1 Mother 2 Another

Hear that?


That's the sound of me not packing any lunch boxes. Of the girls
not crabbing sullenly while I prod and cajole them through a
morning routine.


And that? That's the sound of me not saying through gritted teeth,
"Hurry UP, honey, or you're going to be late! I need you to chew
faster, baby, chew faster!"


And that? That's the sound of me not setting an alarm.


Sorry.

Yes, all my northern friends, read it and
weep. Today is the last day of school.


Cora’s been out for two weeks and has quickly discovered the
joy (sarcasm there) of running errands with Mommy. But it
can’t really feel like summer until Sister’s in the
same boat, so Cora is eagerly awaiting 2:55 this afternoon.


I’m grabbing my kid, heading to our neighborhood pool, and
staking out a spot there; my friends and I make this our official
launch into summer with pizza and popsicles and poolside drinks.


We may never go home.


Summer, here we come.

So last week our big project was the
re-doing of Cora’s bedroom. Declaring yellow “not
pretty any more”, she asked for a pink room, offering Maddie
her bedspread, lovely vintage prints of wildflowers, and more as
she pink-i-fied her room. Cora’s dream? To turn her room into
a ballet haven, complete with a sign on the door saying “Do
not come in unless you are a dancer!”


All went well to start, as you probably saw in my last blog. We
spackled holes, moved out furniture, taped off trim and ceilings,
and primed the whole room. Cora chose to sleep with Maddie that
night, and we closed the door on her pristine white room, the only
furniture in there her big bed covered in plastic in the center of
the room. I tucked the girls into Maddie’s bed and said a
cheerful good-night.


And then Cora started crying.

Both girls this year have asked to paint
their rooms, and Brian and I agreed to give that concession to them
as a birthday gift.


Sure, we could shell out five hundred bucks per room to hire
someone to do all the hard work, but what would be the fun in that?
I remember re-decorating my room a few times as I was growing up,
and loved the DIY-ness of it every time. We were operating on a
negative budget, but my mom never made me feel like we were doing
it to save money: painting and moving furniture and sewing our own
curtains was part of the fun of it all.

Yesterday Cora and I drove past a
neighborhood Montessori school housed in a fanciful building
replete with towers and royal-like flags.


“Mommy,” Cora said, “That building looks like a
castle, but it’s not a castle. It’s really a
children’s school.”


Thinking she’d heard this from another grown-up on some
previous drive past the spot, but wanting to keep the conversation
that she’d started going, I said, “What makes you say
that?”


“Well, castles are where kings and queens live. And we
don’t have any kings and queens here because this is America
and we are ruled by a president instead. So it can’t be a
real castle.”

A friend of mine told me that her daughter
recently walked out of a bathroom and remarked casually,
“Every time I look in the mirror I’m surprised that
I’m pretty.”


Nonplussed, my friend pressed the issue and learned that her
daughter considers herself unattractive – not because of
anything that anyone has said, it’s simply how she sees
herself.


Now, my friend and her husband are excellent parents and raise all
their children thoughtfully and deliberately, and made the choice a
long time ago that they would not dwell on appearances when
speaking with their children, especially their daughters. So a
compliment from them might sound something like this: “Hey,
your outfit looks very pulled together today! I can see that you
spent a long time working on it.”

School must be drawing to a close:
I’ve got something on the calendar every single day, and I
have a pile of teacher appreciation gifts waiting to be wrapped and
carded.


Between field day and class party day and awards ceremonies and
such, I don’t imagine the kids are doing much more learning
for the next two weeks. We seem to be flying from event to event to
event, and that’s not even counting such things as
Cora’s Birthday Weekend Extravaganza we just had (big hit,
more on that later), or preschool graduation, or the upcoming
recital for both girls.


And I really do want to sit down and write heart-felt thank-you
cards to all the teachers in Maddie’s life; she’s
enjoyed every class she’s done, from art to p.e. to music to
library. She simply loves her teachers. There’s just so many
people to include!


Couldn’t we spread this end-of-year stuff out a little bit?
Say, over the previous nine months?

Dear Cora:

I usually start these yearly letters off
by saying something like, “I can’t believe it’s
time again – the year flew fast!” And while this year
might have been speedy, I can DEFINITELY believe it’s time
for a birthday letter.


You, my dear, are straining at the leash to turn five. I have seen
such growth in you – and I’m not talking physical,
though if you don’t slow down you’ll be swimming nekked
by July because you’ll outgrow all the swimsuits I JUST
BOUGHT YOU – that I can’t help but be aware of how much
you’re growing up. Any traces of babyhood have been firmly
erased, and you are drawing in your new self with bold strokes,
filling up the pages and eschewing any need for an eraser.

Maddie and Cora are almost exactly two
years apart. Maddie’s development often seems to catch me by
surprise – hey, look at that, she’s rolling over! I
can’t believe she recognizes her alphabet! Wow, is she
putting her face in the water and blowing bubbles already? That
sort of thing. Cora is just the opposite: I’m inclined to
think such unfair thoughts as – hey, why isn’t she
brushing her teeth as well as Maddie does? When is her attention
span going to get better?


