movies is cute - but I digress...

So, without the TV and with Ellie added to the mix, it's just a matter of time before Ellie is screaming like her fingernails have been forceably removed from her little hands because her big sister has (choose one: stolen her stuffed monkey, fed her breakfast to the dog, refused to kiss her on demand, turned her bedroom light off without permission, tried to give her an injection with a ballpoint pen, told her that she needs to go sit in the naughty corner.) While she cries, Maggie will either be standing a foot away from my face with her hands on her hips screaming, "Mama!!! Tell Ellie to BE QUIET!!!" or she will be hiding under a comforter/under the desk in the office/in her room with the door closed with a cough drop/my makeup/a package of Smarties from KinderCare because it was Lauren's birthday and it was in the treat bag her mother supplied to every pre-schooler in the building. Then, certainly, there will be magic markers (often Sharpies) - and probably tape, perhaps glue, and very likely scissors (probably not the kids' kind). Princess dresses will be donned, spilled upon, cried over - and on extra special days - peed or crapped upon. If said dress is soiled, there will be a complete and very emotionally draining (for all involved) breakdown when it is not available to wear at naptime. Lunch will not be cookies and candy canes, so I will again be vilified before naptime. Then, hopefully, we will eat something and Ellie will need a new diaper. The need for a diaper change gets us all into the back of the house, and then it's a relatively easy transition to books, songs, naps and my inner countdown until Jay comes home, we eat dinner, I go out for an hour or so of freedom at Jazzercise and return to a hefty glass of wine.

I do clearly remember days during the summer when I felt like a good mom on non-KinderCare days. On those days I know we had reading time, craft time, outdoor exercise time, nutritious lunches - even morning and afternoon snacks. EVEN, dare I say, field trips - anyone remember posts about blueberry picking or picnic lunches at Lewisville Park? Well, that stuff's in the crapper in December. I must go to bed now: I have just finished my wine in total silence after getting home from class to make sure Mags didn't hear me and call me into her room to tell her a story and snuggle (read: suck me into the great black hole of time and bedtime procrastination) before she goes to sleep. Trust me, I enjoy a snuggle as much as the next girl, but her father is completely capable of providing her with all of the story-reading and affection she needs to get off into Dreamland. Seriously.

Waiting for Jay to Come Back with the Bed

Now that I don't have any happy Hawaii pictures to post, I've been slacking. How do you really follow a trip like that? So, now it's Sunday afternoon and we're trying to get the kids to nap - Right now I'm ignoring the sobbing that's coming from the other end of the house. It's crocodile sobs anyway. We started the day relatively aimlessly - well, I stole the Sunday crossword out of the mailbox and snuck off to Starbucks in the early morning fog while the family slept, and then Jay went to Ric's to cut some trim pieces for the outbuilding when I dragged myself back home. Maggie suggested lunch at IKEA, so off we went, arriving early enough to avoid the noon rush at the cafeteria. I'm tellin' you, $2.49 per kid and more food than they can shove down their little pie holes is NOT BAD. (Did I mention my love for IKEA? I love IKEA. Love it. I love it so much, I can actually tell you the NAMES of the products I'm buying/have bought for the outbuilding. Portis hat rack anyone? Grundtal towel racks?)

The sun is shining, it's warm and all is right with the world - except for the sobbing, previously noted. Since it's so nice out, I won't even go down the road of describing Maggie's well child visit at the pediatrician's earlier in the week - actually the trauma of it is partly what's kept me from posting, but we are relatively well recovered - physically, mentally... well, the emotional scars may stick around for a few more years, but I'm sure we'll all be fine eventually.

On a lighter note, every day at KinderCare, the teacher asks Maggie's class a question and then records every answer on a piece of flipchart paper which is then posted on the wall. They are currently "studying" their community. One of the questions was, "What's your favorite place to eat?" Some kids said, "at home." Others, "grandma's." There were "my friend's house" and "McDonald's" and "the pizza place." Do you know what Mags said? "The Coffee House." Let's just envision that Starbucks manages to survive the economic downturn. If they do, they've got one loyal 4-year old lined up for her own personalized Lifetime Starbucks Gold Card, and her name is MARGARET. Of course, I like to tell myself that Maggie enjoys eating at Starbucks most because it's time when the two of us sneak out early on the weekend and go have quality time alone over some steamed milk (for her) and a big cup of coffee (for me). It's time with me that she loves, right? Not just that I let her have milk pumped full of vanilla syrup...

