Monday, September 29, 2008
Moment of the Day
All four of us snuggled in our bed, the girls fresh from the tub wearing matching purple pj's and holding their blankets, the rain drizzling outside, reading Goodnight Moon. (Worth the 750 "my!"s I had to endure for the previous 12 hours today.)
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Bloopers
We dropped Annie off at Sunday School this morning and then headed to church with Jemma. For some reason, taking just Annie to church goes fine. Taking just Jemma to church goes fine. Taking both girls to church does not go well at all, so we are very happy that Sunday School has begun, because I can't take the psychic torture that Jemma puts me though when I try to leave her in the nursery.
So: just Jemma. She played adorably throughout the first half of the hour, then started to get ancy. After we had gone up for communion, I was getting desperate. I let her take all her toys (strewn about the pew) and put them in this little side zippered pouch on my purse, thinking that when she finished putting them all in, she'd want to take them all back out, too. Nope. She zipped the pouch closed, said a loud "Bye-bye!" to the crowd in general, and went to swing my purse up on to her shoulder by its straps and walk away merrily. Only my purse weighs about 10-15 pounds, so when she swung it up to her shoulder and turned to walk away, the momentum propelled her out into the main aisle and knocked her flat on her face. "Whoa!" she said, as the crowd in general laughed.
We spent the rest of the day swimming at the indoor pool at the gym, gathering interesting leaves, and taking a long walk after dinner that turned into a Very Long Walk when we had to get Jemma out of the stroller to rescue her from Annie's pinching. Annie, who is now in bed without a story because she said, repeatedly, "I'm not talking to you, Mommy. You're a stinkyhead" as I was trying to get her into the tub tonight. When given the choice of using kind words in the bathroom with me or going to bed without a bath or a story, she chose going to bed without. Jason brought her to her room to put her pajamas on while I plunked Jemma into the tub. A minute later, Annie was back in the bathroom. "Sorry, Mommy," she said.
"Thanks, sweetie," I said.
"Daddy said I could brush my teeth first." Smiling a little nicely, a little triumphantly because she was not, indeed, going straight to bed as she had chosen.
"That sounds like a good idea," I said.
Then Annie held the toothbrush Jason had just given her one inch from her mouth. "Stinkyhead," she said quietly.
And off to bed she went, without brushing her teeth after all.
So: just Jemma. She played adorably throughout the first half of the hour, then started to get ancy. After we had gone up for communion, I was getting desperate. I let her take all her toys (strewn about the pew) and put them in this little side zippered pouch on my purse, thinking that when she finished putting them all in, she'd want to take them all back out, too. Nope. She zipped the pouch closed, said a loud "Bye-bye!" to the crowd in general, and went to swing my purse up on to her shoulder by its straps and walk away merrily. Only my purse weighs about 10-15 pounds, so when she swung it up to her shoulder and turned to walk away, the momentum propelled her out into the main aisle and knocked her flat on her face. "Whoa!" she said, as the crowd in general laughed.
We spent the rest of the day swimming at the indoor pool at the gym, gathering interesting leaves, and taking a long walk after dinner that turned into a Very Long Walk when we had to get Jemma out of the stroller to rescue her from Annie's pinching. Annie, who is now in bed without a story because she said, repeatedly, "I'm not talking to you, Mommy. You're a stinkyhead" as I was trying to get her into the tub tonight. When given the choice of using kind words in the bathroom with me or going to bed without a bath or a story, she chose going to bed without. Jason brought her to her room to put her pajamas on while I plunked Jemma into the tub. A minute later, Annie was back in the bathroom. "Sorry, Mommy," she said.
"Thanks, sweetie," I said.
"Daddy said I could brush my teeth first." Smiling a little nicely, a little triumphantly because she was not, indeed, going straight to bed as she had chosen.
"That sounds like a good idea," I said.
Then Annie held the toothbrush Jason had just given her one inch from her mouth. "Stinkyhead," she said quietly.
And off to bed she went, without brushing her teeth after all.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Jemma, 21 months
Oops! We've been having such a spectacular day, what with neighbors cavorting in the front yard, making and eating this yummy bread and apple cider popsicles, drinking Ichabod pumpkin beer, and watching Michigan win their football game that I almost forgot to write about Jemma and who she is on the 21-month anniversary of entering the world.
She spent the day trying desperately to ride bikes and scooters that are far too big for her, then settling for scuttling, Flintstone-style, up and down the sidewalk on Annie's red tricycle. She is fast. She ate a piece of bacon cheddar bread while we were outside, and I swear she had it in her hand for a full hour before it was finally gone. She went down the slide a million times; toward the end of the day, she got brave and was going down head first, saying "Whoa" when she got to the bottom and then scrambling to do it again, anyway.
When we read books before naptime and bedtime, she has definite opinions about which ones she wants. "Pillar," she says for The Very Hungry Caterpillar (my favorite); "Babies," she says for Baby Faces (her favorite). Afterwards, she arranges her blanket up on my left shoulder so it drapes down my chest, then leans in and snuggles me for a minute before I sing to her and put her in the crib. Tonight, I smelled her head for an extra second or two before setting her down on her stomach for a night of slumber. She smelled like a cookie.
She spent the day trying desperately to ride bikes and scooters that are far too big for her, then settling for scuttling, Flintstone-style, up and down the sidewalk on Annie's red tricycle. She is fast. She ate a piece of bacon cheddar bread while we were outside, and I swear she had it in her hand for a full hour before it was finally gone. She went down the slide a million times; toward the end of the day, she got brave and was going down head first, saying "Whoa" when she got to the bottom and then scrambling to do it again, anyway.
When we read books before naptime and bedtime, she has definite opinions about which ones she wants. "Pillar," she says for The Very Hungry Caterpillar (my favorite); "Babies," she says for Baby Faces (her favorite). Afterwards, she arranges her blanket up on my left shoulder so it drapes down my chest, then leans in and snuggles me for a minute before I sing to her and put her in the crib. Tonight, I smelled her head for an extra second or two before setting her down on her stomach for a night of slumber. She smelled like a cookie.
That Damn Nurse
After many, many weeks of secrecy, Annie was finally able to learn the big secret about Aunt Connie having a baby in her tummy. Ben told her at preschool yesterday morning and she talked about it most of the way home.
"Now mom, it's going to be born juuuuust before Sam's birthday. After fall and winter and some of spring. Then, Ben will be a big brother TWO TIMES!"
At lunch, I asked Annie what she thought the baby would be, a boy or a girl. A boy, she said first, because Aunt Connie already has boys. A girl, she said a moment later. Because Aunt Connie doesn't have a girl yet. Hmmmm. Indecision. She cocked her head and shrugged. "Whoever put that baby in there . . . we don't know!" I think she meant that only the person who put the baby in there would know the gender, but it came out sounding like Aunt Connie has been less than discriminating in her relations and the baby-maker could be any number of strange persons. I called Connie to share this immediately.
This morning, I was snuggling Annie in her bed in the minutes after she'd woken up when she turned to me and asked, "Mom! When is that nurse going to put a baby in YOUR tummy?"
"What nurse?" I said.
"That nurse at the hospital."
"Well, I don't know. Mommy's already had two babies in her tummy, and that might be all the babies that I ever have in my tummy." This was greeted by an exasperated scowl. I have a feeling that the subject is going to come up again, with Annie doing some extensive lobbying for a new sibling of her own as Ben's new one grows. Luckily, I think I have a scapegoat: that uncooperative nurse at the hospital.
"Now mom, it's going to be born juuuuust before Sam's birthday. After fall and winter and some of spring. Then, Ben will be a big brother TWO TIMES!"
At lunch, I asked Annie what she thought the baby would be, a boy or a girl. A boy, she said first, because Aunt Connie already has boys. A girl, she said a moment later. Because Aunt Connie doesn't have a girl yet. Hmmmm. Indecision. She cocked her head and shrugged. "Whoever put that baby in there . . . we don't know!" I think she meant that only the person who put the baby in there would know the gender, but it came out sounding like Aunt Connie has been less than discriminating in her relations and the baby-maker could be any number of strange persons. I called Connie to share this immediately.
