1 Mother 2 Another

Yesterday was Maddie’s turn at the
talent show, and she seemed much more relaxed and ready for it than
Cora had been the previous day; after all, Maddie is a two-year
veteran by now, and was performing with her friend that she’s
done the talent show with since kindergarten.


So I was not expecting it when I received a call from a friend of
mine within the school, hissing, “I’m not sure
what’s going to happen here! The girls are fighting. I repeat
the girls are fighting.”


I still don’t know what went down, but I understand Maddie
sat rigid with fury while her gal-pal and partner-in-talent dripped
miserably over the lunch table. For quite a while. When it was
pointed out that perhaps their feud was due at least partly to
nerves, the messenger was promptly shot, uniting the two girls at
least momentarily.

I’m pretty sure I put up this post
every single year, but I can’t help it.


Talent shows always make me cry.


Cora did her talent show yesterday – they’re divided up
by grade - and I don’t think there’s anything more
soul-stirring than watching a dozen kindergarteners put themselves
out there so bravely. I felt myself tearing up in the very first
act (a very dapper tow-headed boy lip-synching to the Jackson
Five’s “ABC”, replete in a mini leisure suit) and
it never stopped.

There’s something about becoming a
mother that makes you feel responsible for, well, the entire
universe. I spent one entry about a week ago linking to therapeutic
blogs to help work through this, so I’m not going to dwell on
the rightness or wrongness here.


I’m just going to acknowledge that it exists.


Once you become a mother, you see every single child out there as,
to some extent, your own. From very early on, I found myself trying
to help out frustrated toddlers on a playground, or cautioning
complete strangers that they were doing something dangerous
(“Do you think your Mommy would let you cross the street
blindfolded?”) Just last week I spent a lovely evening with
an author friend of mine, attending his book signing and just being
a fly on the wall. Once we left the gathering and were walking
towards the parking lot, he looked bemusedly at me as I grabbed his
hands and proceeded to squirt – uninvited – hand
sanitizer on them.


“You don’t know where all those hands you shook have
been, and it’s a long book tour and you need to be healthy.
Rub your hands together for as long as it takes to sing
‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and don’t give me
any grief about this,” I said, half ashamed and half defiant
and wholly unable to stop myself.


So I guess it’s no wonder I’ve begun to feel
responsible for the animals in our side yard.

So we’ve got our nine caterpillars
busily stuffing themselves on my dill plant in anticipation of
their imminent cocooning over in my side yard. We have the morning
dove family that has returned – for the THIRD YEAR IN A ROW
– to build a nest in the hanging basket we now provide for
them so they don’t poop all over our geraniums.


When we moved our big jasmine from its pot to the ground over the
weekend, the girls fought over the earthworms who turned up, each
girl demanding that the worms come and aerate her own
“special” part of the garden soil.


And when we were outside watering yesterday, Cora was busily
tending to the herbs when she noticed a few very large, very loud
bees right next to her.


“Oh, look,” she said calmly. “We’ve got
some lovely bees doing a great job cross-pollinating the purple
sage.”


I don’t think we have to worry about animal squeamishness
over here.

Several months ago Cora was experiencing
intermittent chest pains. I was reasonably certain it was some sort
of heartburn and treated it homeopathically, since it never seemed
to immobilize her. But after about a week of it, I began to worry
she was having some sort of heart attack (I know, I know, but
I’m a mommy) or something and I was missing all these signs,
so I took her to the pediatrician. Just in case.


The pediatrician felt around and asked Cora a few questions.
“Where does your chest hurt?”


Cora pointed right around her heart. “Here”.


“And what does your mommy give you when it hurts?”


“Fennel seeds.”


The pediatrician blinked. I slouched down further in my seat.

I have spent most of my life putting my
trust in God, and though it’s a rocky path sometimes, I do
know- in my heart of hearts – that I can trust in Him, and
know that His plan is better than mine. I can honestly say that I
trust Him with my life.

My kids’ lives? That’s a different story.