The crying has subsided, so I think I may steal Jay's glass of wine that he has carelessly left on the counter. He's down the street retrieving the platform for the bed in the outbuilding. Once a place has a bed and a working toilet, it's almost as good as finished, right?

Cracking the Nut that is My Daughter's Mind

When we got home from Hawaii, Maggie started doing this totally weird thing every time we tried to put her to bed. We'd get her ready, and then she'd go into this frenzy, emptying her room of pretty much anything she could get her hands on - clothes that were on the floor, random books, small pieces of furniture - even wayward ponytail holders. It was just a bit disturbing in a "what's wrong inside her head" kind of way. We tried things like, "If you leave it in the hall overnight, it will be gone in the morning..." and she'd say, "Okay, I don't want it anymore." This was true of things that had value - both sentimental and $$$. For those things - say a special handmade quilt, when I asked if for sure she wanted me to get rid of it, she'd say, "Can you please put it somewhere safe for me in case I want it when I get bigger?" So, there's a bunch of stuff that's been put away for safe keeping - all the while, Jay and I have been mystified over what seemed to be our daughter's desire to live out her preschool years in the style of a monk who's taken a vow of poverty.

Last night, she said something that stopped me dead in my tracks, made me sit down on the spot and have a Mommy A-Ha Moment: She told me she's been cleaning out her room to make space for her big girl bed. I asked her to repeat herself. She did. If I had been videotaping my face, I'm sure that a giant lightbulb would have appeared over my head. When we were in Hawaii, she and Ellie slept in twin beds (when they weren't sleeping in our bed with us...) I have been floating the idea of a full bed to her - her toddler bed converts - and I guess she just decided to clean the kid stuff out and get the ball rolling. Whew. She's not totally weird.

Although... on a different topic, we went back to the dentist today with the completely ambitious and crazy goal of getting her teeth polished AND x-rayed. We dropped Ellie at KinderCare and drove over. Mags was EXCITED because she actually had a positive experience the last time we were there (she got lots of cheap toys from China, but it's all about quantity, not quality when you're four.) So, we got there and Siobhan the hygienist WASN'T THERE. But the lovely Vera was. (So, let's throw our progress the last time out the window and start all friggin' over.) Unless we want to come back - because, as I was told, "we need to keep Maggie's best interest in mind." Maggie was totally UNCOOL with trusting her chompers to Vera, but stronger than her complete distaste for the kind Vera was her unconquerable and undeniable NEED to get her little body into the Toy Closet. And to get to the Toy Closet, you must actually commit to going through with the visit. Poor Vera was on the verge of giving up when I decided that I would try leaving the room. As soon as Mags had ascertained that I really could no longer see her - "I don't want anyone to look at me..." , she hopped up on the chair, started chatting, laughing, telling stories and opening her mouth while Vera not only brushed her teeth, but also polished her teeth, did a fluoride treatment on her teeth, flossed her teeth, and yes, took not one but something on the order of FIVE x-rays. All the while, I was seated on a chair fit for a three year old behind the wall dividing the "treehouse room" from the "underwater room" trying not to move for fear of throwing off the delicate balance in the universe that was allowing all this action to take place. Of course, once the dentist came in, Vera and I had to leave because when Maggie opens up to talk, she doesn't want anyone to watch. As soon as Vera and I left, Mags started talking to the dentist. I heard things like, "Look at all the stuff I got!" as she showed the dentist her take from the Toy Closet. Then I heard, "The other dentist said I could go back to the Toy Closet and get more stuff!" So, we left with THREE light-up tiaras, various plastic baubles, and enough brushes, floss, and toothpaste to clean the teeth of a village of children for the next six months.

No cavities, all is well... We'll see how she does in six more months. But rock on Dr. Shebani and her people. Once we get done, it is nearly impossible to get her out the door. They are all about, "Stay as long as you want!" It is like a freakin' toy store paradise in there - while Mags was playing following her visit, the "Toy Man" was there unpacking giant boxes from Pottery Barn Kids and letting Mags have first dibs at the new toy refrigerator, shopping cart, toy food (which was actually very nice, although I'm sure frighteningly expensive)... Why would a kid want to leave? Which, I suppose is the point.