This morning, I was snuggling Annie in her bed in the minutes after she'd woken up when she turned to me and asked, "Mom! When is that nurse going to put a baby in YOUR tummy?"
"What nurse?" I said.
"That nurse at the hospital."
"Well, I don't know. Mommy's already had two babies in her tummy, and that might be all the babies that I ever have in my tummy." This was greeted by an exasperated scowl. I have a feeling that the subject is going to come up again, with Annie doing some extensive lobbying for a new sibling of her own as Ben's new one grows. Luckily, I think I have a scapegoat: that uncooperative nurse at the hospital.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Slowing Down
Today began at 7:15, when the sounds of Jemma's voice barged into my sleep. "Momma? Ove you. Momma? Ove you" from her crib. Now, who could resist that wake-up call, even when it is about an hour earlier than she usually wakes up for the day?
Annie had school this morning and then I debated packing us all up and driving to Lake Michigan for the afternoon, but I forced myself to laze around the house and yard instead because this is the first weekend we've had in about eight weeks with absolutely no plans. And even though I've been looking forward to this, to a weekend where we can be impulsively wandering from here to there right in our own neighborhood, it's like my brain can't quite handle it. It wants, badly, to make a plan. It wants to make a list (diapers, blankets, fan, bathing suits, sunscreen, monitors, DVD player, dolls, books, jammies, toothbrushes, clothes for church) and cram everything on that list into bags and put those bags in the car. But NO! Instead, I walked to the grocery store for kitchen twine and a bottle of red wine, drew lots more chalk creations on our driveway, sat down to a real family dinner, biked to a park and to get ice cream with the girls, and drank a glass of wine while painting my toenails. Next, downstairs to watch the first presidential debate and probably fall asleep on the couch.
I'm coming to the end of the Edgar Sawtelle book I've been reading for what seems like forever (it is over 500 pages) and, since I'm reading it at the same time as Parenting with Love and Logic, the following quote jumped out at me. (It's about training dogs.)
"Unless they had worked long and hard at it, most people thought training meant forcing their will on a dog. Or that training required some magical gift. Both ideas were wrong. Real training meant watching, listening, diverting a dog's exuberance, not suppressing it. You couldn't change a river into a sea, but you could trace a new channel for it to follow."
Dog training, parenting: who knew they were so similar?
Annie had school this morning and then I debated packing us all up and driving to Lake Michigan for the afternoon, but I forced myself to laze around the house and yard instead because this is the first weekend we've had in about eight weeks with absolutely no plans. And even though I've been looking forward to this, to a weekend where we can be impulsively wandering from here to there right in our own neighborhood, it's like my brain can't quite handle it. It wants, badly, to make a plan. It wants to make a list (diapers, blankets, fan, bathing suits, sunscreen, monitors, DVD player, dolls, books, jammies, toothbrushes, clothes for church) and cram everything on that list into bags and put those bags in the car. But NO! Instead, I walked to the grocery store for kitchen twine and a bottle of red wine, drew lots more chalk creations on our driveway, sat down to a real family dinner, biked to a park and to get ice cream with the girls, and drank a glass of wine while painting my toenails. Next, downstairs to watch the first presidential debate and probably fall asleep on the couch.
I'm coming to the end of the Edgar Sawtelle book I've been reading for what seems like forever (it is over 500 pages) and, since I'm reading it at the same time as Parenting with Love and Logic, the following quote jumped out at me. (It's about training dogs.)
"Unless they had worked long and hard at it, most people thought training meant forcing their will on a dog. Or that training required some magical gift. Both ideas were wrong. Real training meant watching, listening, diverting a dog's exuberance, not suppressing it. You couldn't change a river into a sea, but you could trace a new channel for it to follow."
Dog training, parenting: who knew they were so similar?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Catechism
This morning, Jason was telling me about a patient he'd seen yesterday with a cool Russian last name and the first name Meshack. Jason apparently asked him if his first name was also Russian and was told no, it's Biblical. At this point in the story, I jumped in with, "Yeah: Shadrack, Meshack and Abendigo." Jason, the one of us with the solid Catholic school education, had never heard of them, so then I had to go ahead and try to show off knowing all the New Testament books of the Bible in order, Psalm 23, and other long-ago-memorized-for-heathen-Protestant-Sunday-School tricks. At one point, the actual Bible was out on the breakfast table and we were trying to remember what, exactly, Daniel was doing in the lion's den. We ate, got dressed, brought Annie to school, and our day went on like the splendid fall day that it was.
One of Annie's tough transition times lately has been the moments between school pick-up and eating lunch. Even though it's usually only a 20-minute period, it almost always results in some sort of dramatics. Today, there was some sort of meltdown about pre-lunch hand-washing (even though I had used my new "everything is a choice" language: "Do you want to wash your hands by yourself in the bathroom or at the kitchen sink with me?") and Annie ended up in her room, yelling, "Poopyhead! Mom, you're stupid! Butthead, poopyhead, butthead, poopyhead . . ." (Also: where is she getting these words?? Stupid, I'm sure I've said, but poopyhead??) She finally pulled it together and came out to eat her turkey sandwich.
It was a gorgeous afternoon. We hung out with bikes and scooters and chalk for a while, then decided to pick up dinner at Panera and head to a park for a picnic dinner since Jason had to work late. The girls were thrilled with their chocolate milk boxes, sandwiches, and drinkable yogurt; they sat side by side on the picnic bench and ate nicely for a solid twenty minutes.
Then, we played. It's a big park, but right away I noticed a dad in another section, wearing a shirt and tie, actually playing very closely with his two kids, especially with his daughter (as opposed to the general watching and yelling "good one!" that I tend to do at the park). A few minutes later, they made their way over to the slide on which Annie and Jemma were playing. Now I could hear just what the dad was following his daughter around saying. It was, "Christ Died For Us. Say it. Christ Died For Us. While We Were Still Sinners, Christ Died For Us. Say it, honey. You need to say it. While . . .? While . . . ? C'mon. Christ Died For Us."
Annie shot me a "what the heck?" look and ran off to play on the swings. I followed, dragging Jemma along, but soon the poor little girl was there, too, because clearly she was just trying to get away from her nutcase father. The child was three, tops. And while I'm all for learning about your faith and even memorizing some good sections of the Bible, I'm going to go ahead and guess that this little girl has No Idea What That Means. Not to mention: this is your teaching method? Following her around the park while she tries to play, repeating the same sentence at the back of her head over and over?
So I kept pushing Annie, giving her underdog after underdog while Jemma hung out on the swing beside me. The dad kept whining, "C'mon, you've only said it once. While . . .? While . . .?" And I was seized with the naughtiest, most irrational hope that Annie might choose this precise moment to yell out "Poopyhead! Butthead!"
One of Annie's tough transition times lately has been the moments between school pick-up and eating lunch. Even though it's usually only a 20-minute period, it almost always results in some sort of dramatics. Today, there was some sort of meltdown about pre-lunch hand-washing (even though I had used my new "everything is a choice" language: "Do you want to wash your hands by yourself in the bathroom or at the kitchen sink with me?") and Annie ended up in her room, yelling, "Poopyhead! Mom, you're stupid! Butthead, poopyhead, butthead, poopyhead . . ." (Also: where is she getting these words?? Stupid, I'm sure I've said, but poopyhead??) She finally pulled it together and came out to eat her turkey sandwich.
It was a gorgeous afternoon. We hung out with bikes and scooters and chalk for a while, then decided to pick up dinner at Panera and head to a park for a picnic dinner since Jason had to work late. The girls were thrilled with their chocolate milk boxes, sandwiches, and drinkable yogurt; they sat side by side on the picnic bench and ate nicely for a solid twenty minutes.
