1 Mother 2 Another

Don’t have time to talk today
– we’re shoe-horning ourselves in the car and hitting
the road for a cross-country trip at 4 a.m. Saturday morning. Yes,
that’s for ANNO DOMINI, or a.m., or in the morning. Call us
ambitious, call us organized, call us cheap – we’re
getting in the car and not stopping until we seen some white dang
sand.


Do I have lots of excellent tips on preparing for road trips with
your kids? You betcha. Do I have lots of sagacious words of wisdom
on how to pack light, and travel organized? Absolutely. But I
don’t have time to share – I’m too busy
over-packing and ignoring all my own advice, cramming the car with
absolutely every stupid Ariel doll and crossword puzzle book I can
think of in a desperate effort to stave off the inevitable
meltdown. And the question isn’t IF, but WHEN the meltdown
will occur.


Who has money on Louisiana?


So yes, we’re off for a blissful week at the beach on
Saturday. Which means don’t expect to hear much from me for
the next seven days: I’m too busy soaking up my kids.


And preparing to cram it all back in the car next Saturday to come
home.

I have a standing Wednesday morning pool
play date with a group of neighborhood church friends; last
Wednesday I took Maddie while Cora was in ballet camp, and
yesterday I told Cora I’d take her while Maddie studied Swan
Lake. “Shall we have some just-Mommy-and-Cora time?” I
asked Cora, hoping she wouldn’t miss Maddie at the pool too
much. Cora nodded happily, and we packed up our gear and headed
out, me looking forward to seeing my friends and having a chance to
re-connect.


Cora and I got there early and spent a good half-hour in the pool
all by ourselves. We swam and laughed and giggled and had splashing
contests, having a fantastic time in our own private pool. As our
friends started showing up the pool began to fill, and within
twenty minutes Cora was surrounded by almost a dozen of her church
friends.

Air-conditioning: fixed.


Cat: calmly resting. And no, that's not a euphemism. She's still
here.


Chiggers: Driving me up the $#@#$ wall.


But two out of three ain't bad. And it could be worse: one of my
friends from our Saturday creek walk has chiggers AND poison ivy.


Though as soon as I hear the words "poison ivy" I imagine more
itchy spots sprouting up on me. Lord, deliver me from my itchies.
And thanks for fixing our air-conditioning.

Our house seems to be a converging point
for several occurrences of bad luck these days, and I have to say I
feel like whining a bit.


First off, our cat’s having a tough time. Not Maddie’s
new kitten, but our 16-year-old, as-old-as-our-marriage cat. Her
teeth aren’t doing great, so we made an appointment for her
to go in and get them cleaned under anesthesia yesterday. Because
it’s general anesthesia, she wasn’t allowed any food or
drink the night before, so she spent the evening rather miserable.


And she was more miserable than she otherwise would have been,
because we came home from church Sunday to a stiflingly hot
upstairs. Yes, our upstairs air conditioner decided to go on
strike. On a Sunday. In June. In Texas.

While our side yard has been a veritable
nursery this year, with the caterpillar-cum-butterfly and the dove
nest, our larger neighborhood has caught baby fever as well; for
the past couple of weeks the yard in front of our neighborhood pool
has hosted a duck nest, replete with eggs and an anxious mama.


A few days ago, the eggs hatched, and the neighborhood’s been
a-flutter with kids and parents alike all trying to catch a glimpse
of the two babies. Alas, natural selection prevailed and one of the
babies was eaten by some animal larger than a duck, but so far the
second baby is hale and hearty.


And as of Friday morning, taking a nice swim in our neighborhood
pool.

Last night Maddie and I had a run-in, and
it wasn’t pretty. The episode occurred at the very end of the
night; it started with her usual prayer time and ended with sobbing
and crying.


The details of the stuff in the middle aren’t important;
suffice it to say that she’s had a hard time recently with me
telling her “no” – as in, I’ll tell her
“no” and she’ll try to argue or bargain down to a
lesser sentence – and I’ve warned her that if it
continues the consequences would be more severe. And last night, it
continued, and ended with me having to put several of her favorite
stuffed animals in her closet for the night.

I was busy doing something in the kitchen
yesterday when I noticed Cora looking stranded in the living room,
as if she were adrift and not quite sure where to land.


“Are you ok, Cora?” I asked.


Cora blinked, coming back to reality. “Yeah, I’m
fine.” And then she turned back to her unfocused look,
clearly working on solving some logistical puzzle in her head.

Maddie’s kitten is getting restless,
no longer content to be shut up in either Maddie’s room or
the bathroom. Our next step is to allow the kitten to roam free
upstairs, but we’ve got a couple obstacles. First, I can put
the baby gate across the top of the stairs, but she can climb it
effortlessly. Second, she is small enough that she can squeeze
through the banister rails and plummet to her death. Not so much an
option.


I’d just let her have the run of the whole house, but our
house is rather large and I’m afraid it’ll take her
some time to get the lay of the land and in the meantime forget
where her litter box is. I’m just not up for more
spot-cleaning of the rugs. Which means we needed to figure out how
to keep her upstairs.

Swim lessons just wrapped up last week,
but there’s no rest for the weary around here; yesterday
morning saw the start of Cora’s four-day ballet camp. How was
Cora going into it?


In a word, ecstatic.


We actually had Cora signed up for a ballet camp last summer
– she’d just turned three, the minimum age at which a
camp is offered at our ballet studio. Unfortunately, Cora was
apparently the only three-year-old interested in a week-long ballet
camp, and the class was canceled. Cora was devastated, and I ended
up doing a one-day ballet camp of our own at my theatre studio,
just for Cora and Maddie and a friend.