One Mama's Thoughts

Dear Mags and Ellie,

I wanted to write a little entry here because I think (along with lots and lots and lots of other people in this country and around the world) that something monumentally important happened last night. We elected a new president named Barack Obama. (Mags, I know you already know how to say his name, but we really still need to work on the fact that he is going to be the President. He is not, as you keep saying, going to be Pregnant.)

Now, we don't talk much at all about politics in our house because you are from "a house divided" as far as much of that stuff goes, and Papa and I tend to vote for different people. We love each other dearly, and I totally respect that your papa has alot of information and knowledge about tons of stuff that I don't take the time to read thoroughly or internalize completely. BUT, I will tell you that I feel really good about having voted for this man. He will be the first African American president, and that is really saying something. With his election, lots of people who have felt like their voices haven't been heard and who believed that their possibilities in life were limited have been given reason to believe that perhaps they, too, CAN achieve their dreams. And, as a mom, it brings a tear to my eye when I realize that you will grow up in a world where it will be a matter of fact that a black person can be elected to the highest office in the land. To paraphrase something he said in his big speech in Chicago last night - "We are the UNITED States of America" - red, blue, black, white, gay, straight, city, country... UNITED. And, for the first time in a long time, it felt really good deep down inside me to be a part of that. I felt proud - and excited.

The other thing I'm feeling is HOPE. Hope for the future. Our country's in a bit of a bad way now (to put it mildly), and Barack Obama will have a job to do that I don't envy even a little bit. I don't know how he'll go about it or how successful he'll be, but I know this: MILLIONS of people are feeling that same hope. People are engaged. People are talking. People care. And, people want things to be better. I believe that with that much of a positive force behind him - and with so much of the world willing him to succeed - Barack Obama will be able not only to do great things, but also to inspire others among us to dream big, work hard and maintain a persistent belief in our ability to make a better world.

I don't think I've ever before invoked God on this blog, but I feel like saying "God Bless America," and I think I might just say a prayer for our president-elect's good judgement, wise counsel and personal fortitude.

Love, Mama

Growing Pains

I am going through some mommy issues, fueled somewhat by lack of sleep and more than average discombobulation this week. I had a self-imposed work deadline on Wednesday - which always tend to coincide with slow computer issues and greater than anticipated work on the proofreading front. So, when 4:20 rolled around and I had to pick up the girls that day, I was already stressed out and not looking to do anything other than scoop up my two little angels, hurry home, plunk them in front of The Little Mermaid and return to work. I grabbed the green paper that was stuck in their attendance folder, and kept going - There are often papers in there, so I was like, "green paper, yada, yada, yada... will just throw it in the car to be discovered next time I clean things out of there..."

So, I go into Ellie's class and Ms Amanda (Ellie's teacher/Maggie's best friend (betrothed)'s mother) is all, "Did you read the paper you have in your hand?" And, I'm like, "What? No, of course not. WHY?" "Because everyone is switching classes as of Monday. We just found out today, too." And she's not very happy because she's not only losing all of her current kids (who are being forwarded on to the Two's room), but also because her son Carter is being moved out of the best room in the world - Ms Cheryl's room - and into a Pre-K class that is not the same class that Maggie is being moved into.

To say that I am not in a mental state to process this information would be like saying an ice cube is not a glacier. So, by the time I read the paper and start the process of collecting my children, I am nearly crying in KinderCare. I would not have been able to explain WHY I was crying other than "Change is hard - especially when you don't see it coming." So, I go home, (drink some wine), continue working (drink some wine), have more computer problems (shout obscenities at the monitor, drink some wine), to to the neighbor's for a break (chit chat, drink more wine), come home and work until midnight to get the documents sent out. I had told the client they'd go out on Wednesday never really anticipating that "Wednesday" would mean 11:55 PM, Pacific time.

