1. Less worrying, more being in the moment (more yoga, too).
2. Less meat, more vegetables (joining an organic farmer's co-op should help).
3. Less time-wasting, more time for daily writing and working on my book idea.
Happy New Year!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Jemma is Two
Dear Jemma,
Two days ago, two days after Christmas, you turned two years old. We were up north and I went in to get you from your crib while everyone else was downstairs having breakfast. I snuck in and sat on the love seat so I could watch you sleep, on your tummy with your fingers in your mouth and your little rump up in the air. "Hi, Birthday Girl," I said quietly, and you did what you almost always do when you wake up, which is: open your eyes, look around without moving the rest of your body, and then romp crazily around your crib on your hands and knees, giggling. Then I lifted you out and you put your warm head into the crook of my neck. This is how you are, both the silliest and the cuddliest of our two girls.
You are so busy lately, trying to keep up with Annie, trying to say every new word you hear. You run everywhere you go. You say "please" and "thank you" more than anyone else in the family. When you are being naughty, you give yourself a time-out in your room, then come out saying, "Sorry, Mommy." You love fruit. You hate every vegetable except squash. When you are finished eating, you stand right up in your high chair even though we have told you a million, billion times not to do that. You ask to brush and floss your teeth at least twice a day. You know the names of all the Disney princesses and love to see them on your band-aids and the mylar balloons at the grocery store. Your favorite color is purple. You love to take baths. You love to read books in the rocking chair. You kiss me on the lips before bed at night.
For weeks before your birthday, we talked to you about it. It got a little muddled up with the idea of Santa and baby Jesus and Christmas, but you finally got it: birthday cake, Jemma, two. On Saturday, we ate cake in Petoskey. Yesterday, we ate cake here with some more family. And tonight, we finished the cake off as dessert after a dinner where you ate only risotto (no shrimp, no salad, no vegetables). So, you have had plenty of cake. You are two. You are not our baby anymore. What you are is a sweet, silly, happy, uncomplicated toddler who our family loves fiercely. When you are sad, which is not often, we rally around you, we try to make it better. We are more patient with you than with one another, more forgiving, more amused. Your sunny little personality makes us a better family.
But in spite of all your goodness: You do this thing sometimes (I want to get it on video but I never can) when we ask you a question or ask you to do something that you feel you have already done. You gather your fury and your indignity. "I DID!" you say, with that mysterious, slight Southern accent. I worry all the time, feel guilty that your birthday will be lost in the shuffle of such a busy season, and hope that you won't feel overlooked in years to come. You are the peacemaker, the happy-go-lucky; it could happen. Then I see that little spark, that determination, and I feel better. You turned two. You DID. And we celebrated you, we celebrate you every single day. Happy birthday, little one. We love you so, so much.
Love,
Mommy
Two days ago, two days after Christmas, you turned two years old. We were up north and I went in to get you from your crib while everyone else was downstairs having breakfast. I snuck in and sat on the love seat so I could watch you sleep, on your tummy with your fingers in your mouth and your little rump up in the air. "Hi, Birthday Girl," I said quietly, and you did what you almost always do when you wake up, which is: open your eyes, look around without moving the rest of your body, and then romp crazily around your crib on your hands and knees, giggling. Then I lifted you out and you put your warm head into the crook of my neck. This is how you are, both the silliest and the cuddliest of our two girls.
You are so busy lately, trying to keep up with Annie, trying to say every new word you hear. You run everywhere you go. You say "please" and "thank you" more than anyone else in the family. When you are being naughty, you give yourself a time-out in your room, then come out saying, "Sorry, Mommy." You love fruit. You hate every vegetable except squash. When you are finished eating, you stand right up in your high chair even though we have told you a million, billion times not to do that. You ask to brush and floss your teeth at least twice a day. You know the names of all the Disney princesses and love to see them on your band-aids and the mylar balloons at the grocery store. Your favorite color is purple. You love to take baths. You love to read books in the rocking chair. You kiss me on the lips before bed at night.
For weeks before your birthday, we talked to you about it. It got a little muddled up with the idea of Santa and baby Jesus and Christmas, but you finally got it: birthday cake, Jemma, two. On Saturday, we ate cake in Petoskey. Yesterday, we ate cake here with some more family. And tonight, we finished the cake off as dessert after a dinner where you ate only risotto (no shrimp, no salad, no vegetables). So, you have had plenty of cake. You are two. You are not our baby anymore. What you are is a sweet, silly, happy, uncomplicated toddler who our family loves fiercely. When you are sad, which is not often, we rally around you, we try to make it better. We are more patient with you than with one another, more forgiving, more amused. Your sunny little personality makes us a better family.
But in spite of all your goodness: You do this thing sometimes (I want to get it on video but I never can) when we ask you a question or ask you to do something that you feel you have already done. You gather your fury and your indignity. "I DID!" you say, with that mysterious, slight Southern accent. I worry all the time, feel guilty that your birthday will be lost in the shuffle of such a busy season, and hope that you won't feel overlooked in years to come. You are the peacemaker, the happy-go-lucky; it could happen. Then I see that little spark, that determination, and I feel better. You turned two. You DID. And we celebrated you, we celebrate you every single day. Happy birthday, little one. We love you so, so much.
Love,
Mommy
Christmas 2008
I have to admit, I'm struggling today. It's Monday, Christmas is over, and I should be ordering my life into some semblance of normalcy. I thought (foolishly) that I'd breeze through today, able to clean up the remants of Christmas morning that still linger around my house because the girls would be so busy playing with all their new things. No need to plan an outing! No need to pile everyone into the car and head somewhere to burn off steam! I'll just sip coffee and stack the cardboard boxes in a tall tower by the back door. Instead, I spent the day accomplishing things in 2-minute increments in between breaking up fights over the new things. Nothing new there.
Three times today, Annie caught me taking down stockings or packing away the nativity scene and had a small breakdown. "Mommy, I want it to still be Christmas!" she wailed. I know how she feels. Most of me is annoyed that our now-droopy Christmas tree still stands in our front room simply because there hasn't really been an evening to take it down (and I refuse to let the girls "help" with putting away the ornaments and lights); a small part of me is sad to see it all go. I drive past outdoor Christmas lights and know that the winter landscape will be so bleak and dreary once they are down. I miss the sounds of Christmas music in our house during the day and in the car when we drive to the gym. I remember begging my parents to leave the tree up for just one more day.
I can see, too, how every Christmas is going to blend into the others, so that in twenty or thirty years, it will be impossible to remember what we did, where we were, how it was. We'll have our pictures, thank goodness, but before I forget, I want to note that this was the Christmas when:
-Annie wore a gold sparkly dress she picked out herself and Jemma wore a plaid taffeta dress that made her look so grown up.
-The girls set out cookies and milk for Santa on the floor next to the fireplace and ate the crumbs he left for breakfast the next morning.
-Annie woke up early, as usual, but didn't come out of her room. When we went in to get her, she said she hadn't wanted to come out because she never heard the reindeer on the roof, so she was afraid that Santa hadn't had time to come yet.
-Out of all her presents in her stocking and under the tree, Jemma would absolutely not let go of three small multicolored Twizzlers leftover from Halloween that I threw in her stocking at the last minute. "Hold them, have them," she kept saying, until we finally just let her eat them at 7:30 a.m. Later, when we asked her what Santa brought her, she said, "Candy canes" (which is what she thought they were) and when we asked her what else, she said, "Cheerios," which was totally untrue.
-Annie's favorite presents were the new Baby Alive doll from Aunt Lisa and Uncle Trevor (which she named "Ormandy" and later changed to "Elizabeth Ormandy"); the big dollhouse she and Jemma got from my parents; the Ariel doll head from Santa; new swim goggles; the book Madeleine; red dress-up shoes from Aunt Bonnie.
-Jemma loved her new Baby Alive doll, too (named "Baby Marta"), as well as a Dora tent, princess slippers, the Curious George movie, and Cinderella figurines.
-We spent Christmas Eve in Holland with my parents, woke up with the girls at our house for a cozy breakfast and presents, then left for Petoskey before 10:00 a.m. on Christmas Day.
-We were able to connect with some old, good friends from dental school for spontaneous sledding and lunch while in Petoskey. Theron and Jennifer's daughter, Carolyn, and Annie were instant friends, sitting next to each other at the restaurant and grinning ear to ear while saying things like "I love Tinkerbell!" and "Your little sister is cute."
-We drove home two days later through some intense fog, wind, and rain to find almost all our snow gone and the thermometer on the car reading 56 degrees.
There is just nothing else as magical as Christmas morning with little children. And even though it's already a blur, already a memory, I tried to treasure every single second this year because there are going to be so few years when they really, truly believe in the magic of it all.
Three times today, Annie caught me taking down stockings or packing away the nativity scene and had a small breakdown. "Mommy, I want it to still be Christmas!" she wailed. I know how she feels. Most of me is annoyed that our now-droopy Christmas tree still stands in our front room simply because there hasn't really been an evening to take it down (and I refuse to let the girls "help" with putting away the ornaments and lights); a small part of me is sad to see it all go. I drive past outdoor Christmas lights and know that the winter landscape will be so bleak and dreary once they are down. I miss the sounds of Christmas music in our house during the day and in the car when we drive to the gym. I remember begging my parents to leave the tree up for just one more day.
I can see, too, how every Christmas is going to blend into the others, so that in twenty or thirty years, it will be impossible to remember what we did, where we were, how it was. We'll have our pictures, thank goodness, but before I forget, I want to note that this was the Christmas when:
-Annie wore a gold sparkly dress she picked out herself and Jemma wore a plaid taffeta dress that made her look so grown up.
-The girls set out cookies and milk for Santa on the floor next to the fireplace and ate the crumbs he left for breakfast the next morning.
-Annie woke up early, as usual, but didn't come out of her room. When we went in to get her, she said she hadn't wanted to come out because she never heard the reindeer on the roof, so she was afraid that Santa hadn't had time to come yet.
-Out of all her presents in her stocking and under the tree, Jemma would absolutely not let go of three small multicolored Twizzlers leftover from Halloween that I threw in her stocking at the last minute. "Hold them, have them," she kept saying, until we finally just let her eat them at 7:30 a.m. Later, when we asked her what Santa brought her, she said, "Candy canes" (which is what she thought they were) and when we asked her what else, she said, "Cheerios," which was totally untrue.
-Annie's favorite presents were the new Baby Alive doll from Aunt Lisa and Uncle Trevor (which she named "Ormandy" and later changed to "Elizabeth Ormandy"); the big dollhouse she and Jemma got from my parents; the Ariel doll head from Santa; new swim goggles; the book Madeleine; red dress-up shoes from Aunt Bonnie.
-Jemma loved her new Baby Alive doll, too (named "Baby Marta"), as well as a Dora tent, princess slippers, the Curious George movie, and Cinderella figurines.
-We spent Christmas Eve in Holland with my parents, woke up with the girls at our house for a cozy breakfast and presents, then left for Petoskey before 10:00 a.m. on Christmas Day.
-We were able to connect with some old, good friends from dental school for spontaneous sledding and lunch while in Petoskey. Theron and Jennifer's daughter, Carolyn, and Annie were instant friends, sitting next to each other at the restaurant and grinning ear to ear while saying things like "I love Tinkerbell!" and "Your little sister is cute."
-We drove home two days later through some intense fog, wind, and rain to find almost all our snow gone and the thermometer on the car reading 56 degrees.
There is just nothing else as magical as Christmas morning with little children. And even though it's already a blur, already a memory, I tried to treasure every single second this year because there are going to be so few years when they really, truly believe in the magic of it all.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Half Empty, Half Full
Half Empty:
1. The average December snowfall in Grand Rapids is 18 inches. As of two days ago, we'd received 38, and it's snowing steadily outside my window right now. Even worse, the ridiculously low temperatures that accompany it have ended our previously fun afternoons playing outside in it. Today I actually let the car idle in the driveway with the girls strapped in when we got home from the gym so I could shovel the front steps while they watched.
2. Not only has Annie completely stopped napping (except, you know, once every two or three weeks on a day that we specifically wouldn't want her to do it), but she has also begun waking up at 6:00 a.m. sharp!
3. I was (unfortunately) at the mall yesterday (getting the last-minute things I had meant to get the previous Friday morning but couldn't - see item #1 - ) and I noticed that J. Crew had approximately one winter item in their store. The rest of the floor space already seems to be reserved for New Spring Lines and Fancy Cruise Wear.
4. We have been far, far exceeding our Daily TV Quota.
5. I went upstairs for two minutes this afternoon and came back downstairs to find Jemma naked from the waist down. Is she going to be That Kid?
6. Annie asked repeatedly today if Santa is going to bring her "lots and lots and lots of presents." And the answer is not what she's hoping it is.
Half Full:
1. It sure is Christmassy out there! And I'm sure that because it's snowing three times the usual amount in December, it's just not going to snow AT ALL in February or March or April.
2. There is so much time to accomplish grown-up things when you put your four-year-old to bed at 6:30 p.m.!
3. At least I will be able to find plenty of cute items for our February trip to Florida.
4. We have discovered a hilarious - yet educational! - new show called Sid the Science Kid on PBS. Annie is super into it; every day there is a different little lesson with the hip Latina teacher about something science-related (today's was why/how things grow). She pays attention to every detail, asks tons of questions, and wants to try things out (like measuring with a ruler) after the show is over. I love it because it lets me clean up lunch and accomplish a few things from 12:30 - 1:00. I also secretly love the songs Sid sings upon arriving at school every day. One is a little rap about his mom, the other is a dance number called "I'm Lookin' For My Friends." Seriously, check it out.