This year, though, Cora’s camp held together, and we received
confirmation of it last week. Cora’s been excited for weeks
and couldn’t wait to “move up” on the color
chart: three-year-olds wear pink in class, and Cora spent all last
year in pink every Tuesday. Now that she’s four, though, she
can wear light purple, and Cora’s had Maddie’s old
purple leotard and skirt ready to go for a long, long time. Sunday
night it was laid out very carefully and lovingly on her chair, and
I could see Cora shivering in anticipation as she went to bed.

We’ve just finished our annual
two-week swim class here at our house, and I have to say that for
the first time ever, Maddie really enjoyed it and is anxious for
more.


Maddie’s had a long love-hate relationship with swimming; she
loves the water and playing around in it, but spent her first few
years being incredibly fearful of putting her head under water. She
was so fearful that we had to do private lessons when she was
three, and by the end of that summer she was barely putting her
face in. Each year she grew a bit, and by the end of last summer
she was swimming underwater regularly – but still a bit
worried about jumping in or going where she couldn’t
touch.

Maddie’s got her first well-kitten
appointment today, and I’m not quite sure how she’s
going to handle it. She’s already asked if I can do it for
her, to which I firmly replied, “No!”


Not that she’s squeamish – I think she just
doesn’t want to watch her kitten get a shot, and then be mad,
and possibly link shots with Maddie in her feline mind.
Maddie’s done a great job staying on top of the
kitten’s litter box, exclaiming enthusiastically every time
the cat poops, then cleaning it up with no complaints. So I know
it’s not a soft stomach – just a soft heart.


Wish us luck – this should be interesting.

Maddie’s had her kitten for nearly a
week now, and for the past few nights she’s gotten closer and
closer to sleeping with it. We originally put the kitten in the
bathroom at night, so it wouldn’t keep Maddie awake all
night. But Maddie’s been asking and last night she got up the
courage to give it a try. So it was a Kitten Slumber Party.


I have not had to get up with one of the girls at night for over a
week (!) so I was in the midst of a profound, deep sleep when I
heard a knocking on our door. Maddie was in tears, clutching her
cheek. “I got up to turn on the ceiling fan, and when I got
back in bed the kitten hissed and scratched me really bad! It
really really hurts!”

Remember the mourning doves who built a
nest in our hanging bougainvillea?


The babies are here.


We've spent the past couple of weeks watching the site
apprehensively; doves are not known for their parenting skills, and
the odds of the two eggs actually hatching two live babies was
pretty slim. But our parents beat the odds, and we've got a couple
of surprisingly quiet baby birds now. Maddie and Cora love watching
the basket through the window, and every once and a while you'll
see a baby head appear and baby wings stretch out.


June is indeed busting out all over.

For almost a year now, Maddie’s been
begging for a kitten. And for almost a year now, I’d said,
“Not until you’re at least six.”


Oops.


As her birthday got close, Maddie’s pleas increased in both
volume and velocity until I broke down and gave her a trial run: if
she could take care of our older family cat, then we’d look
at a kitten for her. A month later, Maddie’d handled our
cat’s litter box and food and water rather well.


Oops.


So guess what we did on Maddie’s birthday?

Dear Maddie:


It’s been a long year, my big six-year-old, and while it does
feel as if it’s flown by, I also can’t believe how much
has been packed into the past twelve months.


You’ve gone from a just-finished-preschooler to an
almost-first-grader. I think this has been, for you as an
individual, the hardest year of your life. Starting kindergarten
was quite a shock to your five-year-old system, and we felt the
repercussions of that big event for several months last fall.
Adjusting to a seven-hour “work” day was incredibly
hard, but you complained less than I ever imagined, and were so
obedient about giving it a try. Let me tell you, kiddo, dropping
you off at that school door on the mornings you were clingy and sad
just about broke my heart every time, and the bravery I glimpsed in
you as you walked, crying but compliant, through those glass doors,
just about took my breath away. I’ve missed you, my love,
more that you will ever understand until you drop your own child
off at kindergarten. My most precious parts of myself – you
and Cora – are walking around outside my body, and to have
you shut away from me for seven hours a day – to have SEVEN
HOURS of your daily life a complete, opaque mystery to me –
has been painful.

Me. Sick. Fever, chills.


And my emergency back-up generator - my mother - out of town
yesterday. So I had two white, worried faces peering at me on the
couch. I think they realized something was wrong when I got out
their cereal boxes and spoons and bowls, poured milk into a small
plastic pitcher, and said, "Maddie, if you or Cora want seconds,
you can pour from this pitcher. Come get me if someone gets hurt."
And then went back to sleep on the couch.


So the girls were on their best behavior, pouring me water and
bringing me unrequested crackers and ice. They spent two
uncomplaining hours at the doctor with me, and Brian had to come
home from work early while I went comatose.


Wednesday afternoon we dragged ourselves to the airport to pick up
my mom, and the strain was finally showing on the girls. Fights,
tantrums, easy tears from both girls. And many cries of "I just
need Mommy and Me time!"


Poor kiddos. Soon.

We are officially in Summer Time, though
Maddie contests that every time I say it, as she’s acutely
aware that summer doesn’t legally (or something) begin until
much later in June, according to the Seasonal Calendar Gods.


But here in our household, it’s summer time.

It’s D Day in our house.


That’s D for Denial, baby.


Today is Maddie’s last day of kindergarten and I’m so
excited my tail is perpetually wagging. But I have to keep my
excitement in check, because acknowledging the extent of my
excitement means I would have to acknowledge that Maddie is
finishing kindergarten.