Then, we played. It's a big park, but right away I noticed a dad in another section, wearing a shirt and tie, actually playing very closely with his two kids, especially with his daughter (as opposed to the general watching and yelling "good one!" that I tend to do at the park). A few minutes later, they made their way over to the slide on which Annie and Jemma were playing. Now I could hear just what the dad was following his daughter around saying. It was, "Christ Died For Us. Say it. Christ Died For Us. While We Were Still Sinners, Christ Died For Us. Say it, honey. You need to say it. While . . .? While . . . ? C'mon. Christ Died For Us."
Annie shot me a "what the heck?" look and ran off to play on the swings. I followed, dragging Jemma along, but soon the poor little girl was there, too, because clearly she was just trying to get away from her nutcase father. The child was three, tops. And while I'm all for learning about your faith and even memorizing some good sections of the Bible, I'm going to go ahead and guess that this little girl has No Idea What That Means. Not to mention: this is your teaching method? Following her around the park while she tries to play, repeating the same sentence at the back of her head over and over?
So I kept pushing Annie, giving her underdog after underdog while Jemma hung out on the swing beside me. The dad kept whining, "C'mon, you've only said it once. While . . .? While . . .?" And I was seized with the naughtiest, most irrational hope that Annie might choose this precise moment to yell out "Poopyhead! Butthead!"
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Three Parts
Miss Heather Will Be Proud
Jemma has been talking more and more lately, and guess what? She has a southen accent. No idea where it came from, but there it is. A few examples:
"Oh-kaaaaaaay!"
"Aww dun" for "all done"
"Pottay" for "potty"
"Naow" for "no"
Just picture Dolly Parton saying things, and that is what Jemma sounds like. We love it. Also, notice that "potty" is one of her frequent words. That's right, not only does she continue to run into the bathroom and demand "teeth, teeth" to brush her teeth at least 3 times a day (a future dentist, that one), but now she is saying "pottay" and pointing to the toilet. And I'm thinking, really? You're 21 months old and you want to start THAT already? But the other morning, I gave in and sat her on it just for fun when she asked. She hung out, happily, for a good 10 minutes while I flat-ironed my hair (which I must do every single morning or else my hair becomes mushroom-y and ugly). She kept asking, "Mommy?" I'd say, "All done? Want to get down?" Nope. Nothing happened for her, either, but finally she said "Aww dun!" and then, as I got her down, "Ove you." Next thing you know, she'll be asking for a Kentucky Hot Brown.
******************
Remembering to Live in the Moment
If every day could be the tiniest bit more like today, I'd have an easier time remembering why it is, exactly, that I choose to be home with my kids. The weather: perfect. The kids: relatively well-behaved. The mom: full of energy after the morning run-around-the-lake session with Sarah (badly needed commiserating about 4-year-old drama!). I made an executive decision that we needed to go to an apple orchard, so we spent the morning at Robinette's, swinging on the wood swing while eating pumpkin donuts (did not buy enough . . . must return immediately), watching the girls go down the slide, buying apples and cider, and just hanging out together. Then we came home and did a Secret Agent Josephine-inspired art project with watercolors before both girls took naps. (When I showed the project to Annie on the SAJ website, she said, "Mom, I really love that little girl (Baby Bug).")I paid bills and did a little Florida-condo research for our February vacation, and we spent the rest of the afternoon outside. Happily. Without 17 time-outs and tantrums. Today, Annie was full of interesting questions ("Mom, what would we see if we cut open my tummy? Would my food be right in there? When Miss Heidi has a baby in her tummy, can it see the food in her tummy?") and I had the patience to answer them. Today, we all took time to taste our donut and pick up beautiful leaves. Today, I let them make a mess all over the front steps and turned it into something that Annie was proud to hang up in the playroom. Today, they helped me make applesauce and then ate it for dinner.
******************
Love and Logic Tip #1
I tucked Annie in tonight after reading The Runaway Bunny at 7:58 p.m. I wandered around, looking at the Chasing Fireflies catalog and picking up toys, for half an hour before I heard noise coming from her room. I ignored it. Fifteen minutes later, I went and stood outside her bedroom door to hear what, exactly, she was saying.
"Mooooooommy, I'm hoooooooot. I'm hot. I'm hooooooot."
I walked up to the door and said, "Annie, Daddy and I are going to bed. Feel free to solve that problem yourself."
"But Mom! I want short-sleeved pajamas and it's too dark and I can't find them."
"Hmmmm. Feel free to solve that problem yourself." One minute later, the light came on. I heard her drawer open. A minute after that, the light went out. Not another peep. (Let's hope that the 'I can turn my own light on any time of the day or night' realization doesn't backfire on me later; if so, this will be Love and Logic Mistake #1 instead.)
Jemma has been talking more and more lately, and guess what? She has a southen accent. No idea where it came from, but there it is. A few examples:
"Oh-kaaaaaaay!"
"Aww dun" for "all done"
"Pottay" for "potty"
"Naow" for "no"
Just picture Dolly Parton saying things, and that is what Jemma sounds like. We love it. Also, notice that "potty" is one of her frequent words. That's right, not only does she continue to run into the bathroom and demand "teeth, teeth" to brush her teeth at least 3 times a day (a future dentist, that one), but now she is saying "pottay" and pointing to the toilet. And I'm thinking, really? You're 21 months old and you want to start THAT already? But the other morning, I gave in and sat her on it just for fun when she asked. She hung out, happily, for a good 10 minutes while I flat-ironed my hair (which I must do every single morning or else my hair becomes mushroom-y and ugly). She kept asking, "Mommy?" I'd say, "All done? Want to get down?" Nope. Nothing happened for her, either, but finally she said "Aww dun!" and then, as I got her down, "Ove you." Next thing you know, she'll be asking for a Kentucky Hot Brown.
******************
Remembering to Live in the Moment
If every day could be the tiniest bit more like today, I'd have an easier time remembering why it is, exactly, that I choose to be home with my kids. The weather: perfect. The kids: relatively well-behaved. The mom: full of energy after the morning run-around-the-lake session with Sarah (badly needed commiserating about 4-year-old drama!). I made an executive decision that we needed to go to an apple orchard, so we spent the morning at Robinette's, swinging on the wood swing while eating pumpkin donuts (did not buy enough . . . must return immediately), watching the girls go down the slide, buying apples and cider, and just hanging out together. Then we came home and did a Secret Agent Josephine-inspired art project with watercolors before both girls took naps. (When I showed the project to Annie on the SAJ website, she said, "Mom, I really love that little girl (Baby Bug).")I paid bills and did a little Florida-condo research for our February vacation, and we spent the rest of the afternoon outside. Happily. Without 17 time-outs and tantrums. Today, Annie was full of interesting questions ("Mom, what would we see if we cut open my tummy? Would my food be right in there? When Miss Heidi has a baby in her tummy, can it see the food in her tummy?") and I had the patience to answer them. Today, we all took time to taste our donut and pick up beautiful leaves. Today, I let them make a mess all over the front steps and turned it into something that Annie was proud to hang up in the playroom. Today, they helped me make applesauce and then ate it for dinner.
******************
Love and Logic Tip #1
I tucked Annie in tonight after reading The Runaway Bunny at 7:58 p.m. I wandered around, looking at the Chasing Fireflies catalog and picking up toys, for half an hour before I heard noise coming from her room. I ignored it. Fifteen minutes later, I went and stood outside her bedroom door to hear what, exactly, she was saying.
"Mooooooommy, I'm hoooooooot. I'm hot. I'm hooooooot."
I walked up to the door and said, "Annie, Daddy and I are going to bed. Feel free to solve that problem yourself."
"But Mom! I want short-sleeved pajamas and it's too dark and I can't find them."
"Hmmmm. Feel free to solve that problem yourself." One minute later, the light came on. I heard her drawer open. A minute after that, the light went out. Not another peep. (Let's hope that the 'I can turn my own light on any time of the day or night' realization doesn't backfire on me later; if so, this will be Love and Logic Mistake #1 instead.)