5. Maybe she'll love the idea of potty-training (in six months when I actually want to do it) and won't fight me about it like someone else I can think of . . . . .
6. Annie will learn at an early age to embrace the concept of Quality over Quantity after receiving three perfectly-chosen gifts from Santa.Two days till Christmas!
1. The average December snowfall in Grand Rapids is 18 inches. As of two days ago, we'd received 38, and it's snowing steadily outside my window right now. Even worse, the ridiculously low temperatures that accompany it have ended our previously fun afternoons playing outside in it. Today I actually let the car idle in the driveway with the girls strapped in when we got home from the gym so I could shovel the front steps while they watched.
2. Not only has Annie completely stopped napping (except, you know, once every two or three weeks on a day that we specifically wouldn't want her to do it), but she has also begun waking up at 6:00 a.m. sharp!
3. I was (unfortunately) at the mall yesterday (getting the last-minute things I had meant to get the previous Friday morning but couldn't - see item #1 - ) and I noticed that J. Crew had approximately one winter item in their store. The rest of the floor space already seems to be reserved for New Spring Lines and Fancy Cruise Wear.
4. We have been far, far exceeding our Daily TV Quota.
5. I went upstairs for two minutes this afternoon and came back downstairs to find Jemma naked from the waist down. Is she going to be That Kid?
6. Annie asked repeatedly today if Santa is going to bring her "lots and lots and lots of presents." And the answer is not what she's hoping it is.
Half Full:
1. It sure is Christmassy out there! And I'm sure that because it's snowing three times the usual amount in December, it's just not going to snow AT ALL in February or March or April.
2. There is so much time to accomplish grown-up things when you put your four-year-old to bed at 6:30 p.m.!
3. At least I will be able to find plenty of cute items for our February trip to Florida.
4. We have discovered a hilarious - yet educational! - new show called Sid the Science Kid on PBS. Annie is super into it; every day there is a different little lesson with the hip Latina teacher about something science-related (today's was why/how things grow). She pays attention to every detail, asks tons of questions, and wants to try things out (like measuring with a ruler) after the show is over. I love it because it lets me clean up lunch and accomplish a few things from 12:30 - 1:00. I also secretly love the songs Sid sings upon arriving at school every day. One is a little rap about his mom, the other is a dance number called "I'm Lookin' For My Friends." Seriously, check it out.
5. Maybe she'll love the idea of potty-training (in six months when I actually want to do it) and won't fight me about it like someone else I can think of . . . . .
6. Annie will learn at an early age to embrace the concept of Quality over Quantity after receiving three perfectly-chosen gifts from Santa.Two days till Christmas!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Adventures in Potty-sitting
Act One: 10:00 a.m. Saturday morning, Doublestein household
Characters present: Jason, Annie, Jemma
The scene: After a long, snowy day inside on Friday, Stephanie decides to go to the gym with neighbor Sarah for a morning run and rowing tutorial. Inside the house, Jason eagerly awaits the delivery of their new, bought-with-five-years-of-credit-card-points leather chair, scheduled to arrive between 8:00 and 10:00. While he waits, he decides abruptly that he absolutely MUST shovel the bottom of the driveway (the part where the street plow deposited one ton of snow) to aid the deliverymen. (Note that his general shoveling philosophy is, "Why shovel? It's just going to snow more;" as a result, Stephanie does 90% of the winter shoveling.) Seized by this sudden burst of devotion to shoveling, he decides to just leave the children inside the house, coming in to check on them every five minutes. They are wearing dance outfits and re-enacting the Nutcracker Sugar Plum Fairy dance. They are happy. What could happen?
The delivery truck pulls up just as Jason is finishing his shoveling chore. He leads the men inside the house. He hears Annie talking to Jemma from an unseen location.
Annie: "Jemma, come here! I have to put your diaper back on!"
Jemma: "New dipe! New dipe!" Runs into living room, completely naked, followed closely by Annie, holding a diaper.
Annie, seeing Jason: "Dad, I'm just changing her diaper. She just went poop on the potty."
Jason: "What????!!!??"
Deliveryman: "Ah, where do you want the chair?"
Annie: "Yeah, dad. She kept saying, 'poo-poo, potty' so I asked her if she needed to go poop and she said yes and I asked if she wanted to sit on the potty and she said yes so I took her pants and diaper off and put the potty seat on the toilet and lifted her up there and now there's a little poop in there. So I need to put a new diaper on her."
Deliveryman, to Jemma: "Aren't you cold?"
*************************
Act Two: Saturday evening 5:30 p.m., Blue Water Grill restaurant
Characters present: Jason, Stephanie, Annie, Jemma
Scene One: After spending the afternoon at Meijer Gardens looking at the reindeer, the train, and the Christmas trees, the family goes out for dinner. Jemma orders chocolate milk, Annie orders a Shirley Temple, and Jason and Stephanie order house cabernet. Annie's drink arrives accompanied by four flavors of maraschino cherries, which she and Jemma promptly (stickily) eat. Annie then drinks down half her beverage in the 10 minutes it takes for the food to arrive. The family begins to eat.
Annie, squirming: "Mom, I'm not hungry. I want to go home."
Stephanie: "What?? And miss all the special Christmas lights we're going to go see?"
Annie: "I have a tummy-ache. I feel like I'm going to throw up."
Stephanie shoots knowing glance at Jason. "Do you have to go potty?"
Annie: "No."
Stephanie: "Let's just go try."
Annie: "Nooooooooooooooooooooo! I'm afraid it's going to be a loud flush! I'm afraid it's going to flush by itself! No Mommy No I'll just wait and go at home!!!!"
Stephanie: "Fine." Takes large swallow of wine.
Five minutes later:
Annie: "Mom, I have to go potty really bad."
Stephanie: "Yeah, I know. Let's just go SEE what kind of toilets they are, and if they're noisy, you can cover your ears and I can make them so they don't flush by themselves."
The two walk to the bathroom, Annie whimpering the whole way.
Scene Two, in the bathroom:
Annie, digging her heels in as Stephanie attempts to drag her into the stall: "Mommy, no, I don't have to go anymore! It's an automatic flush! Noooooooooooooooooo!!!"
Stephanie takes a napkin (which she has brilliantly brought along for just such emergency use) and covers the flush sensor of the toilet. "See, I put the napkin over it and NOW," (waves hand in front of toilet repeatedly) "Now it won't flush until I take the napkin away. See? So come sit down and go."
Annie, trying to climb the corner of the stall to get as far away as possible from the toilet while still covering her ears: "Mommy, noooooooooooo."
Stephanie reaches with her free arm to collar Annie and try to coax her slowly to the toilet. "Annie, I promise I'm not going to let it flush while you're on it."
Annie looks up warily. "Promise?"
Stephanie: "I promise."
They repeat this coversation for approximately 13 minutes until Annie reluctantly climbs on and pees, still covering her ears, then sprints back to her corner before allowing Stephanie to let the toilet flush. They wash hands, exit the stall, and walk back to their table, where the food has been boxed up. Stephanie sits down, raises her glass of wine to Jason, and says, "Cheers!" before drinking down the remainder of the drink in one gulp.
The end.
Characters present: Jason, Annie, Jemma
The scene: After a long, snowy day inside on Friday, Stephanie decides to go to the gym with neighbor Sarah for a morning run and rowing tutorial. Inside the house, Jason eagerly awaits the delivery of their new, bought-with-five-years-of-credit-card-points leather chair, scheduled to arrive between 8:00 and 10:00. While he waits, he decides abruptly that he absolutely MUST shovel the bottom of the driveway (the part where the street plow deposited one ton of snow) to aid the deliverymen. (Note that his general shoveling philosophy is, "Why shovel? It's just going to snow more;" as a result, Stephanie does 90% of the winter shoveling.) Seized by this sudden burst of devotion to shoveling, he decides to just leave the children inside the house, coming in to check on them every five minutes. They are wearing dance outfits and re-enacting the Nutcracker Sugar Plum Fairy dance. They are happy. What could happen?
The delivery truck pulls up just as Jason is finishing his shoveling chore. He leads the men inside the house. He hears Annie talking to Jemma from an unseen location.
Annie: "Jemma, come here! I have to put your diaper back on!"
Jemma: "New dipe! New dipe!" Runs into living room, completely naked, followed closely by Annie, holding a diaper.
Annie, seeing Jason: "Dad, I'm just changing her diaper. She just went poop on the potty."
Jason: "What????!!!??"
Deliveryman: "Ah, where do you want the chair?"
Annie: "Yeah, dad. She kept saying, 'poo-poo, potty' so I asked her if she needed to go poop and she said yes and I asked if she wanted to sit on the potty and she said yes so I took her pants and diaper off and put the potty seat on the toilet and lifted her up there and now there's a little poop in there. So I need to put a new diaper on her."
Deliveryman, to Jemma: "Aren't you cold?"
*************************
Act Two: Saturday evening 5:30 p.m., Blue Water Grill restaurant
Characters present: Jason, Stephanie, Annie, Jemma
Scene One: After spending the afternoon at Meijer Gardens looking at the reindeer, the train, and the Christmas trees, the family goes out for dinner. Jemma orders chocolate milk, Annie orders a Shirley Temple, and Jason and Stephanie order house cabernet. Annie's drink arrives accompanied by four flavors of maraschino cherries, which she and Jemma promptly (stickily) eat. Annie then drinks down half her beverage in the 10 minutes it takes for the food to arrive. The family begins to eat.
Annie, squirming: "Mom, I'm not hungry. I want to go home."
Stephanie: "What?? And miss all the special Christmas lights we're going to go see?"
Annie: "I have a tummy-ache. I feel like I'm going to throw up."
Stephanie shoots knowing glance at Jason. "Do you have to go potty?"
Annie: "No."
Stephanie: "Let's just go try."
Annie: "Nooooooooooooooooooooo! I'm afraid it's going to be a loud flush! I'm afraid it's going to flush by itself! No Mommy No I'll just wait and go at home!!!!"
Stephanie: "Fine." Takes large swallow of wine.
Five minutes later:
Annie: "Mom, I have to go potty really bad."
Stephanie: "Yeah, I know. Let's just go SEE what kind of toilets they are, and if they're noisy, you can cover your ears and I can make them so they don't flush by themselves."
The two walk to the bathroom, Annie whimpering the whole way.
Scene Two, in the bathroom:
Annie, digging her heels in as Stephanie attempts to drag her into the stall: "Mommy, no, I don't have to go anymore! It's an automatic flush! Noooooooooooooooooo!!!"
Stephanie takes a napkin (which she has brilliantly brought along for just such emergency use) and covers the flush sensor of the toilet. "See, I put the napkin over it and NOW," (waves hand in front of toilet repeatedly) "Now it won't flush until I take the napkin away. See? So come sit down and go."
Annie, trying to climb the corner of the stall to get as far away as possible from the toilet while still covering her ears: "Mommy, noooooooooooo."
Stephanie reaches with her free arm to collar Annie and try to coax her slowly to the toilet. "Annie, I promise I'm not going to let it flush while you're on it."
Annie looks up warily. "Promise?"
Stephanie: "I promise."
They repeat this coversation for approximately 13 minutes until Annie reluctantly climbs on and pees, still covering her ears, then sprints back to her corner before allowing Stephanie to let the toilet flush. They wash hands, exit the stall, and walk back to their table, where the food has been boxed up. Stephanie sits down, raises her glass of wine to Jason, and says, "Cheers!" before drinking down the remainder of the drink in one gulp.
The end.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Snow Day
Our morning began at 6:00 a.m. sharp, which is when Annie has been starting her day lately. We woke up to almost a foot of snow that had fallen in the previous few hours; schools everywhere (including hers) were closed for the day. She cried for about thirty seconds about missing her Gingerbread party, then moved on to making new plans for the day. Since we really, truly couldn't go anywhere in the car, our options were limited to our neighborhood. We invited Heidi and Jonathan over to hang out for the morning. It was nice; grownups drank coffee and talked, kids ran around and self-amused for over an hour. After that, we braved the outdoors. The girls absolutely loved all the snow (it came up to Annie's mid-thigh, and Jemma couldn't even walk in it except where it had been trampled down by feet or shovels). Jason and I sort of loved it, too, party because it felt a whole lot like the infamous winters of our childhood, the ones where people ventured out only via snowmobile and babies were born after dramatic drives to the hospital.
The rest of the day, we played inside, drank hot cocoa, danced, drew, took a big walk outside right down the middle of streets, and made Christmas cookies. I used a sugar cookie recipe of Nigella Lawson's from my How To Be A Domestic Goddess cookbook. The dough turned out sort of sticky, the baked cookies tasted fine, but my favorite part of the recipe was her statement at the end regarding letting children ice them in all different colors of frosting: "Let the artistic spirit be your guide, remembering with gratitude that children have very bad taste." Indeed. Annie dumped half a pound of pale pink sanding sugar on her Christmas tree cookie after dotting it with green sprinkles; Jemma chose hot pink for hers. They were very excited about the project, though, and for the second time today I felt transported back to my childhood, doing something I'd done over and over as a kid, now with kids of my own.
Now they're snugly in bed, and Jason and I are readying ourselves to decorate batch #2 of the grown-up-made cookies. This kind of decorating is a different kind of fun than the chaos with the girls - more alcohol, less flour on the floor, and colors that actually go together.