By the time I had taken the kids to KinderCare yesterday, I had tried to sort through things in my head - separating the emotions from the objective stuff and trying not to "adult-thromorphosize" the situation - I realize that the way I would react in a given situation is not necessarily how my children will or even how I'd LIKE my children to. So, here's what it came down to:

• Although I truly love Ms Amanda, I am okay with Ellie being moved up to the Two's class. She is two, after all. It had not been that long since she had been moved to the Toddler room - since she walked so late and because, as I came to find out, the quickest way to move a kid up is to just be a parent and advocate and ask for it to happen. But, at that point, I was so in love with Ms Kim (in the Wobbler room) that I didn't want to leave her either. I think Ellie is pretty much on target with the other kids in her class, and if they're all moving up, then so be it. She's a flexible kid, and the teachers love her. I am not too familiar with the Two's teachers and there is a higher kid to teacher ratio in there, but it should be fun. And, I may end up loving them like I love Ms Kim and Ms Amanda.
• I am also okay with Maggie moving from Pre-school to Pre-K, although I must say that I had no real idea about the differences between them until oh, yesterday. They call the classes "Pre-A, Pre-B and Pre-K." Mags would come home and say, "I spent the afternoon in Pre-K," and I would say, "Oh great. Well, what is Ms Cheryl's class called?" She would invariably say, "Ms Cheryl's class," confirming for me that Ms Cheryl's class was so awesome that it resisted categorization into the "Pre-whatever" class naming conventions. So, I have learned that Ms Cheryl's class is "Preschool B," and in Preschool (be it A or B) the goal is to acclimate kids to daily routines and social interaction and to learn some basic fun stuff, and that in Pre-K it is more like actually getting the kids ready for Kindergarten - learning letters and numbers, etc. I think Mags is ready for letters and numbers, and she's been showing interest in all of those things lately. Also, all of her class (pretty much) is moving up to Pre-K, and I'd like her to stay with her friends.
• I personally will have to deal with my Ms Cheryl withdrawal. If giving up Ms Amanda will be unpleasant, giving up Ms Cheryl will be something like kicking an honorary grandma to the curb, and I am not looking forward to it. Ms Cheryl has been Maggie's teacher for as long as Maggie has gone to KinderCare (Ms Cheryl switched from doing Two's to Preschool at just the right time for Mags to stay with her all along), and she recognizes her little quirks as well as I do, and that is saying something. She knows everything about Maggie - where she likes to go for breakfast, how she freezes when strangers try to talk to her, how she needs to give me three kisses, three hugs and open the door for me when I drop her off... Okay, suffice it to say that I woke up at 2:45 last night and did not get back to sleep because I was having dreams about Ms Cheryl and how Mags will transition to Pre-K. God, I hope Maggie is almost in the realm of okay when I try to leave her in Pre-K next week. If not, I have left crying, screaming children in the able hands of KinderCare staff before, and I'm sure I will someday do it again, and maybe it won't be all that long until Ellie gets to hang out with Ms Cheryl.
• As for being put into Ms Chanel's Pre-B class while most of the names I recognized were in Ms Danielle's Pre-A class - Well, that was something that drove me bonkers because for one thing, talking to Ms Chanel is like communicating with a helium balloon that is constantly squeaking out a little air. It doesn't matter if it's rainy or sunny, evening or morning or if you're 2 or 39, Ms Chanel talks to you like she has just taken a little too much Zoloft. And, this would drive me completely insane if I had to talk with her every day. And, I don't think Maggie needs someone talking to her day in and day out like you'd talk to a newborn puppy. Plus, I have seen over time that teachers who come into KinderCare with that kind of "aren't I happy" facade typically burn out quickly and leave (usually sobbing, running out of the building with their hands clamped over their faces) - which would have a negative impact on Mags, should she decide that she actually like Ms Chanel. And, I wanted her to be with Carter and Lauren, who are consistently among the people she plans to invite to her "best birthday" - which is Maggie's highest form of compliment. So, yesterday, I mentioned to Ms Amber and Ms Darcie that I wanted Mags to be in the other Pre-K class, which is twice as big as Ms Chanel's class - but also has two teachers - so, if one leaves, there's still one around who will know the kids. And, she'll be with her friends. And, the classroom is even in the front of the building with more windows than the other room, yada, yada.
• So, Mags won't start kindergarten for another two years because she missed the deadline by a bit by being born in October as she was. How poor of us as parents to do such a lame job with our planning, huh? I learned yesterday that KinderCare also has full-day kindergarten, so next year, she wouldn't be stuck spending a second year in Pre-K. She can spend one year in KinderCare Kindergarten and (probably) another in public school Kindergarten, but such is life. At least that's not something to worry about right now.
• So, why am I awake at night? Good question. I think I've made the best choices I can. I think it would have been so very much easier if they had given us all more than a few days' notice. They are switching classes early (during the summer) to avoid having the change coincide with a visit from some accrediting organization - so that everything will have returned to "normal" by the time anyone from the outside comes to observe. I'm just thinking if they'd been planning this for a while, as I'm sure they had, they could have told us so we could prepare the kids (or maybe just prepare ourselves) a little better.