Monday, September 22, 2008
Eating Ice Cream With Love and Logic
We welcomed the official start of fall with a family trip to Jersey Junction tonight for pumpkin ice cream and a caramel apple cider shake, which I of course will spend the rest of the fall trying to replicate at home. (Unlike last year's quest, the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte, I think this one will be easy and, therefore, dangerously addictive and high-calorie. Good thing I took that run this morning while I had the chance.) It was great to ride there on bikes with the girls mostly behaving in the bike trailer. Progress there can be credited to my new read, Parenting With Love and Logic. Recommended to me by a few teacher friends and a neighbor, it's given me a new way to look at discpline. More importantly, it's given me a new slant on my philosophy as a parent. I love the real-life examples strewn throughout the text, I enjoy the emphasis on natural consequences (instead of arbitrary punishment), and I appreciate the inclusion of so many phrases and language choices that can change the way you relate to your kids. In general, I've spent the last two days trying to implement this system for Annie and I feel really good about it. No matter what else happens, I have some strategies to deal with the dramatics that don't leave me wanting to kick something; I'm taking myself out of the power struggle and forcing Annie to own her choices. We will see how it plays out in the weeks ahead, but I am hopeful.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Chicago
When Annie woke up this morning, the first thing she said was, "When can we go back to Chicago?" So, yeah, we had a great time. We walked about 5 miles, rode a bunch of escalators, spent a ton of money, peed in several, several interesting bathrooms (the Ritz Carlton by far the most posh) and made her first visit to that lovely city as magical as possible. We spent the morning along the lake, riding the carousel at Lincoln Park Zoo and frolicking in the gorgeous gardens there before taking the El downtown for lunch. We ate at Rainforest Cafe even though it is SUCH a cheesy tourist trap because Annie absolutely loved it. She got a Shirley Temple and could maybe have just stayed in that restaurant, watching all the tropical fish and the fake alligator, for the rest of the day. Instead, we went to the 96th floor of the Hancock building for dessert and drinks. The best view from that location? The women's restroom, which had one entire wall of windows looking out at the city. I took a picture of Annie in there with the skyline in the background. As we were walking to Navy Pier, Annie spotted a park that looked fun, so we stopped and let her play for a while. We rode the Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier and ended up getting a montage of Korean food, sushi, and edamame and settling down for a picnic dinner back in the Lincoln Park gardens at night before heading home. There were two separate weddings going on while we were eating, so Annie got to watch the brides while popping her edamame out of the shell. She was very happy. She fell asleep on the way home.
I took pictures with my old-school, non-digital Nikon, so I can't post them here. But if I could, the images would show Annie's big, happy eyes taking in every new detail of such an interesting place, and Jason and I with big, happy smiles because we got to do all fun things with just her all day long. I can't wait to take her again and again and am looking forward to being able to do more (museums, plays, real restaurants) each time. It was a tiny bit torturous being in that great city and having to stick to "kid" things - no Cubs game? No Anthropologie? No dinner at Bin 36? I am already plotting a way for Jason and I to go again.
As for Jemma, she played happily at my parents' all day long and went to bed there well before we got back. When we rolled in around 10:00 p.m., we of course had to wake her out of a dead sleep and put her in her carseat for the drive home. Oh, how I wished I could just cuddle her on my lap! She is notoriously a terrible car sleeper, so we were fearful that she'd scream furiously the rest of the way home and keep a sleepy Annie awake. Instead, she didn't go back to sleep, but just schmooed around in her carseat, drowsy, and smiled big, slow smiles at me whenever I turned around to peek at her. "Hi!" she'd say, brightly. Then she'd look over at Annie, sleeping next to her. "Ah-dee." Yep, we were all back together again.
Today we all slept in and then rushed around to get Annie to her first day of Sunday School. The rest of the day, we did little projects: vacuuming, unpacking, cleaning closets and putting away too-small clothes from summer, tearing down a fence between our house and Dean and Bona's (!), cooking dinner (this butternut squash risotto, which did not disappoint), and taking the girls to the track to run. It was nice to be at home with no place to go and no big events to gear up for this week. I tore last week's page off the calendar, threw it in the trash. Next week = very few plans. And I'm so glad.
I took pictures with my old-school, non-digital Nikon, so I can't post them here. But if I could, the images would show Annie's big, happy eyes taking in every new detail of such an interesting place, and Jason and I with big, happy smiles because we got to do all fun things with just her all day long. I can't wait to take her again and again and am looking forward to being able to do more (museums, plays, real restaurants) each time. It was a tiny bit torturous being in that great city and having to stick to "kid" things - no Cubs game? No Anthropologie? No dinner at Bin 36? I am already plotting a way for Jason and I to go again.
As for Jemma, she played happily at my parents' all day long and went to bed there well before we got back. When we rolled in around 10:00 p.m., we of course had to wake her out of a dead sleep and put her in her carseat for the drive home. Oh, how I wished I could just cuddle her on my lap! She is notoriously a terrible car sleeper, so we were fearful that she'd scream furiously the rest of the way home and keep a sleepy Annie awake. Instead, she didn't go back to sleep, but just schmooed around in her carseat, drowsy, and smiled big, slow smiles at me whenever I turned around to peek at her. "Hi!" she'd say, brightly. Then she'd look over at Annie, sleeping next to her. "Ah-dee." Yep, we were all back together again.
Today we all slept in and then rushed around to get Annie to her first day of Sunday School. The rest of the day, we did little projects: vacuuming, unpacking, cleaning closets and putting away too-small clothes from summer, tearing down a fence between our house and Dean and Bona's (!), cooking dinner (this butternut squash risotto, which did not disappoint), and taking the girls to the track to run. It was nice to be at home with no place to go and no big events to gear up for this week. I tore last week's page off the calendar, threw it in the trash. Next week = very few plans. And I'm so glad.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A Good Use of Everyone's Time
After last night's glorious, indulgent, grown-up birthday dinner at The Chop House (ridiculous bill totally worth every penny), I woke up optimistic. Energetic! Determined to have a fun day with the girls AND get a few things done around here (making dinner for a friend with a new baby, planting the mums I bought Monday that are still sitting on my front steps, putting away the clean laundry that is folded but still in piles all over my bedroom floor).
Instead, I have spent the majority of the morning holding Annie's bedroom door shut so she will remain in time-out. And in spite of reading something at one point that specifically said NOT to do so, I am seriously contemplating putting a lock on her door so I can separate her from Jemma when they become violent with each other. Finally, after about the 10th time-out, when it was clearly not having any effect on behavior, I just put her in her room and told her to take a nap - no story, no song, nothing. And not to come out under any circumstances.
Also! At one point last weekend, when the frenzy in the backseat of the car was out of control and we had already pulled the car over TWO TIMES to try to get Annie to Cut It Out, I grabbed my Aquafina bottle of water and threw some on her shirt. True confessions, people . . . At first I was a little mortified that I did something like that on reflex, but upon further reflection, I think it might have been OK: got her attention, shocked her into stopping the behavior, and didn't physically hurt her like a slap or a spanking would in the "old-school days" of discipline.
Just so everyone knows what we've been up to. Good times. Any helpful advice? Any child psychologists who want to come live at my house?
Instead, I have spent the majority of the morning holding Annie's bedroom door shut so she will remain in time-out. And in spite of reading something at one point that specifically said NOT to do so, I am seriously contemplating putting a lock on her door so I can separate her from Jemma when they become violent with each other. Finally, after about the 10th time-out, when it was clearly not having any effect on behavior, I just put her in her room and told her to take a nap - no story, no song, nothing. And not to come out under any circumstances.