***Post amended (and first two photos added) to show that, upon going back downstairs after writing this post, Jason was found deeply involved in some decidedly un-manly cookie-decorating while listening to Christmas music by Wham! As you can see from the photos, he was getting a little carried away.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
(Mis)adventures
Wednesdays in winter tend to be loooooong, long days, so I try to attack them with some type of action plan in the hopes of enjoying the time instead of sitting on the couch while Meet Strawberry Shortcake plays on repeat and my house becomes trashed by the dragging out of every single stuffed animal and dress-up item we own. Yesterday after naps, we headed to the pool. It was especially warm, the girls were especially happy to splash and play and jump in to me, and Lucy plus family showed up half-way through our time there. She and Annie spent almost half an hour racing one another, chasing, paddling, and having a blast. I had just started the "Five More Minutes" countdown and was on minute three when I noticed the lifeguard sauntering over to get the big net-on-a-pole thing lifeguards use to fish things out of water. Holding Jemma, I watched as he stuck it down to the bottom and brought it back up with something that looked suspiciously like a turd on it. I caught his eye and raised my eyebrows questioningly. He nodded affirmatively. I had the girls out of the pool in 2.4 seconds and had Annie out of there before her hysteria could set in.
*************
After the pool, I made an executive decision to eat dinner at Panera since I knew we wouldn't see Jason any time before bedtime. We got there, ordered our food, and found a quiet table. The girls were being adorable with each other and were just happy to be doing something different for dinner. We started to eat our food when, two tables over, a 2 or 3-year-old girl started losing it. Full-on tantrum in the middle of the restaurant. I'm pretty tolerant of minor meltdowns, but the mom (who was with a friend) pretty much ignored it and it went on for a good 15 minutes, at which point the entire restaurant was shooting her pointed looks. Annie had a lot to say about this. Her (loud) comments included:
"Mom, why is that girl crying?"
"Mom, she is making so much noise it's hard to think."
"Well, SOMETHING'S wrong with her."
"Maybe she's SICK."
"Mom, I'm tired of that girl crying. I want her to leave."
Jemma merely pointed, said, "Sad," and nodded at me meaningfully.
*************
This morning, we spent a little time at the bookstore (Annie's request) before heading to get groceries. I made time for a little detour to see the trains and let the girls throw a penny in the fish pond. (Side note: When I asked Annie what she was going to wish for, she said, "To have a baby." When I explained that she could someday in a long, long time, she said, "No, to have a baby right now when I'm a kid." Her back-up, second wish was "To get married" and her third wish, when I pressed her to name something - anything! - that might actually happen, was "To watch a real wedding." I need to get this child some career-woman role models.)
We were kneeling down watching our pennies disappear amongst the fish when who should walk by but SANTA. Apparently he was coming back from a break and was heading to his chair for photos. He kindly stopped to talk to us from across the little fish pond. He and Annie chatted about the weather while Jemma gaped, open-mouthed, until I asked her who it was. "Santa," she whispered.
"And what does Santa say?" I asked.
Right on cue, Santa let out a hearty "Ho Ho Ho!" and Jemma broke into the biggest smile I have ever seen. Later, as we were leaving the fishpond, Annie remarked to herself, "Santa is everywhere."
*************
Today was our niece Marta's first birthday and the girls wanted to call her on the phone. So we called and Trevor held the phone up to Marta's ear while Jemma mumbled "Birthday" and Annie said, "Happy Birthday, Marta!" Then the girls pretended to bake a birthday cake and our after-dinner time was spent pretending that it was each member of the family's birthday in turn. We talk all the time about how it will be Jemma's birthday soon, plus we have a book called "What is Christmas?" where it talks about Christmas being Jesus' birthday, so there is a lot of birthday talk going on in the house lately.
I was putting Jemma to bed tonight and she had chosen two books: Carl Goes Shopping (which we read every. single. day.) and What Is Christmas. When I got to the end, Jemma pointed to the baby lying in the manger and brought it all together for herself: "Baby. Jesus. Birthday. Cake. Jemma. Two." Birthday cake for Jemma and Jesus, coming right up.
*************
After the pool, I made an executive decision to eat dinner at Panera since I knew we wouldn't see Jason any time before bedtime. We got there, ordered our food, and found a quiet table. The girls were being adorable with each other and were just happy to be doing something different for dinner. We started to eat our food when, two tables over, a 2 or 3-year-old girl started losing it. Full-on tantrum in the middle of the restaurant. I'm pretty tolerant of minor meltdowns, but the mom (who was with a friend) pretty much ignored it and it went on for a good 15 minutes, at which point the entire restaurant was shooting her pointed looks. Annie had a lot to say about this. Her (loud) comments included:
"Mom, why is that girl crying?"
"Mom, she is making so much noise it's hard to think."
"Well, SOMETHING'S wrong with her."
"Maybe she's SICK."
"Mom, I'm tired of that girl crying. I want her to leave."
Jemma merely pointed, said, "Sad," and nodded at me meaningfully.
*************
This morning, we spent a little time at the bookstore (Annie's request) before heading to get groceries. I made time for a little detour to see the trains and let the girls throw a penny in the fish pond. (Side note: When I asked Annie what she was going to wish for, she said, "To have a baby." When I explained that she could someday in a long, long time, she said, "No, to have a baby right now when I'm a kid." Her back-up, second wish was "To get married" and her third wish, when I pressed her to name something - anything! - that might actually happen, was "To watch a real wedding." I need to get this child some career-woman role models.)
We were kneeling down watching our pennies disappear amongst the fish when who should walk by but SANTA. Apparently he was coming back from a break and was heading to his chair for photos. He kindly stopped to talk to us from across the little fish pond. He and Annie chatted about the weather while Jemma gaped, open-mouthed, until I asked her who it was. "Santa," she whispered.
"And what does Santa say?" I asked.
Right on cue, Santa let out a hearty "Ho Ho Ho!" and Jemma broke into the biggest smile I have ever seen. Later, as we were leaving the fishpond, Annie remarked to herself, "Santa is everywhere."
*************
Today was our niece Marta's first birthday and the girls wanted to call her on the phone. So we called and Trevor held the phone up to Marta's ear while Jemma mumbled "Birthday" and Annie said, "Happy Birthday, Marta!" Then the girls pretended to bake a birthday cake and our after-dinner time was spent pretending that it was each member of the family's birthday in turn. We talk all the time about how it will be Jemma's birthday soon, plus we have a book called "What is Christmas?" where it talks about Christmas being Jesus' birthday, so there is a lot of birthday talk going on in the house lately.
I was putting Jemma to bed tonight and she had chosen two books: Carl Goes Shopping (which we read every. single. day.) and What Is Christmas. When I got to the end, Jemma pointed to the baby lying in the manger and brought it all together for herself: "Baby. Jesus. Birthday. Cake. Jemma. Two." Birthday cake for Jemma and Jesus, coming right up.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Ballerina
Annie did spectacularly well at her dance recital on Saturday. When we got there, the auditorium was a total zoo (just like the last two recitals): parents with cameras milling everywhere, tiny dancers prancing around and finding their seats, and at least one three-year-old crying on a mommy's shoulder because of the chaos. As we sat in our seats with both sets of grandparents waiting for it all to begin, I got more and more nervous. I kept standing up and contorting my body around to peek at Annie, seated in the back with her class. She'd smile, wave, and bounce around on her seat next to her friend Kate. Not nervous AT ALL.
When it was their turn, she was all concentration and seriousness, tapping earnestly and following Miss Amy before throwing her Santa hat up in the air at the end, on cue. I snuck down to the front row to snap some pictures while she was dancing; she noticed me a few seconds into the song and threw me an embarrassed half-smile, like, MOM, what are you doing there? Can't you see I'm busy DANCING? So cute. So proud. We celebrated by going home, getting burgers from Wealthy Station, and eating in the living room while watching the video of her performance.
On Sunday, Jason's parents took her to see the Nutcracker at DeVos. In preparation for this big event, Jason's mom had sent Annie the book a couple weeks ago so she'd know the story when she was watching the ballet onstage. Unfortunately, the book had a couple very creative, graphic illustrations of The Evil Seven-Headed Rat King, so after the first reading of it, where I tried to gloss over any scariness, Annie's response to me asking, "Want to read The Nutcracker tonight?" was "NOOOOOOOOO THERE'S A SCARY RAT BUNNY IN THAT BOOK!!!!" We were unsure about how she'd do when Scary Rat Bunny was dancing right in front of her. She did great. She was in love with the various princesses and queens and fairy-types. She asked tons of questions about the orchestra. And at one point, when the brother and sister fought over the nutcracker and the brother broke it, the brother went off stage. Annie turned to her grandma and said, "Grandma, where did Frederick go? Is he in a time-out?"
So, my tiny dancer, my little ballerina, when you came up to me at the end of that weekend, asked for a hug, and said, "Mommy, want to squeeze my guts out?" the answer is yes, of course I do.
When it was their turn, she was all concentration and seriousness, tapping earnestly and following Miss Amy before throwing her Santa hat up in the air at the end, on cue. I snuck down to the front row to snap some pictures while she was dancing; she noticed me a few seconds into the song and threw me an embarrassed half-smile, like, MOM, what are you doing there? Can't you see I'm busy DANCING? So cute. So proud. We celebrated by going home, getting burgers from Wealthy Station, and eating in the living room while watching the video of her performance.
On Sunday, Jason's parents took her to see the Nutcracker at DeVos. In preparation for this big event, Jason's mom had sent Annie the book a couple weeks ago so she'd know the story when she was watching the ballet onstage. Unfortunately, the book had a couple very creative, graphic illustrations of The Evil Seven-Headed Rat King, so after the first reading of it, where I tried to gloss over any scariness, Annie's response to me asking, "Want to read The Nutcracker tonight?" was "NOOOOOOOOO THERE'S A SCARY RAT BUNNY IN THAT BOOK!!!!" We were unsure about how she'd do when Scary Rat Bunny was dancing right in front of her. She did great. She was in love with the various princesses and queens and fairy-types. She asked tons of questions about the orchestra. And at one point, when the brother and sister fought over the nutcracker and the brother broke it, the brother went off stage. Annie turned to her grandma and said, "Grandma, where did Frederick go? Is he in a time-out?"
So, my tiny dancer, my little ballerina, when you came up to me at the end of that weekend, asked for a hug, and said, "Mommy, want to squeeze my guts out?" the answer is yes, of course I do.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Twelve Days to Go
and, no, I am not finished Christmas shopping. Mostly, but not completely, because my husband is a difficult person to shop for. There are a few things he wants that are too expensive (new laptop, Nintendo Wii with Guitar Hero); a few things that I do not want us to own (giant coffee grinder which would be one more thing to sit on our kitchen counter, slow cooker); and the boring standards (clothes that he does desperately need, socks, music). Ideas, anyone?
The girls are at a particularly fun age this year - the most fun they've been, yet, at Christmas time, and it's all I can do not to buy up everything in sight for them to open on Christmas morning. Jason took them to see the Christmas trees at Meijer Gardens this morning and they came home full of stories and wonder. I love driving places with them right now (when Annie isn't kicking Jemma, that is), looking in my rearview mirror to see their happy faces bobbing along to Holly Jolly Christmas or Rudolph. (They do not get the concept of "radio" versus "CD" and are constantly asking me to find a certain song on the Christmas station, or to play one "again" that was just on. If I have to explain the impossibility of this one more time . . . .)
In an hour, we'll be down the street at the auditorium, wating for Annie's dance recital to begin. This year, she's tapping to "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and, though she was not really paying attention at all during rehearsal on Thursday, I am sure it will be adorable no matter what. She's been in such a great mood all day, so excited to get up on that stage and tap her heart out in front of a couple hundred strangers. I can't wait. Pictures to come, I promise.
The girls are at a particularly fun age this year - the most fun they've been, yet, at Christmas time, and it's all I can do not to buy up everything in sight for them to open on Christmas morning. Jason took them to see the Christmas trees at Meijer Gardens this morning and they came home full of stories and wonder. I love driving places with them right now (when Annie isn't kicking Jemma, that is), looking in my rearview mirror to see their happy faces bobbing along to Holly Jolly Christmas or Rudolph. (They do not get the concept of "radio" versus "CD" and are constantly asking me to find a certain song on the Christmas station, or to play one "again" that was just on. If I have to explain the impossibility of this one more time . . . .)
In an hour, we'll be down the street at the auditorium, wating for Annie's dance recital to begin. This year, she's tapping to "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and, though she was not really paying attention at all during rehearsal on Thursday, I am sure it will be adorable no matter what. She's been in such a great mood all day, so excited to get up on that stage and tap her heart out in front of a couple hundred strangers. I can't wait. Pictures to come, I promise.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
So Many (Unanswerable) Questions
"Mom, what makes the rain decide to come out of the clouds?"
"I feel like I only see ants during the spring and the summer. Where do they go during the winter? Are they in tunnels underground this road right now???"
"Mom, who do you love the most - me, Jemma, or Daddy? No, not all the same, but (wink, wink) who do you REALLY love the most?"
"Where exactly IS this Winter Wonderland?"
"I feel like I only see ants during the spring and the summer. Where do they go during the winter? Are they in tunnels underground this road right now???"
"Mom, who do you love the most - me, Jemma, or Daddy? No, not all the same, but (wink, wink) who do you REALLY love the most?"
