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.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
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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