Also! At one point last weekend, when the frenzy in the backseat of the car was out of control and we had already pulled the car over TWO TIMES to try to get Annie to Cut It Out, I grabbed my Aquafina bottle of water and threw some on her shirt. True confessions, people . . . At first I was a little mortified that I did something like that on reflex, but upon further reflection, I think it might have been OK: got her attention, shocked her into stopping the behavior, and didn't physically hurt her like a slap or a spanking would in the "old-school days" of discipline.
Just so everyone knows what we've been up to. Good times. Any helpful advice? Any child psychologists who want to come live at my house?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Questions, Questions
1. Why do I let my beloved stylist chop off all my hair from time to time, and then pretend to NOT FREAK OUT while looking at my profile in the mirror?
2. Could there possibly be any more construction projects going on simultaneously within a 5-mile radius of my house?
3. Could we possibly have any more birthdays in September? (Jason's is tomorrow)
4. Why do people/politicians keep pretending that abstinence-only sex ed programs work when clearly they don't, as evidenced by other people in their very own families?
5. How soon can somebody rush me over a giant sleeping pill because - hey! It's midnight and I'm wide awake over here . . . again . . .
6. Why do I continue to think spontaneous morning outings to public places in my unshowered, ponytailed, no-make-up state are a good idea? (This morning, Meijer Gardens, ran into no less than 5 people I know)
7. What is this Twilight book series, and should I read it? Will it give me nightmares? (This, assuming that I ever go to sleep.)
2. Could there possibly be any more construction projects going on simultaneously within a 5-mile radius of my house?
3. Could we possibly have any more birthdays in September? (Jason's is tomorrow)
4. Why do people/politicians keep pretending that abstinence-only sex ed programs work when clearly they don't, as evidenced by other people in their very own families?
5. How soon can somebody rush me over a giant sleeping pill because - hey! It's midnight and I'm wide awake over here . . . again . . .
6. Why do I continue to think spontaneous morning outings to public places in my unshowered, ponytailed, no-make-up state are a good idea? (This morning, Meijer Gardens, ran into no less than 5 people I know)
7. What is this Twilight book series, and should I read it? Will it give me nightmares? (This, assuming that I ever go to sleep.)
Monday, September 15, 2008
Annie is Four
Dear Annie,
You have been four now for a few days and I am late writing this birthday letter to you. There hasn't been a spare minute since we woke you up with presents on Thursday morning and I keep waiting for that long, perfect stretch of time in which to write you something meaningful. Instead, here I am at 1:00 a.m., unable to sleep because I owe you this (and some freelance copy besides).
For your birthday, we got you a few simple things we thought you'd love: a wedding dress for dress-up, some princess figurines with clothes and shoes, some flower hooks for hanging your artwork in your room, and a new movie. Daddy and I brought you your presents in bed and sang to you, and you loved them. You were warm and cuddly and full of awe that it was your birthday. I got right down by your face so I could smell your cheeks and asked you, "Can you even believe that you are FOUR years old?!?" and you could.
Within two hours, I had taken away the wedding dress because you tried to kick Jemma in the face, hit me, and refused to apologize. You were defiant and out of control and angry for no reason at all. This is how life has been with you these last few weeks - one moment you are charming and generous, the next you are difficult and hard to understand. You are testing us over and over, asking, "Is this OK? How about this?" and we are using every ounce of our strength and patience to say how very much we love you, to set boundaries because we do.
On Saturday, we went to a family wedding. You and Jemma wore matching brown corduroy dresses and cream leggings - perfect outfits for a cloudy fall day and and outside wedding. You were looking around in wonder at the fancy cake and the bride's gown and the flowers. You sat next to me and drank a Sprite, then ate some crackers and cheese from your little plate and some salad, about which you were very proud. After dinner, and after the newlyweds danced, the bride danced with her dad. I looked at Daddy; he was watching her sisters and mom watch the father/daughter dance. They had their arms around one another and were, as you would say, "crying in a happy way." You and Jemma were perched next to us, watching the magical duo dance, eating your cake daintily. And I knew he was thinking what I was thinking: someday it will be you out there with him, dancing at your very own wedding. Just then, I saw some beauty in your profile that gave me a glimpse of what that day will be like for you and for us. Just then, you were so precious to me that I could not imagine ever being happy for you to grow up and love someone else that way. But I will, I know.
In the time between now and then (many, many years), I am appreciating how delicate a task it will be to raise a daughter who will use her stubborness and her determination to create a life that works for her. I want to give you boundaries but not quench your spirit; I want to answer your questions but not discourage you from finding your own answers; I want to teach you to channel your defiance into a determination to make things better for you and for those around you. I predict that you, the girliest of girls, will not settle for being treated as any kind of "weaker" sex, and I am proud of you for that.
As the last part of your fourth birthday extravaganza, we are taking you to Chicago on Saturday. Just you, just us. I can't wait to watch your face as you take in whole new worlds of things you've never seen before - fish, dolphins jumping out of the water, taller buildings than you've ever seen, restaurants and taxis and trains. Seeing the city through your eyes, it will be fresh, new, and more interesting than it ever was before - just like life through your eyes. Thanks for letting me peek.
I love you, my girl.
Love,
Mommy
You have been four now for a few days and I am late writing this birthday letter to you. There hasn't been a spare minute since we woke you up with presents on Thursday morning and I keep waiting for that long, perfect stretch of time in which to write you something meaningful. Instead, here I am at 1:00 a.m., unable to sleep because I owe you this (and some freelance copy besides).
For your birthday, we got you a few simple things we thought you'd love: a wedding dress for dress-up, some princess figurines with clothes and shoes, some flower hooks for hanging your artwork in your room, and a new movie. Daddy and I brought you your presents in bed and sang to you, and you loved them. You were warm and cuddly and full of awe that it was your birthday. I got right down by your face so I could smell your cheeks and asked you, "Can you even believe that you are FOUR years old?!?" and you could.
Within two hours, I had taken away the wedding dress because you tried to kick Jemma in the face, hit me, and refused to apologize. You were defiant and out of control and angry for no reason at all. This is how life has been with you these last few weeks - one moment you are charming and generous, the next you are difficult and hard to understand. You are testing us over and over, asking, "Is this OK? How about this?" and we are using every ounce of our strength and patience to say how very much we love you, to set boundaries because we do.
On Saturday, we went to a family wedding. You and Jemma wore matching brown corduroy dresses and cream leggings - perfect outfits for a cloudy fall day and and outside wedding. You were looking around in wonder at the fancy cake and the bride's gown and the flowers. You sat next to me and drank a Sprite, then ate some crackers and cheese from your little plate and some salad, about which you were very proud. After dinner, and after the newlyweds danced, the bride danced with her dad. I looked at Daddy; he was watching her sisters and mom watch the father/daughter dance. They had their arms around one another and were, as you would say, "crying in a happy way." You and Jemma were perched next to us, watching the magical duo dance, eating your cake daintily. And I knew he was thinking what I was thinking: someday it will be you out there with him, dancing at your very own wedding. Just then, I saw some beauty in your profile that gave me a glimpse of what that day will be like for you and for us. Just then, you were so precious to me that I could not imagine ever being happy for you to grow up and love someone else that way. But I will, I know.
In the time between now and then (many, many years), I am appreciating how delicate a task it will be to raise a daughter who will use her stubborness and her determination to create a life that works for her. I want to give you boundaries but not quench your spirit; I want to answer your questions but not discourage you from finding your own answers; I want to teach you to channel your defiance into a determination to make things better for you and for those around you. I predict that you, the girliest of girls, will not settle for being treated as any kind of "weaker" sex, and I am proud of you for that.
As the last part of your fourth birthday extravaganza, we are taking you to Chicago on Saturday. Just you, just us. I can't wait to watch your face as you take in whole new worlds of things you've never seen before - fish, dolphins jumping out of the water, taller buildings than you've ever seen, restaurants and taxis and trains. Seeing the city through your eyes, it will be fresh, new, and more interesting than it ever was before - just like life through your eyes. Thanks for letting me peek.
I love you, my girl.
Love,
Mommy
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Today . . .