"Where exactly IS this Winter Wonderland?"
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Nine More, For Good Measure
Because I am just so damn interesting (or, because once I started thinking like this in the morning, my brain was coming up with random facts all day and I must get them out - OUT! - of my brain before they drive me crazy):
-My favorite book is Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury, and I read it every year in June as a ritual to kick off summer.
-I have never, not even when I was little, picked my nose and eaten it.
-When I was in middle school and high school, I thought I would totally snag a cool boyfriend if only I was good at volleyball.
-The one food I am unable to eat rationally is Oreo cookies. It is best if I never have them in the house. When Jason occasionally buys them, he hides them from me. Then I search the house until I find them and eat a whole row in 10 minutes.
-I scored a perfect 36 on my ACT verbal. (You can see that's getting me all sorts of high-powered jobs these days.)
-If I were president, the first thing I'd do would be to eliminate NASA (what is the point of it?) and allocate all the money to underprivileged schools.
-Jason and I had two "first kisses" - one on New Year's Eve of my freshman year at Hope, one on our third date in September of the following year.
-I really love to open a new container of something with a seal (like peanut butter or margarine) and be the first to scoop into the smooth, pure surface of it. I get sad if Jason does it. Understandably, he mocks me for this.
-I never tried smoking until a camping trip during my freshman year of college, and then I went all in with a Marlboro Red and passed out on a log.
-My favorite book is Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury, and I read it every year in June as a ritual to kick off summer.
-I have never, not even when I was little, picked my nose and eaten it.
-When I was in middle school and high school, I thought I would totally snag a cool boyfriend if only I was good at volleyball.
-The one food I am unable to eat rationally is Oreo cookies. It is best if I never have them in the house. When Jason occasionally buys them, he hides them from me. Then I search the house until I find them and eat a whole row in 10 minutes.
-I scored a perfect 36 on my ACT verbal. (You can see that's getting me all sorts of high-powered jobs these days.)
-If I were president, the first thing I'd do would be to eliminate NASA (what is the point of it?) and allocate all the money to underprivileged schools.
-Jason and I had two "first kisses" - one on New Year's Eve of my freshman year at Hope, one on our third date in September of the following year.
-I really love to open a new container of something with a seal (like peanut butter or margarine) and be the first to scoop into the smooth, pure surface of it. I get sad if Jason does it. Understandably, he mocks me for this.
-I never tried smoking until a camping trip during my freshman year of college, and then I went all in with a Marlboro Red and passed out on a log.
I've Been Tagged
My friend and neighbor, Sarah, tagged me in a game of blog tag. I have to list six random things about myself, then tag six other bloggers to do the same.
1. When I was little (5th grade?) I fell in love with one of those very tiny toads you see outside in the summer. I named it Pepper and I kept it in a large bucket in our garage for the entire summer. I created a pond out of a Cool-Whip container and a rock-and-grass area off to one side. I killed flies and bugs to feed Pepper daily. I cried when my parents made me let him go at the end of the summer.
2. When I was in Vienna, Austria in 1997, a man with a briefcase came up to me while I was reading on a park bench and asked repeatedly to be allowed to lick my toes. I refused; he got angry and left. (I later saw him doing it to someone else!)
3. I have an overwhelming, irrational fear of vomiting. If I hear of anyone I know being sick with the stomach flu, I immediately begin calculating if we have seen anyone who they have seen within the last 10 days, then I disinfect door handles, light switches, etc. I am not clausterphobic, but I do sometimes get nervous if I am in a really crowded place and can't see a place where I could go if I needed to throw up . . . even if I am feeling 100% fine. I know, crazy.
4. I have had the same best friend for 27 years. I met Connie when we were both four years old and she moved onto my street. Things we have done together include: have a front-yard store selling candy called Are We Over the Rainbow Yet?; have a rock band called Blazing Paradise; play clarinet in the school band; spend whole afternoons eating Pizzeria chips and diet Rite White Grape pop; drive to Florida together; hike a snowy mountain in Wyoming in the rain and, afterwards, sleep in the same sleeping bag together to prevent hypothermia; room together and pledge the same sorority in college; watch Billy Madison almost every afternoon of our freshman year; be maid of honor at one another's weddings; hold one another's children on the day they were born; crack up during yoga class; and talk on the phone pretty much every day. Sometimes twice.
5. I hate Rod Stewart and Gloria Estefan's voices with a passion and can't listen to any song by them for more than 2 seconds.
6. Unless they are things that clearly go together (beef roast and mashed potatoes, turkey and stuffing), I do not like my food to touch on my plate.
So . . . . I'm tagging:
-My sorority sister and friend since freshman year of college, Team Pellow
-My sister-in-law, Pancakes for Breakfast
-My neighbor, Heidi, who hasn't updated her blog since August (with good reason), but who might enjoy doing a fun, easy post at The Kett Family.
-My other neighbor, Shawn, who hasn't updated his blog since August, either, and who owes the neighborhood a little entertainment.
-My friend and her sister, who have a joint blog, and thus count for two people.
1. When I was little (5th grade?) I fell in love with one of those very tiny toads you see outside in the summer. I named it Pepper and I kept it in a large bucket in our garage for the entire summer. I created a pond out of a Cool-Whip container and a rock-and-grass area off to one side. I killed flies and bugs to feed Pepper daily. I cried when my parents made me let him go at the end of the summer.
2. When I was in Vienna, Austria in 1997, a man with a briefcase came up to me while I was reading on a park bench and asked repeatedly to be allowed to lick my toes. I refused; he got angry and left. (I later saw him doing it to someone else!)
3. I have an overwhelming, irrational fear of vomiting. If I hear of anyone I know being sick with the stomach flu, I immediately begin calculating if we have seen anyone who they have seen within the last 10 days, then I disinfect door handles, light switches, etc. I am not clausterphobic, but I do sometimes get nervous if I am in a really crowded place and can't see a place where I could go if I needed to throw up . . . even if I am feeling 100% fine. I know, crazy.
4. I have had the same best friend for 27 years. I met Connie when we were both four years old and she moved onto my street. Things we have done together include: have a front-yard store selling candy called Are We Over the Rainbow Yet?; have a rock band called Blazing Paradise; play clarinet in the school band; spend whole afternoons eating Pizzeria chips and diet Rite White Grape pop; drive to Florida together; hike a snowy mountain in Wyoming in the rain and, afterwards, sleep in the same sleeping bag together to prevent hypothermia; room together and pledge the same sorority in college; watch Billy Madison almost every afternoon of our freshman year; be maid of honor at one another's weddings; hold one another's children on the day they were born; crack up during yoga class; and talk on the phone pretty much every day. Sometimes twice.
5. I hate Rod Stewart and Gloria Estefan's voices with a passion and can't listen to any song by them for more than 2 seconds.
6. Unless they are things that clearly go together (beef roast and mashed potatoes, turkey and stuffing), I do not like my food to touch on my plate.
So . . . . I'm tagging:
-My sorority sister and friend since freshman year of college, Team Pellow
-My sister-in-law, Pancakes for Breakfast
-My neighbor, Heidi, who hasn't updated her blog since August (with good reason), but who might enjoy doing a fun, easy post at The Kett Family.
-My other neighbor, Shawn, who hasn't updated his blog since August, either, and who owes the neighborhood a little entertainment.
-My friend and her sister, who have a joint blog, and thus count for two people.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
24 Hours Alone Together
So yesterday I surprised Jason by driving the kids to my parents' (and, due to the snow situation, this took far longer than it should have) and showing up at his work Christmas lunch. We had a giant, delicious meal with his staff and then went on to enjoy a leisurely afternoon of Christmas shopping, the downtown tree lighting and the art museum, cocktails and sushi at the JW Marriott, and a late dinner in front of the fire.
The girls spent the night at my parents', so we woke up this morning to a quiet house. We made coffee, ate chocolate croissants, addressed Christmas cards, wrapped Christmas presents, watched the Food Network, and organized over a year and a half worth of photos that have been lying around sadly, just waiting to be put in albums.
If this sound magical, it was. It was leisurely, luxurious, relaxing, fun, merry, spontaneous, and festive. None of our activities were planned; we just did what we wanted to do, when we wanted to do it. Not since last August have we had the house to ourselves while the girls were elsewhere, and even then, I was taking a class and Jason was working, so there were no late nights or lazy mornings. It might be the single thing I miss most about pre-children life - the ability to wake up on a Saturday morning (whenever your body wakes you up) and decide what to do with your morning. We still manage, with sitters and generous grandparents, to go out at night plenty. But mornings . . . .
Looking through all the photos as we put them in albums was like watching almost two years of our girl's childhoods fly by in a blink. Look! There's Jemma's baptism. Look! There's Annie's first dance recital. Look! There's brunch at Bay View on the fourth of July. Look! There's Jemma's first birthday. Look! Look!
I know people are always saying (and I'm always concurring) that it all goes by so fast. But for me, truly, it didn't used to. During that first winter of Jemma's life, I did not take kindly to the random strangers in the grocery store who would coo over my children (one of them a newly-sassy two-year-old, one of them a colicky, screechy, spitting-up newborn) and tell me how quickly it goes. IT WAS NOT GOING QUICKLY. And I admit that there were many, many dark days when I woke up in the morning and was filled with only dread at the thought of so many hours at home with them on so little sleep: no preschool, no gym, no dance, no playgroups, no outdoor play. It was literally freezing outside, we didn't really know our neighbors yet, and our pediatrician had scared us silly about letting Jemma be exposed to any germs for the first six weeks of her life. So it was us, inside, all the time.
But now. Now, although I have a few moments almost every day when I wish for my "old life" back - for silly reasons, mostly - those moments are outnumbered a bazillion to one by the moments when I am not only so glad to have them, but glad to be with them.
I talked to them on the phone this morning, their voices all high-pitched and elfin on the phone. In a half hour or so, my parents are going to be back with them. They'll pile in the house with all their bags of gear and clothes and snowsuits and dolls, and we'll eat dinner all together, three generations, and I won't mind the chaos a bit, no matter how magical and completely necessary the last 24 hours have been.
The girls spent the night at my parents', so we woke up this morning to a quiet house. We made coffee, ate chocolate croissants, addressed Christmas cards, wrapped Christmas presents, watched the Food Network, and organized over a year and a half worth of photos that have been lying around sadly, just waiting to be put in albums.
If this sound magical, it was. It was leisurely, luxurious, relaxing, fun, merry, spontaneous, and festive. None of our activities were planned; we just did what we wanted to do, when we wanted to do it. Not since last August have we had the house to ourselves while the girls were elsewhere, and even then, I was taking a class and Jason was working, so there were no late nights or lazy mornings. It might be the single thing I miss most about pre-children life - the ability to wake up on a Saturday morning (whenever your body wakes you up) and decide what to do with your morning. We still manage, with sitters and generous grandparents, to go out at night plenty. But mornings . . . .
Looking through all the photos as we put them in albums was like watching almost two years of our girl's childhoods fly by in a blink. Look! There's Jemma's baptism. Look! There's Annie's first dance recital. Look! There's brunch at Bay View on the fourth of July. Look! There's Jemma's first birthday. Look! Look!
I know people are always saying (and I'm always concurring) that it all goes by so fast. But for me, truly, it didn't used to. During that first winter of Jemma's life, I did not take kindly to the random strangers in the grocery store who would coo over my children (one of them a newly-sassy two-year-old, one of them a colicky, screechy, spitting-up newborn) and tell me how quickly it goes. IT WAS NOT GOING QUICKLY. And I admit that there were many, many dark days when I woke up in the morning and was filled with only dread at the thought of so many hours at home with them on so little sleep: no preschool, no gym, no dance, no playgroups, no outdoor play. It was literally freezing outside, we didn't really know our neighbors yet, and our pediatrician had scared us silly about letting Jemma be exposed to any germs for the first six weeks of her life. So it was us, inside, all the time.
But now. Now, although I have a few moments almost every day when I wish for my "old life" back - for silly reasons, mostly - those moments are outnumbered a bazillion to one by the moments when I am not only so glad to have them, but glad to be with them.
I talked to them on the phone this morning, their voices all high-pitched and elfin on the phone. In a half hour or so, my parents are going to be back with them. They'll pile in the house with all their bags of gear and clothes and snowsuits and dolls, and we'll eat dinner all together, three generations, and I won't mind the chaos a bit, no matter how magical and completely necessary the last 24 hours have been.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
While Watching 30 Rock
Jason: "Want to feel how dry my nipples are?"
Me, promptly: "No thanks."
And that, readers, is my 300th post. Profound.
Me, promptly: "No thanks."
And that, readers, is my 300th post. Profound.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Things She Does
1. Says most two-syllable words with a distinct pause between the syllables: "Hor. Sie." "Pun. Kin." "Ber. It."
2. Sings along to Rudolph with her own unintelligible words until it gets to the part, "Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say," when she does a very animated "Ho! Ho! Ho!" and then wanders off into reminiscing about when she saw Santa at the tree-lighting last week: "Santa. Ho ho ho! Horsies. Tree."
3. Says "Christmas!" excitedly ("Chris. Miss!") anytime she spys a lit tree, outdoor lights, wreaths, Santa, or hears the word "Christmas" in a song on the radio.