View on What to Keep in your House

I ripped a page out of a magazine a few months ago, and it has been floating around the house getting crinkled and ripped and written upon, but the last sentence struck me as advice I would give (and take) if I was able and very motivated. If I write it here, I can both share the thought and throw out the scrap of paper.

It's from Country Home, March 2008. The article is about a retired couple who got themselves settled into a beautiful, smallish home:

"Her favorite floral painting holds a place of honor in the guest bedroom, awash in cool blues pulled from the canvas. It's one of the chosen few pieces that Joyce wanted in her life as she and husband Bill winnowed the accumulation of six former homes... "We don't feel like we gave up anything," she says. "At this point in my life, the simplicity adds to making everything seem bigger and more open. Now everything we need, we have. And everything we have, we love."

It's that last sentence that caught my attention. How novel to be surrounded by stuff that you either need or love. Not crap. Good for you, Joyce and Bill - enjoy your retirement.

because the sun is not out today and I have not been strolling through the fields

Instead, it is cloudy. My butt is pressed firmly onto the desk chair and my eyes are locked onto the cursor as it moves around my computer monitor. My sinuses are congested, and I think it's a cold and not just allergies. I have a headache. I have to pick the kids up in 4 1/2 hours, have dinner ready in 5 1/2 hours, and teach Jazzercise in 7 hours. In the meantime, I am working. So, for these five minutes, I choose to say "fuck it all" and to ponder the meaning of the grasshopper.

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver (from the Poetry 180 series which I also mentioned here).

Looking Forward to 6 Hours Alone

I am flying east next week and have already started looking forward to 6 hours of alone time on the plane. I've thought through the magazines I'll buy, the food I'll eat... Will I check a bag? Bring the little DVD player? Load some new songs on my iPod? Maybe I will just sit quietly and play with the wax in my ears. Why? Because nobody will tell me not to. Nobody will tell me that they want me to play with the wax in their ears instead. I won't have to take anyone to the bathroom, carry 16 spare diapers in my carry-on or use up my precious carry-on space toting stuffed animals and special blankies. It will be as refreshing as a weekend at a spa in Sedona, I am sure.

So much time and so little to do... Strike that. Reverse it.

It's just one of those weeks where everything is converging, and even the approach of the long weekend holds little relief since somehow through a cruel twist of fate, I'm teaching Jazzercise both Sunday and on Memorial Day. (Yeah, those'll be big classes...) At least one of them is up here and one is in Gresham so I can do the same set and nobody will be the wiser. I am due to be monitored, which has me constantly on edge and spending extra time making sure each set is well-balanced and yada, yada... I also have a meeting with a client tomorrow to show them this new project I've been working on for Radclyffe. It has involved learning a new application, which actually is pretty fun - but they don't know I only work 2 days a week, so they're wondering what's taking so long. And, well, then there are the kids - They have this pesky way of needing things like FOOD and CLOTHING and yeah, sometimes that just pushes things right over the edge. Even the cat is getting in on the action - sitting in front of my monitor at this very moment, staring into my face and willing me to fill his little bowl with kitty kibble.

Dooce Deserved Matt or Meredith

Heather Armstrong/Dooce/Blogging Idol was on the Today Show today - Here's the link. I never watch AM television, but I knew it was coming so I caught it online. They had her stuck talking to Hoda Kotb and (for the love of God) Kathie Lee Gifford, who, for some reason, has been resurrected and put back on TV.

