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.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
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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