I seem to think that this is the ONE area where God just
won’t be good enough, or care enough, or know enough, or
something. I’m continuously trying to surrender control of
them to Him, and just as quickly snatching it back into my own
arms. I worry – about things I can control, and things I
cannot. This is, after all, MY JOB, and God has given these kids TO
ME to steward through their first couple of decades. I don’t
want to let Him – or my girls – down. So last week
rocked my world a bit, what with losing a friend who had four young
children of his own, then watching Boston and West, Texas both take
terrible hits.


And when things happen and I want someone else to explain to me
what I already know, but can’t quite DO – I turn inward
and press hard into God. And while I find peace and strength there,
when I’m ready I turn outward to see how other people are
processing things.


Yesterday I read Glennon’s excellent essay href="http://momastery.com/blog/2013/04/18/how-to-keep-our-babies-safe/"
target="_blank">How To Keep Our Babies Safe over at
target="_blank">Momastery. And she said exactly what I was
feeling, and just wasn’t able to say.


So go and read it yourself. Totally worth it, I promise.

Saturday night Maddie threw up- most
likely from too much sugar celebrating her dad’s birthday.
But when Sunday morning church time rolled around and she was
astonishingly still asleep, we called an audible and skipped
church, thinking if she was actually sick we didn’t want to
wake her.


Maddie stumbled out of bed right as rain, so we settled into a
slow, stay-at-home family day that was, to be honest, much-needed
around here.


What did we do? Lessee – hard to really lay it all out there.
Cora and I worked in our herb garden a bit, watering the plants and
doing a little maintenance. While watering the dill we discovered
nine (NINE!) caterpillars munching contentedly on it, obviously
bulking up as they prepared for cocooning. A few minutes of yelling
excitedly later, the entire family was gathered around the nine
(NINE!) caterpillars, watching them munch in breathless wonder.
Looks like we’re going to have several butterflies in a
couple weeks.


So that, you know, took a good chunk of time.

Hang in there – I’m not gone,
and everyone at the house is just fine. We’ve just got a lot
going on. My husband and I lost a good friend to cancer last week,
and we are wrestling with our grief, as well as what if anything to
share with our kids.


I also had a couple friends in the Boston marathon yesterday;
they’re both fine but it does leave us all on uncertain
footing. Bottom line, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed and not
quite up to cute stories or words of parenting wisdom.


Just holding on to my babies a little bit tighter right now. But
I’ll be back.

I know, yesterday was all about not being
the perfect mom and cutting yourself some slack. And I know, I
linked to a lot of different pages.


But what’s one more link between cyber-friends?


Because yesterday I saw href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amber-dusick/parenting-i-quit_b_3008809.html"
target="_blank">this at the Huffington Post, and it made
my day. I’ll warn you, there’s some potty mouth in a
couple of the cartoons, but oh, it’s totally what I’m
thinking sometimes when I’m parenting and my child is being,
well, less than angelic.


Just give it a read.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve
read a few really inspiring blogs by other moms and I finally just
need to share them with you guys. Seriously good stuff.


First, href="http://inspiredtoaction.com/2013/03/the-problem-with-being-supermom-and-how-to-fix-it/"
target="_blank">The Problem With Being Supermom and How To Fix
It at target="_blank">Inspired Action. Her opening sentence
struck a deep chord with me:


“I’ve finally realized why it is I try to be Supermom.
It’s because I can’t decide what is most important so I
just try to do it all…which is impossible and leaves me
feeling defeated. Rinse. Repeat.


The root of my desire to do everything is actually indecisiveness.
“


Ouch, right? Yes, that’s definitely me – not able to
always sort out what’s important, so trying to do it all, so
failing. A LOT.

We’re on Day Three of Operation:
Pull the Plug and so far we’re doing really well.


When I say “we”, I mean Maddie. Let’s be fair,
she’s doing all the hard work, keeping that thumb out of her
mouth.


She has had a couple crying spells, when the sheer sorrow and
lack-of-thumb has washed over her and left her aching with longing.
Then she simply clings to me and sobs, “I want my thumb so
bad!”


I hold her and say nothing – for after all, what is there to
say? She’s doing this voluntarily. She knows it will be hard.
She’s moving ahead anyway.