4. Asks for "sfruit" at the end of every meal.
5. Wants to stay in the bathtub for as long as possible to "fim."
6. Knows all her colors, recognizes the letter J, and thinks she can write her name with crayon.
7. Says "Eat" the minute we go in to get her out of her crib in the morning.
8. Takes fully five minutes to get her mittens on, but insists on doing it "self."
9. Yells, "Love you!" as we leave the room after tucking her into bed at night.
10. Obviously, has the best nap hair ever.
Secret Agent Josephine Strikes Again
Again, we were inspired by one of my favorite bloggers, SAJ, to create some homemade wrapping paper. She did lemons and limes; we did holly leaves and berries. The girls loved it and it wasn't too messy, considering the paint involved (possibly because I made them take their shirts off).
Monday, December 1, 2008
A Sucker Doesn't Really Make Up For It
After this morning's annoying snow day (annoying because we'd already had a week off school due to Thanksgiving, and doubly annoying because three inches of snow does not make the roads dangerous in Michigan, people), we had an even more annoying afternoon. We had Annie's long-put-off four-year-old well child checkup. Her pediatrician, whom I really love, had a baby at the end of August, so I opted to wait until she was back to do Annie's check so we could have our usual doc. That, and I had heard that the shot situation at this appointment was dreadful, so I was putting it off as long as possible.
The stats: 30 lbs, 6 oz (which is actually the 20th percentile for girls!), 40 inches tall (strangely, 60th percentile for height). Her doctor wanted to make sure she knew all her colors (um, were we talking about Jemma, because if so, YES) and could count to ten. "I can count to a hundred!" Annie interrupted.
Then, the shots. I told Annie before that there would be shots, and she's actually pretty OK about it all. She gets why she has to have them and she talks a good talk on the way there about how it'll just pinch for a minute and then she'll get a sucker when it's over. (The sucker is from me, not the doctor, who I doubt would be super-proud of a dentist's wife rewarding her children with inappropriate candy, but, whatever.)
There were FIVE. Two nurses came in so they could do it together and it would be over faster. And when Annie looked up at me when I got her on my lap and held her arms tightly against my chest, I pretty much wanted to kill myself rather than have to make her go through it. She screamed, and even though they did it as quickly as they could, it took waaaaaay too long. Jemma was sitting on a bench, watching, yelling, "All Done!" optimistically the whole time.
After it was over, they let her pick a super-special prize for kids who have to get FIVE shots in one day, and she chose a pink poodle dog that doubles as a purse. She's sleeping with it right now; its name is Miss Long Legs. And I did indeed give her a sucker for the ride home, plus let her eat chicken noodle soup for dinner in the living room while watching Strawberry Shortcake. She would whimper and look pitiful every once in a while, and I would sit next to her, stroke her hair, and tell her how brave she was. FIVE. Let's not do that again for a very long time.
The stats: 30 lbs, 6 oz (which is actually the 20th percentile for girls!), 40 inches tall (strangely, 60th percentile for height). Her doctor wanted to make sure she knew all her colors (um, were we talking about Jemma, because if so, YES) and could count to ten. "I can count to a hundred!" Annie interrupted.
Then, the shots. I told Annie before that there would be shots, and she's actually pretty OK about it all. She gets why she has to have them and she talks a good talk on the way there about how it'll just pinch for a minute and then she'll get a sucker when it's over. (The sucker is from me, not the doctor, who I doubt would be super-proud of a dentist's wife rewarding her children with inappropriate candy, but, whatever.)
There were FIVE. Two nurses came in so they could do it together and it would be over faster. And when Annie looked up at me when I got her on my lap and held her arms tightly against my chest, I pretty much wanted to kill myself rather than have to make her go through it. She screamed, and even though they did it as quickly as they could, it took waaaaaay too long. Jemma was sitting on a bench, watching, yelling, "All Done!" optimistically the whole time.
After it was over, they let her pick a super-special prize for kids who have to get FIVE shots in one day, and she chose a pink poodle dog that doubles as a purse. She's sleeping with it right now; its name is Miss Long Legs. And I did indeed give her a sucker for the ride home, plus let her eat chicken noodle soup for dinner in the living room while watching Strawberry Shortcake. She would whimper and look pitiful every once in a while, and I would sit next to her, stroke her hair, and tell her how brave she was. FIVE. Let's not do that again for a very long time.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
End of A Long Weekend
The weekend is ending just like it began, with plenty of family time and a big dinner together. Jason just declared tonight "Taco Night" (and - surprise! - Jemma actually ATE IT), and now the girls are downstairs reading books with Jason on the couch in front of a fire. In between Thanksgiving and today, our time was filled with getting our Christmas tree and decorating it; having a fun lunch at The Corner Bar in Rockford; a healthy run at the gym; swimming at the pool this afternoon; lots of cleaning, laundry, and house-decorating; a trip to the farmer's market for windowbox greenery and some Mommy Only shopping time yesterday afternoon; spontaneously taking Annie to a children's production of Twas The Night Before Christmas ballet at St. Cecelia's downtown (and subsequently waiting in line while she met Santa Claus and told him what she wanted for Christmas, which - Christmas miracle - I had just ordered online that morning); and a rousing grown-up Game Night with friends last night, which I thoroughly enjoyed despite my lack of love for most board games.
I admit, as we enter into the darkest, coldest, most challenging time of year for being a stay-at-home-mom (or parent of any type, really), that some days I cringe at the thought of all the holiday busyness and post-holiday crappy lull; at the germ potential lurking at each indoor location we frequent; at the thought of weeks and months of struggling to get two fully begloved, behatted, boot-wearing, coats-zipped children out the door into a car that needs to be brushed off. I wonder when Annie will stop asking me "Which coat?" when we're getting ready to leave the house and then dissolving into a pile on the floor when I say, "The puffy one." (Memo to Annie: It's winter. I'm going to be saying "the puffy one" for at least three or four more months; get used to it. And while we're on the subject, the answer to your question about your Crocs is a definitive NO, so stop asking about that, too.) I wonder, too, when I might be able to stop ending my phone conversations with Connie with a variation of the phrase: "I have to go; Jemma is (destroying a library book; coloring in the playroom with a Sharpie; climbing the dining room table . . . . )."
Today, though, was full of Christmas music, lazy coffee drinking, gleeful children showing off their pool bravery, and now a cozy fire in a house that smells like pine tree. I'm going to tuck my girls in bed, address some Christmas cards, and enjoy the gorgeous newfallen snow. Now. Before my hatred of winter has time to get the best of me.
I admit, as we enter into the darkest, coldest, most challenging time of year for being a stay-at-home-mom (or parent of any type, really), that some days I cringe at the thought of all the holiday busyness and post-holiday crappy lull; at the germ potential lurking at each indoor location we frequent; at the thought of weeks and months of struggling to get two fully begloved, behatted, boot-wearing, coats-zipped children out the door into a car that needs to be brushed off. I wonder when Annie will stop asking me "Which coat?" when we're getting ready to leave the house and then dissolving into a pile on the floor when I say, "The puffy one." (Memo to Annie: It's winter. I'm going to be saying "the puffy one" for at least three or four more months; get used to it. And while we're on the subject, the answer to your question about your Crocs is a definitive NO, so stop asking about that, too.) I wonder, too, when I might be able to stop ending my phone conversations with Connie with a variation of the phrase: "I have to go; Jemma is (destroying a library book; coloring in the playroom with a Sharpie; climbing the dining room table . . . . )."
Today, though, was full of Christmas music, lazy coffee drinking, gleeful children showing off their pool bravery, and now a cozy fire in a house that smells like pine tree. I'm going to tuck my girls in bed, address some Christmas cards, and enjoy the gorgeous newfallen snow. Now. Before my hatred of winter has time to get the best of me.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thankfulness, Belated, In No Particular Order
Yesterday was full of cooking, transporting, eating, child-wrangling, and gathering with my mom's side of the family in Holland. No time to blog. So a few things I'm thankful for on the day after Thanksgiving:
1. My mom, whose birthday it was yesterday. Yes, she does little things that drive me crazy (asks my children every time she sees them if they're warm enough, calls me once a week with a literal list of questions/issues to fire at me, considers Jello a nutritious side dish to serve my family, wears her jeans two inches too short), but she really is amazing, in a low-key, unassuming way. No flash, no drama, just genuine love and support. She's one of the few people I know who really does manage to give advice only when it's asked for, who does kind and thoughtful things for others for all the right reasons, who strikes a perfect balance between being a parent and a friend now that I'm a grown-up. She taught me to be independent, compassionate, and practical; she lives her most-often-given advice: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." And yes, these words now come out of my mouth as a gift to my eldest daughter, too.
2. My now 23-month-old Jemma, who only has one more month left of being one year old. Yesterday she refused to nap for the first time in her life despite all my best efforts. I finally went in to lie down with her, knowing she wasn't happy about being in a Pack and Play in a strange bedroom. We laid on the bed together and I tried to soothe her and talk her into laying down her head. "Light!" she said. "Clock!" "Telephone. Get it. Get it." "Arm!" "Mommy arm. Daddy? Annie night-night?" "Eat.Eat.Eat." she chirped. I gave up. We went back upstairs to play with cousins and eat apple crisp. And surprisingly, she didn't have a giant meltdown later in the afternoon. So big, my little Jemma.
3. Annie, of course, who came up to me spontaneously yesterday and said, "Mommy, I love you so much." We are hard on each other sometimes, so it was good to hear that.
4. Coffee, in all its forms.
5. Being surrounded by such a great community of friends, neighbors, and family. Jason and I watched a documentary about Grand Rapids on PBS on Wednesday night and, while there are surely many more interesting and diverse places to live, we feel like we've found just the right place for us and we were inspired to find more ways to participate and give back to our community the way that so many others are doing.
6. Finding a pair of cute green cords at J. Crew marked down to $29.99 and then marked 30% off the sale price. Bargain! I wore them yesterday.
7. Our gym, which I might as well call "our pool" because I now officially go there more frequently to swim with the girls than to work out. I love being able to pack them up on a yucky November day and take them someplace warm and fun. Bonus: that chlorine kills all the winter kid germs, right? Bonus: Annie is getting braver and braver; maybe she'll teach herself how to swim and we can save some money on lessons?
8. This four-day weekend, with enough time for getting a Christmas tree, playing games with friends, eating, shopping, working out, sleeping, watching Christmas movies, and generally getting into the spirit of the holidays even more.
Off to chop down an unsuspecting pine tree!
1. My mom, whose birthday it was yesterday. Yes, she does little things that drive me crazy (asks my children every time she sees them if they're warm enough, calls me once a week with a literal list of questions/issues to fire at me, considers Jello a nutritious side dish to serve my family, wears her jeans two inches too short), but she really is amazing, in a low-key, unassuming way. No flash, no drama, just genuine love and support. She's one of the few people I know who really does manage to give advice only when it's asked for, who does kind and thoughtful things for others for all the right reasons, who strikes a perfect balance between being a parent and a friend now that I'm a grown-up. She taught me to be independent, compassionate, and practical; she lives her most-often-given advice: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." And yes, these words now come out of my mouth as a gift to my eldest daughter, too.
2. My now 23-month-old Jemma, who only has one more month left of being one year old. Yesterday she refused to nap for the first time in her life despite all my best efforts. I finally went in to lie down with her, knowing she wasn't happy about being in a Pack and Play in a strange bedroom. We laid on the bed together and I tried to soothe her and talk her into laying down her head. "Light!" she said. "Clock!" "Telephone. Get it. Get it." "Arm!" "Mommy arm. Daddy? Annie night-night?" "Eat.Eat.Eat." she chirped. I gave up. We went back upstairs to play with cousins and eat apple crisp. And surprisingly, she didn't have a giant meltdown later in the afternoon. So big, my little Jemma.
3. Annie, of course, who came up to me spontaneously yesterday and said, "Mommy, I love you so much." We are hard on each other sometimes, so it was good to hear that.
4. Coffee, in all its forms.
5. Being surrounded by such a great community of friends, neighbors, and family. Jason and I watched a documentary about Grand Rapids on PBS on Wednesday night and, while there are surely many more interesting and diverse places to live, we feel like we've found just the right place for us and we were inspired to find more ways to participate and give back to our community the way that so many others are doing.
6. Finding a pair of cute green cords at J. Crew marked down to $29.99 and then marked 30% off the sale price. Bargain! I wore them yesterday.
7. Our gym, which I might as well call "our pool" because I now officially go there more frequently to swim with the girls than to work out. I love being able to pack them up on a yucky November day and take them someplace warm and fun. Bonus: that chlorine kills all the winter kid germs, right? Bonus: Annie is getting braver and braver; maybe she'll teach herself how to swim and we can save some money on lessons?
8. This four-day weekend, with enough time for getting a Christmas tree, playing games with friends, eating, shopping, working out, sleeping, watching Christmas movies, and generally getting into the spirit of the holidays even more.
Off to chop down an unsuspecting pine tree!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
From Preschool to College
Annie woke up yesterday morning at 5:45. When Jason left for work at 7:00, she threw a half-hour-long fit because, "I WANT DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY! GET OUT OF HERE! I WANT DADDY!" Nothing like starting the week off with a big, pointless battle and feeling like the no-fun parent.
************************
At school, also yesterday, her class had a Thanksgiving "feast," which parents were invited to but which I wasn't able to attend because it was a No Siblings Allowed situation and I had no plan for Jemma. So I dropped Annie off, promised I'd be at the Gingerbread Party in December, and came back at 11:20 to find her - surprise! - still eating. She was the last one still sitting at the table, methodically eating every little morsel of food on her plate. She is routinely the last one done with snack, I know, but this was literally like Thanksgiving dinner and it was clearly going to take her another fifteen minutes or so to finish. I sat down. I talked to her teachers. I started gathering up all her Thanksgiving-themed art projects from the week before and shoving them into her bag.