-is the last day I can call myself "30" and Annie a "three-year-old."
-Jemma projectile pooped on me, my shirt, my pants, and the floor while I was changing her diaper.
-Annie proclaimed me "good at giving underdogs" on the swings at Lakeside.
-I managed Costco, Target, and Party City with the kids without any drama. (Is there ever a day when I don't go to Costco, Target, or the grocery store? And, what am I buying???)
-I tried to pack for our upcoming, up-north family wedding weekend and realized it's time to stop wearing flip-flops every single day. Also, that I have no good "winter" shoes.
-I spent from 11:35 - 12:00 wrangling Annie, limp/kicking/flailing, into the car after school. First, she ran away from me in the parking lot (safe), then it took me fully 5 sweaty minutes to get her up the stairs (while also carrying Jemma on one hip and Annie's leftover class birthday snack in a grocery bag), and finally Jemma and I waited outside the car for 10 more minutes until Annie could stop thrashing around in her carseat, yelling, "You're stupid!" and "I don't like you!" Poor Jemma - so confused about why we weren't getting into the car. NOT a situation I would like to repeat.
-I claimed with a fair amount of certainty that we will not, indeed, be having any more children (see above).
-Jason cooked us up a little dinner at 8:00 p.m. and we had some wine in the kitchen while discussing the ridiculousness that is our life.
-Wrapped Annie's birthday gifts and arranged them around her place at the dining room table so they'll be the first thing she sees when she goes to eat breakfast in the morning.
-Annie took a nap in her new princess sleeping bag. On the floor. Adorable.
-Jemma projectile pooped on me, my shirt, my pants, and the floor while I was changing her diaper.
-Annie proclaimed me "good at giving underdogs" on the swings at Lakeside.
-I managed Costco, Target, and Party City with the kids without any drama. (Is there ever a day when I don't go to Costco, Target, or the grocery store? And, what am I buying???)
-I tried to pack for our upcoming, up-north family wedding weekend and realized it's time to stop wearing flip-flops every single day. Also, that I have no good "winter" shoes.
-I spent from 11:35 - 12:00 wrangling Annie, limp/kicking/flailing, into the car after school. First, she ran away from me in the parking lot (safe), then it took me fully 5 sweaty minutes to get her up the stairs (while also carrying Jemma on one hip and Annie's leftover class birthday snack in a grocery bag), and finally Jemma and I waited outside the car for 10 more minutes until Annie could stop thrashing around in her carseat, yelling, "You're stupid!" and "I don't like you!" Poor Jemma - so confused about why we weren't getting into the car. NOT a situation I would like to repeat.
-I claimed with a fair amount of certainty that we will not, indeed, be having any more children (see above).
-Jason cooked us up a little dinner at 8:00 p.m. and we had some wine in the kitchen while discussing the ridiculousness that is our life.
-Wrapped Annie's birthday gifts and arranged them around her place at the dining room table so they'll be the first thing she sees when she goes to eat breakfast in the morning.
-Annie took a nap in her new princess sleeping bag. On the floor. Adorable.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Timing
Just as I was about to spend hundreds of dollars on self-help parenting books, we've had a tolerable couple of days around here. We're busy, and there's barely time for blogging, but it's mostly good things: hosting book club, getting into a school schedule, readying various birthday treats (apples with caramel dip tomorrow at school, cake with neighbors and friends on Thursday morning), writing more freelance copy, running (Annie, too!), visiting Jason's office on official dental-cleaning business . . . I do best when I have just enough on my metaphorical plate to keep me on my toes, and while that plate is a little full this week, I'm happy.
It seems that Annie is just going to be the type of child for whom a consistent schedule is going to be totally necessary at all times. I remember her going through a similar funk last fall, so I looked back at some old entries and sure enough, she was a handful right around her birthday then, too. There must be something about those weeks of unscheduled laziness at the end of summer that doesn't work for her; on top of all the underlying anxiety about change and new school and becoming a whole year older, I yanked her schedule out from underneath her and expected her to entertain herself a bit more than usual. But Monday morning, she woke up ready for school and a whole new girl. So I guess I'm going to become one of "those parents" who signs her kid up for activities just to keep them "in" something. Also, I might have to stop telling her about her birthday more than one day in advance: "Birthday? Nope. You don't actually have one. I know, everyone else does, but you don't. You just become a new age magically, with no milestone." And then, September 11, BLAM! "Annie! Hey, it's your birthday TODAY! Enjoy!"
Just as Annie's done a fair amount to turn herself around, Jemma has begun asking the dreaded "WHY?" I thought two-years-old was for "no," and three-years-old was for "why," but we're getting it very, very early here.
"We don't throw things in the house."
"Why?"
"Don't put dirt in your mouth. It's not good to eat."
"Why?"
Really? . . .
I've started a new book just in time for the farmer's market to be in all its fall glory - In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. I read his other book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, last summer and have been meaning to read this new one, too, ever since a friend claimed on her GoodReads review that it changed the way she shopped for groceries. (I am such a nerd that I actually emitted a whispered "Yes!" in the library the other night when I found it on the shelf.) Even though Jason and I are both pretty into eating healthy food that we cook ourselves, I feel like we're ready to hear some reasons to commit more fully to a seasonal, local, more-organic way of eating. Wednesday morning farmer's market, here I come.
It seems that Annie is just going to be the type of child for whom a consistent schedule is going to be totally necessary at all times. I remember her going through a similar funk last fall, so I looked back at some old entries and sure enough, she was a handful right around her birthday then, too. There must be something about those weeks of unscheduled laziness at the end of summer that doesn't work for her; on top of all the underlying anxiety about change and new school and becoming a whole year older, I yanked her schedule out from underneath her and expected her to entertain herself a bit more than usual. But Monday morning, she woke up ready for school and a whole new girl. So I guess I'm going to become one of "those parents" who signs her kid up for activities just to keep them "in" something. Also, I might have to stop telling her about her birthday more than one day in advance: "Birthday? Nope. You don't actually have one. I know, everyone else does, but you don't. You just become a new age magically, with no milestone." And then, September 11, BLAM! "Annie! Hey, it's your birthday TODAY! Enjoy!"
Just as Annie's done a fair amount to turn herself around, Jemma has begun asking the dreaded "WHY?" I thought two-years-old was for "no," and three-years-old was for "why," but we're getting it very, very early here.
"We don't throw things in the house."
"Why?"
"Don't put dirt in your mouth. It's not good to eat."
"Why?"
Really? . . .
I've started a new book just in time for the farmer's market to be in all its fall glory - In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. I read his other book, The Omnivore's Dilemma, last summer and have been meaning to read this new one, too, ever since a friend claimed on her GoodReads review that it changed the way she shopped for groceries. (I am such a nerd that I actually emitted a whispered "Yes!" in the library the other night when I found it on the shelf.) Even though Jason and I are both pretty into eating healthy food that we cook ourselves, I feel like we're ready to hear some reasons to commit more fully to a seasonal, local, more-organic way of eating. Wednesday morning farmer's market, here I come.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Our Weekend in Pictures
First day of school, the fair, lunch at Crane's Apple Orchard, the first of many birthday gifts:
T
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Remorse
At a family picnic last summer, I remember Jason's aunt from Texas telling me, "I never knew I had a temper until I had a toddler." At the time, with my precocious two-year-old and my new-ish baby, I nodded knowingly, as though I understood what she meant. But not until these last few days and weeks have I really known what it's like to be furious with someone else, so upset and beside myself with helplessness and disappointment that I have had to hold myself back from doing unspeakable harm; so mad that I have wanted very, very badly to slap something or someone. I have not done it, but I have wanted to. And I feel horrible just for wanting to because this is my daughter I'm talking about, my firstborn, my adorable, clever, enchanting child who I love beyond measure. Yet the things she has done and said - intentionally, with the goal of being horrible - these last two weeks have been unacceptable, and nothing that Jason and I have done or said has been able to halt the progression of more and more bad behavior.