It’s not that I’m constantly comparing Cora to Maddie,
in a sort of “Well, Maddie rolled over at four months and
Cora didn’t do it until five months. Slacker.” way. But
with your first child, whatever stage you are in feels like it will
go on forever: you will ALWAYS be breastfeeding/pureeing solid
foods/changing diapers/potty training/sleep training/whatever. And
then suddenly you’re in a different stage.

We've officially hit insanity time in our
neighborhood, as school winds down and all the obligatory parties
and celebrations come with it.


This week alone, we've got Cora's end-of-year party (preschool
ends three weeks earlier than public school) today, which
unfortunately conflicts with Maddie's class kickball tournament,
so I'm hitting Cora's party while Mom cheers Maddie on. As well
this morning Cora is celebrating her upcoming birthday in her
school - since it's after school is out - so this morning will
find me bringing a dozen and a half mini-cupcakes to her class and
reading one of her favorite books aloud while the four-year-olds
get sugared up for the day.


Then tomorrow is Cora's preschool graduation, and yes, I rolled my
eyes too. Before they started weeping when I watched Maddie
"graduate" two years ago. So tomorrow's Cora's last day of school
- don't get me started on my baby growing up - and I'll pull
Maddie out for the graduation ceremony and luncheon, then take her
back for the remainder of the day.


The Friday is Cora's birthday, so you can imagine how that will
go: lots of running and crafting and bouncing and probably
swimming.


And sugar.


And we put a huge button on the end of this week with Cora's
blowout birthday party on Saturday - she and several of her friends
will be putting on a mini version of the Nutcracker at my theatre
school on the big stage. To call this a huge undertaking is an
understatement. But you only turn five once.


Tired? A little. But it keeps me from thinking about all the
milestones we're hitting this week.


And then, of course, there's next week: Maddie's class party,
Maddie's field day at school, Cora's summer vacation starts,
ballet recital . . .


I'll think about all that later.

Sunday was, of course, Mothers’ Day,
and I had a lovely time with my girls, my mother, and my
mother-in-law. We ate out both lunch and dinner – decadent, I
know – and I took a good long nap in the middle of the day
– equally decadent.


When Brian asked me last week what I wanted to do for
Mothers’ Day, it reminded me of every day over the past
several years he’s asked me that question. And how my answer
has evolved over time.

The other day Cora and I were in a public
restroom – Cora sitting on the potty, me staring politely at
the back wall. This is how we do it. A moment of silence, and then
Cora said amiably, “You know, Mommy, Chiwallas are baby
dogs.”


A Chiwalla, in case you wondered, is a Chihuahua. Sure, I could
correct her, but who wants to? It’s so darn cute every time
she says it.


“Some Chihuahuas are baby dogs, you’re right, honey.
But some are grown-up dogs.”


“No, Mommy, a baby dog is called a Chiwalla.”

I’ve spent a couple days this week
talking about teacher gifts so feel free to catch up before you
start reading today. But if you’re already caught up,
let’s dive in – to my own ideas for what to give
teachers as a “thank you” for putting up with your kid
–and, let’s face it, you – for a year.


First off, think about who you want to remember with a little
something. For me, it’s the people I see every day, whose
paths I regularly cross as my daughters go about their school
lives. So if you’ve never had a one-on-one meeting with your
school principal and can only vaguely remember what she looks like,
then don’t worry about a personal gift; perhaps something
small for the whole office staff to share would be great.

Monday I ranted (a teensy bit) about
end-of-year teacher gifts, and how they’re often stressful
– and unnecessarily so.


Today I’m here to make some suggestions.


I spoke with a few friends, all of whom are teachers in the public
school system, to get their input on this thing. Here’s what
they had to say:

I know today's supposed to be my
follow-up with suggestions and input on great teachers' gifts,
but, well . . .


Had to take my printer apart and fix it.


Spring concert last night for the four-year-old. Late bedtime and
too many cookies.


So I'm tired, sorry.


But it'll be here tomorrow, I promise.

It’s that time of year again –
when the weather warms up and the days grow longer and everyone is
thinking of one thing:


Time to get cracking on the teacher gifts.


Of course, the time to get cracking was a few weeks ago – now
we’re in crunch mode. But I’ve been working on them for
a couple weeks here, and have a few things to say.


And some suggestions for gifts.

I’ve talked many times about how
parenting is continuously building fences around our children, only
to knock them down and re-build them a few feet further out, over
and over and over again.


I feel like I’ve done a lot of re-positioning lately.


Maddie’s becoming aware of her independence in new ways, and
is tentatively testing it out in different situations. She’ll
often shyly ask if she can do something herself – and then
move forward hesitantly, but without looking back. And when
she’s finished, she glows with triumph -and skips happily
back to nestle in my arms.

Overheard yesterday:


Maddie: “It’s too cold to open our neighborhood pool in
May. I’m going to write to Congress and tell them to make it
a law that pools can’t open until June.” (Way to avail
yourself of our governmental system, baby. Due process, or
something, at its finest.)

Maddie’s school does an annual
talent show – something I distinctly do NOT remember from my
own childhood. Would I have jumped at the chance to get up and do
my thing, or would I have hesitated in fear? I honestly have no
idea.


But Maddie got up and did her thing.