Miss Jenny was taking down a bulletin board full of little construction paper handprints. "Here's Annie's; you can take it home." She handed it to me. It said, "Annie is thankful for her mom."
Then I looked at the laminated placemat Annie was eating on, one she had made on another day. It said the same thing.
**************************
This morning, Annie had a make-up dance class. (Miss Amy, her teacher, had to miss the first week of scheduled classes in September because she hurt her back, so she rescheduled the session for today.) For the first half, during ballet, Annie was completely off-task - running around, crawling on the floor and barking, tickling the other girls, not paying attention at all. I was out in the lobby, watching, wanting to march in there and drag her out. When she came out to change into her tap shoes, I offered her the choice of putting tap shoes on and staying to be a good listener or putting boots on and going home. She chose to stay and proceeded to wow me with twenty solid minutes of near-perfect dance. They were practicing for their upcoming recital (dancing to I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus) and she was amazing. Later, she explained to me that it wasn't really a make-up class, because they didn't wear any make-up.
The rest of today, we stayed inside. Jemma took a nap and Annie played with her jewelry and hair accessories before coming to find me when her rest time was up. I was lying in my bed, reading. She climbed in with me and we somehow started talking about school, and how she'd eventually go for the whole day and even eat lunch there. She started rattling off the grades - "And then I'll be in first grade, and then second grade, and then . . . ." and I explained how after fifth grade she'd go to middle school, and after middle school she'd go to high school. She was rapt with attention, her eyes big.
"And THEN what???"
"And then you'll go to college."
"Where will college be?" she asked.
"I don't know. Wherever you decide you want to go."
"And I'll live there? And eat lunch there?" She seemed thrilled by this possibility.
"Yep," I said. "And you'll meet lots of new people and make new friends and learn so many things."
"But can I come home if you invite me?" she asked. And I know she asked that because we've been trying to explain lately how you have to be invited to play at friend's houses and not just call them up and ask to come over, but suddenly real tears were rolling down my cheeks. Talking about it that way made it seem like it's all going to go by so fast, in a snap, and then I'll have a daughter who may or may not deign to visit me at Thanksgiving, crash at our house for part of a summer.
After that, we played college. She put some books in her backpack and drove away on the Wiggles red car. She called me on her pink princess cell phone, and I invited her to come home for Thanksgiving. She accepted. She did not bring home a carful of laundry.
********************
While we waited for our peanut butter cookies to bake before dinner, Annie drew with crayons at the dining room table. I was washing dishes and could hear her singing The ABC's to herself. "A, B, C, D, E" and then she'd stop. A second later: "A, B, C, D, E, F" and she'd stop again. Each time, she'd add one more letter. When I went to see what she'd drawn, I saw why she'd been singing that particular song to herself.
Practicing for Thanksgiving . . . ?
Hoping that actual Coke will shoot out of this play pop bottle.
All dressed up for the big Thanksgiving meal.
Oh, for dessert I just whipped up some peanut butter cookies while wearing my pink spangled dress and a tiara.
What? Stop judging my nap hair.
Doesn't everyone clean up Thanksgiving dinner by vacuuming while wearing a Snow White costume, a plastic rosary, and striped Hello Kitty socks?
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Lazy Sunday Morning
We spent all day yesterday hosting two sets of friends, one for lunch and the horrid Michigan game, the other couple for dinner after the girls went to bed. The great thing about hanging out with our friends who don't have their own children is that we get to talk about all sorts of other, interesting things and get out of parent mode for a little bit. The not-as-great thing about it is that, because they don't have kids, they want to do things like just watch football on the couch all afternoon or stay at our house until 11:30 p.m. because nobody is going to wake them up at 6:30 a.m. the next morning.
So I'm a little exhausted, I have a sink full of dirty dishes, and Annie did wake me up at 6:30 this morning. That's when I made the executive decision that we'd be skipping church today. Instead, I bundled us up (Jason and Jemma were still sleeping) and took her to the coffee shop because we're out of espresso. On the way there, I looked back and saw her staring dreamily out the window with a little half-smile on her face.
"What are you smiling about?" I asked.
"I was just thinking . . . when we get home, I'll drink my vanilla milk and then I'll play wedding girl with Daddy and then I'll give him a big kiss when we get married."
"So you were just thinking about how much you love Daddy?"
She smiled. "Yeah."
"He's a pretty great Daddy," I said."
She smiled again. "Yeah." Pause. "Except when he goes to Costco!"
So I'm a little exhausted, I have a sink full of dirty dishes, and Annie did wake me up at 6:30 this morning. That's when I made the executive decision that we'd be skipping church today. Instead, I bundled us up (Jason and Jemma were still sleeping) and took her to the coffee shop because we're out of espresso. On the way there, I looked back and saw her staring dreamily out the window with a little half-smile on her face.
"What are you smiling about?" I asked.
"I was just thinking . . . when we get home, I'll drink my vanilla milk and then I'll play wedding girl with Daddy and then I'll give him a big kiss when we get married."
"So you were just thinking about how much you love Daddy?"
She smiled. "Yeah."
"He's a pretty great Daddy," I said."
She smiled again. "Yeah." Pause. "Except when he goes to Costco!"
Friday, November 21, 2008
GM Employee's Daughter
My mom and I were talking on the phone this week about layoffs at her company, the general state of the economy, and what might happen to my dad's retirement pension and health care if GM goes bankrupt. My dad worked there for thirty-some odd years - his whole working life - and I never remember him missing a day of work. My parents have never had lots of extra money, but somehow there was always enough to take family vacations, buy me my first car, help with college tuition, and pay for my wedding.
Why? Because my parents do not waste money. They do not eat out very much; they do not buy trendy clothes; they do not go to Starbucks; they do not fly often; they do not buy anything without doing a lot of research and coupon-gathering. Things they do include: rinse out and re-use plastic ziploc baggies; wear clothes until they aren't nice enough to wear anymore, not just until they go out of style; cook simple things from scratch; knit; sew; take care of their own lawn; pay all their bills on time; pay their debt off early; save their money.
So when my mom and I were talking, I was thinking two things. First, I was thinking that the auto companies have messed up - paid their executives WAAAAAY too much for waaaay too long, fought fuel-efficiency standards with lobbyists at every turn, shipped jobs overseas to pay cheaper wages - and don't deserve to be bailed out. If you're a company, you take a risk. If you win, you win; if you lose, you lose. Right?
But then I was thinking, what will happen to all those people? My dad, other people's dads, single moms, whole families who will lose their health insurance and their income and their retirement funds, all at once. I wonder if the beautiful, exceptional school I once taught at and still love will even be able to keep its doors open? I wonder what will happen to Detroit, to Michigan?
I was torn.
Two days later, I read this amazing post that says it all so much better than I could even think it. If nothing else, it's another perspective on the situation. And no matter what, it's given me another chance to stop and be so incredibly grateful for the things - material and not - that my dad and mom have given to me by raising me the way they did.
Why? Because my parents do not waste money. They do not eat out very much; they do not buy trendy clothes; they do not go to Starbucks; they do not fly often; they do not buy anything without doing a lot of research and coupon-gathering. Things they do include: rinse out and re-use plastic ziploc baggies; wear clothes until they aren't nice enough to wear anymore, not just until they go out of style; cook simple things from scratch; knit; sew; take care of their own lawn; pay all their bills on time; pay their debt off early; save their money.
So when my mom and I were talking, I was thinking two things. First, I was thinking that the auto companies have messed up - paid their executives WAAAAAY too much for waaaay too long, fought fuel-efficiency standards with lobbyists at every turn, shipped jobs overseas to pay cheaper wages - and don't deserve to be bailed out. If you're a company, you take a risk. If you win, you win; if you lose, you lose. Right?
But then I was thinking, what will happen to all those people? My dad, other people's dads, single moms, whole families who will lose their health insurance and their income and their retirement funds, all at once. I wonder if the beautiful, exceptional school I once taught at and still love will even be able to keep its doors open? I wonder what will happen to Detroit, to Michigan?
I was torn.
Two days later, I read this amazing post that says it all so much better than I could even think it. If nothing else, it's another perspective on the situation. And no matter what, it's given me another chance to stop and be so incredibly grateful for the things - material and not - that my dad and mom have given to me by raising me the way they did.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Home From a Poetry Reading
I want to sneak into your room at night
sit on the edge of your bed
watch you sleep
your nightlight tilted on its side
an orange glow on your cheek
notice how your profile
looks just the same as it did in your ultrasound picture
four years ago
just the same.
sit on the edge of your bed
watch you sleep
your nightlight tilted on its side
an orange glow on your cheek
notice how your profile
looks just the same as it did in your ultrasound picture
four years ago
just the same.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Homeschooling
Don't underestimate the ability of a former 2nd grade teacher to pull off some crafty projects with her own kids these days. Yesterday afternoon, we had fun with some clear glass ornaments and acrylic paint, squirting various Christmas colors inside and then rolling them around on newspaper to coat the insides with stripes and swirls. Good grandparent Christmas presents, no? We had fun doing it.
This afternoon, I used all my little-kid-party-throwing experience to host a short-but-sweet neighborhood cookie party. The theme was pink and blue, as in, "Will Miss Heidi's baby be a boy or a girl?" The kids frosted and decorated their cookies with pink and blue toppings, the mommies drank champage or coffee, and Miss Heidi revealed that Jonathan will be having a brother in April. We're so excited for them! And tired, after having the whole neighborhood inside our house for just an hour. (I'll be vacuuming up little pink and blue sprinkles for a few days, I think.)
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Dear Santa,
I have been very, very good this year. In addition to the things I have already asked you for in the list that is posted on the refrigerator:
-doll whose hair I can do
-Sleeping Beauty wedding dress
-wedding shoes
-pretend Baby Bjorn
-kitty in a purse from the bookstore
-a baby that talks or cries
-a big dollhouse with lots of furniture
-Cinderella necklace, like the one I got Ava for her birthday
-flavored chapsticks
I would also like one of everything that is in the FAO Schwartz catalog that came to my house yesterday. (Remember, I have been very, very good. I never call anyone "poopy" or kick my sister in the face because she is hogging the etch-a-sketch or jump on the couch or hide when it is time to have a bath or . . . . Nope. I don't do any of that.)
And because I don't want to share any of it with my pesky little sister, I would actually like two of everything, so that she can have her own Madame Alexander dolls, Vera Wang Special Edition Bride Barbie, giant $500 train sets, triple strollers, Fancy Nancy dolls, and everything else.
Also one of every American Girl Doll from the catalog that my mom tried to sneak into the recycling pile a few weeks ago but which I found and clutched to my bosom for 3 days straight.
Only 37 days 'till Christmas!
Sincerely,
ANNiE
-doll whose hair I can do
-Sleeping Beauty wedding dress
-wedding shoes
-pretend Baby Bjorn
-kitty in a purse from the bookstore
-a baby that talks or cries
-a big dollhouse with lots of furniture
-Cinderella necklace, like the one I got Ava for her birthday
-flavored chapsticks
I would also like one of everything that is in the FAO Schwartz catalog that came to my house yesterday. (Remember, I have been very, very good. I never call anyone "poopy" or kick my sister in the face because she is hogging the etch-a-sketch or jump on the couch or hide when it is time to have a bath or . . . . Nope. I don't do any of that.)
And because I don't want to share any of it with my pesky little sister, I would actually like two of everything, so that she can have her own Madame Alexander dolls, Vera Wang Special Edition Bride Barbie, giant $500 train sets, triple strollers, Fancy Nancy dolls, and everything else.
Also one of every American Girl Doll from the catalog that my mom tried to sneak into the recycling pile a few weeks ago but which I found and clutched to my bosom for 3 days straight.
Only 37 days 'till Christmas!
Sincerely,
ANNiE
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Because I Like to Redistribute the Wealth
. . . or maybe just share the hilariousness . . . whatever. I saw the link long, long ago on another friend's blog, and for the longest time, I didn't click through on it purely because I didn't like the word "fug." It's an icky word, right?
But then for whatever reason - boredom, children to ignore, a luxurious 20 minutes to myself - I clicked on it one day a week or two ago, and now I am totally, completely hooked. When I am grouchy, sad, or fixated on some Real Life Problem, it takes about five minutes of this to noticeably cheer me up. I am not into tabloids, I do not watch trashy reality TV, I have no idea who half the people on the cover of US Weekly are, and yet: trust me. This, like the Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate at Starbucks, will change your life.
You're welcome.
But then for whatever reason - boredom, children to ignore, a luxurious 20 minutes to myself - I clicked on it one day a week or two ago, and now I am totally, completely hooked. When I am grouchy, sad, or fixated on some Real Life Problem, it takes about five minutes of this to noticeably cheer me up. I am not into tabloids, I do not watch trashy reality TV, I have no idea who half the people on the cover of US Weekly are, and yet: trust me. This, like the Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate at Starbucks, will change your life.
You're welcome.
GRAM
It snowed this morning in a pretty, harmless way, blanketing the yards with a lovely white but melting on the pavement so as not to be icy and scary. We stopped at Kava House for coffee after church and then drove all around Heritage Hill and the fancier parts of our town, generally feeling cozy and wintry in spite of the fact that the girls spent much of that time arguing over every possible topic (A: "It's cold." J: "Nuh-uh" A: "Yes IT IS!" etc. because they can really argue about anything. It's like a sport for them).