Tonight in the bathroom, she was on a tirade: "Mom, no. No! You are not going to give me my bath tonight. Daddy is. Stop! You are not allowed to give me a bath. I don't like you. I'm going to let you die."
When I asked her what that even meant, she pulled her shirt up over her face and wouldn't look at me for a minute. I took her her shirt off and put her calmly in the tub where she proceeded to kick Jemma. I scooped her right back out of the tub, soaking wet, and told Jason, "Just put her to bed." When I went in to kiss her good-night, she was smiling cruelly. I handed Jemma off to Jason (thank God for Jason), and went for a run, the only thing I knew to do. I was fighting tears for most of the route, wondering if this is something that all parents go through, wondering if this portends the kind of teenager she'll be, wondering if I put my own mother through such trying times.
My biggest frustration is that she seems to feel no remorse for her mistakes. We tell her, over and over, "Everybody makes mistakes, but then you say you're sorry and you try not to do it again." At which point she does it again, just to be naughty. Just to test us. As though, after two years of consistency in discipline and following through on consequences every single time, we might let something this big slide. I tell her, over and over again, "We don't care how smart you are, how fast you can run, how good of a singer or dancer you are; the most important thing is that you are kind to others." And she smiles, she laughs.
I don't think Jason feels as devastated as I do by all this. He's around plenty, to be sure, and he sees lots of our daily situations, but I am still the leader in our at-home scenarios, and I feel this failure very keenly. I feel as though I am doing something very wrong, but I look around and I can't quite figure out what it is. All I know is that I have ended one day holding her by the wrist, shouting, "That's enough!" over and over until we were both crying, and now one day running down Cambridge, tears in my eyes.
Her birthday is in 5 days, as she will tell anyone who will listen. I want to make it magical for her, with caramel cake and princess napkins and special presents and breakfast at a restaurant. But right now, I just don't know if my heart will be in it. Right now, I just want my sweet little girl back.
Tonight in the bathroom, she was on a tirade: "Mom, no. No! You are not going to give me my bath tonight. Daddy is. Stop! You are not allowed to give me a bath. I don't like you. I'm going to let you die."
When I asked her what that even meant, she pulled her shirt up over her face and wouldn't look at me for a minute. I took her her shirt off and put her calmly in the tub where she proceeded to kick Jemma. I scooped her right back out of the tub, soaking wet, and told Jason, "Just put her to bed." When I went in to kiss her good-night, she was smiling cruelly. I handed Jemma off to Jason (thank God for Jason), and went for a run, the only thing I knew to do. I was fighting tears for most of the route, wondering if this is something that all parents go through, wondering if this portends the kind of teenager she'll be, wondering if I put my own mother through such trying times.
My biggest frustration is that she seems to feel no remorse for her mistakes. We tell her, over and over, "Everybody makes mistakes, but then you say you're sorry and you try not to do it again." At which point she does it again, just to be naughty. Just to test us. As though, after two years of consistency in discipline and following through on consequences every single time, we might let something this big slide. I tell her, over and over again, "We don't care how smart you are, how fast you can run, how good of a singer or dancer you are; the most important thing is that you are kind to others." And she smiles, she laughs.
I don't think Jason feels as devastated as I do by all this. He's around plenty, to be sure, and he sees lots of our daily situations, but I am still the leader in our at-home scenarios, and I feel this failure very keenly. I feel as though I am doing something very wrong, but I look around and I can't quite figure out what it is. All I know is that I have ended one day holding her by the wrist, shouting, "That's enough!" over and over until we were both crying, and now one day running down Cambridge, tears in my eyes.
Her birthday is in 5 days, as she will tell anyone who will listen. I want to make it magical for her, with caramel cake and princess napkins and special presents and breakfast at a restaurant. But right now, I just don't know if my heart will be in it. Right now, I just want my sweet little girl back.
Friday, September 5, 2008
50's Flashbacks
Today was a quintessential fall day - low clouds, peeks of sun, and just-right, cool temperatures. Fitting for my first Pumpkin Spice latte of the season after my morning run and for Annie's first day of school, which she loved (pictures soon). We brought her to her classroom, where she went immediately to the doll/dress-up area and started playing; barely a glance at us when we told her we were leaving and would be back to pick her up later. We spent the rest of the day trading off the kids so we could run errands, buy groceries, do laundry, and cook dinner. After dinner, we all biked to Wealthy Street Bakery and shared chocolate chip cookies outside.
Also today, the birth of baby Elsa, who we hope to visit tomorrow or Sunday in the hospital. This should provide many new details for role-playing "having a baby," a game that Jemma, too, now likes to play. She has spent the last two days carrying around Cee Cee Bingo. She'll bring the doll to me and say, "Bungo, bobby" while tugging at her shirt. She wants me to tuck the doll under her shirt, just like Annie does. Then she pulls it out, looks around proudly, and announces, "Bobby!," her way of saying "baby." Also involved in this role-play is putting Cee Cee Bingo in the stroller, covering her with a blanket, and pushing her around until she starts crying. You know she's crying because Jemma makes a very pitiful "awwhhh, awwhhhgg" noise and a sad face before cradling her and saying softly, "Bungo. Oh-oh-oh . . . Shhhhh."
As if the wedding re-enactments and the baby-having wasn't all 1950's enough, tomorrow we are off to THE FAIR, where we will pretend to be one with the farm animals. We are hoping to make it there in time for the 9:00 a.m. Youth Swine Show. Additionally, I am hoping that by going so early in the day, we will miss the majority of the carnies, who will probably be sleeping until noon.
Also today, the birth of baby Elsa, who we hope to visit tomorrow or Sunday in the hospital. This should provide many new details for role-playing "having a baby," a game that Jemma, too, now likes to play. She has spent the last two days carrying around Cee Cee Bingo. She'll bring the doll to me and say, "Bungo, bobby" while tugging at her shirt. She wants me to tuck the doll under her shirt, just like Annie does. Then she pulls it out, looks around proudly, and announces, "Bobby!," her way of saying "baby." Also involved in this role-play is putting Cee Cee Bingo in the stroller, covering her with a blanket, and pushing her around until she starts crying. You know she's crying because Jemma makes a very pitiful "awwhhh, awwhhhgg" noise and a sad face before cradling her and saying softly, "Bungo. Oh-oh-oh . . . Shhhhh."
As if the wedding re-enactments and the baby-having wasn't all 1950's enough, tomorrow we are off to THE FAIR, where we will pretend to be one with the farm animals. We are hoping to make it there in time for the 9:00 a.m. Youth Swine Show. Additionally, I am hoping that by going so early in the day, we will miss the majority of the carnies, who will probably be sleeping until noon.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Meet The Teachers
We went to Annie's school this morning to meet her teachers, who seem to be two very lovely, patient women and who told me kindly but in no uncertain terms that we shall not speak of whether Annie will go to Young 5's or Kindergarten next year until spring conferences. I told them I will do my best not to think about it until then, either.
Annie (and Jemma too, frankly) absolutely loved her classroom. It is huge, almost twice the size of last year, but more importantly: The Dolls. THE DRESS-UP CLOTHES. While I sat at a tiny table in a tiny chair that made my dress ride up inappropriately and heard about the year, Annie played silently and steadily for 30 minutes. When I asked if she wanted to go out to the playground at the end, she said no. She wanted to stay in the classroom all day. My fear has never really been that Annie wouldn't love school (she really does); it is that she is going to want to have very little to do with singing songs and talking about shapes and colors because, again, THE DRESS-UP CLOTHES. Bins and bins of them . . .
I spent the rest of the day shooting down to South Haven to hastily trim the hedges with a rusted clippers from 1904 (and I think my whole upper body is really going to remember that tomorrow) and clean the house up now that our friend/renter has mostly moved out. He is sort of a friend from when we lived there, was going through a divorce, and needed a place for July and August. While it was great to have someone paying rent and watching over the place for two months, I believe the house hasn't actually been cleaned AT ALL in that two-month span, either. And since we have someone coming on Friday for a second showing (do not speak of this aloud or surely it will not happen), I wanted to clean it asap. I will just say: dog hair, toilets, dog hair.