Kathie Lee, who admits to being scared of computers in general - let alone blogs - is a curious choice as an interviewer for the segment, and I especially appreciated where she told Dooce she was uncomfortable with the idea of putting information about one's children on the internet. Umm, okay. Because what measures did Kathie Lee take to protect her children during their delicate and often embarrassing formative years? Oh, right... She talked about them EVERY MORNING ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. It was a long time ago, but please. Kathie Lee, can we spell "hypocrite"?

Pearls Before Breakfast

My sister-in-law Leslie found this mind-blowing (and Pulitzer Prize winning) Washington Post link and sent it to Jay yesterday. Jay is right in pointing out that the results might have been somewhat different if Joshua Bell had played during the afternoon rush instead of the morning. But, I bet they wouldn't have been dramatically different, being that most of us are always rushing off to somewhere for "something important" and losing the serendipitous moments that might have profoundly affected us, if we had bothered to notice.

Here's the deal in a nutshell if you don't want to read the article (although I highly recommend taking 10 minutes and giving it a look - and the video, too). One of the world's most remarkable and well-known violinists agreed to bring his Stradivarius and play incognito at a busy Washington, D.C. metro stop during morning rush hour basically to see how (if) people would respond. With rare exceptions, commuters rushed by without even taking notice. In short, we do not live in the moment. We do not stop and smell the roses. We have lost our sense of wonder...

But, being the mother of two children who still have that sense of wonder intact, one part of the article really "struck a chord" with me. Perhaps it's because it really does get to the core of how I try so hard to raise my kids, and because it makes me wonder (and hope), given the same set of circumstances as the moms in the metro that morning, what I would have done:

After "Chaconne," it is Franz Schubert's "Ave Maria," which surprised some music critics when it debuted in 1825: Schubert seldom showed religious feeling in his compositions, yet "Ave Maria" is a breathtaking work of adoration of the Virgin Mary. What was with the sudden piety? Schubert dryly answered: "I think this is due to the fact that I never forced devotion in myself and never compose hymns or prayers of that kind unless it overcomes me unawares; but then it is usually the right and true devotion." This musical prayer became among the most familiar and enduring religious pieces in history.

A couple of minutes into it, something revealing happens. A woman and her preschooler emerge from the escalator. The woman is walking briskly and, therefore, so is the child. She's got his hand.

"I had a time crunch," recalls Sheron Parker, an IT director for a federal agency. "I had an 8:30 training class, and first I had to rush Evvie off to his teacher, then rush back to work, then to the training facility in the basement."

Evvie is her son, Evan. Evan is 3.

You can see Evan clearly on the video. He's the cute black kid in the parka who keeps twisting around to look at Joshua Bell, as he is being propelled toward the door.

"There was a musician," Parker says, "and my son was intrigued. He wanted to pull over and listen, but I was rushed for time."

So Parker does what she has to do. She deftly moves her body between Evan's and Bell's, cutting off her son's line of sight. As they exit the arcade, Evan can still be seen craning to look. When Parker is told what she walked out on, she laughs.

"Evan is very smart!"

The poet Billy Collins once laughingly observed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of the mother's heart is in iambic meter. Then, Collins said, life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us. It may be true with music, too. (More about Billy Collins' Poetry 180 for kids.)

There was no ethnic or demographic pattern to distinguish the people who stayed to watch Bell, or the ones who gave money, from that vast majority who hurried on past, unheeding. Whites, blacks and Asians, young and old, men and women, were represented in all three groups. But the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

I don't always know what the hell I'm doing as a mom, and I get frustrated alot when someone thinks it's "princess dance" time when I say it's dinner time or when I think it's time to go to the store and someone thinks it's time to dig up rocks in the driveway... Sometimes I don't want to respond when that same someone calls out, "Mama, come see what I found!" I get angry when paint splatters end up on new clothes and when fingernails get caked with dirt. But, I hope that for as often and as long as I can, I stop with them to look at flowers, listen to street musicians and pay $1 for balloon hats at the farmer's market. (Don't worry, I'm not about to break into "I Hope You Dance...")

Another great book on the same sort of topic: A Sense of Wonder by Rachel Carson.