By this afternoon, it was less pretty and cozy, more ugly and rainy. I read my Parents' Magazine while Jemma napped and Annie tried on one million "accessories" in her bedroom during quiet time, then decided that I needed to do something uplifting and interesting with my afternoon instead of watching The Food Network, half-doing various cleaning projects, and being annoyed with bored, aimless children. So I took Annie to the art museum.
She'd never been there before, so I explained how it was a place where only grown-ups and big girls get to go, how you have to look with your eyes and not touch, how it would be just like in the Olivia book. I let her wear some lip gloss. She carried her spangly purse.
When we got there, two women were playing classical piano duets and Annie was instantly mesmerized. She wanted to sit down and watch, so we did, and she swung her legs in time to the music. Then we wandered around, holding hands and talking about some of the art. She wanted nothing to do with the photography exhibit. She loved the giant, modern art pieces best. She asked me lots of questions about portraits ("Mom, why does that girl look sad?" about a Cassatt, "What is WRONG with that face?" about a Picasso). She sat right down on the second floor, crossed her legs, and watched the piano concert through the glass balcony. I sat next to her and admired her poise.
But if you asked her what her favorite thing was, she would say it was the gift shop. We sat in the kids section of it for at least half an hour, paging through books about artists, playing with the soft baby toys, admiring the design of almost everything. I told her she could pick one thing to bring home for herself and one for Jemma. And then she found them: the scented pencils. It's funny, because there really couldn't be a more perfect gift for a girl who both loves to draw and loves to SMELL THINGS. And I had just read about them (maybe in my Parents' Magazine?) and thought it would be a fun stocking stuffer for her. She smelled every single scent and finally chose Candy Cane for herself and Sugar Cookie for Jemma ("because her cheeks smell like cookies"). I scored a couple teacher gifts for Christmas, and our art museum outing was complete.
By this afternoon, it was less pretty and cozy, more ugly and rainy. I read my Parents' Magazine while Jemma napped and Annie tried on one million "accessories" in her bedroom during quiet time, then decided that I needed to do something uplifting and interesting with my afternoon instead of watching The Food Network, half-doing various cleaning projects, and being annoyed with bored, aimless children. So I took Annie to the art museum.
She'd never been there before, so I explained how it was a place where only grown-ups and big girls get to go, how you have to look with your eyes and not touch, how it would be just like in the Olivia book. I let her wear some lip gloss. She carried her spangly purse.
When we got there, two women were playing classical piano duets and Annie was instantly mesmerized. She wanted to sit down and watch, so we did, and she swung her legs in time to the music. Then we wandered around, holding hands and talking about some of the art. She wanted nothing to do with the photography exhibit. She loved the giant, modern art pieces best. She asked me lots of questions about portraits ("Mom, why does that girl look sad?" about a Cassatt, "What is WRONG with that face?" about a Picasso). She sat right down on the second floor, crossed her legs, and watched the piano concert through the glass balcony. I sat next to her and admired her poise.
But if you asked her what her favorite thing was, she would say it was the gift shop. We sat in the kids section of it for at least half an hour, paging through books about artists, playing with the soft baby toys, admiring the design of almost everything. I told her she could pick one thing to bring home for herself and one for Jemma. And then she found them: the scented pencils. It's funny, because there really couldn't be a more perfect gift for a girl who both loves to draw and loves to SMELL THINGS. And I had just read about them (maybe in my Parents' Magazine?) and thought it would be a fun stocking stuffer for her. She smelled every single scent and finally chose Candy Cane for herself and Sugar Cookie for Jemma ("because her cheeks smell like cookies"). I scored a couple teacher gifts for Christmas, and our art museum outing was complete.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Playing the Odds
Jemma has been semi-interested in The Potty for months now. (I assume this stems from her desire to be like Annie in all possible ways because I surely do not want to "do" potty training again just yet. I'm still worn out from the last time.) Once or twice a day, she heads into the bathroom and says, "Paahtaaaay!" and I say, "Really? Why don't you just go in your diaper?" and she says, "Chair! Chair!" and tries to put the potty-training seat on the toilet by herself. So I stop what I'm doing, put the damn seat on, and take off her pants and diaper.
She sits proudly, happily on the seat for between 5 and 10 seconds. Nothing ever happens, not ever, not in at least 100 times of her sitting on the seat. She smiles, yells, "All done! Wipe!" and unrolls half the roll of toilet paper and tries to shove it down the potty seat hole. I am no longer amused by any of this, but I feel like I must indulge her.
So the other night, I got her naked and put her in the tub. "Paahtaaay!" She looked at me expectantly. I looked at her, all wet and slippery and thought for one second of scooping her out and putting her on the toilet. But I didn't believe her because, again, she's never, ever actually done anything while she's on there.
"Potty?" I asked. "Really?"
"Paaahtaaay."
"Just go in the tub then," I said, calling her bluff. And instantly, she squatted in the water and turned it yellow.
She sits proudly, happily on the seat for between 5 and 10 seconds. Nothing ever happens, not ever, not in at least 100 times of her sitting on the seat. She smiles, yells, "All done! Wipe!" and unrolls half the roll of toilet paper and tries to shove it down the potty seat hole. I am no longer amused by any of this, but I feel like I must indulge her.
So the other night, I got her naked and put her in the tub. "Paahtaaay!" She looked at me expectantly. I looked at her, all wet and slippery and thought for one second of scooping her out and putting her on the toilet. But I didn't believe her because, again, she's never, ever actually done anything while she's on there.
"Potty?" I asked. "Really?"
"Paaahtaaay."
"Just go in the tub then," I said, calling her bluff. And instantly, she squatted in the water and turned it yellow.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Lucky
I have now officially become one of those moms who forces her children to be outside any time the weather is not downright terrible. Of course, this summer and fall it was glorious and we were out for lots of hours every day - walking places, at the park, at the pool, in the sprinkler, riding bikes and scooters - but now that it's sort of winter, I'm still at it. Only, my standards have fallen. This morning, for example, I took advantage of the approximately 7 minutes of sunshine after dropping Annie off at school by popping Jemma into the jogging stroller and getting in a decent run. Now, anytime it's over 40 degrees and not technically raining (even if the sky is black and everything is wet because it was previously raining), I'm all "Hey! It's nice out! Let's go play outside!"
Yesterday, this got me into trouble.
I heard Jemma wake up from her nap ridiculously early (before 2:00), and I knew that Annie had never fallen asleep in her room, so I switched on The Weather Channel (old lady, I know) to confirm if what looked like semi-sunny, semi-warm conditions were, indeed, going to continue throughout the afternoon. And right there on the radar, it showed South Haven, location of our much-loved vacation home. (Ahem.) Next, it showed the seven-day forecast, which featured a daily dose of ever-colder temperatures combined with rain and snow. My brain went into overdrive, and in less than a minute, I had convinced myself that it would be an awesome idea to pack up the girls, jet down to South Haven, and do all the raking that needed to be done before the snow sets in. Why waste a perfectly good Saturday dragging the whole family down there to do it in the sleet? I would just throw a few things in the car (rake, soccer balls, snacks), pop the girls in, and be back in time for dinner.
We were there by 3:00 and the skies were indeed sunny. I brought the girls to the backyard, where they were delighted by the swingset for the first fifteen minutes. I began raking - tons and tons of wet, heavy, rotting leaves - and quickly realized that I should have brought many other things along: gloves, crappy shoes and pants, a sheet, another adult, perhaps a leaf-blower . . . . yeah, I was that desperate. When I found myself standing knee-deep in a giant pile of leaves that represented about 1/5 of the backyard, I switched my plan. I decided I'd rake the backyard leaves into a giant pile on the old garden and just leave them there to rot. Then I'd focus on the front yard and rake all those leaves to the curb.
So I'm raking, furiously raking, and I'm sweating and my socks are trashed and I'm wishing I'd changed out of my favorite jeans or at least brought along something else, but I'm just not organized like that. Instead of traditional raking, I'm doing a move where I stand in the middle of the giant pile I've made and use my rake like a golf club to fling the leaves forward, slowly moving the entire pile towards the front yard. I'm thinking it's a great core workout. I'm getting a blister on my right thumb. I'm making progress, but I'm stopping every five minutes or so because:
Annie touched squirrel poop;
Annie needs to go in the house to pee;
Annie took Jemma's ball away and ran around the yard with it until Jemma cried;
Annie won't push Jemma on the swing;
Annie won't share the pretzels with Jemma;
Annie thinks it's funny to lock herself in the front porch and scream at me from inside;
Annie is trying to get Jemma to go play underneath the deck.
I finally reached my breaking point with Annie. I threw my rake down and marched to get her off the front steps, intending to put her in her carseat for a time-out until she could leave Jemma alone and/or listen to me. But as I was turning to carry her down the steps, my shoe slid on a wet leaf and I started to fall forward. I staggered, pulling Annie's head in toward my chest, and managed to land in a crouch position, my left leg bent, my right knee coming down squarely on the cement. Those jeans? My favorites? They have a hole in them, now. (I do have a few designer Citizens of Humanity fibers stuck in my knee today, though, amid the scabs, so I guess I can think of them as being a part of me from now on . . .)
I managed to finish the front yard, sort of, and decided around 5:00 to leave one whole swath of back yard untouched because the girls were All Done. As I was literally throwing things back into the Subaru, I was so frustrated - fuming, feeling sorry for myself, upset with Annie, and, yes, still pissed about my jeans. My knee hurt, I was thirsty, I was hungry, and I was mad at myself for thinking that any of this would be a good idea.
We stopped at my parents' for dinner, which was very brief but also very calming, and I brought the girls home and tucked them in. While I waited for The Office to start, I leafed through a recent O Magazine (because, again, I'm an old lady), and was brought up short by an article by Martha Beck. She started off by relating how hard it is for her to summon sympathy when others complain to her of "First World problems." (Her examples were a delay in scheduling cosmetic surgery and the difficulty in finding a good lawn service.) And I realized, that's what I have: First World problems. It's hard to find time to do the yardwork at our other house? I put a hole in my fancy, expensive jeans? My pre-schooler is acting like a pre-schooler?
It was a little wake-up call, and I'm hoping it might get me to stop complaining so much about the little things. There are bigger things; there are people who are struggling every day with things I've never had to face and probably never will. I'm still going to get annoyed with things, but I'm going to try to have more perspective on what my problems are (small), and what real problems are (big).
So I tended my wounds with Hershey Kisses, a good beer, and an hour of Thursday night TV. Today, I have blisters on my hand, but I am inside with my family on a chilly November night, and I have everything I really need, and more.
Yesterday, this got me into trouble.
I heard Jemma wake up from her nap ridiculously early (before 2:00), and I knew that Annie had never fallen asleep in her room, so I switched on The Weather Channel (old lady, I know) to confirm if what looked like semi-sunny, semi-warm conditions were, indeed, going to continue throughout the afternoon. And right there on the radar, it showed South Haven, location of our much-loved vacation home. (Ahem.) Next, it showed the seven-day forecast, which featured a daily dose of ever-colder temperatures combined with rain and snow. My brain went into overdrive, and in less than a minute, I had convinced myself that it would be an awesome idea to pack up the girls, jet down to South Haven, and do all the raking that needed to be done before the snow sets in. Why waste a perfectly good Saturday dragging the whole family down there to do it in the sleet? I would just throw a few things in the car (rake, soccer balls, snacks), pop the girls in, and be back in time for dinner.
We were there by 3:00 and the skies were indeed sunny. I brought the girls to the backyard, where they were delighted by the swingset for the first fifteen minutes. I began raking - tons and tons of wet, heavy, rotting leaves - and quickly realized that I should have brought many other things along: gloves, crappy shoes and pants, a sheet, another adult, perhaps a leaf-blower . . . . yeah, I was that desperate. When I found myself standing knee-deep in a giant pile of leaves that represented about 1/5 of the backyard, I switched my plan. I decided I'd rake the backyard leaves into a giant pile on the old garden and just leave them there to rot. Then I'd focus on the front yard and rake all those leaves to the curb.
So I'm raking, furiously raking, and I'm sweating and my socks are trashed and I'm wishing I'd changed out of my favorite jeans or at least brought along something else, but I'm just not organized like that. Instead of traditional raking, I'm doing a move where I stand in the middle of the giant pile I've made and use my rake like a golf club to fling the leaves forward, slowly moving the entire pile towards the front yard. I'm thinking it's a great core workout. I'm getting a blister on my right thumb. I'm making progress, but I'm stopping every five minutes or so because:
Annie touched squirrel poop;
Annie needs to go in the house to pee;
Annie took Jemma's ball away and ran around the yard with it until Jemma cried;
Annie won't push Jemma on the swing;
Annie won't share the pretzels with Jemma;
Annie thinks it's funny to lock herself in the front porch and scream at me from inside;
Annie is trying to get Jemma to go play underneath the deck.
I finally reached my breaking point with Annie. I threw my rake down and marched to get her off the front steps, intending to put her in her carseat for a time-out until she could leave Jemma alone and/or listen to me. But as I was turning to carry her down the steps, my shoe slid on a wet leaf and I started to fall forward. I staggered, pulling Annie's head in toward my chest, and managed to land in a crouch position, my left leg bent, my right knee coming down squarely on the cement. Those jeans? My favorites? They have a hole in them, now. (I do have a few designer Citizens of Humanity fibers stuck in my knee today, though, amid the scabs, so I guess I can think of them as being a part of me from now on . . .)