Monday morning saw Chocolate Chip Pancakes for breakfast from her
rewards chart, and Tuesday we brought in lunch to school for her.
(P.F. Chang’s. Only my child.) Today she gets a tea party
with a menu of her choosing, so after school we’re having
homemade wheat thins, homemade peppermint patties, homemade sorbet
pops, and lemonade.


Plus lots of books and lots of snuggling. That’s a given
though, right?


So Maddie’s moving bravely ahead, in spite of this being
“almost too hard to do.” And I have reminded her that
sometimes, being brave isn’t doing some extraordinary feat of
strength or courage that’s over in an instant. Sometimes,
being brave is simply showing up. Every minute.


My kid is so brave.

Maddie sucks her thumb. She’s done
it her whole life, and when she was a baby and we were excited when
she did, since it meant she didn’t wake up in the middle of
the night when her pacifier fell out of her mouth. Oh, sure, we
knew we’d pay for it later, but we were so exhausted then we
couldn’t do anything but rejoice and sign the credit card
slip.


Fast forward almost eight years.


To be fair, Maddie’s not a bad thumb-sucker: she only does it
when she’s holding her lovey, which has been restricted to
her room. And though she does it to fall asleep, it pops out of her
mouth immediately. So we’ve been able to skate by pretty well
with the dentist, who’s always said, “No rush.
She’s fine. Let’s talk again in six months.”


Well, we talked last week, and it’s time. She’s going
to have both adult front teeth coming in soon and we’ve been
“strongly encouraged” to help her break the habit on
her own – before the dentist has to give her a guard to wear
instead.

Second grade is the first year
Maddie’s had “real” homework every night, and in
the beginning it took some getting used to. Every night she has
twenty minutes of reading, twenty minutes of some kind of math, and
something “extra” – a website assignment, or a
worksheet, or a long-term project or something of that ilk. I think
it’s partly to get the parents and kids trained and ready
when everything gets kicked up a notch in third grade.


Reading every night has been easy: the teacher says “do
whatever” and I just let Maddie pick and am responsible for
simply logging in her hours. And hours. And hours. For math,
I’ve spent most of the year thinking it’s the same
thing – “Do whatever, lady! Just get your kid used to
thinking in a ‘math-y’ way for twenty minutes each
night!” So we’d gone all over the map with math.


You see, Maddie enjoys math, but doesn’t like the tedium of
memorization or practice – she likes the
figuring-out-new-concepts thing. So we’ve covered long
division and multiplication and percentages and fractions and
negative numbers and . . . you get the picture.

Maddie told me yesterday that she’d
had a pretty great day in school, which is always good to hear.
Apparently a couple things went really well in class, she had fun
at lunch, and –


“Oh! And in gym, class, I sorta actually fell in love with
John!” she twinkled.


Wait – back up. Good class, fun lunch, Cupid’s arrow?


Yep, apparently she had John from another class on her team and for
the first time this year his light seemed to really shine for her.
I asked Maddie what she likes about him so much.


“Well,” she gushed, “He’s really funny, and
he’s smart, and he’s totally cute, and he’s half
British! He says ‘all’ just like Harry Potter –
it’s so adorable!”


Ah. An international man.


I feel a background check coming on.

High on Cora’s List of Things To Do
this summer has been circus camp: for whatever reason, she’s
had it stuck in her mind that this is something she’d like to
do.


Actually I know the reason: on the PBS show “Arthur”
the kids spent a week at circus camp and ended up being able to
juggle, do flips, and more. So of course, that’s what Cora
would look like in real life at the end of a week of circus camp.


I did some research and actually found a circus school in my area
– a good one, no less – and they do weekly summer
circus camps. I haven’t told Cora about it because it’s
not super close to us and I’ve been waiting to see if
she’d grow out of the circus thing.


Then last week, a small circus came to our town and Brian surprised
the girls with tickets. We went and sat under the actual tent and
watched everyone have a great time, culminating of course in a
trapeze act. We had front-row seats and Cora watched, wide-eyed and
silent, the whole time.


As we got home from the big top, I said, “So, Cora, does this
make you want to go to circus camp even more now?”


Cora turned to me and deadpanned, “Oh, yeah, definitely. That
is, if I want to break a lot of bones and FALL a lot! No thank
you.”


Guess that’s been crossed off the list.