So I am sweaty, sore, and dirty. And now that it is 8:43, I will go downstairs and inform my just-home-from-work husband that sadly, no, I do not have a plan for dinner, Bad Wife that I am. (I had the Bad Mommy thing going for a while, too, but I finally redeemed myself by calling to schedule Annie for a long-overdue dental cleaning AND a four-year checkup at her pediatrician's.)
Annie (and Jemma too, frankly) absolutely loved her classroom. It is huge, almost twice the size of last year, but more importantly: The Dolls. THE DRESS-UP CLOTHES. While I sat at a tiny table in a tiny chair that made my dress ride up inappropriately and heard about the year, Annie played silently and steadily for 30 minutes. When I asked if she wanted to go out to the playground at the end, she said no. She wanted to stay in the classroom all day. My fear has never really been that Annie wouldn't love school (she really does); it is that she is going to want to have very little to do with singing songs and talking about shapes and colors because, again, THE DRESS-UP CLOTHES. Bins and bins of them . . .
I spent the rest of the day shooting down to South Haven to hastily trim the hedges with a rusted clippers from 1904 (and I think my whole upper body is really going to remember that tomorrow) and clean the house up now that our friend/renter has mostly moved out. He is sort of a friend from when we lived there, was going through a divorce, and needed a place for July and August. While it was great to have someone paying rent and watching over the place for two months, I believe the house hasn't actually been cleaned AT ALL in that two-month span, either. And since we have someone coming on Friday for a second showing (do not speak of this aloud or surely it will not happen), I wanted to clean it asap. I will just say: dog hair, toilets, dog hair.
So I am sweaty, sore, and dirty. And now that it is 8:43, I will go downstairs and inform my just-home-from-work husband that sadly, no, I do not have a plan for dinner, Bad Wife that I am. (I had the Bad Mommy thing going for a while, too, but I finally redeemed myself by calling to schedule Annie for a long-overdue dental cleaning AND a four-year checkup at her pediatrician's.)
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Sophisticated Taste
I am trying to plan Annie's birthday, since it's just over a week away. On the actual day, we're going go be driving up north for a family wedding weekend (see my previous post to see just how excited I am about this). And when we gave her the choice between having a big party with all her friends or going to Chicago for a day with just mommy and daddy, she chose the second option (and I breathed a big sign of relief because, Yeah! Chicago! And no giant party to plan!). So, we'll mostly be celebrating her for a week or so, spread out in smaller celebrations with different groups of people. On Sunday, we're having my parents, brother, and his girlfriend over for dinner, so I asked Annie what kind of cake she wants.
"Caramel."
"Caramel? The cake? Or the frosting?"
"Both."
"Ooookaaay. And just in case, what's your second choice?"
So I've been on epicurious and food network and google and all manner of sites tonight, looking up recipes for caramel cake. I am leaning toward one from the January issue of Gourmet, but I'm also wondering if any of my foodie readers have ever attempted one that they recommend.
Chicago, caramel cake, and wanting "a wedding dress and a veil" or "fancy shoes" for her birthday: Jason and I had better start saving for what is sure to be a very elegant (and very expensive) wedding someday.
"Caramel."
"Caramel? The cake? Or the frosting?"
"Both."
"Ooookaaay. And just in case, what's your second choice?"
So I've been on epicurious and food network and google and all manner of sites tonight, looking up recipes for caramel cake. I am leaning toward one from the January issue of Gourmet, but I'm also wondering if any of my foodie readers have ever attempted one that they recommend.
Chicago, caramel cake, and wanting "a wedding dress and a veil" or "fancy shoes" for her birthday: Jason and I had better start saving for what is sure to be a very elegant (and very expensive) wedding someday.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Labor Day
We returned tonight around 7:30 from our weekend up north. I will not write much about the weekend except to say that one adult in our family had a good time, and that adult was not me. I had had a tough week with the kids and was, silly me, hoping for a little reprieve, what with all the extra hands around to help. Between the guitar-playing, the party-throwing, the cornhole and tennis games, the boat trip with the keg but not the kids, the one-hour-hell of church on Sunday morning (the woman in the pew behind us remarked that the girls were "like little blond puppies crawling all over their mom"), the cooking of ridiculous amounts of pork and sauerkraut, the football discussions, and the Gator rides, most of those hands were too busy to really give me any kind of a break. Discussions have taken place; I have hope that our next trip up (in 10 days) will be better.
Anywho . . . . Annie shocked us all in the car on the way home by counting to 100 with practically no help (where did she learn this?). We were so proud and made such a big deal of it that she proceeded to do it about 8 more times. We're all tired of hearing her count now but I'm sure she'll do it some more if she has another audience.
When we got home, we took the kids down to the track to run around and burn off some energy before trying to put them to bed after so many hours in the car. I dug out some of the tiniest red Nikes that were given to me as a shower gift when I was pregnant with Annie. They fit Jemma perfectly, so she walked down there looking like a little Nike advertisement. Jason and I timed one another's 400's and I was fairly happy with my best time (1:39. Side note: I suck and have totally abandoned my hundred-pushups program in the last week or two. Randomly, I did 10 on Saturday. Is there hope for me? Gina? Heather? Still doing them?).
While we were all running around, the EGR boy's cross country team came to start their practice. The coach noticed Annie and said she reminded him of a girl he used to coach who ended up going to college on a running scholarship. Apparently, she used to run around the very same track when she was as little as Annie and looked just the same running: determined little smile, elbows swinging, scrawny legs churning. I think I can safely say I'd be very happy if Annie ends up loving running as much as I do, and I've signed her up for the Grand Rapids Kids Marathon. She'll walk or run 25 miles (one mile at a time) over the next 6 weeks, and then get to run the last 1.2 miles on the course of the marathon on the day of the race. I think she's going to love it.
We came home, drank "icy water," unpacked the car, and tucked the girls in. Tomorrow is our last unscheduled day before Annie meets her teachers on Wednesday. I am going to miss the lazy mornings we've been having these last two weeks. Also tomorrow: laundry. Lots of it.
Anywho . . . . Annie shocked us all in the car on the way home by counting to 100 with practically no help (where did she learn this?). We were so proud and made such a big deal of it that she proceeded to do it about 8 more times. We're all tired of hearing her count now but I'm sure she'll do it some more if she has another audience.
When we got home, we took the kids down to the track to run around and burn off some energy before trying to put them to bed after so many hours in the car. I dug out some of the tiniest red Nikes that were given to me as a shower gift when I was pregnant with Annie. They fit Jemma perfectly, so she walked down there looking like a little Nike advertisement. Jason and I timed one another's 400's and I was fairly happy with my best time (1:39. Side note: I suck and have totally abandoned my hundred-pushups program in the last week or two. Randomly, I did 10 on Saturday. Is there hope for me? Gina? Heather? Still doing them?).
While we were all running around, the EGR boy's cross country team came to start their practice. The coach noticed Annie and said she reminded him of a girl he used to coach who ended up going to college on a running scholarship. Apparently, she used to run around the very same track when she was as little as Annie and looked just the same running: determined little smile, elbows swinging, scrawny legs churning. I think I can safely say I'd be very happy if Annie ends up loving running as much as I do, and I've signed her up for the Grand Rapids Kids Marathon. She'll walk or run 25 miles (one mile at a time) over the next 6 weeks, and then get to run the last 1.2 miles on the course of the marathon on the day of the race. I think she's going to love it.
We came home, drank "icy water," unpacked the car, and tucked the girls in. Tomorrow is our last unscheduled day before Annie meets her teachers on Wednesday. I am going to miss the lazy mornings we've been having these last two weeks. Also tomorrow: laundry. Lots of it.
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