I managed to finish the front yard, sort of, and decided around 5:00 to leave one whole swath of back yard untouched because the girls were All Done. As I was literally throwing things back into the Subaru, I was so frustrated - fuming, feeling sorry for myself, upset with Annie, and, yes, still pissed about my jeans. My knee hurt, I was thirsty, I was hungry, and I was mad at myself for thinking that any of this would be a good idea.
We stopped at my parents' for dinner, which was very brief but also very calming, and I brought the girls home and tucked them in. While I waited for The Office to start, I leafed through a recent O Magazine (because, again, I'm an old lady), and was brought up short by an article by Martha Beck. She started off by relating how hard it is for her to summon sympathy when others complain to her of "First World problems." (Her examples were a delay in scheduling cosmetic surgery and the difficulty in finding a good lawn service.) And I realized, that's what I have: First World problems. It's hard to find time to do the yardwork at our other house? I put a hole in my fancy, expensive jeans? My pre-schooler is acting like a pre-schooler?
It was a little wake-up call, and I'm hoping it might get me to stop complaining so much about the little things. There are bigger things; there are people who are struggling every day with things I've never had to face and probably never will. I'm still going to get annoyed with things, but I'm going to try to have more perspective on what my problems are (small), and what real problems are (big).
So I tended my wounds with Hershey Kisses, a good beer, and an hour of Thursday night TV. Today, I have blisters on my hand, but I am inside with my family on a chilly November night, and I have everything I really need, and more.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Problems, Solutions
For weeks now, maybe a couple months, Annie has been right on the verge of completely giving up her nap. (Here is where Sarah feels oh-so-sorry for me, poor me, whose four-year-old is FINALLY stopping the nap . . . ) And I know, I know: she's FOUR. It's really not that I even mind that she gives it up, because she'll go days and sometimes weeks without it, and now that I've come to expect that she's going to do an hour of "quiet time" and then come out to play, I actually enjoy the time we have together while Jemma's still sleeping. I just wish I knew she was totally, completely over it so that we could plan our days a little differently (afternoon playdates, anyone?).
But.
Approximately once every week or two, Annie becomes a total wreck. She starts out first thing in the morning, yelling, flailing, falling apart. BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN GETTING UP AT SIX AND IS EXHAUSTED. Yesterday was one of those days. After breakfast, around 8:30, she got back in her bed and said, "I want my doop." But since she had school at 9:00 (for which we were late because she refused to get her boots on and ran away to hide behind the living room chair every time I suggested it), an 8:30 a.m. nap was not in her future.
After school, the drama continued. First she laid right out on the carpet in her classroom and refused to put her coat on, then she informed me she was going to "sit right here in this chair and not go home with you, poopy. Throw-up. Stinky." The ride home was continued awesome, as were our first ten minutes or so inside the house. Annie ended up eating lunch alone in her room, Where The Wild Things Are style. When she was done, she climbed into bed and fell promptly asleep at 12:45.
She woke up two hours later, feeling and acting a million times better, and Jemma woke up a little after three. We drew pictures together, danced to Christmas music (no, it is not too early to listen to Christmas music), and had a fun afternoon inside despite the cold rain. I made dinner around 5:00, we ate together, and then I looked at the clock. It was 5:22.
Since both girls had taken good naps, I figured I had another two hours to kill before I could start the bedtime routine. It was dark, it was raining, and we were tired of being in the house together. Ahh, days of taking a walk after dinner, I miss you already.
So, we went to the pool. I packed their jammies so we could shower there and just pop them in bed when we got home. And they loved it. We take them all the time, but last night was the first time we'd ever gone when it was dark, and they thought it was awfully fun to look out the big glass windows at the dark night, feeling like they were staying up late and getting away with something. Annie jumped in and let herself go under a couple of times (which is big progress for her) and Jemma just hung out with me in her life jacket, squirting a little fish at my head. We went in the sauna for just a minute to warm up after we were done swimming, and then I blew-dry their hair before we put their rain boots on with their jammies and headed back home in the night, all cozy in the car, listening to more Christmas music. Watching them clomp down the gym hallway, damp and rosy-cheeked, I loved them so much.
But.
Approximately once every week or two, Annie becomes a total wreck. She starts out first thing in the morning, yelling, flailing, falling apart. BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN GETTING UP AT SIX AND IS EXHAUSTED. Yesterday was one of those days. After breakfast, around 8:30, she got back in her bed and said, "I want my doop." But since she had school at 9:00 (for which we were late because she refused to get her boots on and ran away to hide behind the living room chair every time I suggested it), an 8:30 a.m. nap was not in her future.
After school, the drama continued. First she laid right out on the carpet in her classroom and refused to put her coat on, then she informed me she was going to "sit right here in this chair and not go home with you, poopy. Throw-up. Stinky." The ride home was continued awesome, as were our first ten minutes or so inside the house. Annie ended up eating lunch alone in her room, Where The Wild Things Are style. When she was done, she climbed into bed and fell promptly asleep at 12:45.
She woke up two hours later, feeling and acting a million times better, and Jemma woke up a little after three. We drew pictures together, danced to Christmas music (no, it is not too early to listen to Christmas music), and had a fun afternoon inside despite the cold rain. I made dinner around 5:00, we ate together, and then I looked at the clock. It was 5:22.
Since both girls had taken good naps, I figured I had another two hours to kill before I could start the bedtime routine. It was dark, it was raining, and we were tired of being in the house together. Ahh, days of taking a walk after dinner, I miss you already.
So, we went to the pool. I packed their jammies so we could shower there and just pop them in bed when we got home. And they loved it. We take them all the time, but last night was the first time we'd ever gone when it was dark, and they thought it was awfully fun to look out the big glass windows at the dark night, feeling like they were staying up late and getting away with something. Annie jumped in and let herself go under a couple of times (which is big progress for her) and Jemma just hung out with me in her life jacket, squirting a little fish at my head. We went in the sauna for just a minute to warm up after we were done swimming, and then I blew-dry their hair before we put their rain boots on with their jammies and headed back home in the night, all cozy in the car, listening to more Christmas music. Watching them clomp down the gym hallway, damp and rosy-cheeked, I loved them so much.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
More Tuesday Library Adventures
It being Tuesday, of course we spent the morning at the library, exchanging our last round of books for a new bunch. As usual, there was a little table set up with an art project and the girls spent some time there. We were sitting around this table, coloring with crayons and colored pencils, when Annie started to tell me about her drawing.
"It's a boy," she begins.
"Mmmm-hmmm," I say, and try to keep Jemma from putting the crayons in her mouth.
"It's a boy, but with crazy hair, because he's mad. But he still has a penis."
I try to be low-key. This is a word she knows and we are attempting to treat it like all the other billions of words she knows - matter-of-factly, routinely, casually.
"Yep," I respond.
She gets a little louder, glancing at me to see if this topic is still OK. "He's a boy, so he has a penis," she repeats.
"Yep, okay," I say normally, but I start looking around, trying to assess how many other moms and kids are paying attention to this conversation.
"We'll have to show Daddy my picture when he gets home, because he'll know it's a boy because he has a penis, too." I secretly start praying that we don't have to begin discussing any specific penises here in the library, because, while we reached the age a few months ago where we ended any opposite-sex family nudity, the last time Annie had anything to say about Jason's penis, it was: "Daddy, I don't like your penis."
Thankfully, I get her on another track, and we eventually wrap up the library visit. We're riding back up in the elevator, and I ask Annie to push the UL button (for upper level) so I can get my coat on and because she usually LOVES to push the buttons. But she refuses, and while I'm negotiating with her to do it, Jemma sprints over and pushes the lowest, most accessible button, which is the Emergency Call button. I say, "Jemma, NO!" then hear what sounds like a phone on speakerphone begin dialing - the police station, I presume. I frantically press the UL button. Annie starts crying: "Mom! Mom!!!! What's going to happen?" as I try to tell her how we have to go tell someone that we're fine, that there's no emergency.
We finally get out on the upper level and I try to drag everyone over to tell a library employee what's happened, but Annie is flailing around on the floor behind me and asking a billion questions. I give her The Look while apologizing to the library employee, and a lot of people have to come get into the elevator with us to see if, indeed, the fire department is being paged to rush to the library elevator. Thankfully, no. After I apologize a hundred more times, we walk outside toward the car, Annie scolding Jemma ("Jemma! You are NEVER, EVER going to be allowed to ride in the elevator again. Do you understand? Jemma, we don't push that button!") and myself ("Mom, when I was trying to ask you a question, you were giving me a Not Very Nice Look!") the whole way.
And it wasn't even 11:00.
More Probects
It's funny; even though Annie's four now, there are still a few words she says incorrectly. "Projects" is one of them (she says "probects" instead); she also says Shoppee Coff for Coffee Shop and Picuter for Computer. Here's a project we worked on all of last week, prompted by the fact that she was asking me Every Single Day, "Mom, how many more days until Christmas?" So I wrote all the numbers on separate sheets of paper with crayon and then let the girls watercolor over the numbers. We punched holes in the top of each card, strung them up, and hung them in our dining room, where Annie takes off one number each morning at breakfast. It's like a homemade, disposable Advent calendar, only it had 47 days instead of the traditional 25 or 30.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Status Updates
Poor, poor blog.
Now that it's been nearly a week since I've taken the time to post any new thoughts, the little tidbits swirling around in my head seem . . . . pointless. Unrelated. Shall I recap the in-law's four-day visit? Talk about how, now that the freezing temperatures have ended my running outside and forced me to return to the gym, I am remembering just how much I hate running on a treadmill? Ponder how Annie can eat two pancakes, sausage, an egg, and a pear for breakfast on Saturday morning and still weigh only 29 pounds? List the many, many random subjects over which the girls have recently argued? Describe their new habit of teaming up on me with what I now refer to as The Naughty Giggle?
Maybe later. For now, I am just glad: to have my house back to myself after four days of guests (helpful though they were); to have raked some wet leaves this afternoon while the girls ran up and down the sidewalk; to have eaten a cozy dinner with the family and watched some Sound of Music on the couch; that there is an apple crisp baking right now in the oven; to settle in for an evening of The Daily Show and talk with Jason; and mostly, for all the little things that make life so good.
Now that it's been nearly a week since I've taken the time to post any new thoughts, the little tidbits swirling around in my head seem . . . . pointless. Unrelated. Shall I recap the in-law's four-day visit? Talk about how, now that the freezing temperatures have ended my running outside and forced me to return to the gym, I am remembering just how much I hate running on a treadmill? Ponder how Annie can eat two pancakes, sausage, an egg, and a pear for breakfast on Saturday morning and still weigh only 29 pounds? List the many, many random subjects over which the girls have recently argued? Describe their new habit of teaming up on me with what I now refer to as The Naughty Giggle?
Maybe later. For now, I am just glad: to have my house back to myself after four days of guests (helpful though they were); to have raked some wet leaves this afternoon while the girls ran up and down the sidewalk; to have eaten a cozy dinner with the family and watched some Sound of Music on the couch; that there is an apple crisp baking right now in the oven; to settle in for an evening of The Daily Show and talk with Jason; and mostly, for all the little things that make life so good.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Things I Didn't Do Yesterday:
1. Feed, clothe, and entertain my children. That job went to Jason, pre-9:00 a.m., and then my lovely, helpful neighbors Heidi and Sarah, who got me through the day when I was feeling terrible.
2. Eat anything but Perrier and graham crackers.
3. Go anywhere more than 5 minutes away from a bathroom, except to vote.
4. Clean my house. And after just ONE day of letting things go, it's officially a big mess. Bonus: in-laws arriving Friday morning.
5. Go to my Tuesday night yoga class.
6. Go to Meg's fun election party.
But, today is a new day, in so many senses of the word: new president-elect, random stomach illness over, and a high of 72 degrees. We walked Annie to school this morning because it was just so beautiful and we had to do it one last time before the real winter weather sets in. After school, I raked the front yard while the girls played in shorts and bare feet. November 5th, 2008, you are a very good day.
2. Eat anything but Perrier and graham crackers.
3. Go anywhere more than 5 minutes away from a bathroom, except to vote.
4. Clean my house. And after just ONE day of letting things go, it's officially a big mess. Bonus: in-laws arriving Friday morning.
5. Go to my Tuesday night yoga class.
6. Go to Meg's fun election party.
But, today is a new day, in so many senses of the word: new president-elect, random stomach illness over, and a high of 72 degrees. We walked Annie to school this morning because it was just so beautiful and we had to do it one last time before the real winter weather sets in. After school, I raked the front yard while the girls played in shorts and bare feet. November 5th, 2008, you are a very good day.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Halloween 2008
The scene that welcomed trick-or-treaters to our house last night.
Chicken Jemma in a rare moment of wearing the head part of her costume.
Annie's preschool class in costume (notice how all the girls are wearing the most fancy, princess-y costumes possible, while the boys are all wearing the most black, dark, scary costumes possible).
Annie, in full "wedding girl" regalia.
A treat: how much fun it is to get your child all costumed up for such a special day. I loved it! The weather was perfect, the neighborhood Halloweenie Roast was fun, and it was the first year that both girls really got into the spirit of the holiday. I am already kind of looking forward to next year.
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